#so then have to get it looking as tidy as I can with limited time and energy to actually clean | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

portgasdwrld · 6 months

Text

★ Cleaning

↺ nsfw content featuring Ace x fem!reader

Summary: After being scolded by you because of his messy room, he finds himself tidying up his space, but falls on a pair of your thong. Let’s say, he easily got distracted…

Warning: NSFW content

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

-Ace?

He watches you walk toward the busy table with a bag in your hand. You don’t seem particularly pleased with seeing him and your eyebrows are slightly frowned. He pushes back a little his hat and stares at you with curious eyes. Your fellow crew members look at you intrigued as you close the distance, flickering their gaze between you two.

-Can I talk to you for moment?

You ask, but it sounded more like a demand from your tone. He knows at this moment that you are indeed pissed and he quickly nods. He stands up to walk away as his friends tease him about being a bad boyfriend to you.

-What’s wrong pretty girl?

He asks with a smile to relax the atmosphere, but it only earns him an annoyed sigh from you as you roll your eyes.

-Your room, that’s the problem.

-Huh?

He looks at you absently as he tries to recall what did he possibly did wrong this morning to piss you off so much. You quickly bring him back to reality as your hand softly grab his forearm.

-Ace, baby, I love you but I cant possibly sleep in your room anymore with the mess.

-It’s not that ba-

-Yes it’s that bad! I didn’t mind the messy clothes laying a bit everywhere, but I draw the line at food spoiling in your room as flies make it their own territory.

You explain frustrated at Ace’s easygoing attitude when it comes to cleaning. You let go of your hold and cross your arm against your chest. Yes you love him, yes he’s really important to you, but he still gets on your nerves at times.

-But-

-And! The dirty socks ?? It needs to go, there is a dirty-clothe basket for a reason.

-Y/n, wait-

-No, I’m done. If the room isn’t clean by tonight, I’m sleeping with the girls like I used to.

He cocks an eyebrow at you with a small smile, not believing your words. You two have been sleeping in the same bed for around a month now, and he can’t possibly imagine not having you in his arms while he sleeps. He challenges you a little with his furrowed eyebrows and sly smile. You roll your eyes at him once again and huff.

-I do my fair share of cleaning as we share your room and I know you can be busy when I’m not, but it has to be fair. The dirty plates really are my limit…So yeah, I’m being serious.

You hand him the bag with the garbages that you collected earlier as you were thinking what to tell him. You are upset, but you also get that he’s a pirate and probably never had proper discipline when it comes to that.

Ace frowns a little as he understands this is truly a serious situation and takes the bag in your hand. You avoid his face as you don’t want to be influenced by his charm and back down on your boundaries. You feel him walk closer to you and leave a quick peck on your forehead.

-Then you won’t be mad at me anymore?

He concludes with a soft smile. He takes your hand into his. You nod as you put distance again between you two by taking a step back.

-Yes, but it has to become a habit Ace..

-I will try my best! Let me take care of this, so my princess is able to sleep in a clean space tonight!…and after tonight too!

You chuckle a little, glad to see him enthusiastic and understanding to your frustrations.

-Thank you

-No problem, I will see you later then!

He smiles at you one last time and he doesn’t miss the chance to steal a kiss on your lips before walking away from you: Direction, his room!

——

As Ace walks in, he’s met by his familiar room. The bed is undone and he can see the beginning of your cleaning and where you clearly gave up. You left a pile of dishes on his desk and the dirty clothes near the bed.

The fire user sighs at the view, knowing it’s gonna be quite the work, but if it’s for you, anything is worth it. He starts by the easiest which is dropping the dirty dishes in the ship kitchen and quickly washing them.

He quickly runs back to his room ready to attack the next task. He takes a wet clothe and pass over his fournitures to remove accumulated dusts. He places your books as a small pile on his desk and put his maps in their designated basket, along with any files he had left around.

After running around the ship, he gets his hand on a broom. He cleans the floors from the dusts and any garbages, after putting the clothes on the bed to fold them or throw them in the dirty-clothe basket.

He finally sits down on the bed. As he’s drinking water, he eyes the clothes and pass his hands through the familiar pieces that you wear and he wears. He puts the water down and attack the pile of clothes.

It’s going very well until, he’s almost at the end of it and he falls on one of your pair of thongs. Ace can’t help himself but smirk as he exactly remember when you wore this and what exactly happened after this was removed from you. He finds himself lost between his dirty thoughts, him missing you, him being tired of cleaning.

A little break wont’t hurt right? As long as everything is done by tonight..?

He grins mischievously as he lays down on his bed. He closes his eyes for a second as he sighs before opening them once again and stares at your pair of panties between his fingers. Despite knowing you would kill him if you saw him possibly , maybe highly considering jerking off instead of cleaning, the thought is getting more and more tempting.

Damn he loves it when you stand your ground and show how confident you are. He loves when you climb on top of him and you two make out for minutes and minutes before getting to the act. Those moments where his hands roam all over your curves, feeling the goosebumps on your skin. He loves when you touch his bare chest with your fingers and press slightly your core against him. He loves how lost you get when he touches you, how your confident behaviour crumbles whenever he presses kisses over your body. You are such a turn on to him, it’s almost unfair.

He feels his shorts getting tighter as a tent form under the material. He sighs as he brushes his free hand in his dark hair. He looks at the ceiling as he let his other hand flop against the mattress.

“I can maybe do this in like 10 minutes? And like get back to cleaning after..”

He mumbles to himself as he tries to convince himself it’s a good plan even though he clearly has a feeling that it is not.

“Huh fuck it”

He concludes nonchalantly with a slight shoulder shrug as he awkwardly massages his cock through his shorts. What are the possible odds you enter the room while he decides to do this…

He hisses at the pleasure that the slight friction gives him and his eyes dart to your thong which he’s now holding tighter between his fingers.

From this moment, his mind forgets all about the cleaning task and he’s only thinking of your silhouette, the curve of your body, the view he has when you two are having intercourse. He’s thinking of how he ate your pussy out with this exact thong pressed against your wet core, you always get so wet for him.

His cock now in his hands, Ace allows himself to start with slow strokes which leaves him wishing for your presence. Your lips wrap his tip so well, you suck it and lick it with such skills that he dreams of spending a day just getting his cock sucked by you. Your name leaves his lips as he begins to go faster, occasionally holding his cock tighter like you do.

He’s lost in his train of thoughts before he hears some rumbling outside of his room and your voice from afar after being greeted by Marco. Usually he wouldn’t bother to hide the fact that he was jerking off, but now was a different situation. In panic he pulls his shorts up, but as you open the door, you seem to quickly notice something is off.

“Hey…I came to see how the cleaning was going..”

You trail off as you scan the room. Ace who was just now looking at you with surprised Bambi eyes, cough to shake the awkwardness away and points at his desk area with a slight blush.

“Well the desk is now uhh clean and uh I’m um finishing the clothes..”

“With my thong in your hand?”

You cock an eyebrow at his hand. Ace didn’t notice that he was still holding tightly into the piece of clothing when he pointed at his desk.

His hard bulge makes it harder for him to focus as all he’s thinking right now is tossing the clothes on the floor and fuck you. His eyes stare at you without much thoughts behind.

“Yeah…well your clothes are mixed up with mine”

You squint your eyes at him, before nodding still skeptic. You know Ace, you know your boyfriend, you clearly have an idea of what he was possibly doing and as you step on his belt laying on the floor, it completely confirms it for you.

“You did a better job than I was expecting …”

You start as you ignore him and analyze his job so far. Ace awkwardly shifts on the bed, trying to find a more confortable position that would relieve a little his dick.

“Oh..uh thanks babe, I really tried my best..”

“…, but there is clearly still unfinished work but I guess I did say you have until tonight for it to be done.”

You finish as you turn to face him and point at the pile of clothing. You cross your arms over your chest as you lean back on the desk for support. Ace looks delicious. His shorts are barely hanging on his waist, his obvious hard bulge, his toned body glistening from a slight sweat, his dark long hair covering a little his face and his flushed freckled cheeks.

“I will finish it don’t worry”

He says as he holds eye contact with you and a confident smile. You scoff as a smirk curve your lips. You uncross your arms and walk closer to him. You cup his face with one of your hand, your boyfriend on the other side is still holding eye contact with you. You peck his lips and you find it a bit funny how easily he left a sigh out.

“Alright, then I guess I’m done here”

You try to walk away, but Ace’s hand is quick to hold you back by holding one of your thighs. You know he’s not in a position to ask for favors after the whole cleaning situation and he’s very well aware of this too, which is why he hasn’t flipped you over, back pressed on the bed and fucked you already.

“You can kiss me better than this”

He teases as you feel his thumb massage circles on your skin.

“I will when you hold your promise Fire-Fist”

You reply as you flick his forehead. He whines a little and suddenly his attitude changes completely. He sighs defeated as he let go of his hold on you and lay down again on the bed.

“Alright baby, then see you tonight”

He smirks as he watches your confused expression. You nod slowly, “is he going to just continue what he was doing with my old pair of underwear…” you think to yourself. You slightly get annoyed that he’s able to always be so cool about everything. It’s not fair, because you really wanted to give him the best blowjob ever because he just looks amazing and you love him, but you have your pride. So you decide to not make it so easy for him, make him see what he’s clearly missing by not finishing up his cleaning task.

You quickly kick your footwear off and climb on top of him, surprising him. You smirk to yourself as you feel satisfied with the expected reaction you wanted.

“And what are you going to do Babe?”

You coo at him as you dangerously close the distance between your bodies. Ace brown eyes glitter in excitement and his hands find themselves naturally on your exposed thighs.

His cock is painfully hard at this point. Ace furrows his eyebrows, before tightly closing his eyes in pleasure when your knee softly presses against his bulge.

“Your cock is so hard baby..it must hurt so bad”

You continue in a fake concern. Ace doesn’t answer and he simply let his fingers travel under your shorts where he grabs tightly your ass. You leave at first a peck on his neck and then multiple butterflies kisses all over his torso, until you are facing his hard dick still hidden under his shorts.

“Your dick is probably leaking in precum already”

You continue, trying to push him to the edge. You know you have the control over the situation, but the thought of him randomly snapping and fucking you was incredibly tempting. But you had to stick to your plan. You pan your hot breath over his length under Ace lustful eyes. He’s tightly holding into the bed sheets and that’s when you figure it’s best to leave it there for now.

“Too bad there is still some cleaning to do”

You conclude as you remove yourself from him with a fake disappointed pout. You grin to Ace who looks completely out of it. His head heavily falls back against his pillow as he sighs annoyed.

You put your shoes back and as you’re about to leave, you hear your boyfriend speak.

“Enjoy whatever you have to do now, because I promise you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You don’t turn around and simply close the door behind yourself.

A clean room and a hard fuck? Seems like the perfect night.

As of now, Ace has to finish, well his

Cleaning.

lowkey might do a part 2. If I have time

954 notes · View notes

augustjustice · 4 months

Text

Chemistry, History, and Shared Trauma

AO3 Link

The day Eddie’s released from the hospital, he’s packed up into Steve’s BMW and driven straight to the Harrington mansion.

The government agents are still in the process of doing the whole song-and-dance routine required to clear Eddie’s name, so laying low is ideal. There hasn’t been time to relocate Wayne to a new trailer–something Owen promises is happening, though Eddie will believe it when he sees it–and a hotel room isn’t really a great place to recover, especially considering the state Eddie finds himself in.

When the question of where exactly he was going to go had come up, Steve had volunteered all too quickly.

“You can stay with me,” he had said, easy as pie, like it was nothing. “My parents aren’t home, and, besides…it’s not like anybody’s going to be looking for you there.”

Though Eddie had tried to protest, quick to say that he didn’t want to put Steve out, his jock savior wouldn’t hear a word of it.

So, the next day, Steve had shown up to the hospital early, signed all the appropriate paperwork, and then wheeled Eddie out into the parking lot whistling some upbeat, poppy tune Eddie didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of recognizing–but still found oddly endearing, in spite of himself.

And that had been that, Steve hauling Eddie’s cane out for him under one arm and his bag of meds in the other once they pull up in front of the Harringtons’ house, ready to put Eddie up in the guest room next to his like he’d belonged there all along.

Eddie’s mobility is still pretty limited–hence the cane and the wheelchair now sitting in the Harrington’s den–but that doesn’t mean he isn’t bold (and stupid) enough to try to make his way up the stairs on his own.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Steve scolds, catching Eddie around the waist as he wavers on his feet a little, clearly being careful of the open wounds on his stomach and torso. “Hold on, just…hold on, man.”

“You got me, big boy?” Eddie teases.

The flirtatious call back is a diversion, an attempt to cover up the embarrassment of having to be this damn reliant on…well, literally everyone around him, but Steve in particular from here on out.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got you,” Steve says, tone nothing less than perfectly sincere.

Eddie deliberately ignores the way his stomach gives a little swoop in response.

So he leans on Steve heavily as they make their way to the next story of the house, close enough to get a faint whiff of Steve’s cologne, a surprisingly sweet mix of amber, vanilla, and something a little fruity tickling his nose. Once they’re finally inside, though, Eddie does manage to hold himself upright long enough for a quick look around, taking in the digs he’s going to be sleeping in.

The room itself is almost sterile in its cleanliness–neat military precious corners on the bed, devoid of the usual clutter Eddie associates with home. The blue floral pattern that covers the walls is bizarrely identical to the fabric of the curtains, the repetition almost comical, when he thinks about the uniformity of all the houses that line the street. It’s the kind of detail that would be called too ‘on the nose,’ if written into a book.

Eddie’s surprised to find a few exceptions to the cold tidiness, however, and even more surprised those exceptions come in the form of a stack of fantasy novels stashed inside the bedside table and a couple of action figures tossed in one corner.

Following his gaze, Steve turns from where he’s ‘tidying up’ what can only be an imaginary mess perceptible to the eyes of babysitting monster hunters and babysitting monster hunters alone, Eddie guesses. He gives Eddie a wry look.

“Dustin stays over sometimes,” he explains, “the other rugrats, too, but it’s still mostly his stuff that winds up here. Leaves his shit all over the place.”

There’s a fondness to Steve’s smile that undercuts the annoyance in his words.

Eddie thinks back to the months and months Dustin spent talking Steve up to him. How even then it never really occurred to him just how close they might be. It’s strange to think, now, that though Eddie’s spent nearly a whole school year as DM for Steve’s nerdy band of babysitting charges, their paths had rarely ever crossed, beyond glimpses and a handful of long forgotten words exchanged, before that nightmare of a Spring Break. Almost like their lives have been running in some kind of strange parallel, fated to collide, without either of them even noticing it.

Eddie’s not exactly sure how to phrase the feeling that comes over him at the thought, so instead he says, “I can’t believe we’re best friends with a fourteen year old, man.”

“God, tell me about it.”

Eddie takes a few stumbling steps forward and sits down on the bed, honestly a bit proud of himself he manages it with as much grace as he does. As he settles in, he catches sight of a small stack of photos splayed out on the bedside, sitting atop what looks to be a photo album.

Though it’s only a brief glimpse, the two visible pictures alone hint at the whole life story no doubt tucked away between glossy pages.

Theres’s Dustin, several years younger than he is now, in a suit shooting the camera his gummy smile and with a hairdo that looks suspiciously like Steve’s own. And a polaroid shows Robin sprawled out on the counter at Scoops Ahoy, company policy be damned and a book in her hand, Steve’s head just in frame as she flips off the camera.

While Steve fusses over him, fluffing his pillows and insisting he go get Eddie something to drink, Eddie can’t help but think he'd sorta like to hear it sometime–Steve Harrington’s life story. Be regaled with tales, from the photos and beyond, now that they’re here together, after the almost end of the world.

He hopes that, maybe, if he’s lucky, Steve will want to tell him some day.

---

The bloodcurdling scream wakes Steve.

He’s out of his room and down the hall in a flash, nail bat quickly snatched out of its hiding place underneath his bed with ease after years of practice.

Even with his heart racing, he’s quiet when he opens the guest bedroom door, not wanting to scare Eddie or alert…anything else that might be lurking inside.

“Eddie,” Steve calls out, whisper soft as he approaches the bed. When he repeats it, it’s a little harsher, more of a hiss, trying to get Eddie’s attention. “Eddie!”

As he draws closer, Steve can see that Eddie is sweating, large droplets visible where they’ve beaded on his forehead, and he’s writhing hard enough in the sheets Steve’s worried he’s going to pop a stitch if he doesn’t stop him soon.

There’s really only one option ahead Steve sees for himself.

So he gets a knee on the mattress and climbs into the bed, wrapping his arms around Eddie to still him. Even as he does it, Steve worries his bottom lip between his teeth, anxious Eddie might fight against the restriction and inadvertently make the situation worse.

But then huge brown eyes fly open, Eddie’s terror reflected plainly as he stares up at Steve.

“Jeez–Christ!” Eddie manages to get out, stuttered and slurred, cutting off when Steve makes a soft shushing sound.

“Hey, man,” Steve murmurs, trying to keep his tone soothing as he gives him a tentative smile, “it’s me. It’s just me. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

He brushes Eddie’s sweaty bangs back from his forehead, a gesture that would be too intimate in any other circumstances, and then just keeps trying to murmur reassuring shit to him, voice low and gentle.

“I’m here, Eds. I’m here.”

Eddie is shaking against him, but he isn’t squirming or trying to buck him off, which Steve takes as a good sign–as ideal, really, as Steve could hope for in this situation. One of Eddie’s hands comes up to run down his face, his curls shifting against the pillow as he shakes his head fervently.

“Shit, Harrington, I thought–I mean, what I saw–” he trails off, lip trembling.

“I get it, man. Trust me, I get it.”

Though Eddie had squeezed his eyes firmly shut through the come down, he blinks them open again, looking at Steve through the darkness.

“Yeah, uh. Guess you would, wouldn’t you? Probably better than anybody.”

Steve can only nod his agreement.

“I mean, not just me. All of us get them,” he whispers, compelled to say it quietly, as he’s not sure if that truth is a comfort or a burden. “The nightmares, you know? Nance, Dustin, Robin–me.”

“Well, can I just say, they truly and royally suck.”

“Yeah…can’t really argue with you there, man.”

Eddie seems to register, then, that Steve has curled his body around him. His steadily loosening posture goes stiff again, much to Steve’s disappointment, and his eyes dart over nervously to catch Steve’s as he sucks in his bottom lip.

“Fuck, I-I’m sorry, dude. I totally didn’t mean to wake you up with my–terror-filled screams.”

The smile he shoots Steve is self-deprecating, tentative.

Steve’s grip slackens, but he doesn’t pull away, still pressed against Eddie’s side.

“Hey,” Steve coaxed, “you don’t need to do that, Eds. Like I said, we all fucking get them. That’s what I’m here for, okay? I–just wanna help when I can.”

The quirk of Eddie’s lips looks more genuine, now, some of the tension draining away.

“You know, Harrington, it’s kinda annoying how much I know you mean that.”

“Better get used to it, Munson. Cuz I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve gives Eddie one final quick squeeze around his shoulders, wondering if the gesture somehow crosses the line of casual, friendly touch Steve has gotten used to doling out to Eddie since all the Upside Down shit started, the jocular back pats and hair ruffling he’d justified as just typical guy stuff.

With that thought firmly at the front of his mind, Steve pulls away, albeit reluctantly. That said, he really doesn’t want to go back immediately on his word by slinking off to his bedroom, abandoning Eddie to fight off whatever images linger alone in the dark.

Especially not when he hears the almost imperceptible noise Eddie lets out as he stands.

Steve eyes the floor speculatively, an idea already taking root in his head.

“Speaking of, why don’t I just–stay here tonight. Yeah?” he suggests, already tossing the pillow and throw from the chair in the corner on the ground, making himself a pallet.

Sure, it’s not the most comfortable sleeping position ever, but between chairs in the Wheelers’ basement and the cold, hard floor of a Russian elevator, Steve’s done a lot worse.

“C’mon, man–you don’t have to do that,” Eddie tries to protest.

Like Steve can’t clearly see how haggard he looks, peering down at Steve through the curtain of his hair, the end of one strand damp where he’s pulled it up to his mouth and chewed on it.

Steve waves him off. “It’s not a problem. I already told you, dude, Henderson stays over all the time–you think I’ve never had to have a floor sleepover when he was around? Get real.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow at him.

“...Something tells me you’re not going anywhere even if I pull out my magnificent rhetorical skills from years of DMing and try to argue with you, huh?”

Steve thinks that really Eddie’s just proved his point, the fact that, since Steve mentioned staying, he’s recovered himself enough to be teasing all the more reason sticking around is clearly a good thing.

“Nope,” he answers, voice chipper as he shoots a finger gun at Eddie.

Eddie shakes his head ruefully. “Alright, didn’t think so.”

Without further ado, Steve flops himself gracelessly onto his makeshift bed for the night, the thick carpet beneath softening his landing.

“Night, Eddie.”

“Yeah. Yeah, night, Steve.”

Several long moments pass, and Steve listens, waiting to hear Eddie’s breathing evening out. It’s a sound he has become well acquainted with after many nights spent at the hospital, fitfully trying to sleep in the uncomfortable chair at Eddie’s bedside. When he fails to hear that telltale signal, Steve can’t help but stay tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Eddie breaks the silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls out, voice wavering. “Could you–fuck, man, I just need…”

He trails off, becoming muffled as he probably buries his face in his hands again. Even in the darkness, as Steve sits up, he can see the way Eddie’s shoulders hitch with his uneven breathing.

Without a word, he abandons the pillow and blanket on the floor to climb back onto the bed. Eddie doesn’t even look up when Steve’s weight dips the mattress.

“Hey, man,” Steve hipchecks him, nudging him over gently, “move over.”

“Harrington…” Eddie drawls slowly, looking completely lost even as he does as requested. His eyes widen further when Steve climbs into the empty space he left behind. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow as he leans back onto the pillows, getting comfortable.

“I know what it looks like, I just need some reassurance I’m not just hallucinating from blood loss or something here, man. Maybe you didn’t actually pull me, barely alive, out of that hellhole, and everything since then has all just been a really, really elaborate dream.”

Steve laughs, jostling his shoulder slightly.

“You’re not hallucinating.”

Eddie continues to stare at him in silent disbelief, causing Steve to sigh and sit up.

“Look, man, I–I get it, okay? All this, afterwards…sometimes it helps, just…being together. Close by, you know?”

Steve had had Nancy and the pretense of normalcy after the first go around, though that had all quickly gone to hell.

And the second time, when the kids truly were still kids, not the tiny adults they were fast becoming, there had been Dustin. The night after their second showdown, they’d slept side-by-side on their own makeshift palate on Joyce Byers’ living room floor, the other munchkins all scattered around them and Steve’s hand ruffled in Dustin’s hair, just the reassurance that he was there safe and comforting.

It was the best Steve had slept in almost a year.

And then, after the third time, there had been Robin. Filling up his parents’ empty house with laughter, movie marathons and impromptu sleepovers. Robin crawling into his bed in the middle of the night because she didn’t want to sleep alone in the echoing walls of Casa de Harrington, the two of them kicking each other like two giggling preteens until they fell asleep.

So, yeah. Together, in Steve’s many years of experience, was undeniably better.

“Besides, this way I can check and make sure you don’t actually bleed out in the middle of the night.”

“...If you say so,” Eddie says dubiously, but he doesn’t argue any further, which Steve counts as a win. He’s learned to take them where he can get them, these days.

But even after his agreement, Eddie’s restlessness is transparent. He fidgets beside Steve–drumming his fingers, squirming in the sheets as though trying to get comfortable, and eventually rolling half onto his side so that he’s facing away from Steve entirely. As Steve peers curiously at the outline of his shoulders, he realizes Eddie is still trembling, just a little.

His heart gives a painful kick in his chest.

“Here, just–” Steve turns until he’s lined up along Eddie’s back and then wraps a hand around his waist, pulling him back against him.

Eddie’s fidgeting stops immediately as he freezes in Steve’s arms.

“How’s that?” he asks into the waves of Eddie’s hair brushing against his face. “Better?”

“Uh.”

The hesitation in Eddie’s voice makes Steve really wish he could see his face, get a better read on the situation. Eddie’s so damn expressive, he might as well be the poster boy for “heart on his sleeve” as a phrase.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you totally weirded out?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice casual. “If you want me to, like, stop, you can just…tell me, you know.”

“No,” Eddie laughs, his head dipping downwards, “no, man, it’s…it’s definitely not that. I’m just trying to reconcile several shifting pieces of my world outlook into place all at once.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Eddie turns, then, tipping over onto his back again so he can stare at Steve in disbelief. Steve doesn’t loosen his hold on his waist.

“Steve Harrington. Is in my bed. Spooning me,” Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. “None of that strikes you as weird?”

“I’m not spooning you now,” Steve points out. “You turned around.”

“Dude!” Eddie smacks his shoulder, shaking his head, laughter in his voice. They’re close enough his hair tickles Steve’s face as it whips around them.

“And, no, not really,” Steve shrugs. “Probably doesn’t even rank in the top ten weirdest things I’ve done in the past three years.”

“I mean…after the shit I’ve seen? I don’t doubt that, dude.”

But Eddie stares at him for a long beat after he admits it, eyes bright and brows drawn. There’s an expression, on his face, like he’d like to crack Steve open and see how his gears work, understand him from the inside out.

Plenty of people have looked at Steve like they wanted him. Steve’s not sure anyone has ever looked at him like this before, though.

The comforter has fallen down around Eddie’s waist, the shirt Steve had lent him riding up, exposing the pale line of his stomach. The worst of the wounds are still covered in bandages, the stitching hidden underneath them, but a patch of fresh, purple scarring spills out from the stark white gauze.

That’s the only real explanation that Steve has, for what he decides to break the sudden, loaded silence with.

(Plus maybe, just maybe, it’s one way of giving Eddie a part of himself, one jigsaw piece in the puzzle those bright brown eyes seem eager to solve.)

“You know, Nancy has a scar on her palm.”

When Eddie’s face turns towards his on the pillow, shooting him a puzzled look, he keeps going.

“Here, like this,” Steve tries to sound nonchalant as he takes Eddie’s hand, drags a finger gently across it. He’s not sure how much he’s succeeded, seeing the way the furrow of Eddie’s brow deepens in the low light. “And it’s…from the first time, with the demogorgon? Nancy and Jonathan, they–they lured it out together, and they’ve got the matching scars to prove it. She explained it to me, later, what happened.”

“I mean…that sounds like a gnarly war wound,” Eddie observes hesitantly. Then, his lips tug into a lopsided smile. “Not as impressive as a missing nipple, of course, but, you know–not everybody can be as badass as me.”

“Shut up, dude,” Steve scoffs, trying to bite back his own smile as he very gently jostles Eddie’s arm.

“What I’m trying to say, Harrington, is–I’m not really sure why you’re telling me this now?”

“I was getting to it, Eds. Sheesh, when it comes to patience, you're as bad as the munchkins.”

Eddie inclines his head for Steve to continue, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “You have my sincerest apologies for interrupting, Stevie. Please–carry on, my liege.”

“Thank you,” Steve says snippily, partially out of habit, and partially because returning to the topic at hand is making him a little nervous. “So, like I was saying–Jonathan and Nance, they’ve got these matching marks on their hands, right? And, after they got back together–not to sound like a stalker, or anything, for the record this was when we would hang out sometimes–but more than once I would…I would catch them, just. Doing this thing where they pressed their palms together, like this.”

He demonstrates, spreading his hand out so his and Eddie’s hands line up together perfectly, Steve’s own longer fingers inching out over the tips of Eddie’s own.

“I don’t think they ever realized I noticed. But I always knew, when they did it, they were comparing their–what did you call them?–their matching war wounds. Like they carried this secret little thing that would always tie them together, no matter what happened. And I’m not gonna pretend I wasn’t jealous, at first, but even then, I always thought it was…nice. The thought of having somebody who would always be connected to you, that way, where you could never really erase what you’d been through together.”

A long beat of silence passes between them, him and Eddie staring at each other in the moonlight. Steve hopes, desperately, that maybe some part of what he’s trying to work up to saying is getting through.

“That is…incredibly morbid. Especially for you, Harrington,” Eddie notes finally, a corner of his mouth ticking up in amusement.

Steve huffs out a breath, beginning to pull his hand away, “Whatever, man, if you’re just gonna make fun, forget I said any–”

“Shit, no no no, dude!” Eddie’s arm flies out, gripping Steve tightly around the wrist, not letting him slink away. “I’m sorry, Stevie, I–that’s not what I meant. I do, I do get what you’re saying. Like you said, scars like that–they work like a symbol, that you’ve been through some tough shit together, side by side, and made it out the other end alive. I totally fucking get it, dude. And against all instincts, I do think it’s pretty romantic, in an absolutely metal sorta way. That’s why I said it like that. Just didn’t expect your romantic side to come with so much edge, Stevie boy.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve lets out a dry huff, “almost dying about a hundred times will do that to a person.”

“Yeah, I guess it will. I’m, uh. Still not completely clear about what Wheeler and Byers’ big epic love story has to do with us, though?” Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Unless…you’re here to wallow? In which case–I mean, fair enough. Wallow away, my good sir. You’ve more than earned it.”

“It’s not that,” Steve insists, even as he shrugs his shoulders, slightly conceding the point. “I mean, sure, with Nancy…I really thought she was it for me, once upon a time. And so when I saw what she had, with Jonathan–it hurt. Because it was her, of course, but also…because I wanted that with someone, as twisted as it maybe sounds. I’d gone through hell and back, too, and all I got was that nail bat and a bunch of mouthy kids to look out for.”

Eddie lets out a bark of laughter, and Steve grins back at him.

“Not that I’m complaining, or anything. I mean, I got Robin, too, and I don’t know what I’d do without her, or the hellions, for that matter. But, I–”

Deliberately, he tugs up his own shirt, shifting until he’s pressing carefully against Eddie’s side. Their matching bandages brush, an identical swath of white in the darkness, tangled scars seeming to almost curl together. It’s hard, in that moment, to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

“I just–never thought I’d have anybody else to match with. That’s all.”

“But–now you do?” Eddie says slowly, something cautious in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving upwards in a tentative half-smile. “Now I’ve got you.”

“...You got me,” Eddie agrees quietly, almost like he’s afraid to speak that part out loud. “Dragged me out of hell and everything, Harrington. No return receipt after all that so…don’t really think there’s any getting rid of me now, even if you wanted to.”

“Good,” Steve says curtly, with a sharp, certain nod of his head, leaving no room for any creeping doubts. “Like I said, Munson, I’ve been waiting on this for a while, so you don’t get to run out on me now.”

Eddie shakes his head again, lips curling in bemusement.

“You are something else entirely, Steve Harrington,” he admits. “Full of surprises.”

“Good ones?” Steve asks, suddenly self-conscious.

Eddie tilts his head back and forth, as though he’s considering.

(Later, he will tease Steve about it mercilessly.

“Was that the infamous Harrington charm at work? Bet you tell that one to all the boys you lure into your bed, seduce them with tales of matching battle wounds connecting you like a pair of fated lovers.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Eds,” Steve will counter with that same sincerity that always sends Eddie blushing, “cuz I’ve never said anything like that before. Not to anybody. Not before you.”)

But, for now, it takes only a moment for Eddie’s face to dissolve into a warm smile. Reaching over, he tangles his fingers with Steve’s again, tugging their interlaced hands up to rest against one of the scarred patches stretching across his belly.

The skin feels smooth under Steve’s hand. For a moment, he wonders how it would feel, to press his lips there.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, eyes sparkling with so many promises of the future, for now left unsaid. “Yeah, I’d say pretty good so far.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #my writing #my stuff #my things #me coming at you with yet another spin on an established steddie trope? it's more likely than you think

396 notes · View notes

coqxettee · 10 days

Text

THAT girl Night Routine

I haven’t blogged in forever, and for that I’m truly sorry (I was in a blogging rut and just genuinely had no idea or motivation to post anything, so I’m kinda writing this not only for myself but for any of the girlies out there trying to get a structured night routine for the coming summer ༓ ☾.｡*ﾟ+.

Start your “Night Routine” at a certain time - Now the evenings are staying lighter, this can be difficult, but I’d say starting at 6:00PM or 7:00PM is a good starting time. Ideally start it after you have had your last meal of the day. Let this be the time of the day that you are going to begin to switch off and get ready to relax ♡

If you like to stretch or do yoga in the evening , do this and then do your skincare and have a shower afterwards, even if it is a quick one. It will make you feel so much more fresh and clean when you put your pyjamas on ♡

Shower - I know some girlies prefer to shower in the morning which is totally okay! And some girls shower twice a day (but of course this isn’t practical for everyone) - If you do choose to shower of an evening, make sure to use calming products. Products with lavender in, essential oils etc can also be really good because lavender has calming properties in it. Moisturise, and if your feeling extra, spray a few spritz of perfume. (I know it sounds crazy but Marilyn Monroe used to do this before bed!) If you are planning on doing a nice hairstyle the next day, prep your hair. Put your overnight curlers in or rollers ♡

Get changed into Pyjamas - *Important* make sure you are picking girly, cozy pyjamas to wear. Feeling luxury even when your just relaxing makes the biggest difference without you realising. Instead of wearing a huge baggy shirt and shorts, wear something satin or linen, something with florals or a pretty pink dressing gown. Soft materials and light pastel colours. Victoria’s Secret have some beautiful pyjamas (I love the striped one’s) and pretty satin robes too. There’s no better feeling than getting out the shower and putting on fresh pyjamas for the evening. A cute fluffy pair of slippers or socks is perfect too ♡

Take off your makeup and do your skincare - *So important* Don’t ever go to bed with makeup on and don’t ever skip your skincare routine. I know (trust me) how tempting it can be to just go straight to bed, but your skin with thank you in the long run and so will you when you wake up in the morning. Spend time with your skincare and try not to think of it as a *chore*. It’s taking care of yourself! So cherish that ♡

Set the evening mood - Tidy your room once more (so your not waking up to a cluttered space), light a candle, switch on fairy-lights. Do whatever you need to, to make your room or space around you more cozy. Main lights in the evening are a no-go. They wake you up and don’t let your eyes or body relax. Soft lighting is key, maybe spritz your room with a relaxing lavender room spray, get your bed ready too. Fluff the pillows, spray pillow mist, set back the covers, do whatever you need to do to let your body and mind know that your getting ready to settle in for the night ♡

Limit screen time - If you are going to go on your phone/technology before bed, make sure the media you are so consuming is light and makes you feel comforted. Do not watch anything too deep that will play on your sub-conscious mind. Girly videos or vlogs are lovely to watch because they put you in such a lovely mood. I know how tempting it can be to be on your phone right up until the last minute when your eyes close. Some of us even believe we HAVE to be on our phones or be watching something, in order to get to sleep. Whilst this may be true for some people, if this is the case for you, just try one evening going to sleep without looking at a screen. I try to limit screen time 2 hours before bed, and don’t look at my phone 45 minutes before sleeping ♡

Journal/reflect/plan - Evening’s are a perfect time to journal about your day in your diary, write out some journal prompts and make your to-do list for the next day. To be an organised girly you have to know what the next day is going to bring, so making a to-do list so you can make the most of your time is key to a successful and productive day ♡

Meditate - I know meditation is not for everyone, but I myself try to meditate once every day, and the lasting effect it can have on your mental health is so impactful and really a beautiful thing. It helps us rationalise things, put our brains to sleep and sets us in a calm and tranquil state for the evening ♡

Make a warm drink - We give babies warm milk to help them sleep and with us, it’s not really that different. milk does contain tryptophan – an amino acid which is thought to help promote feelings of sleepiness. If you don’t like milk, try chamomile/lavender tea or a hot chocolate. Something comforting that will warm you from the inside out and help with drowsiness before sleep.

Read - Hot girls read. That is a fact. But reading is not only beneficial for one’s intellect but it is such a calming and relaxed act, especially when you have a beautiful book you can escape into right before sleeping. Make sure the book you choose is once again light-hearted and is going to be something that makes you feel happy and cozy before you switch your brain off to sleep ♡

Sleep - The most important part of this routine and the reason why you have taken so much care with your evening routine. Gorgeous, gorgeous girlies get at LEAST 7-9 hours sleep every night. Sleep is one of the most important things in life, and for so many reasons, but mainly - It affects everything you do. Your brain, your sub-conscious, how you feel about yourself, your appetite, your skin & eyes, your mood and your energy levels. Absolutely everything about you is affected by sleep, so make sure you get enough. Try to sleep in darkness (or with a small light if you need one) or an eye mask, don’t forget to set an alarm for the next day too ♡

Extra evening tips:

Some important things to consider ♡

Don’t eat late before going to bed! It’s not good for you! Avoid coffee or things with sugar in as these will give your energy instead of helping you to wind down ♡

Satin bedsheets/pillow cases are perfect for protecting your skin and hair. They allow your skin to breathe and protect your hair from marsh materials which helps it to grow ♡

Call a friend/text a loved one in the evening. I love with my parents so I always spend time with my mum before going to bed, but it’s a lovely thing to check on someone before setting in for the evening ♡

Whilst limiting screen time is important, watching one episode of a comfort series or show can help you feel so happy and comforted ♡

Whilst your going about your evening routine, listen to soft girly music. Or classical music if you want more of classic vibe to your night ♡

Listen to subliminal’s overnight!! *Important* and I feel like most of us forget to. But there are so many you can listen to just overnight, and the results will be so worth it ♡

161 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

Text

📚inch resting bits from the march twst manga updates📚 (octa, savana, & 4koma!)

***Manga spoilers below the cut (with an emphasis on the Episode of Octavinelle, since that's my favorite dorm!)***

The 4koma manga has dropped! Again, it centers around the daily lives of the NRC boys and is shown in a 4 panel gag comic format.

In the illustration above, we see the main cast with Grim's beloved tuna cans~

This month has comics about Ace going to a supplementary lesson (to learn how to manipulate brooms to do his chores) and Leona attending his art class. The comic depicts Leona, Idia, and Rook in the same art class though we're not sure if this is true in-game yet. However, the comics do carry over the continuity of Ace and Deuce being in Trein's class so maybe the art class thing is also true of Leona?

From the Episode of Savanaclaw manga: I KNOW WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN AWE OF DIASOMANI'S PRESENCE BUT ALL I'M THINKING IS THAT DIASOMNIA HAS A MOB STUDENT WITH A BOWL CUT 😭

I'm also really fixated on how this mangaka draws her lashes and hair, they're always bangers every time 💗

Ruggie "bleh" face... Also???? That full page of him using his UM... and the visualization of the wildebeests racing with him like the people in the crowd, very Lion King.

I like that the manga really shows us more emotional and intense moments the game cannot depict due to its limited assets. Here, we see the aftermath of Ruggie using his UM on the crowd. Even with Azul's magic-enhancement potion, Ruggie has taken a great physical toll from spellcasting. Falling to his knees, panting... This will make it hurt more when Leona almost poofs him to sand later 😭

These panels remind me of like. Scar looking on from up high while the hyenas do his bidding. Ruggie's expression... it's so full of a desperate kind of hope has he gazes up at his "king".

From the Episode of Octavinelle, we get to see Leona post-OB and recovering in the infirmary. Side note, I really love how the mangaka adds these cute little faces to let us know who is speaking in certain text bubbles. The little faces make some of the cutest expressions; just look at that cheeky chibi Leona head!

Here, Ruggie is telling everyone about rumors that Azul and the twins purposefully prevent their clients from fulfilling their end of the contract so they can reap the benefits. I like how the scene shown is a boat tipping over (with the twins implied to have flipped it). Nice callback to the boat scene in The Little Mermaid!

We have another The Little Mermaid reference here, where Floyd shares his UM with the gang?? The hypothetical man here reminds me of Prince Eric, especially in that white shirt and appearing as though he is drowning.

Guys... Azul's been taking modeling lessons from Vil-- I really like these more quiet and contemplative moments of Azul; plenty of those are featured this month.

asdbhlfdbaifyoaiygoeia I WILL NOW ALWAYS ASSOCIATE AZUL THINKING HARD WITH SITTING IN THAT CHAIR... There's so many shots of him seated here...

Yuuta continues to be my favorite manga!Yuu so far by diligently tidying up Leona's messy ass room for him... asfvkyadvfialf Grim looks so goofy helping out, that tower of clothes is half his size...

FLOYD'S FACE IS SO siLLy HERE TOO (this is the scene when Ruggie recalls seeing his eel form during a P.E. class where they swam). The mangaka really decided to summon his gremlin energy here...

Aaaaah, I love this shot; it sort of parallels Azul and Leona... It also makes me realize the difference between how Leona's hair is in Octavinelle vs Savanaclaw (due to the different mangaka). In Octavinelle, his hair is usually a solid black with white highlights but in Savanaclaw there tends to be a subtle gradient/screen tone on Leona's hair.

Anyway, twins Twins TWINS

GOOD WAY TO CLOSE OUT THE OCTA CHAPTER, EXCELLENT WAY TO CLOSE OFF THE OCTA CHAPTER IN FACT 🫶 Can you tell I love the Tweel parts/j

351 notes · View notes

animehideout · 5 months

Text

Your MBTI, Your Relationship With JJK Characters Part 2.

Read part 1

part 3

part 4

a/n: Currently working on the other requested mbti types, they'll be included in the coming parts ✨.

Thank you @goofbye @wakatsukikanae @zoldyi for requesting INFP, and @lostmymarblesstuff for requesting ISTP. I really really hope you like them though. 😭🫶🏻💖.

INFP:

Choso Kamo = Fiancé

Both of you find solace in each other's arms, you don't need to vocalize your love since your energy alone is capable of conveying the love, admiration and respect you have for each other. He appreciates the idea of becoming a family and building a home together filled with familial warmth. He's also a good listener whenever you vent. You accept each other for who you truly are without faking anything. You are both authentic and genuine. You show your love through acts of service, so he enjoys cooking your cravings for you.

Toji Fushiguro = Enemy

You have no respect for people who lack empathy or compassion, and Toji is one of them. He's vile, hostile and manipulative. He is the complete opposite of you. You have a strong sense of justice, fairness and sensitivity so Toji's actions trigger a strong negative reaction out of you. He is a threat to your values and peace, so you can't help but develop an enmity. He sees you weak for including your emotions so he always tries to change you into his liking or simply provoke you.

Toge Inumaki = Bestfriend

Most of your Hangouts are at home where you sit comfortably enjoying the peaceful quietness. You understand each other's emotions and troubles. He provides a safe space for you to express yourself, he takes your feelings into account and never judges you. He enjoys sitting comfortably while you talk about your dreams and thoughts. You inspire him a lot and he appreciates that you trust him enough to share personal things with him. He makes you feel that it's okay to be different as long as you are true to yourself.

Megumi Fushiguro = roommate.

You respect each other's personal space and that what made you good roommates, living under the same roof peacefully without any obstacles. At first you found difficulty to get into conversations or just hang out together at home; given that both of you are introverts. So you just limited yourself to small chats, but you grew to enjoy each other's presence and chill together. Both of you share similar standards for cleanliness so you divide tasks to keep your shared space tidy. Despite growing closer and more comfortable, the boundaries that both of you had set are still sacred. It is easy to live with Megumi.

ISTP

Toji Fushiguro= Husband.

The powerful duo, a thrill-seekers. Toji is the perfect match for you. You have mutual qualities such as using the power of mind, pursuing financial success and enjoying the spontaneous adventures. You have a healthy marriage life, following a pragmatic and rational approach. He is attracted to your determination and mindset, even after being married for too long he still looks at you with the same admiration and love he has for you since the first time he had laid eyes on you. Flirts a lot with you and drowns you in compliments. Your honeymoon was a thrilling and exciting experience literally risking your lives but you enjoyed every bit of it. You are attracted to his straightforwardness and cleverness also to his teasing and playful side. At some levels he doesn't take life too seriously but instead he faces it with humor and mockery. He is the perfect husband for you.

Yuta Okkotsu = Has a crush on you.

He would find himself uncontrollably attracted and drawn to you. The way you reasonably handle things, issues and conflicts impresses him. He also admires your independence and self-sufficiency, you are mentally strong and intelligent. And despite being introvert and reserved he would be surprised by how quick you can adapt to different situations and how you enjoy the thrill of new experiences and adventures. It leaves him blown away and intrigued by you and without hesitation he would develop a powerful crush.

Nanami Kento = Colleague.

You equally share a mutual respect for each other's skills. Both of you hate working overtime so most of the time you blend your competences to get done early with the work. You have a formal and professional kind of relationship which is task-oriented. Your emotions are put aside while working together. What matters is that you succeed in reaching your goals or solve problems. You are an effective team and can work in harmony.

Maki Zenin = Bestfriend.

You feel comfortable enough around Maki to enjoy engaging with various activities with her. Most of the time you train together. Maki has a strategic planning so she always comes up with interesting plans for both of you to enjoy, on the other hand you are a spontaneous person, so you make life more fun and full of surprises. You make each other even more stronger; both emotionally and physically. You keep each other stable and on track, focusing on your goals. Both of you are independent so you only provide emotional support, words of encouragement and comfort.

This piece of writing is just for fun, also it is imo, so it's not necessarily accurate 🫶🏻

308 notes · View notes

seakicker · 1 year

Text

☆ My Next-Door Neighbor is an Annoying Older Woman Who Constantly Bothers Me

☆ between: college au!scaramouche x milf!reader

☆ synopsis: scaramouche insists he doesn’t want to fuck the milf living next door, but all his friends think he doth protest too much.

☆ word count: 10.5K words

☆ a/n: like with my venti x milf!reader fic over on ao3, this is supposed to give a sort of doujinshi vibe, hence the embarrassing title and the lunacy of some ideas like milf!reader going outside in a super sheer shirt. hopefully you feel the doujinshi vibe i was going for as i have a lot of fun trying to replicate the style, themes, and flow of doujinshis using only text!

☆ contents: fem + plus-sized reader (reader is explicitly described as chubby, busty, and taller than scaramouche), age gap obviously; scaramouche is a senior in college and reader is in her early 40s, degradation, a couple insults (such as scaramouche calling you a hag/loose/etc.), degradation, exhibitionism (scaramouche fucks you in front of a glass sliding door), sexual frustration, and unprotected sex + scaramouche pulls out

also posted to ao3 with the same title and under the same username!

Scaramouche has a problem.

Well, a problem slightly more irritating than the approximately nine hundred other problems he deals with on a daily basis. These issues include, but are not limited to, the consistent problems he has with the hot water heater in his apartment, his obnoxious group project teammate Ajax who insisted upon being the group’s leader despite his complete and utter lack of intellect, his annoying circle of friends that always seem to find ways to poke their noses into Scaramouche’s business, his frustratingly-dull history professor that always goes off on tangents completely unrelated to the class’ subject matter… and so on and so forth. It’s one issue after another; there’s always something when it comes to Scaramouche.

A matter more pressing than all of those other nine hundred issues put together, however, comes in the form of his next-door neighbor— you.

You’re a divorced woman in your early forties who lives by herself, works during the daytime while Scaramouche is on campus, and always seems to leave and return home at the same times he does. He moved in next door to you a few months ago at the start of his junior year, but you’ve never really gotten the chance to get to know him beyond the curt responses he gives you when you ask how he’s doing or what he did over the weekend. His coldness towards you doesn’t make too much sense— have you somehow offended him without knowing? You like to consider yourself a good neighbor: you don’t party (like a woman your age would ever do such a thing), you don’t blast loud music long into the night (or at all), you take good care of your things and avoid causing trouble for Scaramouche or your other neighbors, and you’re very, very tidy. When you’re in the mood to brag a little, you’ll say that you have the nicest balcony in the entire apartment complex.

…Avoid causing trouble for Scaramouche, huh? He’d beg to differ.

If Scaramouche has nine hundred problems in his life, then maybe it’d be more accurate to claim that you’re the cause of at least seven hundred of those problems rather than claiming that you’re one single, self-contained issue separate from all of those other problems. Maybe it’s the way you insist upon butting your way into his life and, in what must be your way of expressing it, “taking care” of him that irritates him more than anything else. Really, if he had to sum up your advances in one word, he’d have to go with aggravating.

At first, he bitterly wondered if you’re just some senile old hag using him as a replacement for your son, who’s surely moved out by now given your age. All you are is a woman looking to cure her empty nest syndrome by doting on someone her son’s age according to Scaramouche— he viewed your kindness as underhanded and delusional because he can take care of himself, you know. He’s an adult man living on his own; he knows how to navigate the trials and tribulations of young adulthood without some old lady insisting upon knocking on his door and gifting him home-cooked meals, bringing up his mail from the first-floor mailroom, or helping him with chores where you can. It’s not like Scaramouche would ever let you into his apartment, but that hasn’t stopped you from finding ways to help outside by sweeping outside his front door or washing the outside of his front window while he’s not home.

Okay, maybe it’s a little creepy to wash your neighbor’s windows without him asking you to help out, but it’s not like he’s going to do it. You would know— you had once waited a week to see if he’d clean up a spilled drink stain on the walkway in front of his door. As you expected, he never got around to it, so you happily cleaned it up on his behalf. Cleaning up for him doesn’t really put you out of your way either— whenever you sweep his doorway, it’s because you were already outside tidying up in front of your place; why not help out your neighbor in the process?

When you bring him meals you prepared yourself, it’s out of the goodness of your heart and because you can’t help but worry about a college boy’s diet— fast food, pizza, frozen microwave meals, and instant ramen don’t have all the nutrients a hardworking man needs. When you bring him his mail, it’s because he has a tendency to forget about it until his mailbox is, quite literally, overflowing. Whereas you check your mailbox every single day, Scaramouche seems to forget about his until the end of the week, which is certainly no way to live— what if he misses an important bill or notice? As a result, you took it upon yourself to check his mailbox for him whenever you go to retrieve your own mail.

Again, maybe it’s a little creepy to gather your neighbor’s mail, but it’s not like you’re hurting anyone, right? You certainly don’t root through his mail or open any of it. Even though Scaramouche rolls his eyes and mumbles a halfhearted little “thanks” every time you hand him his mail, he doesn’t really seem to mind. Despite his initial reluctance to accept any of it, he still eats the food you prepare for him if the empty containers he returns to you a few days later are any indication of that fact. You figure maybe he’s just a little shy or tired from his long day on campus— it does your heart well to know that he’s working so very hard.

On the flip side of things, Scaramouche considers your… activities a total inconvenience. He’ll admit that your meals taste very good— though he’d never say it to your face— but he doesn’t like feeling indebted to you or thinking that he owes you something even though you’ve told him multiple times that your favors don’t need any payback. You’re just happy to cook for someone other than yourself, you had told him once, confirming Scaramouche’s suspicion that you live alone. It’s not his fault you’re bored enough to make food for someone you barely know, so do you have to rope him into your wiles? He already has groceries and though he doesn’t really know how to cook, what’s wrong with having a bowl of cereal for dinner? It’s none of your business, is it?

Between your constant insistence on involving yourself in his life and the fact that he’s never seen anyone else leaving or entering your apartment, Scaramouche was able to correctly guess that you live alone… a realization that can’t help but annoy him. He figures that if you had someone, anyone else in your life like a spouse or another child living with you, you’d stop pestering him and stick to involving yourself in the lives of your family instead of your neighbor.

Would a pet do? Should he find some stray kitten and leave it on your doorstep? Is that what it’d take to make you mind your own business?

“Hey, Kuni, tell me about your little neighbor lady again,” Venti coos, accidentally knocking over his—thankfully— empty beer bottle when he leans forward to grab his phone. He’s drunk, but that barely makes a difference; he’d still make this request sober.

Glowering around the mouth of his own bottle, Scaramouche rolls his eyes in Venti’s general direction. “Why? If you want to know that hag so badly, go talk to her yourself.”

Venti busts out laughing, an action that his drunken body clearly can’t handle seeing as he falls sideways into Aether’s shoulder, making the latter grimace in response. Venti’s already a handful sober, but when he drinks… it takes the entire friend group to get him home and/or in bed safely. “Don’t threaten me with that, ‘cuz I really will do it— I’ll go steal your hot older girlfriend.”

Glaring up at him from his spot on the rug, Scaramouche has half a mind to shove that empty beer bottle into Venti’s eye for suggesting such a thing. Hey, wait a minute— why is Scaramouche the one sitting on the floor when this is his damn apartment?

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” he barks, turning to direct his glare at Kazuha too when he hears him chuckle.

“The more you deny it, the less convincing you are— you talk about her all the time, so I’m inclined to believe you really are dating,” Venti chirps, reaching for a bottle of beer that is most certainly not his.

“That’s mine,” Aether protests, watching as Venti takes a sip from his bottle anyways.

“Oops, my bad.” He doesn’t sound sincere.

“Well… get me another whenever you stand up.”

Venti waves his hand dismissively before redirecting his attention back to the more important matter at hand— Scaramouche’s complete and utter inability to just admit that he has the hots for his hot MILF of a neighbor and that any protest otherwise is a feeble attempt at hiding the truth.

“They say you’re attracted to things that make you mad,” Venti says. “…Cuteness aggression. Yeah. I saw a video about it once.”

“That’s not what cuteness aggression is, and ‘they’ say that you attract the things you fear,” Kazuha corrects him from his spot in the nearby armchair— again, why is Scaramouche the one sitting on the floor?— before he goes to take another hit off his blunt.

Venti repeats what Kazuha said in a nasally voice in an attempt to mock him, but the gesture only makes Kazuha chuckle again. It’ll be hard to draw any response more eloquent than a single laugh or a sigh out of him for the rest of the night— it’s a very, very stark difference from how he usually is.

“Why the fuck do I ever invite any of you over here?” Scaramouche sighs, taking a long swig from his own bottle. He doesn’t even really like the taste; it’s something Venti found on sale and decided to bring over, but Scaramouche has decided it’s better than spending his Friday night sober. Besides, it’ll take at least four more of these to deal with the impending conversation that he’s been trying so hard to pivot away from since Venti first brought it up.

“Because we’re best friends forever, next question. Why do you deny how much you wanna fuck your sexy neighbor, Kuni?” Venti asks again, pouting when Aether snatches the bottle Venti stole from him. “It’s super obvious. Xiao and Heizou agree with me, and I’m not just saying that because they’re not here tonight and can’t contest me on it. It’s true.”

Kazuha nods, and Aether simply shrugs. Christ alive, do they all think the same thing?

“And why on Earth do I— in theory— want to fuck her? She’s probably loose or something,” Scaramouche argues.

Venti busts out laughing again.

“It’s the opposite, really,” he starts, glancing between Aether and Kazuha when neither of them laugh along with him. “What, have you guys seriously never been with an older lady? They’re the best; the reason I know Kuni wants to get with that lady next door is because I got with the lady next door to me a couple months ago. It takes one to know one, or something. Trust me, Kuni, I know what you’re going through and we are seriously gonna get through this together.” Why is he making it sound like a relative died or something?

“They’re experienced,” Venti sighs longingly, blindly reaching out again for the bottle Aether’s holding, who moves it further away and out of Venti’s reach. “They feel really, really good. They actually know what they’re doing… sometimes the girls—and guys, mind you, I’ve gotten with plenty of both— our age clearly don’t know they’re supposed to be doing, but getting with somebody’s mom…”

“You’re gross!” Aether gasps, though his pink cheeks tell a different story.

“Not as gross as the guy who’s told us the same story about seeing his neighbor lady braless like four times now,” Venti replies, glancing over at Scaramouche with a grin. “Really left an impression on you, huh, Kuni?”

Just like that, Scaramouche finds himself instantly reminded of, well, the time he saw you braless first thing in the morning. A few months ago on some random Saturday morning, Scaramouche was out smoking a cigarette on his porch when you stepped outside to water the plants you keep on your balcony. There were so many of them: a small tomato plant, a pot overflowing with basil that you took to trimming after you finished watering everything, a couple of hanging baskets field with flowers, and a few other vegetable plants and potted succulents. More glaringly obvious than the abundance of plants occupying your balcony was your complete and utter shamelessness— even a quick glance in your direction was enough to draw Scaramouche’s attention to the distractingly sheer fabric of your white camisole.

It’s not like Scaramouche was actively staring at your tits— really, he wasn’t, he swears— because anyone would notice something that egregious. The low, low sweep of your camisole around your ample bust, your nipples beading up against the thin fabric, the constant fucking movement of the top as you shifted and bent over to water the plants sitting on the ground, moved, and walked, all of it. He complained to his friends about your complete and utter shamelessness— What kind of woman steps outside practically naked? he spat, much to the amusement of Venti, who had said that wearing a thin shirt does not, in fact, make one naked.

Worst of all, you had actually fucking caught Scaramouche staring, an action that made you grin wickedly and run your hands down the sides of your soft, plump body as if to try and draw his eyes down along with your hands. Instead, Scaramouche had only whipped his head to the other side, busying himself with tapping the ash off his cigarette as if it were the most important task he’d ever complete in his life. Jesus Christ, he was only staring because he couldn’t believe you’d be so shameless as to wear something like that outside, not because he was genuinely aroused by how low your camisole sat on your chest, how big your tits are, how soft they look…

He thinks he shuddered then, and he insisted to his friends that it was because of a sudden chilly breeze and absolutely nothing more. It was either that or because he was just so shocked by your display that a shiver went down his spine— he can’t even remember the exact reason he gave anymore.

Either way, none of them really believed him.

“Ah, he seems distracted,” Kazuha notes simply, raising a hand to point at Scaramouche before grinning. His words pull Scaramouche from his little daydream, and he groans at the realization that, yes, he spaced out remembering yet another instance of your abhorrent shamelessness and perversion.

“Spaced out thinking about cute MILF boobs, I get it,” Venti affirms, nodding. “Nobody gets that more than me. Not only that, but you’ve also, uh, ‘complained’ to us about seeing her in her swimsuit. Really, Kuni, it’s like you’re biding your time and waiting for her to take her clothes off so you can tell us about it.”

…That’s a story for another time. Scaramouche has had enough of thinking about you for one day; it’s bad enough that you brought him his mail today just mere moments before Venti, Kazuha, and Aether arrived to hang out— what if they saw you?— but to be reminded of the image of your tits underneath that pathetic excuse for a top…

He shakes his head and takes a long, long sip from his bottle.

“And they’re so soft, Kuni,” Venti says, slumping over further into Aether for support. “They feel like absolutely nothing else. I feel like firmness or perkiness or whatever is really, really overrated— the softness of a cute MILF’s boobs is unrivaled!”

“Can you not say things like that right into my ear?” Aether mumbles bashfully, making Venti laugh.

“Why? Am I gonna put the mental image of MILF boobs in your brain, too? Are we gonna become an entire friend group full of MILF chasers? That’d be hilarous. I already know about Xiao’s little crush on his English professor.”

Jesus, Scaramouche has got to steer this conversation somewhere else or he’ll go mad. “Anyways,” he beings, “Where is that pizza you ordered ages ago?”

“I thought Kazuha was taking care of it,” Aether remarks, glancing over at him. Kazuha goes to reply, but nothing comes out— yep, he’s gone for the night. He won’t be able to get out any more than four words max until morning.

As if the universe heard their request, the doorbell rings to signify the arrival of dinner. Before Scaramouche can go to pull himself up off the floor—he really should make Venti move; it’s his couch in his apartment— Venti’s already in the process of skipping towards the door. Aether takes the opportunity to kick his feet up over the other couch cushion, making Scaramouche wonder if the three of them formed some secret pact to ensure that he stays on the floor the entire evening.

However, what stands on the other side of the door is not, in fact, the pizza delivery boy. It’s you, aluminum foil-covered glass casserole dish in hand, leading Scaramouche to believe that while the universe did hear their request for food, the devil answered by sending you to his doorstep while he has three of his friends over.

“Oh! You’re not the pizza guy,” Venti beams, putting on his best ‘polite’ voice possible. Scaramouche groans and looks over towards his other two friends just so he doesn’t accidentally make eye contact with you, but neither Aether nor Kazuha look back at him. They’re looking at you.

Christ, he’ll never live this down. Not only do they know who you are, they now know what you look like.

“I’m not,” you giggle. “I live next door; I bring food to Scaramouche sometimes whenever I get a little too excited in the kitchen and make too much. I can’t eat the leftovers fast enough before they go bad, and I would hate to waste food, you know?”

“You can call him Kuni,” Venti offers. “We all do. It’s less of a mouthful, don’t you think?”

Scaramouche decides that Venti will be leaving his apartment in a body bag tonight.

His cheeks burn with equal parts humiliation and anger, and the realization that his friends’ teasing is only about to get worse now that they know who you are and what you look like more than motivates Scaramouche to devise a plot to kill the three of them.

After introducing yourself to Venti, he smiles and replies that “the pleasure is all his” when you tell him it’s nice to meet some of Scaramouche’s friends. Venti has half a mind to invite you inside for a moment, but he decides that’d be unnecessary— he figures he’s already done more than enough to inspire Scaramouche into action. If Scaramouche won’t act on his feelings himself, then maybe a little shove from his friends will help him along.

“That’s sweet of you!” Venti praises, taking the dish from your hands. “I’m glad Kuni’s eating properly these days. One time, he told us that the only thing he survived off of during finals week was a sleeve of Saltines and some peanut butter. You’re so kind, miss.”

You giggle sheepishly, a sound that Scaramouche would like to claim grates his ears. Miss? Can’t Venti see that you’re, well, old? “Well, I’m glad that he has such kind friends to support him. You all take care, okay? You too, Scara— Kuni!” You call out past Venti’s shoulder, making both Aether and Kazuha chuckle.

After bidding farewell to the four in what has to be the most mortifying moment of Scaramouche’s entire life, you leave, allowing Venti to close the door behind you and make his way back to the others. “Those boobs are huge,” he sighs dreamily, looking up at the ceiling. “If I got suffocated between those, I would die a fully satisfied man.”

“Then go die,” Scaramouche mutters in agreement, cheeks still burning with humiliation. Why does the universe insist upon tormenting him so?

Eyeing the dish in Venti’s hands, Aether pipes up too “She cooks for you? Kuni, you have it so good.”

Scaramouche is amazed that, after all this time, his friends still find it in them to be jealous of him despite all of his attempts at framing you as annoying, invasive, and overbearing. Can’t they see that you’re doing this on purpose?! Scaramouche has half a mind to wonder if you’re psychic— what other explanation is there for your obnoxiously perfect timing? He asks about food and suddenly you appear on his doorstep, dish in hand as if you had heard him through the walls. There’s no way they’re that thin, are they?

Venti moves to set the dish down on the kitchen countertop before turning around to look Scaramouche square in the eye. “Kuni, I’m saying this because I respect you as my longtime friend,” he asserts, tone and gaze both deathly serious in a way that’s genuinely almost out of character for someone as flippant and carefree as Venti. “But you better fuck that lady the first chance you get because, if you don’t, I’m taking her for myself.” That should do it.

Scowling in response, Scaramouche crosses his arms over his chest and sighs bitterly. “Why would I stop you? I don’t care what you do with her. For the last fucking time, I’m not into her.” Despite his words, Scaramouche can’t deny that there’s something… unsettling about the idea of Venti getting with you. Does he really want to watch his friend take four A.M. booty calls in order to fuck the woman living right next door to him? Can Scaramouche truly stomach the idea of his friend fucking the brains out of someone just a few walls away from where he lives? It’s hard to put his finger on why, but something about Venti getting with Scaramouche’s neighbor, despite his insistence that there truly is nothing between the two of them, really, really irks him.

Well, it’s probably just because a lot of Venti’s behavior tends to irritate Scaramouche in the first place, right? Yeah, it’s probably just that. He doesn’t need to hear every last gritty detail of his friend’s sexual trysts.

That characteristically smug grin of his finds its way back to Venti’s face as he reaches over Aether’s shoulder and snatches his beer bottle again. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. How about we forget the pizza and eat what she brought over?”

“Oh, I see now,” Kazuha interjects after having been silent for the past twenty minutes. He turns his phone around to show Scaramouche, Venti, and Aether the check-out screen on the pizza chain’s website. “It seems I failed actually submit the order; it was still waiting for me to pay.”

Scaramouche doesn’t have a hangover the next morning, a blessing he owes to the fact that he only ended up drinking two beers last night. He probably would’ve consumed more if he had the chance to, but Venti blew through the rest of the box quicker than the other three could try to stop him. It took both Kazuha and Aether supporting Venti’s hardly-conscious body to get him down the stairs to the parking lot so they can drive him home— there’s no way Venti would be able to safely get himself home amidst such an awful hangover.

As he pokes through his apartment scooping up empty beer bottles and stained paper plates to toss into a trash bag, the glass casserole dish sitting out on the kitchen counter catches Scaramouche’s eye. Save for a few scraps shoved into the rounded corners of the pan, it’s practically been picked clean— the four boys tore through it easily with Venti, Kazuha, and Aether all fawning over just how good a home-cooked meal tastes after months of campus cafeteria food, fast food, and instant ramen. Venti mentioned that there’s just something about a MILF’s cooking that makes it so much better, leading to a conversation about how, in Venti’s educated opinion, older women just do everything better: sex, cooking, cleaning, caretaking, all of it.

Scaramouche scoffs at the memory. “She’s nothing special,” he mutters to himself, still failing to understand Venti’s obsession with somebody he’s never even met until last night. Scaramouche is the one who’s actually been living next door to her for months now— as his friends know by now, he has plenty more to say about her than Venti does.

Shouldn’t he be the one to comment on things like the size of your bust, the softness of your legs, the plumpness of your ass and belly, and the flavor of your cooking? He’s the one who’s actually seen you lounging in tiny string bikinis by the apartment complex’s pool, watering the plants out on your balcony in a pair of shorts that certainly break publicly decency laws, and retrieving your mail in a shirt so thin he can make out the little bumps of your nipples up against the fabric.

“Christ, what am I thinking?” Scaramouche stops himself and second-guesses whether or not he’s actually hungover. There’s no way his sober mind would drift to thoughts of you, right? Clearly something must be wrong with him— he blames Venti for putting all these thoughts in his head with his never-ending discussion of what makes older women so utterly sexy.

He’s then reminded of what Venti told him right before they all sat down to eat your cooking: that if Scaramouche won’t hurry up and fuck his neighbor, Venti will do it for him. Even now, the idea still bothers him for reasons he just can’t quite put his finger on— Venti’s been with tons and tons of people; why does he want Scaramouche’s neighbor too? Can’t Venti see how awkward that would be?

Setting the trash bag down on the floor, Scaramouche takes to the sink to wash out the casserole dish you brought over for them last night. His mind concocts disgustingly vivid images of you as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn piece of dried cheese, and maybe he’d be shocked by how little effort he’s putting into warding those thoughts away if he weren’t so utterly immersed in them. His mind conjures up the image of you in that tiny black bikini he saw you wearing by the pool while he was out smoking on his balcony— he remembers the little number being so small that you had to readjust it every single time you simply sat up or lied down because every last motion was enough to threaten a nipslip. It makes him wonder if you dress like that on purpose or because you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that clothes and swimsuits you used to wear still fit you despite clear evidence otherwise— are you actively vying for the attention of any man who’ll give it to you, or are you brainless enough to throw something on without caring about how poorly or not it fits?

It’s probably a mix of both; you’re just that shameless.

Scaramouche grits his teeth at the mental image of you straddling him while adorned in that tiny little bikini that seems to only get tinier and tinier the longer he allows his imagination to run wild. Of all the fucking things to imagine you doing…

He pictures what you’d look like with your thick, plump thighs enveloping either side of his hips as you run your hands up and down your ample chest and soft stomach. God, he can see it all now: the little bumps of your nipples beading up against the thin fabric of your swimsuit, the soft hang of your tummy spilling over the tiny, flimsy string keeping your bottoms secured around your wide hips, the way your tits would bounce as you ride him…

“Something’s wrong with me,” he grumbles, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. The clump of cheese he’d been scraping at finally separates from the pan, and he realizes that if he wants to rid you from his mind for good, he should take matters into his own hands before Venti does.

No, wait, this has nothing to do with Venti— this isn’t about staking claim over you before any of his friends can, this is solely about him finding ways to release the grip you have on him as if you’re some kind of wicked succubus. Scaramouche glances downwards after setting the dish aside to dry and, much to his chagrin, finds that the mere thought of you was enough to fucking get him hard. The eager press of his cock against the confines of his briefs moritifies him solely because of the very reason why he’s like this in the first place; how the fuck did the thought of you in a bikini so tiny your areolas peek around the sides reduce him to such a state? He’d like to believe that he’s only this hard because it’s been a while since he’s jerked off, but that would be an excuse less believable than any of the ones he’s ever given his friends.

He knows that he’s too dignified to jerk off to the thought of you— if he’s feeling horny, then surely he can find things more deserving of his attention than some hag next door. He refuses to give you that kind of satisfaction (despite the fact that you’d never even know unless he told you, so how could you be smug about it?), so he decides that an ice-cold shower is in order before venturing out to settle things with you.

After a shower so cold Scaramouche swears he saw his fingers begin to turn purple, he dries off, gets dressed in something other than the clothes he fell asleep in last night, grabs your clean casserole dish, and leaves to go to the one place he wouldn’t have ever imagined himself stepping foot in— your apartment. If this is what it takes to sever the connection between you and his mind…

God, this is going to be annoying, Scaramouche thinks as he knocks on your door using his foot, casserole dish supported safely by both of his hands. He feels the need to steel himself because he just knows you’ll answer the door in something sheer, skimpy, or some combination of the two and he needs to be ready for that.

Why? Are you hoping for that to happen, Kuni? Venti’s voice whispers from the back of Scaramouche’s mind.

He really is losing it.

“Good morning— oh, Kuni! This is a surprise,” you greet him upon opening the door, flashing him a smile so bright it nearly makes him cringe. Can you spare him the pleasantries so he can just get to the point?

Fucking Venti— why teach her that nickname? Turning his head to look at a faraway bird instead of you, Scaramouche scoffs. “I need to talk to you.” Straight to the point, emotionless, and rude, it’s all so in-character for your neighbor that you can’t help but giggle.

You grin wider. “Of course. Come in; I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

Scaramouche waits until you’re a good few steps ahead of him before following you inside, glancing around the living room of your apartment as he makes his way to the kitchen table. Your apartment’s clean, impeccably so at that— every book on your bookshelf faces the same direction, the blanket draped over the back of your couch doesn’t have a single crease, and he can’t see even an ounce of dust on any inch of your tables and countertops.

He snorts a little. Rather than viewing the cleanliness as impressive or inspiring, he bitterly interprets it as a testament to your overabundance of free time and lack of other hobbies or pastimes.

“I’m not sure how strong you like your coffee, so I’ll just make it how I normally do,” you pipe up from the kitchen, pulling Scaramouche away from scrutinizing the titles of the books on your shelf. Restless Summer Nights? The Devil’s Mistress? They all sound like bargain bin erotica novels.

It was a mistake to direct his attention away from your novels and to you instead, he figures, because only now does he get a look at what you’re wearing— if one could even call that clothing. You’re dressed in something he wants to call a workout outfit, but anyone leaving the house in an outfit like that surely has goals other than simply exercising— they want to attract attention. A sports bra that sits so low on your chest that a single bounce on an exercise ball would expose you combines with a pair of spandex leggings so tight they reveal the lines of your panties to comprise your “workout outfit,” and to say that Scaramouche is mortified would be an understatement. He can’t help but find the combination of your manner of dress and your collection of novels completely pathetic.

And despite his apparent disgust… he’s been staring at you long enough to pick up the most minute details about your outfit. The indifferent passerby likely wouldn’t notice your pantylines— a certain amount of staring is required to actually notice them; they’re really not obvious from a quick glance. Actually, why can’t he stop looking at you? He writes it off as a simple morbid curiosity at how someone can be so completely and utterly shameless— one could almost liken his sick, cynical fascination with your ample curves and soft body to rubbernecking.

Scaramouche instead stares down into the cup of coffee you’ve set in front of him like it’s the most fascinating object in the entire world. He’s half-inclined to just close his eyes entirely, seeing as the slightest glimpse of your bust still occupies the uppermost part of his peripheral eyesight when you sit down in the chair opposite of him.

“So,” you start, sliding a porcelain dish with a small bowl of sugar cubes and a saucer of creamer his way. “What can I help you with? It’s rare for you to talk to me first, Kuni.”

He adds “drop that nickname” to his mental list of topics to bring up with you. Scaramouche plucks a few sugar cubes from the bowl before him and drops them into his coffee before absentmindedly stirring the liquid with a serving spoon.

“Last night,” He clears his throat. “Why did you come over to talk to V— to my friends?” Why are you always in my business? he really wants to ask, but he feels like you’ll start crying if he presses you too firmly.

And that’d just be obnoxious.

You giggle. “That makes it sound like I came over on purpose because I knew you had people over, and that’s not true. Haven’t we been in the habit of food delivery and acceptance for months now?” Scaramouche’s eyes follow yours to the squeaky-clean casserole dish he placed on your counter.

“I’m glad your friends seemed to enjoy the food just as much as you do,” you add sweetly, pursing your lips and blowing on your coffee to help it cool down.

“It was humiliating,” Scaramouche counters, a statement that prompts you to look up from your coffee and make eye contact with him. “They wouldn’t— they wouldn’t stop fucking talking about you after you left.”

Wait, that’s not the point here, is it? Surely Scaramouche’s main complaint isn’t that Venti practically sweet-talked you right into his bed, it’s that Scaramouche is tired of you invading his business and his space, right? He doesn’t care about Venti’s comments about your soft tits or your wide hips, he doesn’t care about Aether’s bashful confession that he exclusively jerks off to older women, he doesn’t care that he has competition because there’s nothing to compete over and he’s really, actually, truly angry that you always find a way to worm your way into his days and his mind and his free time and his wet dreams and his—

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you reply simply, sipping your coffee and smiling around the rim of the cup. “They’re such nice boys. I’m glad you have such sweet friends, dear.”

What’s warmer: the tips of Scaramouche’s ears or his untouched cup of coffee?

“That’s not— what? That’s not the point I’m making and you know that,” he grimaces, clearing his throat again. “My friends shouldn’t have to put up with a shameless old hag the way I have to.”

You set your cup down. “That’s not very nice. I look good for my age— that charming boy down at the corner mart always asks for my ID whenever I pick up some wine!”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “That’s his job. Anyways, I’m telling you to mind your own business.”

“Oh, is that all? Of course I can do that for you.” Your reply comes without a single skipped beat.

“I mean it, that means don’t touch my mail and— what?” Wait, there’s no way you’re making this this easy. A shameless, conniving, lustful, lewd seductress of a woman like you agreeing to just… fuck off at the first request? Scaramouche doesn’t buy it— this is just another phase of your plan to throw him off guard and pull the rug out from under him so you can sink your claws deeper and deeper into him.

“I like cooking for you and cleaning for you, and I was very happy to meet your friends yesterday, but if you want me to stop, of course I will,” you explain. “I wonder who’ll help me eat my leftovers now… your friend from last night gave me his phone number; does he like potato soup? I’m making that tonight.”

Scaramouche almost, almost feels a shiver tear down his spine. He’s starting to believe that Venti’s just as much an antagonist in this situation as you are.

“Why the fuck did you accept his number? Delete it,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring over at you. His coffee’s surely gone cold by now, but that’s alright— he was never much of a coffee drinker anyways.

You shrug, a sly smile forming on your lips. “Oh, I don’t know. He was so sweet I didn’t want to say no… it’d give me someone new to talk to, if nothing else.” Why do you need to talk to Venti when he barely knows you and I’m right fucking here?

“It’s not like you talk to me much despite all my best efforts, Kuni,” you offer him the subtlest of pouts, an action that would look out of place on the face of a woman your age if you weren’t so… if you weren’t so…

Forget it, he’s not saying anything about you that could be interpreted as a compliment. “…Especially now that you and I have agreed to leave each other alone.”

Oh, Scaramouche doesn’t like this feeling. He hates feeling like a situation has spun out of his control, and that’s, unfortunately, exactly what he feels is happening here. You’ve agreed to his terms and you’ve promised to stay out of his way, so why does he feel so… angry?

Yeah, you must have some underhanded motive here. Why else would you be making this so… easy? That’s not like you at all— he was expecting you to fan your eyelashes, pout your lips, push your tits forward, and whimper that you’re sorry and that you’d love to keep talking to him, so will he please give you a second chance?

I’ll do anything, he was sure you’d say.

You clear your throat. “Well, is there anything else you’d like to discuss now? If not, I’ll get back to my yoga. It’s good to be active, right?”

What the hell? You’re ending the conversation? No way, no how— this ends on Scaramouche’s terms, not yours. Who do you think you are?

“No, that’s not it, actually,” he blurts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Staying out of my business means staying away from Venti— from any of my friends. Don’t talk to them, don’t text them, don’t— I don’t know. Don’t be around them.”

You smile a little wider. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound jealous, Kuni.”

He scoffs, staring you directly in the eye as if to challenge you. “Seriously? Shit joke.”

Of all the adjectives you could have picked to describe him… ��It’s just that the thought of you getting with Venti is nauseating, alright?”

You hum. “And why him specifically, hm? You had other friends over last night— are they single?” Jesus Christ, what is this, an interrogation? And where the hell are these sorts of questions coming from— did you already send Venti an invitation to hook up?

Sneering so hard his nose scrunches up, Scaramouche can’t help but feel appalled. “Did you decide I’m not good enough or something? Who do you think you are?”

You go silent.

Scaramouche, somehow, goes even quieter than silent when the weight of his words finally sets in. There it is— the culmination of your grand plan to humiliate, embarrass, and utterly demean him in your own home. You had this outcome planned from the start, didn’t you?

“I didn’t say that,” you stammer, attempting to correct yourself. “Why do you think I’ve been vying for your attention all this time? Of course I like you, Kuni.”

God, how you piss him off. Who do you think you are— some bashful schoolgirl confessing to her first crush?

“I know that I’m just an old woman and that you could certainly find a cute, young, perky college girl whenever you’d like to, but if you’d ever like me…”

Of course Scaramouche could get someone his age from one of his classes— he doesn’t need to settle for some loose old hag— and yet… the thought of you getting with anyone else, Venti or not, pisses him off in a way he can’t quite describe. Maybe he views himself as some kind of hero protecting everyone else from your shamelessness, maybe he views himself as the only one worthy of your attention as the one who has to put up with you the most, maybe he views you as someone actually, genuinely worth being with…

He sits up a little straighter. “You have no idea how obnoxious you are,” he mutters. “Taking up my time and attention even when you’re not around.”

“What a forked tongue,” you reply, leaning forward and, much to Scaramouche’s chagrin, pushing your breasts together with your hands. “You know that’s why I like you, right? Mean boys have always been my favorite— ever since high school.”

“You’re not worth the time,” he spits. So fucking annoying. So fucking shameless. What kind of woman your age behaves this way, anyway? So obnoxious, so pathetic, so intoxicating, so impossible-to-keep-out-of-his-mind—

“Venti sure seems to think I am,” you offer with a smug, self-satisfied smile as you rise from your seat. Hooking your thumbs up under the straps of your sports bra, you quickly snap the elastic fabric back against your shoulders to give your tits a little bounce, an action that, of course, does not go unnoticed. Slapping his hands down flat against the perfectly-ironed lacy tablecloth covering your dining room table and standing up so quickly he nearly knocks his knees against the table’s hardwood underside, Scaramouche laughs.

What a time to finally, finally accept that he has the hots for his neighbor— the same neighbor who’s supposedly the cause of so many of his bad days and sour moods. You’ve prompted many a disdainful mutter from Scaramouche after catching a glimpse of you through your drawn curtains, you’ve been the subject of many a snide comment made in the presence of his friends, and, most frustratingly of all, you’ve inspired countless, countless inappropriate thoughts that he cannot believe you’ve been the subject of.

And all it took was one of his friends hitting on you for him to realize that.

“Constantly flaunting a body like this,” he chides in a way that he wants to come off as insulting and condescending rather than sadistically flattering, but the little grin you offer in response gives him reason to believe you interpreted it as the latter. Seriously?

“Other boys your age seem to enjoy the flaunting,” you counter, slipping your thumbs into the waistband of your spandex leggings. As if to tease the act of pulling them all the way down your legs, you flip the fabric of your waistband over its seam to expose the majority of your soft lower belly.

Anger burns hot behind his pale cheeks. “Is this some kind of pathetic hobby of yours? Fucking guys half your age?”

“I like to consider it a lifestyle,” you reply, shimmying your leggings further and further down your thick thighs until your thong’s completely exposed. A black lace thong— how becoming of a nymphomanic like yourself. “I’m fine with trading experience for virility and stamina; do you know how many men my age finish in thirty seconds and call it there because they’re ‘just so tired’? College boys either go until they can’t hold themselves upright or until they have nothing left to pump into me.”

There’s that vulgar nature that’s both irritated and (subconciously) aroused him for months. He wants to believe that your disgusting nature doesn’t make his cock twitch, but the time for pretending has clearly passed. You don’t believe he finds you ugly or unappealing and neither does he anymore.

“And do you find this… lifestyle fulfilling?” Scaramouche challenges, grimacing at the pressure building in the frontside of his tight jeans.

You laugh. “Is that your way of saying you don’t? Are you a virgin, sweetheart?”

“Of course not. Just because some of us don’t fuck everything with two legs and a pulse doesn’t mean we’re virgins.” His clumsy escapades are none of your business— his high school girlfriend and that guy from the concert Venti dragged him to over the summer don’t concern you.

Bending forward to push your leggings down to your knees, you gaze up at Scaramouche through your eyelashes and giggle. “Don’t make it sound like I don’t savor every last cock or strap I ride. You could put every last one of them in front of me and I’d be able to tell you who they belong to with my eyes shut.”

Venti mentioned something about experience, didn’t he? What a sanitized way of calling older women complete and total whores.

The inferiority complex in Scaramouche wants to prove that he’s the best thing a whore like you will ever experience, that he can make you feel better than any of the other bumbling college morons he probably knows can, and that you’ll give up your ways of fucking everyone that looks at you in order to devote yourself to him and him alone. That’d be some nice payback for all the pain and humiliation you’ve subjected him to these past couple of months, right?

No, he has a better idea.

“If you want to show yourself off that badly,” Scaramouche huffs, doing his damndest to ignore the nearly-painful throbbing in his jeans. “Then I’m sure you’d be fine with doing it in front of that glass door, right?”

With your hands still bunched in the fabric of your leggings, you look back at the glass sliding door that leads to your balcony and bite your lip. It’s not likely anyone would actually see you— you and Scaramouche live on the third floor— but it’s still a possibility and an exciting thought nonetheless. Maybe you could give that nice redheaded quarterback boy you fucked a few months ago a nice show; he lives just across the parking lot in the building parallel to yours.

“Now who’s the deviant one? I’ve never fucked anywhere more public than a nightclub’s bathroom stall,” you tease, finally pushing your leggings all the way down and off your legs. He doesn’t believe you, but Christ, those thighs of yours look soft…

You accept his offer nonetheless and make your way over to the balcony door, your thong riding high on your wide hips and your hardened nipples pressing into the flimsy fabric of your pathetic excuse of a sports bra. “You’re helping me wipe off all the fingerprints afterwards,” you scold, inviting him over with a wiggle of your hips and a glance back over your shoulder.

Now, rationally, Scaramouche would never propose the idea of fucking in a place as public as right in front of an apartment complex parking lot. He’s never considered himself an exhbitionist and he’s always been somewhat obsessed with his image, and people who care about their image generally don’t have sex in the potential presence of others. Additionally, there’s probably something to be said about him potentially getting caught fucking the same woman he’s spent the better half of this past year complaining about, but the current irrational, horny, angry Scaramouche wouldn’t listen to better judgement or rationality anyways.

The relief that comes with unbuttoning his jeans and giving his almost painfully-hard cock room to breathe is so euphoric he can’t help but sigh, the throbbing in his crotch more aggravating than any pounding headache he’s ever experienced after an evening drinking with his friends.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he laughs, incredulous. “To think the hag living next door to me is the reason I’m like this.” Jamming the weight of his bulge into the plumpness of your soft ass, Scaramouche seizes hold of your hips in both of his hands and gives the fat of your love handles a painful squeeze just to hear you suck the air in through your teeth.

“I thought you’d never come around, you know,” you breathe, beyond eager at the prospect of finally, finally getting to fuck the neighbor boy you’ve been actively working at breaking for months upon months now. A guy this mean, this arrogant, and this demeaning doesn’t come around that often, especially when so many of the guys you get with take the polite route by calling you “ma’am” and complimenting you over and over again— which certainly isn’t a bad thing, but cruel has always satisfied you in ways that kind cannot.

The height difference between the two of you means that Scaramouche has to stand up a little straighter than he normally does in order to press his hips against yours, a realization that’s only slightly humiliating. Granted, it could never compare to how humiliating it was for you to show up at his apartment in front of all his friends.

God, does it feel good to put you in your place.

“Spread,” Scaramouche mutters, knocking one of his feet against both of your ankles. He doesn’t tell you that he needs you to spread your legs so your hips will lower a bit, allowing him to reach them a little more easily since you’re a bit taller than he is.

You would tease him for skipping the foreplay and just jamming himself right into you, but you know that you’ve been plenty wet enough ever since your discussion with him first wandered to sex and masturbation. Well, that, and if you had to wait another minute to get the cock you’ve been so desperate for for so long now, you very well may go crazy. It’s taken months, but you can already tell that it was all so, so worth it.

Running his knuckles down the center of your thong, Scaramouche relishes in the smug satisfaction that comes with realizing that you’re wet. It’s equal parts arousing and equal parts pathetic— just how desperate are you for any cock you can get your hands on?

“You’ve already kept me waiting for months,” you say with a pout cast back at him from over your shoulder. “Why make me wait even longer when I’m right here?”

“Shameless and impatient,” he remarks with a frustrated huff. “Can’t you do something good with your life or yourself for once and just be quiet?”

As tempting as it is to make a teasing quip in return to only further rile up your angsty neighbor boy, a frenzied giggle is the only sound you can muster up when you feel the firm press of a cock against your clothed pussy. Even through your flimsy thong, you can tell that he’s hard, which is a reward in its own right. It’s what you’ve wanted to achieve since the very first time he caught you half-naked watering plants on your balcony— is it so wrong for you to want to rile up the cutie next door?

Scaramouche roughly yanks your thong down to hang around your lower thighs, leaving you entirely on display for him when you follow suit by tugging your sports bra up to your collarbone. The cool, smooth glass against your bare tits is an unfamiliar sensation, but it’s certainly not an unwelcome one— especially when you remember that anyone could look up from across the parking lot and get an eyeful of your bare tits squished up against the glass door.

“I wish I could watch you sink it in for the first time,” you hum, reaching down between your legs to part the outer lips of your cunt for him a little wider. “In front of a mirror or something maybe. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because you’re the spitting image of the romantic type.” There’s no way you consider him the romantic type, is there? He’s not going to hold your hands and whisper in your ear about how cute you are, you know.

Damn it, you’ve got him actually wanting you more than he’s ever wanted you before— this makes all his filthy fantasies about taking you bent over your kitchen counter or being underneath you while you ride him into oblivion look like a cheap, budget porno from a video rental store. His desire has always been real—albeit subconscious, sure—but it feels so much more genuine now that it’s been realized.

“Don’t say a word about this to anyone,” he mumbles in a brief moment of humiliation, biting into his bottom lip as he finally, finally sinks the full length of his cock into you.

Jesus Christ, if there’s anything Venti’s ever been right about, it’s how good a mature pussy feels. You’re soaked all the way down to your inner thighs, you’re so warm Scaramouche nearly feels his knees give out from underneath him, and you squeeze him so well he can feel your pussy gripping the sensitive underside of his tip.

“Why not? I can invite your friend next time,” you propose, squealing with delight when Scaramouche slaps a hand down against the side of your ass. “Venti, right? It’d feel so good to have my ass used while you—“

“Just shut up,” he hisses bitterly, glaring at you hard enough to give himself a stress headache. “Don’t talk about other guys right now. Especially not ones I know.”

“You’re right, it’s rude to talk about other men when I have such a good one right here with me already,” you feign sympathy, pushing your hips back flat against the front of his thighs. “Oh, Kuni.”

There’s that damn nickname again. As much as he hates the idea of you using it to tease him or fluster him, he can’t deny the way his dick twitches whenever you coo it in that soft, sultry tone of yours. It’s like you were custom-made to gobble men up or something— just how many of his classmates have you fucked?

Oh, it doesn’t matter. Not when he knows he can establish himself as the best of the whole damn lot of them. Not when he knows that he gets the privilege of seeing you every single day and nobody, nobody else does. Not when he’s seen your cute nipples peeking at him through that tiny, flimsy pajama top he caught you in all those months ago. Not when he gets to peruse on over to your apartment whenever he wants because you’re right fucking there and nobody, nobody is physically closer to you than he is.

Jesus, this is all starting to sound like some kind of crush.

“How’s that?” Scaramouche taunts, slapping his hips against you so wildly the sound of skin smacking on skin almost drowns out his voice. He’d like to claim that this sort of pace is supposed to be punishing, and he’d be right if he were to say that, but he wants it hard and rough just as much as you surely do. He couldn’t stop his hips even if he wanted to because he knows there’s nothing he’s wanted to do more than fuck your brains out for months upon months now.

You don’t answer him, too preoccupied with relishing in the feeling of his cock pounding into you with everything he’s got. How befitting of Scaramouche to fuck you like he’s angry at you— if he could even claim to be mad anymore. The combined sensations of his hips hammering against yours, his fingernails digging into your soft, plump love handles, and his balls slapping against your ass on each thrust are all far too overwhelming to even attempt a reply.

“Seriously? You run your mouth for ages and now you shut up when I ask you a question?” You’re doing this on purpose— Jesus, you’re insatiable.

Your back arches when Scaramouche digs the tip of his cock into a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, a broken whine leaving your lips instead when you attempt to reply with a dirty quip. He laughs when he realizes what’s just happened— that’s certainly one way to get you to shut that filthy mouth of yours.

“I hope somebody’s watching you, actually,” he admits despite all the jealousy even a single mention of his friend stirred up in him. “That way they can see you’re not worth their time because you don’t value yourself whatsoever. Why would anyone want someone who’s happy to just give themselves away like this and get fucked in a place so public?”

Maybe that’s just a weird, roundabout way of saying I want someone to watch me fuck you so they know a whore like you has been whipped into shape and that you only want me now. Who’s to say?

“You don’t care about getting caught yourself?” You finally pipe up with a grin.

Scaramouche snorts. “Getting caught with the likes of you? I’d transfer universities.”

You pout. “Would I still get to see you?”

For whatever reason, the question catches him off guard. How many times does he need to remind you that you’re not his girlfriend, that you’re not some sweetheart with an innocent crush, that you’re just his fucking neighbor who just so happens to have a hot body and just so happens to feel so, so good around him like this and just so happens to be the subject of his wet dreams and fantasies and—

He’s only able to spit out one word. “Obnoxious.”

His hands reclaim a firm grasp on your ample hips before he takes to fucking into you at a whole new angle— one that’ll surely hit that spot that got you to shut the fuck up moments ago. Your hands clamor for anything you could possibly grab onto to steel yourself, but there’s nothing except for the cool, flat glass beneath your palms.

“Kuni,” you rasp in a broken voice, beyond impressed with his ability to have found your most sensitive spot and target it specially. Call it sheer dumb luck or a testament to how perfectly compatible your bodies are, it doesn’t matter. He won’t let up on it until you’ve collapsed— maybe it’ll be a nice change of pace from your partners being the ones to collapse after an evening with you.

With the task of finding something to hold onto having proven fruitless, you instead slip a hand back between your legs to rub at your clit. Scaramouche snickers at your apparent desperation to orgasm, but he’s not letting you off that easily.

“What a pathetic display,” he remarks, pounding into you so quickly you can barely register the full length of his cock before he’s pulling it all the way out of you again. With your legs trembling and your knees buckling, the possibility of actually collapsing underneath him is becoming increasingly likely— these wild, frenzied thrusts of his prove exactly why you’re so into college guys.

Looking down from the fuzzy reflection of your face in the glass, Scaramouche watches each sink of his cock into your tight, dripping cunt with all the intensity and attention of a virgin. It may as well be his first time— you feel so fucking good he’s starting to lose his train of thought. You take him all the way to the hilt on each thrust so easily that he’d absolutely call you a common whore if he were able to form even a single word.

Despite his inability to form a coherent sentence, Scaramouche finds that he has just enough rationality left to pull out mere seconds before coming all over the swell of your ass, his cock twitching in his hand as he bites back moans. Here he is, coming all over the soft ass of his obnoxious older neighbor lady after spending so many months convincing his friends that he does not, in fact, want to fuck her.

You laugh breathlessly, the hand between your legs still rubbing frantic circles over your clit as you attempt to reach your own orgasm as well. “What’s wrong with coming inside? I’m hurt.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. That’d be irresponsible.

“Well, that’s alright,” you chirp, standing upright and turning around to face him. “I can always wring it out of you myself, right?”

“You’re insatiable,” he replies, inching backwards towards the couch as you step forward in time with his footsteps.

“Pot, kettle. You’re still hard, Kuni.”

With the realization that he’ll need some kind of excuse to offer his friends when he inevitably returns to a slew of unread messages a few hours from now, he falls backwards onto the couch just before you make yourself comfortable in his lap.

Well, not that any of them have ever believed any vague, half-baked excuse Scaramouche gives.

#hiiiii #juju bakery #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x y/n #kunikuzushi smut #fem reader

2K notes · View notes

miniwheat77 · 3 months

Text

Lavender. (Ghost x Reader.)

!Cute, Simon being protective, blood, military stuff, you know the deal. No minors!

I went with lavender because the colors on here are limited. This is not edited. This was a request and you can find that here.

Lavender is the smell that Ghost awoke to that morning. His head pounded and he felt a dull pain in his abdomen. He didn’t understand what was going on or where he was. He was just about to start pulling the cords off of himself when you came in, clipboard in hand. “Hey, you’re awake.” You smile. Ghosts lips part slightly. He can still feel his balaclava on his face thank god. You’re very stunning. “Who are you?” He asks. “My name is Y/N. I’m a combat medic. One of your mates said you’d been shot and called for evacuation, we were the closest military base.” You smile. “They uh.. they took your mask off but I put it back on. It might be a little crooked.” You laugh. “Thank you.” He’s quiet. “Hey LT” Soap appears behind you. So that’s who called for evac.

Lavender makes him think about that military base with you. He’s always drawn back to you, night and day. He doesn’t know where the smell came from, maybe from somewhere outside or an air freshener of some kind. But anytime he smells it, he thinks of you. He thinks about how sweet and gentle you were. Reassuring him. You helped him fix his mask, adjusting it on his face and he let you. Not flinching away as your fingertips brushed across his face. Johnny watched as it happened. His eyes looked up at you as you adjusted it. Johnny couldn’t believe it.

Lavender happens to be the color of fabric he’s got in his hands when Captain Price tells him that there will be a new medic joining them on base. A little birdie told Captain Price about how well you had done and how you would make a great part of the team. Johnny smiled when he heard the news. Watching Ghost stiffen. Ghost couldn’t believe his ears. You would no longer be a memory, but a constant in his life. Ghost feared that he would get attached and something would go horribly wrong. But the smell of lavender in the morning seemed to soothe him of all of those concerns.

Lavender is where he dreams of you. He sees you walking through the massive field of purple flowers. When he’s daydreaming about you on base, eyes following your every move, he can’t help himself. You would look so pretty. Anytime he sees the color or smells it, you invade his mind like a plague. When you officially start, you approach him first. Asking him how he’s doing, if he’s recovering well. Getting enough rest, drinking enough water. Johnny can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. Usually Ghost has dark, harsh eyes. But when he looks at you they soften and he’s got adoration behind them.

Lavender is the smell of the air freshener he sees you setting down in the watch tower. You’d been filling in for Soap and you were complaining about the smell, how everything always smells musty and old. He finally understands why the smell follows you everywhere you go. “It’s not my favorite scent but it’s far better than what we’re working with now.” You mumble. Cracking open the little pot. It’s clearly meant for a car. “They sold them in bulk at the store by the other military base and it’s the only kind they had. I was desperate.” You smile. “It’s not so bad.” He mumbles. He watches you in adoration as you move around the watch tower, tidying it up. The more you were around, the harder he fell.

Lavender fills his senses everywhere he goes. He hovers around you like a lost puppy all the time. He notices a few things about you. Like how your socks are lavender and sometimes when your bra strap pokes through your shirt when you lean just right is also purple. He doesn’t know if it’s your favorite color. But it’s what he uses to associate you. You’re tidying up the infirmary when he finally decides enough is enough. You’re folding sheets when he approaches you. “Y/N?” He asks. You turn around and don’t have even a second to react before his lips are on yours. When he pulls away and doesn’t have his mask on, you’re in complete shock. Your lips are slightly parted and your eyes are wide. He cups your face and makes you look at him.

Lavender is the color of the outside of the card Johnny sends you. It’s got purple flowers and a purple background. He’s upset he missed it, but he was there in spirits. Military doesn’t always allow for time off. You use a magnet to stick the congratulatory card to your fridge. “Too bad he missed it, hm?” You turn to look at Ghost. “Ah, he’ll be here soon enough. When he’s off we can’t get rid of him.” Ghost laughs, pulling you into him. He takes another look at the wedding ring on your hand. “We’ll go out for drinks and he’ll forget all about it.” You laugh. He leans in to kiss you.

Lavender sheets are what your baby lays on. The entire task force watches over her in her crib. Mesmerized by the fact that the Lieutenant now had a baby with the girl that saved his life all those years ago. They watch her sleep peacefully. Seeing a new life when all they see is death is a blessing they’ll never fully get to appreciate. “Congratulations you two. I’m glad we were able to fly out to meet her.” Captain Price smiles. You smile back and he gives you a hug. “She’s so precious. I just can’t believe it.” Johnny looks over her. Sniffling as he tries to hold back the tears, but he’s losing. “You’re such a sap Johnny.” Ghost laughs, patting his back. “Of all of the people I expected to end up together you’re who I least expected.” Gaz laughs. Seeing Ghost wrap an arm around your back. Pulling you closer to him. “Yeah. It’s crazy how things ended up huh? Gotta say I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He laughs.

#call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #soap mw2 #captain john price #ghost mw2 #price mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #ghost fanfiction #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley

150 notes · View notes

catladyoftheyr · 2 months

Text

Muscle Memory PT 2

PT 1

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Word count: 937, just a short chapter :)

Summary: you left something at the bar and Miguel offers to drive up to return it; Miguel has some alone time after work and has some ✨ fun✨ while he watches the videos he took last time (this chapter is really just Mig jerking off sorry not sorry)

Warnings: m masturbation, porn, no plot just smut really, mention of unprotected p in v and facials, mentions of jealousy.

Tag: @safixiovi

You’d been back home for a couple days and were heating up leftovers for dinner when you heard your phone ping. You picked it up and saw a text from Miguel

Mig: hey did you lose something?

You: maybe, what is it?

You racked your brain for any potential missing items, but you misplaced things fairly often so it could be anything. Your phone chimed again with an incoming picture from Miguel. It was your charm bracelet with your initials. It must have slipped off when you were at the bar. It looked like the clasp was broken so you made a mental note to get it fixed when you found time.

You: yeah it’s mine. Thank you for finding it! Can you hold onto it for a little while? I don’t know when I’ll have time to drive into town.

Mig: I can run it up to you this weekend. I don’t have any plans anyways.

You: That's like a 2 hour drive, Miguel. I can’t ask you to do that. Especially just for a bracelet.

Mig: good thing I’m offering then. We can make a weekend of it; the bar will be fine without me. Unless you were planning on having someone else in your bed this weekend ;)

You: who still uses the winky face? I’ll see you Friday.

You grabbed your food from the microwave and ate quickly, not caring that it was still cold in the middle. You were always so busy with work that you had a tendency to neglect household chores. As a result, your apartment had started to fall into disarray. You groaned, knowing you had limited time to clean and prepare for your guest. Luckily the kitchen wasn’t too messy, seeing as you weren’t incredibly fond of cooking. You loaded the dishwasher and went on autopilot to tidy the rest of your small apartment.

Miguel’s POV

Miguel locked the back door of O’haras behind him and made the short drive home. He had your bracelet safe inside his glove box and told himself he’d replace the broken clasp before Friday. He let out a deep sigh, exhausted from the evening's work. The bar had been busier than usual and Miguel had had to pull triple duty to call outs. Once past the threshold of his bedroom door he began to immediately peel off layers of clothing before collapsing into bed in just his boxers.

He closed his eyes and willed sleep to come, but he knew it was a lost cause. His mind drifted to the upcoming weekend plans. He wondered what you were doing, what you were thinking about, if you were thinking about him too. Were you alone like him, or was there another man in your bed? Miguel felt a pang of jealousy when he tried to picture you with someone else. He selfishly wanted you to himself.

Miguel thought about the nights you’d spent together, and told himself no one else could measure up to him; that other men couldn’t pleasure you like he does. He’d had his own string of lovers in his bed, but no one matched the chemistry between you and him. Miguel remembered how you looked going down on him, the devilish grin you wore when teased him. He felt his cock twitch as his thoughts grew more lustful.

Memories of the last weekend came flooding back to Miguel, and he grew harder thinking about the way you pressed against him at the pool table, how your mouth felt, and how fucking tight you gripped him when he pounded into you against his car. Miguel pulled his cock through the opening of his boxers and began to pump it slowly and deliberately in his fist. He opened his phone in his other hand and scrolled until he found the footage of him drumming into you. He turned the volume up as loud as it would go, the sounds of skin on skin and raw pleasure filling the room.

“Fuccckkkk” he groaned, slightly quickening the pace of his fist. The way you moaned drove him crazy. He wished he could video call you right now, show you how even when you’re not around he was still enamored by you. He watched the screen intently, remembering how it felt to be inside you, how your pussy gripped him just right. He watched himself grope at your breasts and how they bounced when he fucked you. Miguel’s breathing got heavier, and he stroked himself firmly, watching how your eyes rolled back when he hit your g-spot. He moaned your name as he saw you shake with your orgasm on screen; he bucked his hips into his hand as remembered how it felt to be inside you.

Miguel swiped to the photos he’d taken of you with his cum on your face. You smiled proudly at the camera, so eager to show off for him. He could feel himself getting closer to his own orgasm. “Fuck, nena” he gasped as he pumped his cock as fast as he could. Miguel closed his eyes and pictured himself splattering on your pretty face again, tongue out and eager to taste him. He felt himself shoot warmth out over his hand and torso and sighed as he came down to earth again.

He reached wearily for the tissues on his night stand and cleaned himself quickly. His eyes fell shut heavily as his fatigue began to set in. Miguel sighed as he reached for a spare pillow and rolled over hugging it tight to his check. Sleep came quickly now, and he was sure he’d dream of you.

#muscle memory #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader

101 notes · View notes

tsumtsumrry · 1 year

Note

request where reader has some kind of severish accident which means her movement is limited (like she has a leg cast and crutches or something) and harry takes time out to visit her in hospital and then care for her at home when she’s released until she’s feeling better and once she feels good again she keeps hinting at wanting to be intimate with him because it’s been so long and she’s missed having him that way and that aspect of their relationship but he’s not picking up on her hints because he doesn’t want to rush her or assume she’s ready before she’s fully recovered but it just makes her feel rejected and sad like he doesn’t want her that way anymore and he sees her as a burden because there’s no proper communication but then when they finally talk about how they’re feeling he’s like omg baby no that’s not it at all of course i’m still attracted to you i love you i just don’t want to pressure you after everything… cut to it ends in fluffy emotional smut and all is well again

lmao sorry this was so long and there’s no punctuation but this was literally a stream of consciousness 😮‍💨

hii thank you so much for the request it was really fun to write <;3

hope you enjoy!

It was completely your fault.

At least that’s how you felt. The bike ride was supposed to be short and sweet but you ended up in a small ditch with a broken ankle. You felt stupid more than anything. And a little embarrassed. You called Harry with a wobbly voice and shooting pain in your ankle. He raced to your location and took you to the hospital, doted on you endlessly and now that shooting pain has been reduced to a dull ache due to the medication they have you on.

His hands gently knead your leg and give you a much needed massage to soothe a cramp that’s been building up while you stare at him with loving eyes, “how’s it feeling, baby? Better? Doctor said it would be good to go home with some crutches.”

You roll your eyes at him and smirk mischievously, “I could’ve gone home days ago, you’re the one that made me stay here to make sure I was alright, Harry.” You chuckle softly and watch closely as he gets up to start to tidy up and collect your things.

“I just needed to make sure that there wouldn’t be any further damage, angel.” he pleads his case, stopping his gathering for a moment to shoot you a look that you only respond to with a deadpan stare.

“Whatever you say, Dr. Styles.”

“Mm. Say that again. S’kinda hot.” your lover smirks at you with that glint in his eyes that only shows up when he says something that he knows will have an effect on you. You giggle and he takes a couple steps towards you, leans down, and gives you a soft kiss. Your hands reach up to tangle in his brown curls, tugging lightly to pull him deeper into the kiss. The faintest of groans leave his lips and it makes a wave of contentment flow through you, you’ve missed him like this. That contentment is very quickly thwarted when Harry pulls away, only to leave you with a quick peck and a smile. You frown softly, but he misses it.

“All jokes aside though, I’m really glad you’re okay. It could’ve been a lot worse; you know?” He gently takes your chin between his fingers and squeezes softly. You nod and offer him a knowing smile. You know how anxious he gets, especially when it comes to the people he loves most, especially when it comes to you. “And excuse me for my innate nature to protect the girl I love.” he speaks with a sarcastic bite and a faux eye roll that you giggle heartily at.

“Alright, love.” his voice strains from the weight of you in his arms, “you just lay here and look pretty. I’ll go get your stuff and then we can cuddle.” You were cleared to go home. They sent you off with some crutches and told you that you were good to go.

And that’s basically how the rest of the five weeks in the cast went. You and Harry, alone in your house, with Harry constantly all over you and needing to make sure you were okay. He rarely let you out of his sight unless he had to go to work and you loved it, but seeing him and not being able to really kiss him the way you want to has you a little bummed, and frustrated. You’ve not only missed kissing him, you’ve missed having him. The weight of him on top of you, the praise he always whispers in your ear, the way he feels when he touches you and fucks you like no one else can. You’ve missed all of that.

And you barely need the crutches anymore! You’ve been walking just fine without them and Harry has been so vocal about being proud of your progress, but still nothing.

You try to give him hints sometimes but it’s like it completely flies over his head. He’ll just kiss you as if you guys are being watched by the pope and be his normal perfect, “tooth-rottingly” sweet self.

“Missed you so much, angel.” He had just come back from work, tired, but obviously never too tired for his girl, “d’you need anything? You’ve eaten right?” he mumbles while his face is squished cutely into your arm.

“Yes, my love. I’ve eaten. Don’t need anything really. Just you.” And that one was obvious, really obvious, you used that tone you normally use with him when he’s fucking you, you have your hands tangled in his hair and make sure to tug lightly enough to where it feels like an accident, you’re wearing his favorite smelling body oil, you’re even dragging your foot across his thigh for god’s sake. What more does he need? He’s usually ready to go with less.

“Well you’ve got me. Always.” his head shoots up, the curls flopping with it, he grins so happily at you like you aren’t dying from the emptiness of not having him inside you for so long. You might lose it and honestly you can’t even blame yourself for how you’re reacting. He’s just too good to be without it for this long. And you can’t figure out why he doesn’t seem to want to give you what you need. That’s always been his promise after all, that he was going to give me what you needed, always.

So, what in the world is going on now?

It’s been another two weeks. Still no moves from Harry and still seventeen million moves from you (a day). You’re beginning to think that he’s doing it on purpose, and that, that is a dangerous thought. You’re the biggest overthinker you know, and now that the seed is planted in your head that Harry is avoiding your attempts at being intimate with him, it’s spiraling out of control. There’s a big ball of emotion in the pit of your stomach that’s making you feel like shit and you really don’t like the feeling.

You decide to go downstairs and find him, hoping to just talk it out. The whole way down the stairs you’re convincing yourself that it’s all just a big misunderstanding or miscommunication, but your brain is working overtime to convince you that you're being avoided on purpose.

When you hit the last step, you immediately see him, in all his glory. His back is turned to you and he’s wearing a tight black shirt that showcases every muscle in his back and arms. It honestly makes your mouth water. You walk up closer to him when you realize he’s on the phone and your walking slows so you can be quieter. Your hands reach up to touch his shoulder and finally get some of that physical contact you’ve been craving. He puts his hand on yours for a second but then slightly shrugs your hand off of his shoulder. Your heart drops.

Now, normally, you would’ve found it funny, or just chalk it up to him doing something important, or being in a bad mood, but there was only one word running through your head now.

Burden.

The extreme fear you have of feeling unwanted manifests in many different ways. You stumble back from him, while he doesn’t even notice the pain on your face, and you slowly retreat to your room. As soon as you get upstairs, and onto your bed, the waterworks start. You feel so incredibly dramatic but it hurts so much to feel like the only person you want around doesn’t feel the same way you do.

It’s a couple dozen minutes of crying before you hear his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Your door opens a couple moments later and Harry comes in it. The first thing he heard, which stopped him in his tracks, was a sniffle. And then he saw you crying. His heart drops.

“Hey, hey hey. What’s going on?” he rushes over to you with his gentle voice, immediately crouching down to level with where you’re laying on the bed. “Is it hurting, baby? Tell me what’s wrong.”

And he tries to convince you to tell him, for way longer than he should’ve, lots and lots of coaxing, and when you finally told him, it may have been in the least liked way that you were imagining.

“Why won’t you touch me?!” you blurt out, frustration clear as day in your voice. Harry leans back slightly at the shock of your admission.

“Why won’t I…touch you? I–babe what are you talking about?”

“I’ve been trying everything I know of to get you to realize I just need you so badly, but it feels like you’ve been ignoring it. Like you just don’t want to be intimate with me and it feels like I’m a burden or something. I hate feeling like I’m bothering you.”

Harry has a permanent frown on his face when you speak, looking directly into your eyes, following your every move.

After your short rant he looks at you for a moment, he looks away as if he’s in thought, he sighs almost as if he’s relieved, then you watch him…laugh?

“I cannot believe,” he starts, immediately getting up from his crouched position to stand and tower over you. “I cannot believe that you could ever think that I don’t wanna be close to you, or make you feel good, or make you come the way only I can.” his eyes have changed from soft and concerned to intense, but with that familiar glint.

“You really think I’d ever deprive myself of being in between those gorgeous thighs, baby? Really?” his hand softly grazes against your thigh, almost as if to prove his point. Your eyes flutter shut at the faint touch. Finally, you think.

“I’ve only been worried about your ankle. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright before we did anything. You hurt yourself pretty badly baby, didn’t wanna pressure you.”

“Jesus, H. Seriously? I was worried–” you’re cut off when he kisses you deeply, his hand coming up to loosely wrap around your throat. You moan into the kiss and he groans deeply, moving himself so he’s on top of you.

“Thought I taught you better than you not using your words, pretty.” he rasps, his tone soft but condescending. You whimper softly at his words, as he spreads your legs to fit himself between them, rocking his hips to grind himself against you. “Hm? Use your words, baby. You have to tell me what you want.”

That slow grinding is making your mind go fuzzy, it’s been so long and you already feel dizzy with pleasure. “Need to be close. Need you to fuck me.” you mumble. You already feel closer than you have in a long time. The way you’re staying directly into his moss green eyes as his entire body flexes with his movements, the way you can feel his soft pants against your skin.

“Yeah?” and he wastes no time. He kisses down your body slowly, like he’s worshiping you, and makes his way down between your thighs. He spreads you apart slowly like if he wants to savor every moment and when he finally gives you what you want, he gives and gives and gives.

And you just have to sit there and take it while he’s fucking you with his perfect mouth like that, getting his face and your thighs all messy with your arousal, moaning as if he’s the one getting pleasure from it, making you come twice on his tongue despite your squirming and whimpers.

“Have no idea how much I missed your perfect cunt, baby. No idea.”

And when you tried your very best to pull away due to the overstimulation, he tightens his arms around your waist and tugged you back to him harshly with a gruff, “M’not done. Need more.”

And god if you didn’t just die right then.

When he fucked you, it was slow. And you could definitely tell that he missed you just as much as you missed him. Deep and slow strokes that brought the most beautiful sounds out of both of you and had his breath stuttering and eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re so perfect, so wet for me.” he moans softly. Suddenly his eyes open and his brows pull together when he looks down at you, he almost looks…sad.

“Don’t you ever think that I don’t want you like this again, do you understand me?” He punctuates his words with a very purposeful thrust that rubs right against the spot that makes you shake. “I could never be not attracted to you. Never. You’re the only person that has me this fucking gone. How do you not see what you do to me?”

He reassures you the whole time, whispering those praises you missed so much in your ear ang touching you exactly the way he knows you like.

“You’re so fucking good for me, angel. Squeezing me so tight, you missed me hm?”

“Wanna come for me? Is my needy girl gonna soak my cock? Go ahead baby.”

“That’s my girl. Fuck I’ve missed how you feel when you come around my cock like that.”

And when you both finish, he’s extra cuddly. You guys are bundled up in the blankets and it feels like if he were to crawl in your skin it still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

“God I missed you.” he breathes out contentedly.

“Missed you too, H. So much.”

“Also you smell really good, is that my favorite body oil?” he questions with the most adorable smile on his face.

“Now you notice?” you giggle and roll your eyes; he has a confused pout on his face, and you just cuddle up closer to him and let your eyes fall shut.

#harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #new #h's video diary

385 notes · View notes