Itâs that time of year again when I asked for help (whether itâs sharing this or buying, it doesnât matter!). This year, everything on the list is more for the entire school than just classes since Iâm an instructional coach now. And I have to make bulletin boardssss
are you going to finish it will come back?? itâs so good and i keep checking for updates đ
I am so happy you like it!!
Iâll be really honest though, the Dex fandom has sort of became very toxic? Maybe thatâs not the right word; something about it became very uncomfortable and i donât know if i want to be associated with it.
Itâs not everyone, and it could just be me being sensitive. But to answer your question âno, as of right now itâs been put on hiatus.
If a fantasy world has an ancient tree of wisdom, that means it must also have young trees that are dumb as shit. Just giving terrible advice like, "the evil wizard is kinda hot"'
anyways (I say this as someone who is deeply critical of the united states government, military, unchecked capitalism, police, etc) I am SICK of people treating america as if it has no cultural value or positives soâŠ.. I love u 85 million acres (bigger than italy) of national parks. I love u harlem renaissance. I love u groundhogs day. I love u sweet tea and fried chicken and jambalaya. I love u apple cider donuts and maizes on crisp autumn days. I love u 95k miles of coastlines and new england fisherman and hand knitted sweaters. I love u halloween where millions of people dress up and give candy to strangers and carve jack oâlanterns. I love u small talk and small towns and potlucks and bringing over casseroles to your struggling neighbors. I love u cowboys and ranch hands and arizonian cactus. I love u appalachian trail and dirtbikes and divebars. I love u sparklers and fireflies. I love u mark twain and toni morrison and emily dickinson and henry david thoreau. I love u rock n roll i love u bluegrass and hippies i love u jimi hendrix and nirvana and CCR and janis joplin. I love u victorian houses and jonny appleseed and john henry and mothman and bigfoot. I love u foggy days in the pacific northwest and neon signs and roadside attractions. I love u baseball and 1950s diners and soft serve. I love u native american art and pop art and poptarts. I love u blue jeans and barbecues and jazz musiciansÂ
just so weâre clear if youâve never actually seen a cybertruck in person and have only seen photos of them i cannot stress enough how much worse they look in real life. like i honestly donât know how itâs possible. most things look basically the same in pictures and in real life. but as stupid and ugly as cybertrucks look in photos, every person iâve spoken to who has seen one in real life agrees that they somehow look even worse in person. and i know youâre thinking to yourself âtah they already look so bad in photos, how can they possibly look even worse in person?â I DONT KNOW. the first time i saw one on the road i was on a phone call and i literally cut myself off in the middle of a sentence just to be like âoh my GOD.â just an incredibly, laughably, unbelievably bad vehicle. iâve never experienced anything like it. theyâre just so bad
and every photograph that's taken here is from the summer (the house that i grew up in) | Jake Seresin
SUMMARY In which, Jake Seresin refuses to have his picture taken and no one knows why.
CONTENT SECRET WIFE TROPE (I love this shit and I will not apologize), fem reader (no use of Y/N), use of pet names (lovely), reader calls Jake 'Stanley' and the book Flat Stanley is symbolism now idk, I gave Jake family problems are we surprised but nothing too in detail his family is just toxic, Javy lives with Jake and reader, back flashes are in italics, some angst, mostly fluff, barely edited
WC 4.5k
A/N another reupload from my old account, I'm actually kinda proud of this one so enjoy! (also I am just now realizing the amount of fics I title using song titles/lyrics lol)
Thereâs a house on a street at the end of a block with a picket white fence and one gray sedan parked in the driveway.
The lawn is kept neat, trimmed and green, with a sprinkler system that goes off once a day. Along the front of the house are bunches of flowers in various sizes and colors. Chrysanthemums and carnations. Irises and tulips. Theyâre well cared for, bright and vibrant, not a single weed among them.Â
One would think this prestigious lawn would reflect a love of gardeningâperhaps a far too strict HOA. In actuality, itâs to hide the peeling light yellow paint on this house on a street at the end of the block.
If you go insideâand take off your shoes because the floors were just cleanedâyouâll see a living room with a grand fireplace. Not one, but two throw blankets on a large beige couch. The whole room smells like pine and youâll wonder to yourself where thatâs coming from because there doesnât seem to be so much as a candle anywhere.
(Itâs an air freshener plugged into the wall, hidden behind a short shelf on the left side of the room. Itâs a pain to replace when it runs out, but itâs never been moved.)
If you keep walking though, past the 18 inch television and dog bed in the corner, and make a right, youâll end up in the kitchen. Thereâs high oak cupboards and countertops that complement the coloring. Thereâs a cupboard for dishes. A cupboard for cups. A drawer for cutlery. Thereâs a tall wooden cabinet with glass doors that holds all the china tableware thatâs only used when guests are over.
But if you look past all of that, the grandeur and slightly intimidating refurbishments of this house, youâll see a large steel fridge. And stuck to that fridge is a photograph printed on fancy photograph paper that you donât want to touch because youâll get your fingerprints all over it. Itâs of a younger Jake Seresin, happy and smiling, at his graduation from TOPGUN.
Jacob Seresin. TOPGUN graduate, top of his class.
And you can scale and search every square inch of this house on a street at the end of a block, but you wonât find a newer picture of Jake Seresin. Youâll find baby pictures, family portraits, a whole photo album. Jake Seresin will never get older than he was on that day of graduation, with a toothy grin and excitement in his eyes.
Because, in that photograph, he is a frozen moment of success. There heâs never been touched by failure. There heâs perfect, the kind of son you brag to the neighborhood about. But Jake Seresin is not Jake Seresin on graduation day anymore.Â
Now heâs the second choice. The âalmost good enough but not quiteâ. The fight instigator. The pilot everyone trusts about as far as they can throw. So his parents love that picture on the fridge more than they love him. They donât want him anymore. They only want that picture on the fridge.
Thereâs a fridge in a house on a street at the end of a block with a picket white fence and one gray sedan parked in the driveway. And itâs the reason Jake Seresin refuses to have his picture taken.
âIâll take it.â Jake holds his hand out for the camera, the energy in the air electric as Rooster ropes Mav in for a photo.
âBut,â Natasha furrows her brows. âYou wonât be in it?â
Jake smiles good-naturedly, curling his fingers around the camera placed in his palm. âYouâre welcome.â
âCome on! I wanna drink!âÂ
Fanboyâs outcry breaks Natashaâs resolve and she just nods slowly, heading over to where the other pilots are gathered together and posing. Though she was waiting for him to, Coyote doesnât voice any argument about Jakeâs position behind the cameraâin fact, he doesnât even seem all that surprised.Â
âIf you wanna go so bad, stop blinking,â Jake argues, pulling the camera away from his face as he finally takes a picture heâs happy with.Â
The gang disperses, the smiles captured in their picture donât disappear, large and bright and real. Jake hands Natasha her camera back with a small smile, turning to find Coyote before they also head out.
âHey.â Her voice stops him and he turns around questioningly.
âDo you, um, do you want a picture with Coyote?â Natasha holds up her camera awkwardly. âI can take one.â
Confusing her further, Jake laughs. Not entirely real, not entirely like he means it. But Jake laughs. He shakes his head, âNah, save your storage.âÂ
âOkayâŠâ Natasha trails off, looking down at the black metallic camera in her hands. âIâll see you around, Hangman.â
And, like she conjured him up by name, a confident vibrato overtakes him and he smirks. âIf youâre lucky.â
Jakeâs aware that most people donât think the way he does. Heâs aware that most peopleâespecially if they were in his professionâwould want to have as many pictures of themself as possible. Most of all, heâs aware that most people would assume heâd want as many pictures of himself as possible, permanent reminders of everything he does that makes him better than everybody else.
But Jake doesnât. He doesnât even keep a single high school yearbook. Because people only take pictures of the good stuff. Pictures mean they only remember the good stuff. And remembering the good stuff means that theyâll forget that Jakeâs all bad stuff. That thereâs nothing good about him.
A picture of Jake Seresin is worth more than Jake Seresin could ever be. And because heâs selfish, and attention-seeking, and jealous, Jake doesnât want there to be any pictures of Jake Seresin. Nothing can replace him if it never existed in the first place. No one can remember him as better than he is, and then decide to love that version of him more.
âHoney, Iâm home!â
Jake scoffs, shouldering his best friend as they both shuffle through the front door. âSheâs not your honey.â
âJavy!â Bare feet pad against the hardwood floors, soft arms wrapping around the aforementioned man before theyâre thrown around Jakeâs neck. âStanley!â
Jake shakes his head with a laugh, continuing his way inside as you cling to him with your legs around his waist. He kicks his shoes off, doing his best to line them up with nudges from his sock-clad toes. Moving forward to give Javy room to do the same, Jake drops his duffel bag by one of the dining room chairs.
âYou planning on letting go anytime soon?â He looks down at what he can see of the top of your head with a smile.
âNot particularly,â you respond from the crook of his neck. âDo you want me to?â
âWell, I donât know. My wife did greet my best friend before me,â Jake sighs dramatically. âAlways a bridesmaidâŠâÂ
You pull away with a laugh to look at him. âFine, Iâll just go hug Javy then.â
âIâm kidding, Iâm kidding.â Jakeâs hands finally wrap around you, keeping you from jumping down and scampering off to his best friend who would 100% reciprocate without question, if only just to tease him.Â
He walks you to the living room, plopping down on the couch with a sigh. Jakeâs grateful he decided to shower before he came home as there isnât a single part of him that wants to move from this position. Not when heâs so comfortable and youâre so warm.Â
âHey, lovey,â he squeezes you just a little tighter, a content smile on his face.
âHey, Stanley,â you shift slightly, wriggling on his chest for a moment before finally stilling, and Jake allows his eyes to flutter closed. âSay âcheeseâ.â
Jake peeks his eyes open. Your cheek is almost entirely squished against his own, your mouth a giddy smile as you look at your reflection on your phone. He shifts you both so that you're not at quite such an awkward angle, pressing a kiss to your temple before posing himself.
âOoh, Iâm gonna print this one,â you bring your phone closer to check it and Jake nods against your shoulder. You go back to the camera app, holding your phone out again. âJavy get over here, weâre taking a picture!â
âComing!âÂ
There have only been three times in his life that Bradley Bradshaw has gotten his ass handed to him. Once, when he was twelve and fumbled his teamâs win in flag football. Carter Cleveland came up to him seething, asking him where he learned âto throw like a fucking girlâ. And maybe Bradley shouldnât have responded with âAsk your sisterâ, but he came home to his mom with scraped up knees and a tampon the school nurse had stuck in his nose to stop the bleeding. Being pummeled by Carter tasted like turf, vulcanized rubber, andâthough Bradley wouldnât be able to actually place it until he was 16âJennifer Clevelandâs lipgloss.Â
The second time was after he found out Maverick had pulled his papers. Bradley raided his dadâs old liquor cabinet, got piss drunk, and wallowed in the bullshit that was his life. His friends came to check on him after he stopped responding. Like he always does when heâs mad, Bradley said something he shouldnât have and was drunk enough to throw a punch, but too drunk to stand a fighting chance. That time tasted like whiskey, regret, and the salt of his own tears.
And the third time is right now.
âWhat the fuck, Hangman? Another bullseye?â
It tastes like beer, peanuts, and mild embarrassment.
Jake grins, weirdly quiet for a man whoâs just landed his 10th bullseye in a row. But Bradley realizes that heâs doing that on purpose. That Jake being a gracious winner after kicking his ass would be more embarrassing than gloating.
âDo you want me to do it with my eyes closed? Standing on one leg? Iâm just trying to give you a chance here, Bradshaw.â
Okay, somewhat gracious winner.
âOh my god, please someone take a picture of his face!â Payback cackles pointing at, what Bradleyâs sure is, his disgruntled expression.Â
Phoenix hops up, an almost normal look on her face, though Bradley can tell sheâs trying to figure something out. âYeah, Hangman. Letâs get a picture of you with your score too.â
âMe?â Jake furrows his brows. âI thought you wanted a picture of Roosterâs ugly, fucking mug.â
Phoenix turns her phone quickly, snapping a picture of Bradleyâthat has him blinking slightly dazed because her flash is still onâbefore turning back to Jake. âThere. Now, donât you want a picture of your score?â
âSure.â Jake steps out of the way, giving Phoenix a clear view of the whiteboard Bob had been keeping track of points on.
The group shares a glance.
âYou donât want to be in the picture, Hangman?âÂ
Though thereâs a smile on his face, Jake appears somewhat nervous. He shrugs, opening and closing his mouth a few times, and Bradley doesnât think heâs ever seen Jake like that before. Speechless. Nervous.
âHey, why doesnât Rooster stand by it?â Coyote suggests suddenly. âYa know, since heâs the one who lost and all?â
Bradley could only sigh tiredly when a somewhat blurry photo of him looking entirely bamboozled and a picture of him standing next to Jakeâs embarrassingly high darts score made their way onto Mavâs wall collage.
âHey, Stanley.â
Jake smiles. âHey, lovey.â
You look up from your book, sticking the bookmark in and letting it fall to the bed. âHow was your night?â
âGood,â Jake moves to the dresser, rifling through clothes until he finds some pajamas heâs happy with. âI kicked Roosterâs ass in darts.â
âYeah? You real proud of yourself?âÂ
Jake turns around, his arms resting in the gathered fabric of his shirt, to see you wiggling your brows at him. His mouth drops open in mock offense. âWhat happened to our wedding vows, lovey? What happened to âin sickness and in health, when my husband loses darts and when he kicks his co-workerâs assâ?â
Youâre giggling and Jake speeds up changing his clothes. âI donât remember that being how it went.â
âWell, I do,â Jake tosses his dirty clothes into the hamper on the far left side of the room. âThatâs exactly how it went.â
Your book is entirely forgotten, not even on the backburner of your mind as Jake climbs into bed. You curl comfortably into his side, yawning as his arm wraps around you to trace shapes on the bare skin of your thigh.
âWhat did you vow, then? If you remember it so much better than me?â
âHmm,â Jake pretends to think, kissing the crown of your head. âI vowed âin sickness and in health, when my wife is mean to me and when she is nice to meâ.â
You let out a noise of protest. âIâm not mean to you!â
âOh yes you are, lovey. You wound my right here,â he throws his hand that isnât occupied with playing with the hem of your pajama shorts over his heart.
A yawn interrupts you before you can respond and Jake nudges you lightly. âCâmon, I know youâre tired from waiting up for me.â
You nod, wiping at one of your eyes as you reach for your phone off the nightstand.Â
âYou have to actually smile this time, Stanley,â you say, unlocking it and going to the camera app. âBecause you always smile like Iâm holding you hostage.â
Jake chuckles, waiting for you to set up an angle youâre happy with. âIâll smile,â he promises.
âDid you just lick me?!â
Bobâs shoes tap against the linoleum floors and he stuffs his hands into his pockets. He walks wordlessly through the maze-like hallway. Right. Left. Right. Right. Bob knows everything about this repurposed office building where he often meets the others for coffee. He memorized the floor plan once when he was bored.
If he goes right, right, left, heâll end up at some insurance firm. Itâs tiny, closer to the size of a cubicle than an entire office space. The people that work there look exactly how Bob imagined them toâcheckered shirts buttoned all the way to the collar, little glasses with frames far too tiny to hold their prescriptions, hair slicked over flat, stringy and greasy. They talk like Bob expected too, nasally and quiet and almost purposefully confusing.
Left, right, left takes him to a small health clinic. Itâs bigger than the insurance firm and Bobâs sure it goes farther than what he can see through the waiting room window. Sometimes, if he has time, Bob watches the smiling receptionist, the kids who come out with a lollipop and a sticker, the comforting hand a man puts on his partner's knee to stop it from bouncing. Mostly he just watches how no oneâs sitting in that waiting room alone.
Left, left, left takes him to a woman who does massage and waxing. Bobâs met her only a few times, their arrivals to the front door coincide sometimes. Her name is Tammy. She has a dog, three kids, and thinks Bobâs holding too much tension in his shoulders. âYou can always stop by, Robert. It might do you some good.â She calls him Robert. Bob likes that.Â
Tammyâs space is dimly lit, with yellow lamps emanating low light. She has a diffuser too, and a speaker that plays soft classical music. Thereâs a poster of a cat on the wall, one of its paws hooked over a tree branch. The cat looks at him. âHang in there!â it says.
But Bob isnât going to any of those places. Heâs going right, left, right, right. Coffee.
Heâs late, he knows that, which is unusual for Bob Floyd, but nobody hassles him too much when arrives. They are all far too focused on something else.
âNo, because I started thinking about it,â Phoenix starts and Bob notes, as he sips his black coffee, that Jake isnât at the table. âWe donât have any photos with him.â
Fanboy cocks his head. âYou want photos with him?â
âIâm just saying itâs weird. Itâs Hangman, donât you think heâd be, like, obsessed with his own face or something?â Phoenix defends.
Bobâs slightly confused why no one is trying to bring Coyote into the conversation. On top of being his roommate and best friend, he knows Jake better than anyone. In fact, he seems to be very actively disengaging from the conversation, fiddling with something on his phone.
Bob wets his lips. âHave you ever taken Hangmanâs picture, Coyote?â
âPlease, the only person Iâve met who could ever get him to take a picture is his wife,â Javy freezes, his head snapping up and his eyes widening as he and the rest of the group take in his words. âShit.â
âWife?!â
Jakeâs returning from the bathroom before Javy can say anything, his own eyes widening as the rest of the Dagger Crew pounce on him. âWife?!â
Javyâs mouthing the words âIâm sorryâ when Jake glances at him and, after a moment, Jake simply sighs.
âWell, you gave it your best shot, buddy,â he claps Javy on the shoulder. âLasted longer than we thought you would.â
Rooster looks between the two of them. âWait, so youâre actually married? Thereâs no fucking way.â
âBelieve what you want, Rooster. Itâs not like itâs gonna make me unmarried,â Jake shrugs and Bobâs pretty sure he just witnessed all five stages of grief overtake Roosterâs face in a little under two seconds.Â
âOh my god, heâs married. Heâd be fighting me about this if he wasnât married. Phoenixâ!â
âWould you shut up?â She rolls her eyes at the brunet before pointing an accusatory finger at Jake. âYou mean to tell me, youâve had a girl this whole time and you forced me to hangout with you asshats?â
Payback raises his eyebrows. âWhat makes you think sheâs better than us?â
âIf she married Hangman?â Phoenix scoffs. âSheâs got to be the closest thing to an angel there is.â
Bob watches Jake carefully. Bob noticed a lot of things about his friends, he found it interesting. And helpful. He always had a better understanding of what they were thinking. Bob had seen Hangman smirk, Bob had seen Hangman grin. Bob had never seen Jake smile.
âShe is.â And Jake smiles.
âKnock it off.â Jake doesnât even have to look up from his crossword to know youâre trying to sneak a photo of him.
You hold your hands up, dropping your phone in your lap. âWhat? Iâm not doing anything!â
That grants you a look, Jakeâs eyes looking unamused from behind his reading glasses. âRight. Whatâs a four letter word for âspice cookie ingredientâ?â
â...Spice?â
Though he bites his lip to fight it, a smile grows on Jakeâs face and he shakes his head with a chuckle. âThatâs five letters, lovey.â
âOh,â you nod entirely unconvincingly. âI knew that.â
Jake laughs, dropping the newspaper and holding his hands out for you. âJust câmere already.â
You frown slightly, getting up from the couch and making your way over to where Jake is resting in the living room armchair. His arms wrap around you as you sit down, loose at your hips as you get comfortable.Â
After a moment of silence, Jakeâs own expression falters. âWhat?â
âHow come you never let me take your picture, Jake?â
Jake freezes and, though you just sat down, you move right back to the couch again. He lets you.
âYou donât want any picture of me,â Jake shakes his head.
âYes, I do,â your brows furrow as you try to understand. âYes, I do.â
Jakeâs jaw clenches. âNo, you donât. Believe me.â
âJakeâ,â
âWhy do you even want pictures of me anyway?â Jake looks up accusingly.
âWell, I donât know,â you shrug slightly. âI just like having them to look back on.â
Youâre not sure if youâve said something wrong because Jake just nods, taking off his reading glasses and wiping a tired hand over his face. âYou donât want pictures with me.â
âAnd why is that, Jake? Why should I not want to have pictures of you? You take pictures of me all the time!â You stand up in frustration.
âThatâs different,â Jake grunts.
âHow is itâ?â
âBecause taking pictures of you isâItâs nice and I can look at them and think âwow, how did I get so luckyâ because thatâs just the way you are all the time. Youâre the type of picture people hang up on their bulletin boards. Taking pictures of me is just a reminder of how awful I am. That I can only be good enough in snapshot seconds. The only thing youâll get out of a picture of me is realizing how much of a failure I am and wishing you could go back to the brief second that I wasnât,â Jake swallows, unable to meet your eye as he continues. âSo you donât want a picture of me, theyâre so heavy theyâll⊠theyâll just take the bulletin board down with them.âÂ
You donât say anything, in fact you storm out of the room, and Jake presses his palms into his eye sockets. He lets out a shaky breath. And then another. Because this was what he was waiting for, wasn't it? The moment that you finally realized that you were too good for him. The moment that you finally realized heâs the second choice. The âalmost good enough but not quiteâ. The fight instigator. The pilot everyone trusts about as far as they can throw.Â
The moment you finally realized you donât want him anymore.
You come marching back out of the hall suddenly, tossing a book at him as you cross your arms. Jake can only look surprised as he catches a copy of Flat Stanley in his hand.Â
âYou said that the only things you offer are pictures so heavy theyâll fall off the wall. And I could tell you how I donât think thatâs true at all. How I could never look at you as anything less than the entirely vibrant and wonderful person that you are. But even if you donât believe that, even if you think that this is all you can offer me,â you tap your finger on the cover of the Flat Stanley book in his grip. âI want it anyway. I justâGod Jake, I just want you. So⊠so you can crush me and thatâs okay because we could just do what Flat Stanley does. And Iâm pretty sure they blew him back up with a bike pump so we could just get a bike pump andâ,â
Jakeâs arms wrap around you suddenly, Flat Stanley dropping to the floor behind you. His face is buried in your neck, his shoulders shaking, and you wrap your arms around him quickly. You donât say anythingâyou donât know if you could if you were forcedâgripping on to Jake long enough for both of you to stop crying.Â
You clear your throat. âYou gonna let me take your picture now?â
Jake nods against the nape of your neck.
âGood.â And it is. âI wanna take one every day we can, okay?â
âOkay.â Jake allows himself one last sniffle before he pulls away, keeping you in his embrace so he can look at you.
âHey, lovey.â
You smile, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. âHey, Stanley.â
Thereâs a house on a street at the end of a block with a sturdy wooden fence and two cars parked in the driveway.Â
No one ever really looked twice at it, maybe only seeing it when Coyoteâs car was in the shop or he and Jake drank too much after a night at the Hard Deck. No one ever really notices the painted rocks that littered the small garden or the floral wreath that hangs on the front door.
When they go insideâand take off their shoes because Jake and Javy told them it was fine but theyâre taking their shoes off so it would be weird if they didnâtâthey see a small dining room. Thereâs three chairs around a table, with enough room for just a couple more and a large window that has a sweet-looking view of the beach.
On the left wall is a picture of Jake and Javy at the Grand Canyon. Theyâve got big hiking backpacks on and caps secured to their head. Jakeâs not quite looking at the camera, but heâs smiling anyway. The picture is framed with light wood.
They keep walking though, and make a right, and end up in the kitchen. Thereâs wood cupboards painted white and countertops that compliment it because everything compliments white. And thereâs a cupboard for dishes. A cupboard for cups. A drawer for cutlery. But thereâs a tall wooden cabinet with glass doors that holds all the china. Javy laughs that one time, he and Jake were left alone while you were on a business trip and you came back to them eating off of frisbeesâwhich was an idea they may or may not have gotten from Parks and Rec.
But when they look past all of that, the quaint and homey refurbishments of this house, they see a large steel fridge. Or they assume itâs steel. They canât really see from all the pictures stuck to its doors. Thereâs selfies of you and Jake and Javy too. Pictures from late night snack runs. Or road trips. Or picnics to the park.Â
Thereâs pictures where Jake is pulling faces the others didnât even know he was capable of making. Like one, Bradley points out, where youâre at Disneyland beaming into the camera, but Jake canât seem to take his eyes off you, looking completely and utterly lovesick. But as they keep looking through all of thatâthrough Jake and Javy in face masks and a picture of you looking disgruntled after a very long plane rideâthey find a photograph printed on fancy photograph paper of a younger Jake Seresin, happy and smiling, at his graduation from TOPGUN.
And they could scale and search every square inch of this house on a street at the end of a block, but they wonât find any other picture of Jake Seresin. Theyâll find wedding photos, pictures you, Jake, and Javy got done professionally at Macyâs as a joke but ended up liking too much not to hang up, a whole photo album. Jake Seresin will never appear in any other photo than that day of graduation, with a toothy grin and excitement in his eyes. Because every other photo is of Stanley.
Thereâs a fridge in a house on a street at the end of a block with a sturdy wooden fence and two cars parked in the driveway. And Jake has never once worried it will ever make you not want him anymore.
please don't copy, repost, or feed my work into ai, thanks!
i was thinking about sub!ry last night and this was born
3k words, smut, subby ry but nothing incredibly tame for what it is, oral m and f receiving
summary: it's just smut
------------------
For all the things Ryland has noticed about you, youâve noticed just as many about him. He clocked your kinks quickly, studied your responses to his words, his actions, logging information away to reference later. And he was good at referencing, always testing the waters slowly, giving you time to tell him if you donât like something, but his observations were accurate, so you rarely asked him to stop.Â
What he didnât expect was for you to pick up on his kinks. He thought he kept them hidden well enough, thought maybe you would miss the signs if he kept you distracted with his tongue and his cock. But youâre smart, you wouldnât have made it to Erid without the ability to dissect information when itâs presented to you.Â
And the signs youâd noticed? Well, maybe they were subtle but they were enough. It was the way he would gasp just a little when you reached for his length, how he would melt into you when you pushed him against a wall for a kiss. It was how he would ask how he was doing when he was balls deep in you, like he needed the praise more than he needed air. Your favorite, though, was how he would beg so softly when you edged him. Quiet whispers of âplease, can I come?â falling from his lips between whimpers and moans.Â
And you would never tell him no, how could you when he asked so nicely?Â
So you waited, timed it just right so that he would be unaware, hoping that if you caught him off guard heâd be more willing to let things slip. He was out with Rocky for the afternoon, no doubt talking science and sociology and lesson plans for his students. It was just enough time for you to make a plan, deciding that today was the day youâd ask, the worst he could say is no.Â
When Ryland gets back to the house, carrying a basket of goodies from Adrian, he greets you with a kiss and a squeeze to your hip. âMissed you,â he smiles, shifting so heâs leaning against the counter with you standing between his legs. You wrap your arms around his neck, laughing when he presses a sweet kiss to your jaw, âmissed you too.â He pulls back just a little, squinting through his lashes, studying your face.Â
âYouâre up to something,â he murmurs, amusement sparkling in his eyes. âWhat do you mean?â Youâve always been a bad liar, so you go the route of asking questions, leading him to the truth without having to say it. âI donât know,â he chuckles, hands landing on your ass, fingers dipping into your pockets like he belongs there. âBut somethingâs weird.â
âIâm not doing anything, Ry!â You bury your face against his neck, smiling when he tightens his grip and hums. He kisses you, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, fingers tangling in your hair just enough to give him leverage. Itâs easy to get lost in him, especially when he licks into your mouth so gently, like even after all this time heâs still trying to map the contours of your body.Â
He leans back, biting his lip to try to hide his smirk when you chase him. You pull him back to you, moaning quietly when he relents and lets you have what you want. âMm, baby,â he groans, âwhat do you need?â The question makes you pause - you could just tell him, just say it outright, ask for complete control and put the ball in his court. Instead, you step back, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the bedroom.Â
You push him down to sit on the bed, climbing into his lap slowly, giving him a chance to catch up. âIâve been thinking,â you start, laying your arms over his shoulders lazily, âabout you,â his brows raise a little, âabout what you like.â His fingers tighten on your hips, teeth worrying his lips again.Â
You press a tender kiss to his neck, smiling when his breath hitches. âJust been noticing things, is all,â you whisper, feeling how he swallows. âOh yeah?â He tries to play it cool but his voice comes out strained. You hum, âyou respond very well to praise,â a quick bite to his throat, âyou like when I⊠take charge.â You whisper the last words right into his ear, placing a kiss to the skin right behind it when his hands shift to your thighs.Â
âBaby,â he whines, gasping when you roll your hips slowly over his, knowing you feel how heâs growing under you. âWould you like that, Ry? Want me to take over, just for tonight?â You pull back just in time to see his eyes flutter closed and his head tip back, adamâs apple bobbing. You kiss the corner of his mouth, letting him sit for a second, giving him a chance to decide what he wants.Â
Finally, he opens his eyes just enough to see you, his breathing picking up already. âPlease,â he whispers, head falling forward in a quick nod. âBaby, please.â And who are you to deny him when he sounds so wrecked already?Â
You kiss him, one hand burying in his hair to hold him still, the other dropping to tease over his shirt. He follows your lead, groaning when you run your fingers over his nipple, hips shifting when you pinch just a little. You separate from him just long enough to slip his shirt off, your movements slow and teasing, tracing each inch of skin you uncover with the lightest touch. He twitches under you, his abs flexing when you ghost over them with your nails.Â
You stand and pull him up with you, hooking your fingers in his belt loops to grind into him with a smile. Heâs slack jawed already, his eyes hooded and dazed. You cup his face, drawing his attention to you, and pop the button on his pants. He makes a desperate sound, keeping his hands on your waist, trying to behave for you. His pants hit the floor, you bite your lip and sink down in front of him, making sure heâs watching before you nuzzle against the thin fabric covering his hard length.
He drops his head forward, sighing when you mouth over him, feeling the heat from your tongue on his tip. His hands find a home in your hair, tugging gently. You push back immediately, knowing he feels the loss. âLet me take care of you,â you murmur, waiting until he nods to return your attention to where he was so desperate for you.Â
Slow hands pull his boxer briefs down, his cock springing free and a gasp falling from his lips again. You canât help how quickly youâre on him, licking a stripe up the underside of his length and moaning at the taste. Heâs faring much worse, chest already heaving, pink flush working its way down his torso, quiet whines slipping out at the sensations youâre giving him.Â
âSit down for me, sweet boy,â you smile up at him, taking note of how his fingers tighten in your hair and his breath hitches. He drops to the bed, legs spread wide enough to for you to slide right up to him. You take him in your hand, stroking slow enough to drive him crazy. A tap to your shoulder makes you look up, a rough whisper of âhere, please,â and heâs handing you a pillow. It just about makes you swoon, how sweet he is even when his only job is to listen.Â
You accept the pillow and slip it under your knees, smiling your thanks and running a hand up his thigh. âAlways so good,â you praise, taking his tip into your mouth before he has a chance to respond. The noise he lets out is strained, a broken moan shaking through him when you circle your tongue around him and suck gently. You work him down slowly, relaxing your throat on each stroke, trying to take as much of him as you can.Â
Heâs a mess above you, hips writhing and head falling forward. Your name flows from his lips like a prayer, his hands twisting in the sheets beside him when you bat him away from your hair. He gives you control, stays as still as he can with his cock all the way down your throat. You feel how heâs holding back a little, doubling your efforts and bobbing how you know he likes. Your hand comes up to cup his balls, it pulls a loud moan from him, spurring you on.Â
âSweetheart, I- Iâm gonna come,â he whimpers out, a shiver wracking through him when you pull off. âWant you to,â you grin up at him, huffing a laugh around his length when he groans as you take him back into your mouth. He nods quickly, letting his moans flow freely, panting like youâre sucking his soul right out of him. You groan around him, feeling how he tenses, listening to how his pleas change as he climbs to his peak.Â
Heâs borderline begging as he comes, voice high and eyes rolling back. âPlease, please, baby please,â he whispers, crying out when you squeeze his balls and swallow, warm spurts shooting down your throat and filling your mouth. He leans over you, his eyes shut tight and his hands flying to your head - not guiding, just seeking contact.Â
You pull off of him with a smile, âso hot, Ry. You sound so pretty when you come like that.â He turns red, glazed eyes finding yours, his mouth hanging open slightly. You pull him down, kissing him soundly, helping him find his way back to you before you continue. When he reaches for you, helping you stand and running sweet hands over your knees to work out any soreness, you know itâs time for the next part of your plan.Â
It doesnât escape notice that youâre still fully clothed, standing over his naked form, sated and spacey on the bed. He stays where he is, looking up at you with an expectant face, like he knows youâre not done. You stroke a hand down his cheek, cupping his jaw and licking your lips. He looks incredible, so open and pliant, ready to do anything you ask.Â
Shaky hands reach for the bottom of your shirt, a soft please slipping out when he feels your hand tighten on his cheeks. âUse your words, Ry,â you whisper, tacking on a smile so he knows heâs allowed. He swallows hard, fingers playing with the fabric while he finds his voice. âPlease, can I see you?â God, he sounds wrecked.Â
You nod, leaning down to kiss him softly, âof course, baby.â He helps you out of your shirt, hands skimming down your sides when youâre free. You let him undress you, whisper sweet words to him as he sheds each layer and touches your skin like heâs worshipping you. And maybe he is, who are you to complain?
Finally, he gains a little confidence and asks, âcan I taste you?â It comes out meek, like heâs not sure if heâs supposed to be asking, but you push him back with a hand on his chest, climbing over him when his back hits the bed. He groans when he realizes where youâre heading, helping you shift until youâre hovering just above his mouth. âWant to ride your face, you gonna let me do that?âÂ
He closes his eyes with a whine, nodding his head when he realizes that youâre waiting for an answer. âLook at me,â you whisper, running a hand through his hair until he peeks up at you under heavy lids. âYou gonna make me feel good, baby?â You smile when he nods again, your body shaking with the force of his movements.Â
You sit all the way down, moaning when his tongue meets you halfway and practically guides you home. Heâs loud right away, whimpering into your soaked core, lapping up the evidence of your arousal. He knows your spots, knows how to make you keen in a matter of minutes. Your moans are music to his ears, the soft praise you speak over him going straight to his head.Â
He sucks your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue and humming against you until your head falls back. He doesnât look away, holding eye contact with you even when you canât see him. âGod, Ryland,â you choke out, âfeels so good.â He groans under you, big hands gripping your hips and helping you grind into him.Â
You feel the ridge of his nose against your clit, feel his tongue spearing into your core, his beard scratching the inside of your thighs. âJust like that,â you sigh, rolling your hips and tugging his hair. You take what you want, knowing that heâd let you have just about anything from him in this moment, grinding and moaning and praising him until you feel the heat pool in your lower stomach.Â
He moves his lips back to your clit, shaking his head and grunting when he feels you tense above him. Your cries reach a peak, waves of pleasure rolling through you with a long moan. You shake and twitch, praising him when your breath returns with soft strokes through his hair. He finally closes his eyes, breathing deeply while he laps up your slick.Â
You tip sideways, falling on the bed with a huff. He chases you, slotting himself between your legs, silently asking for a kiss when he gets to your face. He tastes like you, his tongue moving against yours slowly, still following your lead. You smile at him, hands cupping his face. âI still want you to fuck me, if youâre able to,â you kiss him again, laughing when he whines into it and drops his hips against yours. âMhm,â he nods, letting you feel how his cock is hardening against your core.Â
âStretch me out first,â you mumble, thumbs stroking his beard. He drops to your neck with a moan, hand slipping down to play in your slick. He presses two fingers in, sucking hickeys on your neck while you writhe. âT-two or three?â He asks quietly, tilting so he can see your face. You brush through his hair, enjoying the pace he set. âGive me three,â you murmur, head tipping back when he pushes one more finger in.Â
Ryland stretches you carefully, panting when you scratch down his back and tell him how good it feels. You feel how he grinds his hips into you, feel his length standing at full attention again. Somewhere in the back of your mind you realize that this is the fastest heâs ever gotten it up again, you attribute it to the praise but youâll confirm that theory later.Â
You push his chest, asking him to roll over. He does, sitting up against the headboard and watching you with glassy eyes. You throw a leg over him, wasting no time and lining him up. You sink down slowly, hands finding a place on his shoulders, your lips sealing over his with a sigh. He canât even pretend to kiss you back around the moans heâs letting out as you bounce on him.Â
You sit up just enough to give him an eyeful of your breasts, watching as he locks on to them and his mouth drops open. You press a hand to the back of his head, pushing him until he licks a nipple into his mouth. It shoots through you, making you clench around him and drawing moans from you both. âFuck,â you mumble, petting through his hair, âalways so perfect for me, such a good boy.âÂ
His head tips back quickly, a whine eeking out when he looks at you. Whatever you thought was the best heâs ever looked is quickly being replaced by how he looks now. His hair is a mess, a flush warming his cheeks and chest, big eyes blown out and heavy. Heâs panting, his mouth open and inviting. You lean in just a little, âstick your tongue out, baby.â
He does, eyes rolling back when you spit in his mouth and use a hand to close his jaw. âSwallow,â you tell him, your stomach flipping when he does as heâs told.Â
Your legs are sore, your rhythm breaking quickly. He can feel how youâre slowing down, his brows furrowing when you tip to the side a little. âTake over, Ry,â you whisper into his ear, smiling when he flips you and matches the pace you lost.Â
He buries his face in your neck, whining and whimpering when you wrap your legs around him and meet his thrusts. You want to praise him, tell him how good heâs doing, but heâs hitting that spot inside you so perfectly that you canât get anything out but airy moans.Â
He ruts into you with abandon, quiet pleas falling on your ears. You take a deep breath, whispering, âcome with me, Ryland. Wanna feel you.â He lets out a broken cry, gasping when you circle your clit and clench down on him. Your climax roars through you, legs convulsing as the heat crashes into you in waves. You pull him over the edge with you, feeling how his hips stutter, how he slams home and groans above you.Â
His weight lands on top of you, a shiver running through him when you run your hands up his back and through his hair. You whisper how well he did, how good he made you feel, how perfect he was for you. It makes him twitch where youâre still connected, a final aftershock shaking through him with a sweet whine into your neck.Â
You let him shift, feeling him pull out and slide up against your side, his head landing on your chest with a sigh. âNeed you to be in charge more often,â he mumbles into your skin. You laugh, feeling how he relaxes into you. âI can make that happen,â you squeeze his bicep.Â
Itâs quiet for a few minutes, your breathing calming down and the numbness in your legs fading. A soft snore falls from Rylandâs mouth, his arms lax around you. Pride wells up in you, heâs always been such a nurturer, being able to give him the same treatment he always gives you makes your heart swell. And he sleeps for hours, trapping you under him for so long that you have no choice but to let your eyes close too.
oooooo what a cool post my mutual just reblogged ! I think I will reblog it as well !!! oooooh who did they reblog it from ? That username seems familiar,,, hohoho it's me ! from an hour ago !
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