#they give off divorced vibes if anything

[jaratedeguadalupe]

will never understand brotherly anxceit where is the sibling dynamic. i don’t see them physically attacking each other 

#they give off divorced vibes if anything #whenever they enter a room it suddenly turns in to a divorce court #shout out to my brother for teaching me self defense at the age of 7 #and with that I mean making me your personal punching bag #the making the living room boxing a ring 24/7 #just sibling stuff #will never understand people calling out sibling for being mean and attacking each other #wdym that’s how siblings act #if you take away my controller so that you can win #i'm coming for you #ts janus #ts virgil #janus sanders #virgil sanders #anxceit #sanders sides

[goldsbitch]

That one Christmas flight

summary: Y/N and Lando Norris are seated next to each other on a long flight. Innocent little Christmas tradition that Y/N does every year brings them just a little too close.

warnings: fluff, one-shot (whops a lie!), meet cute

Christmas. Y/N felt like an alien walking among people. It was impossible to avoid it. It was present in songs, in decoration, in fashion, online and on the news. Everywhere.

It's not like she was a grinch or anything. Nor was it because of some tragic incident causing trauma. Just pure fatigue from all the logistics and travel connected, which most kids of divorced parents faced every year.

Flying from Japan back to England, from her mother to her father, was a chore that seemed unavoidable. Her mother was kind enough to splurge on first class ticket for her, which her fancy Tokio job allowed. Ever since fours years ago, she continued a tradition that was introduced to her by a fellow Christmas traveller - the most stylish sassy French woman, who often spend the holidays on a plane. She would get herself and who ever was sitting next to her a glass of champagne and chat them up. Y/N has never laughed so much in her life like she did when she met this woman - so she took the tradition as her own.

Lando's plan wasn't to be on a flight from Japan to London on the 24th of December. He had so little time with his family and friends that this secret work trip to the Honda factory was really pushing him into staying with McLaren for the following years and not switching to a different team. This whole situation was like fuel for his current headache.

Y/N second guessed her tradition when a super gorgeous looking boy, who seemed to want anything but to be bothered, was sat next to her. She was used to having older people sitting next to her. Anyway, tradition is a tradition, so she eventually got up to order the classic. She nearly turned back at the thought that this guy was giving off some serious "I'm a dick" vibes, he had barely acknowledged her since she sat down. Luckily, she ignored this feeling.

When a glass of champagne appeared before Lando, he was sure it was a mistake.

"Well, to Christmas," his neighbor toasted. While he thought that she was a rather good looking girl, he was in no mood for a fangirl.

"I'm very sorry, um...I'll be happy to take a photo with you or something, but I am not in the best mood for a interaction with a fan."

She gave him a baffled look.

He continued. "Look, I'll be more than happy to sign anything. Or a photo, just as long you keep between un on which flight you saw me."

Y/N put her glass down, this was a first one.

"First of all, sorry for invading your private time. I have this stupid tradition of having a glass with whomever I'm destined to spend this Christmas flight. Guess I was mistaken. Second of all, I have no fucking idea who you are. So, calm down." She downed half of her glass. Of course this stupid year would include an asshole like this. Oh well.

Lando was confused for a moment and immediately after that he felt like an idiot.

"Apologies," he slowly replied, somewhat baffled. "I thought you were a fan and I'm just not in the mood for that." Y/N rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her champagne. "I'm Lando, by the way."

"Is that a stage name?"

"No, " he laghed. "I think it was a random decision of my mom."

"Interesting. Y/N," she introduced herself, without looking at him.

There was a weird tension in the air. Lando was determined to break it. Y/N was currently casually offended.

"Let me get you another one so that we can have a toast."

"Great, getting drunk is also an option. Hate flying sober," she joked.

Another glass was brought by a smiling flight attendant.

"So, how does this work?" Lando asked. Y/N was a person easily annoyed, however as quickly this came it also ended.

"Fine. There are rules, btw."

"Of course there are."

"Ehm, ehm, " she cleared her throat. "So, this tradition was started by Madame Tatanova and from now on, if you find yourself on a plane on 24th or 25th of December, you need to toast with your fellow neighbor passenger and answer the following: why and for how long-"

"I will have to write this down, I have a memory of a dead chicken."

"-I'm not finished! And then you follow up by your biggest regret and one thing nobody knows. The purpose of this is to gain or pass on wisdom and use the opportunity you'd normally miss by blasting up your headphones." She's done this for four times now, still the introduction was missing the "Madame Tatanova magic". Maybe one day.

"Ok..." Lando was not following yet, but he was keen on doing so. She raised her glasses, as did he.

"Cheers, to Christmas flights."

"Cheers, " he replied and they both sipped their champagne. "Wait, I have a question - what would you do if I did not speak English? Or if I was deaf?"

Lando was being his cheeky self and Y/N was not having it. She answered the question with a look.

"Got it! Anyway...what was the question?"

"Why."

"Why? Why is the sky dark or....?"

"Why are you on this plane."

"I'm trying to get to London from Tokio."

"I swear to god, I will ask to be seated somewhere else, Orlando."

"Lando, actually."

"If you say so..."

"Huuh, I'm going back from a work trip. And since you claim not to know me, I can probably tell you more than I should. Um, imagine I am in a band, right? I'm singing for a band and every few years they change their lead singer, one of the two actually, and I'm a the lead singer who might go to a different band now. But it's not clear yet and super secret actually. So, please keep it to yourself." Lando felt like someone who has just discovered speech and this was the first time he was using it. "Does that make any sort of sense?"

"Sort of I think. So you're cheating on your band?"

"Uhh, I'd say checking out options."

"Remind me never to date guys like you," she joked and immediately regretted that. Y/N was not good at flirting and did not want to appear creepy.

Lando passed on this comment, still not sure if he could trust this girl. "So, what about you? Why?"

"The curse of the divorced parents. One lives in London, the other one in Japan and I'm a package they pass each year," she said rather bitterly.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. I get to see mom twice a year and it's all always so planned and predictable. I would kill for spontaneity."

"Take me with you next time, I'm sure she'll be surprised." "Yes, she is a big fan of British guys, that's why she divorced one!"

"Great, happy to follow that route!"

Y/N started to relax a bit. This could be good, actually. "Ok, so now. For long are you staying in London, Lando?"

"Only few weeks. Then our music season starts. "

"Yeah, the one with all the singing, of course."

"Yeeah."

Y/N laughed a bit. He was suprisingly easy to talk to.

"So, how long?"

"A week. Then I'm off to Bologna."

"Uuuh, fancy that!"

"Yeah, I'm studying history there."

"Bologna is the one with the old university?" he asked, pretending he has never heard of that.

"No, not really, they just opened. Last year we did not have chairs, because the shipment got delayed," she replied with a dry tone.

"One does always study better while standing. I believe it was Socrates, who said it."

"Oh, yes. They teach you this at the singing music school?"

"Exactly. We were never allowed to sit."

They continued to chat all the way through the airplane dinner, getting few more glasses of champagne during that. Their laughter was interrupted by a flight attendant, who acted on a complaint from a fellow passenger. They both fell asleep watching a movie. Y/N woke up few times in the night and observed the boy next to her. Knowing this was the best Christmas plane encounter she ever had. Lando woke up as well, feeling strangely happy about the fact she was resting her head on his shoulder.

//

"Wait." Lando stopped her at the entrance to customs hall and pulled them both behind a column, so that they could not be seem by bystanders.

"Yes?" she turned to him.

"This might be weird, but can I kiss you?" Y/N looked at the boy in a hoodie standing in front of her, cheeky guy suddenly appearing nervous. He was absolutely gorgeous. She hated the fact he was random guy on a plane to London and not to Bologna.

"Yes. Must be midnight somewhere. So it could be like a New Years thing."

"Yeah. Just an airport thing." With that he kissed her. Just two young people having a little moment of silence. His kiss was a light slow brush on the lips. He cupped her cheek and her hand brushed through his curly hair. First kiss usually does not take long. For a person passing by, this would appear like kiss these two shared a thousand times before.

When they eventually parted, it all seemed a bit surreal.

"We never got to the second part of your Christmas interview," Lando commented.

"Well. Let's say that the one thing nobody knows is that I just kissed a random guy from the plane. And that my biggest regret is that we will never see each other again." For the first time, she was this bluntly honest with somebody who had just kissed her for the first time. It felt intoxicating.

Lando smiled. "See, I knew we had something in common."

Lando was usually not so open with his crushes, if he could even put her in that category.

"Don't worry. I won't search for you online or anything. I want to keep the mystery of Lando alive."

He kissed her once more, before they parted.

//

Their hearts felt a little more heavier than usual on midnight that New Years Eve. Both standing surrounded by their favorite people, yet with the one they would wish to kiss being impossibly far away.

part 2

_________________________

@superlegend216

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #ln4 imagine #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris angst #meet cute #fluff #lando norris fluff #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 fanfic #oneshot fanfiction #ln4 x reader #That one Christmas flight

[seakicker]

☆ 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

[onsunnyside]

So while stepdad!aus aren’t my cup of tea I will posit the question to the group….

Isn’t Lloyd Hansen a very stepdad type of guy that gets into the family for some work purpose but ends up walking away with you? He’s just giving the vibe 😳

dear goodness… all holy beings look away

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | stepdad!Lloyd Hansen x reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | age gap, stepcest, possessive behaviour, smut - minors dni, unprotected sex (p in v), daddy kink, spitting, lots of cum, breeding kink, overstimluation, p*ssy slapping, finger sucking, some praise, dumbification, degradation, dacryphilia, smidge of tear licking, squirting, creampie(s). 

𝗪/𝗖 | 1510

🍆 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲… 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“T-Too full,” you try to get away, clawing at the bed sheets as his thick, red tip prods at your creamy hole, “can’t—not again.”

“You can,” Lloyd spits on your cunt as if you weren’t already a wet, sticky mess. His head traces up and down your slit, paying extra attention to your sensitive clit. “Remember? You promised me a special gift for Father’s Day.”

Through blurry vision, you spot the handmade card and photo album on his nightstand. That was the gift you spent weeks making, between fussing (and failing) with the card multiple times, and collecting and arranging the perfect album of your stepfather, Lloyd has been in the back of your mind in more ways than one. 

The gift wasn’t your idea, it was your mother’s. She wanted Lloyd to feel welcomed to the family despite it all being business, just a marriage between two of the city’s most influential people for security, power and status. 

She wanted him to feel at home and ultimately, like he belonged. And to do that, she wanted you to be a sweetheart, to create and gift it to him yourself. 

“He’s your stepfather and the reason we aren’t back in that terrible place again.”

You know she didn’t think he’d fuck you in their shared bed. 

“Remember when you used to avoid me? Go out whenever I was home, I heard you even wanted to skip the wedding.” He whispers in your ear, the low creamy tone makes you melt. “Thought you hated me—now look at you, taking my cock like a good girl.” He presses on your stomach, pinning you down as he pounds into your sloppy cunt. “So full of my cum, you gonna let me fill you up again, sunshine?”

“Didn’t hate you…” You trail off to a moan as he kisses your jaw, slowly working down your neck. 

“Well, you didn’t like me either.” Lloyd murmurs against your skin, groaning as your legs wrap around his hips and pull him deeper. “Fuck—you were such a daddy’s girl, huh? Didn’t want me taking his spot?” 

He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t sold on the newest addition to your family, especially so soon after your parents divorce and your father’s arrest. Regardless of how grateful your mother, and the rest of your siblings were, and Lloyd’s reputation and wealth, this new man would never amount to your father. 

But as your mother stated, you needed the label, protection, and image. 

She was a woman who never faltered, even with the rumors of her cheating husband, and his untimely arrest for fraud. She will stand unwavered, and unaffected by the publicity. 

She remains steady with resolve, and will happily marry another high status man within a few months. Even if that man happened to be far worse than your father, neck deep in shady businesses and bad things. To the public, Lloyd was a clean, sophisticated CEO who was the perfect replacement for your cheating and lying father. 

Right now, he’s your stepfather fucking you into the bed he shares with your mother, pumping you with another load while you squirt all over his length. He doesn’t stop or slow down, if anything, the oversensitivity makes him more ravenous. He loves watching you tremble on his cock, caught between begging for a break and pleading for more. 

Your arms shoot out, yanking him down for a messy kiss full of clashing teeth and warm breaths. “Wanted you so badly. Please—don’t stop.” You moan, twitching under him when he pulls out, plugging you with the heavy tip before ramming forward. 

With every thrust, your head brushes the headboard. Lloyd fucks his cum into you, forcing you to take the previous loads and his fat girth, he wants to mark you from the inside out. Your cries are music to his ears, he wishes he could watch his cum dribble out around his dick, and smear down your ass to the once-clean sheets. But, he doesn’t want to move, this position with your breasts against his chest, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and your pulsating walls milking his cock—if he had a choice, he’d never move. 

“I know, your new daddy knows, baby.” He coos, lowering his body until his balls touch the filthiness between your thighs. He’s pressed to the hilt, you can practically feel him in your guts. With slow grinds, he watches as you sink into the mattress, small hiccuping breaths escape your parted lips. “Poor baby, those college boys don’t know how to fuck you. They don’t know how to stretch out this little pussy, make you a stupid mess—bet they leave you high and dry.” 

You can’t do anything but take his pounding, tears trailing down your face as he rams into your spot. Your whole body tenses, and your cunt sucks him deeper, hungry for more despite there being no room left. Squelching noises bounce off the walls and make you cover your face, weeping into your hands as he splits you apart. 

He leans back, and between your fingers, you watch his abs flex and his neck tense. A guttural groan rumbles from within his chest, a stark contrast to your blubbering of daddy, daddy, daddy. Lloyd moves your hands and brings one to his mouth, sucking your fingers and swirling his tongue. 

“You’re going to come for me again.” 

You immediately shake your head, but make no movements to escape, all too lost in the pleasure. Your hand is pulled from his mouth soaked with his salvia, and as if in slow motion, you watch him bring it to your cunt—and that’s when you try to get away. 

Lloyd easily tugs you back, pounding harder and deeper. He’s rearranging your insides, pulling you to meet his thrusts, then reaching down to collect your cream that’s formed a ring around his base. He shoves his fingers between your lips, fucking your mouth as a mixture of your salvia and arousal drip from the corners of your lips. 

“Look at you, getting fucked from both ends. All that’s missing is something in your ass.” He hooks your knee over his shoulder, stretching your sore hole, and exposing yourself to the hot air. You can only imagine how filthy you look down there. “Slap your clit before I do it for you.” 

The next few moments have faded into one. Between his unrelenting thrusts shoving your sweaty body higher on the bed, and his demands of harder, and to spank your clit until it hurts—you fall over the egde again. 

“I know no one knows how to make you do that. That’s it, such a good girl for daddy.” He leans back, watching you squirt and cover his lower half in your release. Your whole body convulses as a silent mewl pours from your mouth, tears of pleasure and pain stream down your face. His thrusts have slowed into thorough grinds as sticky strings connect your most intimate parts. 

You allow him to move you as he pleases, dragging out your orgasm as it bleeds into another—you can barely breathe as he rubs your sore clit, his rough fingertips are cruel on your overworked button.

His face his inches away and blush blooms over his skin. “I’m going to leave your mother, and you’re going to come with me.” He promises, swooping down to kiss your tear-stained cheeks. Lloyd can’t reisst licking a few. “You’re going to be my little wife, and I’m going to fuck you like this everyday, fill this tight cunt with my cum, and you’re going to make me a real daddy.” 

His hips rail forward as you lay a limp mess, still crying as he pumps you full. His cum spurts along your sore walls, trying to find space but there isn’t any left, and it seeps out around his girth, leaking down your ass and his heavy balls. These sheets will never be saved.  

Then, the door downstairs opens, and your mother’s voice rings out. 

Lloyd pulls back with a smile, sweat brimming at his hairline. “Looks like it’s time to share the news, pumpkin.” He takes pride in your dazed expression, you probably can't even hear him now, let alone process his words. Slowly, he starts fucking his cum into you, desperate to knock you up for the final nail in the coffin of his marriage to your mother.

Wet noises seep into your foggy mind, playing dully in the background to your Lloyd-filled thoughts. He’s successfully fucked you stupid, and you’ve never felt so good. 

Your cunt is filled to the brim, his seed coating your core, marking you with his scent and presence. Each grind sends shocks throughout your body, your pussy is a pathetic mess—there’s no doubt that he’s got you pregnant already—and that brief realization shoves you deeper under the surface of pleasure. 

Lloyd groans as you start to meet his motion, although weak and stuttering, you silently tell him you want him too. “Or maybe, she should catch us, hm? Wouldn’t that be interesting?”

#daddy sorry daddy party #lloyd hansen #tw stepcest #Lloyd Hansen x reader #Lloyd Hansen smut #lloyd hansen fanfiction #Lloyd Hansen fanfic #Lloyd Hansen x reader smut #stepdad Lloyd hansen #stepdad!lloyd hansen #the gray man fanfic #chris evans #chris evans character x reader #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #sonny's stories #punkbcnes<3

[cherryheartssblog]

SHE CALLS ME DADDY

Summary: Y/N is just a woman working as waitress at a night club and is a full time student in college. Trying to better her life from her past she never thought she find a man to treat her like she deserved.

Warnings: 18+!, smut!, rich! negan smith, daddy kink!, mentions of drinking, daddy issues!, oral sex (f receiving), major sugar daddy vibes!, girlyreader!, praise kink!, cursing!, rough sex!, gift giving!, mentions of divorce, mentions of trauma!, dom! Negan, choking!, pet names!, dirty talk!, sub reader!, fluff!, major family issues!, jealous tendencies!, obsessive negan!,age gap!, cursing, and not fully edited.

A/N: been obsessed writing old rich vibes and sugar daddy vibes! This was just something quick I wrote up, I hope you enjoy! ❤️

SEVEN MONTHS AGO..

Y/N strutted up to the bar, her tray held high above her head. "Two martinis with two tequila shots!" she shouted over the beat of the music. As she set down the tray, she smoothed out her tight black skirt and adjusted her matching top, which hugged her curves in all the right places. Working at this upscale nightclub had perks, and Y/N always looked her best. She had landed the job a year ago, shortly after moving in with her roommate Emma. The night was young, and anything could happen.

As Emma and Y/N worked their shift together, Emma asked a question in a low tone, "They tipping you well tonight, babe?" Emma was the main bartender for the night. They both had been fortunate enough to land the same job, and were even luckier to occasionally get the same shifts. Sharing the same classes and work schedules had helped them a lot, especially when they had to work night shifts. Emma started making the drinks while Y/N smiled and shrugged, glancing over her shoulder. The colored lights in the bar illuminated Y/N's reddened face, which Emma couldn't help but notice. Y/N's eyes followed something, and Emma tried to see what who it was, but Y/N swatted her hand away, and they both shared a hearty laugh.

“Who do you have your eyes on girl?” Emma was interested raising an eyebrow, laying the drinks down on the empty tray. “Just this guy, no big deal.” Y/N shrugged it off, grabbing the tray, “He is older and on a date already.” Emma scoffed rolling her eyes playfully, she snorted a little starting to make more drinks to serve. Y/N held the tray high pursing her lips, leaning on alitle for only Emma to hear. “Seems rich, saw his watch. Probably a sugar daddy.” Y/N joked walking away with the tray serving the table across from the man she couldn't stop looking over at.

He was in a booth, the lady beside him was talking which seemed she had been doing that a lot . The older male kept his eyes around the bar mainly, once making eye contact with Y/N sending her a wink. Y/N’s face was reddened with embarrassment, clearing her throat laying down the two shot glasses quickly receiving a tip. Y/N breathed fighting a smile on her face going up to his booth to clear the empty glasses they've had. “Is there anything else I got can you guys?” Y/N asked a smile, she had the empty glasses on her tray.

Y/N felt uneasy as the woman sitting across from her gave her a scrutinizing look. On the other hand, the man beside the woman seemed to be intrigued by Y/N's presence and his face lit up upon seeing her. "I think we're good, sweetheart," Negan said, his eyes wandering over her. "We'll just take the check." The woman sitting beside him scoffed and let out a small hiccup.

“I'd like another drink, I'll head to the bar myself.”

Negan’s scratched the top of his nose straining a smile. Y/N couldn't help but notice the insincerity in the woman's expression as she stumbled towards the bar. Feeling a surge of annoyance, she decided to go to the bar herself once Negan did not offer another glass.. As she walked past the woman, she held her gaze for a moment before shrugging it off and forcing a smile, trying to suppress her anger.

“I'll go grab check, sir.” Y/N maintained a sweet and polite tone. She assured him that she would retrieve his check and raised her voice slightly to ensure he could hear her over the music. She made her way towards the printing station, keeping in mind the woman who had been eyeing her. Y/N had noticed that the older man had also been ogling her, which made her feel a bit disconcerted. She quickly retrieved the glasses from behind the bar before proceeding to print the customer's check. However, before she could do so, she felt a jolt from behind. When she turned around, she saw the older man smirking at her with a sly expression on his face. Y/N rolled her eyes, fully aware of his intentions.

“What? You tryin’ to ask for my number while on a date?” Y/N questioned, she crossed her arms keeping a smile resting on her face. “Was just our first date, doll.” The man admitted, “Don’t worry I’ll be a gentleman and take her home.” He didn’t admit he was not wanting to ask for her number. Y/N just laughed trying to walk away as he then stood in front of her to stop her.

Y/N laughed stopping in her tracks looking up at him. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ve been seeing you for weeks here.” Y/N couldn’t believe he had kept his eyes on her so long. Her lips piercing burst of confidence, the man was very attractive. She knew he was older, he seemed to have money by the way he dressed and class. He had tattoos that peaked out on his arms and chest. He had a few gray hair on his beard and through the curls in his hair but it made him look even better.

The two of them had wandered off to a secluded area, away from the hustle of the club. Y/N stood there, crossing her arms, lost in thought. She wondered if this was a good idea, and if she should proceed. Suddenly, she asked, "Do I even get to know your name first?" The older male flashed a smile, causing her heart to skip a beat. But it was a smirk, one that sent shivers down her spine. It was a smirk that seemed almost sinful as if he had a dark secret hidden beneath the surface.

“That names is Negan.” He licked his lips, Y/N nodded being close to the register and starting to ring up his check. Negan watched her, starting from her bare legs to her exposed chest. She was a beautiful woman, a smile that made his night. She seemed just like his type, he wanted to more know about her from the first time her saw her. She quickly ripped his recipet writing something on it quickly giving it to Negan.

As Negan glanced down at the receipt, his eyes lit up when he saw her number scribbled at the bottom. A wide grin stretched across his face as he looked up at the young woman with a playful smirk. He smoothly pulled out his wallet and took out a two crisp hundred-dollar bill, placing it gently in her hand. "Keep the change, doll," he said, his voice low and smooth. The woman felt her face flush at his flirtatious wink, her heart racing in her chest as a mix of excitement and nervousness coursed through her.

“Get your date home.” Y/N still gave him a warm smile, “Thanks for the tip.” Sending a wink his way.

Y/N knew she shouldn't do this but why the hell not?

PRESENT TIME…

That was seven months ago. Seven months ago when she met Negan Smith.

Y/N couldn't help but feel drawn to him. He had a certain charm that was hard to resist. After that unforgettable night, it took her a couple of days to muster the courage to text him. To her pleasant surprise, he responded promptly, expressing his interest in taking her out on a date. He suggested a nice restaurant, and upon their arrival, he opened the door for her, being a true gentleman. His chivalry did not go unnoticed, and Y/N felt grateful to be in his company.

After going out on a few dates, it was clear that Negan and Y/N had chemistry. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was then that Negan made an enticing proposition to Y/N - he wanted her to be his, and he promised to treat her like a queen. He vowed to give her everything she could ever want or need, and Y/N found herself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Growing up, she had never received that kind of attention or affection from a male figure, and perhaps that's why Negan's offer was so appealing to her.

Now, Y/N was working lesser shifts at the club spending her weekends with Negan at his place. Just as much as Negan was a gentleman he fought to keep his hands off her before discussing details. She was different than most women to him. He wanted her more than anything.After his messy divorce, he took a break on dating for while. It took him a couple years but when meeting Y/N it made him want to try again.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, admiring herself as she wrapped a beautiful necklace around her slender neck. The black dress she was wearing hugged her curves in all the right places, making her look stunning. She had been staying over at Negan's place for the weekend, and as she turned around, she saw him leaning against the wall behind her, holding something behind his back.

Negan's eyes sparkled as he looked at her, and he couldn't resist complimenting her. "Well, don't you look sexy," he said, his hands instantly on her hips.

Behind his back, he revealed a bouquet of flowers, and Y/N's face lit up with joy. She couldn't help but gush and squeal, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I know it's not a big anniversary, but I thought I'd still give you something special, sweetheart," Negan said as Y/N received the flowers.

"You spoil me way too much," the younger woman playfully scolded him, feeling his hands resting on her hips, squeezing the ends of her dress.

“That's my job, doll.” The older man gave her multiple kisses on the neck that tickled her a bit. She giggled, trying to keep the flowers squished, playfully pushing him back. “Quit it!!” Y/N whined with a laugh, “You are gonna mess the flowers up.” Negan chuckled at her reaction, and he shook his head, still finding her cute. “How bout I put them in a vase, yea?” Negan suggested taking them from her.

Y/N trailed behind Negan as he descended down to the kitchen. As she entered the room, he got her a vase, filling it with water. Negan wore a suit, but he had rolled up his sleeves, revealing his toned arms. Despite herself, Y/N couldn't help but find his arms alluring.

“You just eatin’ me up, ain't ya?” Negan looked up, wiping his hands off from the kitchen sink. Y/N realized how long she'd been staring, looking down quickly, getting another chuckle from Negan. “I should say the same thing about you.” Y/N knew he could have her around him instantly. He sprawled out on the kitchen counter, taking his cock deep.

Y/N and Negans sex life got better and better each time she felt like it. After their first couple of dates, they fucked for the first time in his vacation home after he took her for a trip. Then, after that, it could be anywhere from the back seat of his car to the bathroom of the restraunts he took her. He had her wrapped around his finger, shed been on her knees instantly for him. It

“What's on that pretty lil’ mind of yours?” Negan could read her energy, learning about her each day. Y/N blushed, dhe was Already shifting from the sinful thoughts of him. He legs squeezing together feeling a pressure in her pussy that he made her feel many times before. “When's the reservation?” Y/N was quiet when she asked, her heels clicked walking closer to him. Being right in front of him, he'd hands trailed up his button shirt getting a smirk from him.

“Oh trust me, doll. We got time for this.”

His lips pressed against hers as his hand caressed her neck. Y/N moaned into his mouth and deepened the kiss by parting your lips and letting him in. The feeling of his tongue against her made her insides tingle as he kisses her harder.

Chills spread through down her body and down her legs; she gripped the top of his jacket. Y/N pulled him closer to her. His hand drops to her bare thigh, rubbing the goosebumps that crept on her skin. He chuckles darkly, sliding his hand upwards on her leg and stopping at the edge of her tighter dress. He picked her up quickly, placing her on the counter behind them.

“Makin’ them thoughts come true, sweetheart?” Negan groaned into her ear, leaving kisses down her neck. Y/N only whimpered, feeling his hand go to her throat, tightening around it slightly. “Use your words, baby girl.” His words had her melting to the floor; it was so hard to answer him.

“Yes..” Y/N stuttered out, feeling the heat already coming from her face. Negan chucked at her, on how helpless she was. “Yes, what?” Negans fingers brushed her lip; she kept her eyes looking up at him.

“Yes, daddy.”

"Spread for me, sweetheart." The sound of his deep voice radiates to her core as she gives in immediately, spreading her legs open slightly allowing him access. His hand cupped her pussy as he groaned softly in her ear, feeling how wet her underwear was. Her dress rode up, allowing him to see most of her body on display. He began throwing his shirt away, still hanging his pants snug around his waist with a belt.

"Negan, please touch me," Y/N pleaded, placing her hand on his and urging it to her center. “You are such a slut" He laughed seductively, pulling her underwear down slowly. "But you're my little slut, right?" The younger woman couldn't help but whimper at his filthy words, throwing her head back and feeling his finger run through her wet folds.

“Yes, daddy.” Y/N cried out, and she was a hot mess. She knew it, too. Y/N needed him so bad she could feel it in her stomach. It was a craving that would not go away even after having it so many times, “I'm yours, Daddy.”

“Damn right, you are.” Negan then got down on his knees in front of her. Before Y/N could stop him, he lifted her legs over his shoulders and then pulled her closer to the edge of the counter until his mouth was hovering right above her exposed, dripping cunt. She bit her lower lip as she looked down at him, bucking her hips a little as she tried to get him closer. He chuckled at how desperate her movements were.

“Please.” Y/N felt like the craving was hurting, like a pain building up from their tension and not saying any words. Negan had his tongue flick inside of her over and over. Then gliding his tongue up on her wet slit until reaching her clit and sucking gently. Y/N’s legs instinctively wrap around his head, pulling him closer by his hair as her head falls back with pleasure.

Her dress was now slipping off her shoulders; she was a moaning mess, her fingers running through her hair and his. "Feel good, baby? You like that?" He says after coming up for air; watching her expression, she cries from the loss of contact with his tongue. She could feel her orgasm build inside her stomach, butterflies filling up in her chest. Y/N could barely describe the feeling; pulling on his curls, she moaned loudly.

"Negan, I'm gonna..” Y/N screamed out, feeling overwhelmed; tears filled the corners of her eyes. Her back lifts off the counter, squirming around coming around his mouth as his tongue makes contact with her clit. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised her, climbing to meet her eyes. She was out of breath, keeping her eyes on him.

His lips sent to hers again, tasting her juices around his lips. “As he leaned in closer to her, Negan whispered, "I'll give you everything, my love. The world is yours for the taking. The stars, the moon, and every little thing in between. You are mine, and no one else can have you. I'll protect you with everything I have." Negan's infatuation with the younger woman had grown into an obsession, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side. Y/N giggled, wrapping her arms around him, his hands moving to his belt to undo his pants.

“Right now, I want you to go fuck me.”

“You're wish is my command, darlin’.”

"You sure you're ready for me, baby?" He playfully asked, smirking at Y/N. Pulling out his bare cock, giving it a jerk or two, teasing it at her entrance. “You know I always am, Daddy.” His hands cupped her neck, pushing into her slowly. Y/N moaned out, feeling herself stretch out. He groans as he slips inside of her, and the way she is practically begging for him drives him crazy. Negan loved it when she begged how submissive she could be.

"So fucking tight, holy shit," Negan muttered into her ear, his head dropping down to bite and suck on her neck. "Oh, baby, fuck." Y/N had her legs wrapped around Negan, feeling his thrust pick up. His hand tightened on her throat; Y/N was a moaning mess, having Negan moaning into her ear.

“You're always more than just sex, know that.” Negan had his hand around her where his nails dug into her cheeks, “You're mine.” Y/N whimpered out, her mouth hanging open as she couldn't stop letting moans out. Y/N and Negan did have a sort of sugar daddy deal going on for awhile, and maybe, in a way, they still did.

She knew feelings had developed though between the two.

His movements get harsher gradually, getting her closer and closer every second. "I'm so close, Negan," She admitted, her nails drug down his back she knew leave marks. "Taking me so fucking well, darling," Negan praised, reaching one hand down to lazily play with her clit. Which had her coming as he began. He takes her lips in a sensual kiss as she climaxed trying to muffle her moanscontinuing to fuck her through her orgasm. His entire body weight fell intoher giving into his own orgasm.

Gradually, his movements slowed down, and then pulls out as Y/N let out a tiring giggle. "Holy shit," she giggled, the whole situation setting in. Negan helped her up taking her hand, pulling her into another long kiss.

As they broke their kiss, he helped her straighten out her dress and whispered, "That was amazing, sweetheart." Y/N smiled and took his hands into hers, feeling a loose strap on her shoulder as she did so. She pulled it up and adjusted her dress, taking a moment to appreciate the sensation of his touch. He looked at her with a soft gaze and said, "I know we had plans, but could we just stay in for the night?" Y/N couldn't help but feel a warm, content feeling spread through her as she nodded in agreement.

“I was thinkin’ same thing.” Y/N smiled, “Could go for another round.”

#negan smut #negan x reader #negan fanfiction #negansmithfanfic #negansmithxoc #negansmithtwdsmut #negansmithausmut #negan x reader smut #negansmithsmut #negan smith smut #negan smith x smut #negan x y/n #negan x oc #negansmith

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Sword gays showdown, round 2, bracket three

Propaganda:

For Xie Lian:

The BIGGEST nerd about swords and swordfighting and martial arts it's his special interest and he's incredibly good at it! He ascended to godhood because of his prowess. He can literally defeat people with powers in swordfighting at a time he has no powers of his own. Talks people's ears off about swordfighting and recommends what specific weapon is best for them. Definitely has sword related trauma for *reasons* and doesn't like actually using them to harm anymore, but that doesn't mean he's not still incredibly skilled at using them when he needs to. And he'll still gush over any sword you give him to look at ❤️. A great quote from the book is: The Flower-Crowned Martial God: Sword in one hand, flower in the other. [they] only remembered the flower, but had forgotten:  Xie Lian ascended because of his sword.

Xie Lian basically has a special interest in swords. He's literally so good at using swords that the only person on par with him was the Heavenly Emperor and that was when he was 17!!!! He is LITERALLY "The Flower Crowned Martial God, Sword in One Hand, Flower in the Other". He knows everything about every kind of sword and all the history of every sort of legendary sword. His husband gifts him a whole armory full of swords and he spends a few hours geeking out about it. He's so good at swords he came up with a special technique to absorb the blow from two other swords so that only he himself is harmed but the other two he's trying to get to stop fighting Aren't harmed, and it's so special that he's *recognized* by it even after centuries. He also got stabbed by a sword a hundred times in one night does that count. He REALLY loves swords and is SO good at swords. He's the sword boy.

He is so incredibly autistic about swords. The author descibes him as a sword otaku. He canonically had a massive collection of swords in his youth that he carted around everywhere and wore a different one each day so they would all be appreciated. His love interests most successful flirtation was showing him his armory and just letting him run around picking everything up and infodumping about swords for several hours. Also he could wreck anyone. AND he's gay.

For Ballister:

he could tell when his sword was switched out for a fake, graduated top of his class so we know he's a good fighter, also the scene where he's fighting is hot because he's so confident with a sword in his hand, also he's gay

A canonically gay, disabled, South Asian man takes down the government with his genderqueer shapeshifter sidekick/adopted daughter! He has a swordfight with his ex-boyfriend! in which he defeats about 20 knights singlehandedly! 

top of his knight class this man is a master swordsman

(Movie) He has used a sword since he broke into the Institutes training ground and ended up becoming a knight

He has very divorced vibes with Ambrosius and he uses a sword.

He's a legit knight! So, it's in the fine print.

According to the Nimona movie, Ballister here has been practicing the art of sword fighting since childhood to earn the trust of the city and he was SO CLOSE to becoming a knight. He's also definitely not dating another one of his knight mates (?). Nope. Not at all. This movie is super straight /s I think he also beats an entire army of knights with nothing but his sword and a chaotic good shapshifter so that's pretty cool. He's also south Asian, has a prosthetic arm he made himself and is honestly such a goofy guy (in a good way ofc) if that's anything.

#sword gays showdown #ballister boldheart #xie lian #ballister blackheart #tgcf #tian guan ci fu #nimona #nimona movie #heaven official's blessing

[wildemaven]

bloom : one | joel miller

→ pairing: no outbreak joel miller x f!reader

→ WC: 2494

→ warnings: meet cute vibes, reader is single mom, small injury at work, Joel to the rescue using nontraditional techniques to help (I don't want to give it away), daughter is a teen and bleeds sarcasm, fluff and more fluff, mention of divorce and adoption.

→ a/n: some of you are probably like “wait, what is happening?!” i started this series on another account that i was using to take a break from this one. I had plans to finish this series out over there and then just abandon the account and move back here. but i love this series and want it to live here with my other work. so, im getting things set up so i can post part two later this week and move back to this account for good. also, this is series is a TLOU AU, so I've fudged all timelines and relationships to make it work for me. Ihope you like it, am very nervous to share it with you all.

two | series masterlist | main masterlist

You’re staring. 

It would feel less awkward if it were somewhere else, anywhere but where you are right now. Like sitting a table away at a packed restaurant, enough people crowded around to lessen your obvious ogling of a handsome stranger, eyes locked on his profile as you hide behind the empty glass you’re pretending to sip from. The crossing of paths in a grocery store would also feel less awkward, a quick glance back over your shoulder after your carts squeeze through the nearly claustrophobic aisle, your gaze on him as he stares at the shelves filled with sugary snacks— he most definitely would have a wicked sweet tooth you think. 

Unfortunately for you, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, it’s just you and him, alone in the store front of the floral shop— your floral shop. 

He’d walked by the front window, stopping instantly to read the shop’s name in gold letters above the entrance, then hands cupped over his eyes and face pressed close to the glass contemplating the shop’s worthiness of his time. 

It’s a corner spot, sitting at the crossroads of two of the town’s busiest shopping streets— prime location. Bold was a chance you took with painting the exterior black, even with the apprehension of the city council deeming it too “gothic” for the town's rather conservative appeal. The dark exterior paired with black and white striped awning over the door was the perfect balance of moody and romantic. 

It was worthy enough, pushing the front door open he stepped inside, the automated bell signaling through the shop. The heaviness of his boots scuff across the wood floor a few steps, his broad body stopping in front of one of the cold displays that held an array of dramatic arrangements. His hands tucked securely into his pockets as he looks around aimlessly, it’s evident this isn’t a regular occurrence for him. 

“Welcome to Wilder Floral. Is there anything I can help you with today?” You greet him from your workbench. 

Your hands busily work to trim the ends and dethorn the stems of a bundle of antique mauve roses, one of your best sellers, then trimming off the lower leaves before placing them in a bucket of water. 

“Not really sure at the moment. Just browsin’ for now.” His deep voice sounds through the small space, the raspy tone sending a tingle down your spine. 

“Okay. Well, if you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask.” He nods to you, catching the way his gaze doesn’t immediately break from you, he gives you a half smile then continues to look over everything again. 

You’re staring. 

Your mind is filled with thoughts of only this handsome stranger, quietly watching him over the now full bucket of cleaned roses. 

You note the way his hip cocks out to the side as he stands with his large hands secure against his small waist. His eyebrows pinch together briefly, a look of deep thought painted over his face accentuating the little crinkles around his eyes. After a moment, his beautiful face relaxes into a calmer expression. 

You can make out every muscle that runs the length of his arms, the weight of the arrangement he’s now holding provoking the defined musculature. His arms lifting and turning the vase with ease, examining every detail of the floral design you created. 

You’re still staring. You can’t help it though. Actually, you can, but your brain convinces you that you are just admiring, so that makes it more than okay— right? 

“You know, if you take a picture it lasts longer!” A hushed voice pops up from behind you. 

“Ouch!! God dammit, Ellie! Why do you do that?!” You yelp, tossing the rose stem you were holding onto the table. 

“It’s too easy! You were lost in la la land over some grumpy guy looking at flowers. I saw an opportunity, so I took it.” She laughs, pushing your buttons brings her a weird satisfaction. 

There’s a throbbing pain coming from your hand. Looking down you see  part of a thorn had broken off and was now embedded deep into the pad of your finger— a rookie mistake at this point in your career. You wrap your other hand around the base of your fingers, hoping some pressure will elevate the pain. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed this. Can you just go grab the first aid kit in the back, please!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Try not to fall for him too hard while I’m gone— don’t think you have enough bandages to fix that mess.” She sulks away into the back room. 

“Shit!” You hiss, the pain getting more intense and now radiating through your entire finger. 

“You okay ma’am?” The handsome customer asks you, stealthy in his approach to where you’re standing, still clutching your hand.

He places the floral arrangement he was holding down on your work table, his feet still moving in an urgent manner until he is standing in front of you. 

“Yeah— actually, no… The thorn broke off and it’s in there real good. It hurts and I’m trying really hard to not be a baby about it. Someone’s getting a first aid kit out of the back for me.” You hold your pained finger up to him. 

“Do you want me to take a look at it?” His hands slowly reach out, your lips parted and ready to speak but words fail you, only managing to nod a response. 

Your mind briefly wonders what Ellie is up to, but the thought vanishes instantly once his hands wrap around your wrist and he brings your injured finger closer to his face. 

“My name is Joel.” He looks over to you, heat pricks over your cheeks as he holds your gaze. It’s a cosmic thing, his touch activating warmth you’ve longed for. A corner of his mouth lifts, you can’t help but fixate on the dimple that forms resulting in a barrage of flutters erupting in your chest. 

“Hi Joel.” Giving him yours in return, his smile growing louder as he repeats it back to you softly, like he couldn’t wait to say it out loud. 

He refocuses back on your injury. A pinched expression, similar to the one he wore earlier, is even more adorable up close— zeroing in on the small wound that was tormenting you.

Joel’s movements are dizzying, an unbridled enthusiasm that elicits a sudden burst of desire you hadn’t experienced in ages, but he senses you trust him at your willingness to let him take control of the situation. Bringing your finger to his mouth, he wraps his pillowy lips around the tip of your finger and sucks with a gentle pressure. You watch him unabashedly, completely mesmerized by the way he jumped into action, how his cheeks draw in from the suction. 

Your eyes lock when he looks up from your hand, sensing your eyes already on him, his thumbs drawing circles over your wrist, soothing over your racing pulse, as he continues to suck at the fleshy pad of your finger. It feels nearly overwhelming, the fierceness of his warm brown eyes has an inebriating feeling blooming inside you. 

A gasp shoots through your throat at the feeling of his tongue slightly flicks over the part of your finger that is in his mouth, pressing the back of your other hand against your lips, embarrassed by your reaction to the erogenous sensation. 

The whole thing is over as quickly as it began. Joel is pulling your finger from his lips, his grip still holding on to your wrist as he lowers your arm down to your side. You watch as the tip of his tongue breaches his lips, his pointer finger and thumb picking at the small little thorn that was once lodged into your skin, now resting on his tongue. He rubs his lips together almost nervously, the weight of the whole situation kind of sinking in. 

“Got it!” He rasps, holding the annoying culprit up between his fingers. 

“How did you know that would work? I usually have to dig those out with tweezers. That was— wow, thank you.” 

“I get splinters regularly— I’m a carpenter. Sometimes when I’m out on the job, gotta use what you have. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, just knew it needed to come out— the last thing you want is an infected finger.” He rubs nervously at the back of his neck, hoping he didn’t over step in anyway. 

“No! Not uncomfortable in the slightest!! Thank you, seriously. Rose thorns can cause a mean infection too. I appreciate it—“ 

“I leave for two minutes and you’ve already moved onto second base with the guy?!” Ellie announces her reemergence, holding the first aid kit in her hands and a grossed out look on her face. 

“Ellie!” Your body runs cold, completely mortified, ready to crawl into the nearest hole. 

“He had your finger in his mouth— probably more like rounding to third if I’m being honest.”

You grab the kit from her hands, setting it on the counter, turning to see Joel still rooted in the same spot with his hands tucked into his front pockets and a tinge of red across his cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry! Sometimes I think my daughter forgets she has a filter and that she can actively choose to use it before she speaks.” You try to make sure he isn’t the one who feels uncomfortable now. 

“Adopted daughter, actually.” You roll your eyes at her need for technicalities. Adopted, yes, but daughter nonetheless. “Also, in case you were wondering, cause I’m sure you are, she’s single.”

“Ellie!” You look back at her with a sternness in your voice, eyes blown wide in hopes she picks up that she can stop at any point in time. Turning back to Joel, you mouth an ‘I’m sorry’, your shoulders dropping in defeat. 

There’s an awkward silence that settles over the three of you. Joel looks like he doesn’t really seem to know how to diffuse the awkwardness at hand, Ellie has a shit eating grin she wears proudly when she knows she’s embarrassed you just enough, and you simply would like to evaporate into thin air. 

“So, this is the part where you give your relationship status to her— makes this whole ‘her finger in your mouth’ thing feel a little less weird for all of us.” She has a point. You had been wondering that very thing, but how were you supposed to bring it up when he’s sucking a thorn out of your finger with his gorgeous mouth. 

“Single— very much single.” He laughs at how forward she is, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “I do have a daughter, probably about your age too.”

“What, your wife die or something?” Ellie asks with zero hesitation. 

“No. Just an ole fashion divorce. Anythin’ else you wanna to know?” He looks to Ellie, ready for whatever comes next. 

She studies Joel for a beat, “Nope, that’s all.” 

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful to what ever greater power decided to switch Ellie’s filter back on. 

Ellie turns to head to the back room, where she had previously been working on her homework, but turns on her heels in the process to look back at Joel and you.

“One last thing, she needs to be wined and dined before you even think about kissing her.” Then she's gone before you can say anything else. 

The awkwardness creeps back into the room, you’re not really sure how to come back from all of that. You open the first aid box, rifling through the contents for a cleaning pad and small bandage.

“She seems like a fun kid.” Joel decides to take the lead, watching you swipe the alcohol pad over your finger. 

“She is— she definitely keeps me on my toes at all times. But, she’s got a big heart under all her sarcasm.” You tell him. You grab for the bandage, but Joel beats you to it, snagging it off the table and ripping it open before you get the chance. 

You hold your finger out in front of you, ready for him to wrap it up properly for you, but instead of sticking gauze, your wounded finger is met with his plush lips for a few seconds.

“Obviously, a kiss to make it better.” He smiles again and you melt, biting at your lower lip as he wraps the dressing around your finger. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Speaking of daughters— mine is the reason I came here in the first place. I was wanting to get this arrangement for her. She passed a test she’d been stressin’ about. Thought I’d get her a little something to celebrate her.” Joel points to the flowers on the cash stand that he had been holding earlier, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket and pulling out his credit card ready to pay. 

“They’re on the house today.” You tell him as you walk up to your computer, imputing the information to zero out the sale. 

“No— no, I can’t let you do that. Lemme pay for them please. Least I can do for all your time and talent you put in.” Holding his card out to you, insisting he pay in full. 

“You practically saved my life,” A slight exaggeration, but he laughs anyway. “How about you come here for all your flowers in the future, instead of my competitors, and we’ll call it even.” 

“I can do that. I might just have a need for flowers soon then, I’m sure I can find an excuse to come back for more— you think you can handle that?” 

“Yeah— I can handle that.” Handing him the vase of flowers, hoping he does find an excuse to come back and tell you how much his daughter enjoyed them. 

Joel walks a few feet in the direction of the door then stops, turning back to see you’re already busily back to work with a handful of flowers. He says your name, falling from his lips like sweet honey, and you don’t think you could ever get tired of him saying it the way he does. “I’ll be seein’ you around. Try to be safe until then, m’kay?” 

“See you around Joel. I’ll keep the injuries to a minimum until then.”

“I’d prefer no injuries at all, actually.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

You exchange goodbyes, watching him cross the street and get settled into his truck from the store front window. You’re not sure why you miss him, having only just met, but there’s a longing that’s started to burn inside your heart. 

Joel’s truck merges onto the road, he takes one last glance in your direction, his hand thrown out the window waving at you as he drives off, planning his next visit so he can see you again. 

next

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #bloom series #no outbreak!joel miller #tlou au #pedrostories

[amomentwiser]

"Why don't you spend time with us?" they say, "Keep your phone away at the table."

Parents say they want to talk — until it's about anything real.

They don't want to know about how their plans for your future make you feel.

They don't want to know your fears, hopes or dreams.

The things you're interested in — your favourite music, games and movies;

Or the things you've come to believe.

Sometimes it feels like parents don't want to get to know you as a person. They only see you in relation to themselves.

Or sometimes they do talk about music and games and movies, and it's even worse — because the conversations you want to have are serious.

And it's worse because it becomes very clear, that they don't want to have conversations that matter. That, god forbid, make them feel.

They want to avoid talking about all the times they yelled at you. No apology, no acknowledgement. Just glaze over those parts and pretend everything's normal. Neither guilt nor remorse.

And you're left wondering whether this thing you have a memory of actually happened, because everyone is acting like it didn't. And whether your anger is warranted, because everyone is acting like it isn't.

An unspoken decision: "Yes, we were harsh earlier, but we felt bad and are being nice now"

The implied demand: "...so be grateful,"

The undercurrent of a threat: "...or I'll get angry again."

And a push to move on: "Why do you bear grudges? Leave the past in the past."

All these little clues, that you learn to read in their body language and their eyes and their vibe.

And then they balk when you don't call them. Or jump at the chance to spend time with them — or even have a relationship.

It's weird, loving people you don't like. That you'd never choose of your own volition; that you'd never be friends had you met in the real world. People you're indebted to anyway, because they took care of you your whole life and changed your diapers and drove you to school, and what friend would ever do that?

Had they been overly abusive I would've cut them off without guilt; if I didn't know that despite it all, they really did love me, I wouldn't have cared about hurting their feelings.

Some people... you love them only because they are family. If they were a boyfriend, I would've broken up with them; if they were a spouse I would've divorced them. Alas, they are my parents, and I'm destined to love them. To give up a kidney for them if need be, but not any days out of my workweek.

I don't have these conversations with my family because I've come to realise that this is something they're not emotionally equipped to handle. Too much self-awareness would bring out memories not only of the mistakes they made with me, but also all the times adults in their childhood failed them; of all the ways they themselves were wronged; all the years they wasted because of choices they didn't know they had; and all the things they wish they'd done differently. So I understand; the flood of anger and regrets it brings to the surface must be draining.

But that also means that I'll distance myself from them, because for me, their misunderstood love is draining. And because this has to stop somewhere; someone has to start choosing differently — and I've decided it'll be me.

#the daddy's girl to daddy issues pipeline #brown parents #break the cycle #strict parents #toxic family #brown people problems #self love #self care #quotes #writers on tumblr #desiblr #desi culture #desi girl #indian writer #desi parents #dysfunctional family

[pinkandpurple360]

What if this conversation continued??

Stolas: I’ve found myself with feelings 🥺for him 🎻 and I’m not sure it’s a mutual thing

Asmodeus instantly feeling bad vibes: Well. I admire that your expressing your lust freely and so blissfully ignoring all collateral damage and humiliation you’ve brought to your entire family! Admirable! But. I’m not giving you an elixir to force love out of this guy. Lust that’s forced isn’t lust at all, the pleasure is artificial. It’s sick. Sin must be chosen. You feel me?

Stolas nervously chuckling and defensively putting his hands up: ohoho noo 😅neeever that~ Ahem. This imp has a business he runs, I know your citizens are some of the few who can traverse the human realm freely and legally, I was wondering if you could find a way for him to do so too?

Asmodeus, awkwardly: ohh uhhh Stolas my heart bleeds for you 😐 but my partner-business partner, Fizzarolli, hates your imp guy, Blitzo right? Yeah. Hates. Him.

Stolas: He does? But why?

Asmodeus: (Ever heard of boundaries dude?) Not my story to tell, or yours to hear. Id help if I could but I can’t. Sorry. ok bye.

Stolas, leaving but still lingering around the room awkwardly cause he’s not used to hearing “no”: 😔boohoohoo…

(A beat, Asmodeus gets a text from froggy, he smiles, but then the more he thinks about Fizz and their consensual partnership, and thinks about the subtextual conversation he’s just had, it drops, as an eerie feeling begins to dawn on him. He holds off on answering for a moment)

Asmodeus: Hey. Hold on just one minute Birdy.

Stolas: ?

Asmodeus, threateningly: What, pray tell, do your little feelings for and sexual trysts with “this imp” Blitzo, have to do with his business, his ability to access the human realm, and my citizens?

Stolas, pissing himself and backing towards the door: W-well you see it, we both agreed to, we h-had this ar-arrangement, I-came up—we both came up with—wh-

Asmodeus, unnerved by this sudden radiating guilt: Excuse me? What is the nature of this so called “arrangement?”

Stolas: Getting our “kink on” hehe, as it were…

Asmodeus: Despite the fact he is an assassin, not an escort? Correct? You’ve failed to answer my question on why this is in any way adjacent to formal business. Or my heavenly problem.

Stolas, sweating: Well w-we…I permit him-legally!—to access the mortal realm and in exchange once a month…I!! Now I know how this sounds, But it’s not..This can’t get out alright it’s not—

Asmodeus, enraged but then slowly smiling, disturbingly calm: Not legal whatsoever? A death sentence to all involved? A blatant disregard for the value of a priceless ancient Ars Goetia artefact your father gave to you, and of your duties to your family? Your daughter and heir especially? You “permit” him to run a business, and going by the ashamed body language I witnessed, he is coerced, by nature, into giving you sex? Is that a fact?

Stolas, sobbing, mascara running: you have to understand my pain!! I was so repressed! Caged! No one had ever wanted me that way! And my bitch wife and arrogant brother in law, they—demand divorce ‘compensation’ but I don’t owe anything-

Asmodeus: As. They. Should. And I’ll do you one better, “itty bitty” Birdy Babe😃 (A fat subpoena is slapped in his hand:

neglectful mishandling of a priceless Goetia heirloom,

neglect of duties, neglect to educate his heir

fraudulent business transactions

sex trafficking of a secondary citizen of pride ring - approved to be legitimised as a regular citizen for court by King of Lust, Asmodeus Goetia)

NOW GET. THE FUCK. OUT

#helluva boss #stolas critical #scene rewrite #I never noticed until now that Oz calls him by name. stolas calls him ‘this imp’

[sadie-bug345]

I love your headcanons! They’re so goofy but character accurate. Anyway I was wondering if you’d maybe do all the greasers + Cherry with a trad goth/alt s/o hcs? Thank you so much!!! 🖤🖤🖤

omg hiiii and your wish is my command‼️🥰

the greasers (+cherry baby) w trad goth / alt s/o!!

ponyboy: - the second you moved into town he was like obsessed - just cause your vibe wasn’t like anyone else’s he’d really met - so he worked up the nerve to talk to you thinking you’d like shun him (bro was fr going thru ALL the possible rejection that could happen😭) - he was like “…hi🖐️😀” and just stood there sweatin up a storm LMAO - and you’re just like “hello?🧍‍♀️” - LOVE CONNECTION INSTANT - yall are the sweetest together and pony’s wardrobe changes a little so it’s more like yours - just cause he loves the way it looks on you sm.

johnny: - your vibe fits his (and dally’s but that’s later🤫) really well - so when he first saw you his exact thoughts were like “man. she’s cool” - so my guy went thru all of ponyboys yearbooks like just trying to find out anything and everything abt you - clubs, sports, music, voted most likely to’s…you name it johnny found it cause he was too scared to approach you at first - pony walked in on him scavenging last years yearbook and was like 😐 this has gotta end my boy - so after some aggressive encouragement from dally, johnny approached you and you guys really hit it off - you guys are like the gangs power couple FOR SURE - everyone loves your style and vibe but johnny especially, duh!

sodapop: - this is definitely an opposites attract sitch - like johnny he saw you and was like “i gotta find out more” cause he had never dated anyone like you before - he probably went up to talk to you and accidentally spilled about how he knew you were in middle school band and played the clarinet but switched to the flute halfway thru seventh grade or smth😭😭🫶 - yall definitely turn heads when you guys are hanging out together - no one can deny the cuteness😔🖐️

darry: -my guy is a little more conservative when it comes to style - we know he be dressing like a divorced dad out here - BUT he noticed you around town and was def intrigued - totally starts listening to the music you like just to have a conversation starter - this boy PLANS - after a while of you guys dating you give him a lil makeover and it’s very sweet (especially cause he needed the wardrobe refresh🫢)

dally: - your vibe and his is super similar, or at least he thinks he’s as effortlessly cool as you🙄 - anyways he was fr like “now this is the kinda person i wanna know” - didn’t need any encouragement to go talk to you *cough* johnny *cough* - either way he tried to start up a convo all “smooth” or whatever and you’re just like “😳uhm anyways…” - kinda gave him the humbling he needs but you thought his unrealized awkwardness was cute - you guys are birds of a feather but he definitely loves showing you off to his friends - just cause he thinks you’re like, actually the coolest - he won’t tell you how he feels but it’s obvious.

two-bit: - this guy is so goofy - sees you from across the room and starts cracking the LOUDEST and DUMBEST jokes just to see you hopefully smile - and he’s funny so you’re like halfway cringing but also halfway dying laughing - you’re probably like “who even is this kid💀” LMAO - anyways after he saw you laugh my dude just talks your ear off - after you get a few words in about your interests and general style bro was so obsessed - he didn’t really think he’d like a girl with your style but he was wronggg - you guys have probably the most fun together out of the group ngl.

steve: - probably heard abt you from soda - LIVES for your outfits like he’s so obsessed he’s like “hmm i wonder what they’re gonna wear today” - just cause he thinks you’re so cool and unique - definitely frequents the places you usually hang out just in the hopes of “casually” running into you LMAO - you guys are super cute though like no one really expected it - which makes it so much better.

cherry: - being a cheerleader she doesn’t usually date people with your style - her exes just are kinda basic - BUT she saw you and was like “oh. so i’m like in love” - HOPELESS ROMANTIC CHERRY🫶😭 - it was like a rom com she like did an actual double take - after you guys start dating you two do everything together - you give her makeovers like all the time - it’s so sweeeeet - plus you kinda revamp her wardrobe - dw she still has THE cherry valance vibe - but she matches your outfits in the little details - matching rings, necklaces, skirts, shoes, anything.

thanks so much to the wonderful person who requested this!! my requests are always open!🧌🥰🫶

#dallas winston #dallas winston x reader #matt dillon #the outsiders #the outsiders sodapop #johnny cade #johnny cade x reader #ponyboy curtis #sodapop x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews #steve randle #steve randle x reader #darry curtis #darry curtis x reader #outsiders #the outsiders au

[hydr0phius]

Welcome back to more crack summaries and notes. Today it's Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil, and I am absolutely distraught after reading it.

Linked: Chaos Rising and Greater Good

Starting out strong with this one aren't we, Mr. Zahn?

...

Samakro: please let this be a normal fucking side trip-

...

The Springhawk: *appears*

Jixtus: Not this mf again. Give me a damn BREAK-

...

Thrawn, over comms: If there are any Watith here, we have your prisoners.

Generalius Nakirre: I'm going to answer him.

Jixtus: Do NOT

...

Generalius Nakirre: If you're not going to tell me, I'll just ask him.

Jixtus: nO-

...

(word for word)

Generalius Nakirre: The Kilji path will prove superior

Thrawn, flatly: No. It will not.

Generalius Nakirre: Again, you dismiss our wisdom without even hearing it.

Thrawn: In my experience, superior wisdom can stand on its own merits. It does not require a warship to force acceptance.

Generalius Nakirre: You also bring a warship to this place.

Thrawn: But I do not claim to offer superior wisdom. Nor do I intend to impose my wisdom upon others.

(Thrawn, I love you dearly).

...

Jixtus, quietly in the background for the last five minutes of the comm call with Nakirre and Thrawn: Oh my fucking gods, DISENGAGE. DO NOT LET HIM KNOW ANYTHING MORE ABOUT YOU-

...

Nakirre, internally during the comm call and Jixtus' warnings: WHY SHOULDN'T I FUCK HIM UP? HE'S ASKING FOR IT. IT WOULD BE SO EASY.

...

Thrawn: *blank stare on the bridge, facing Thalias*

Thalias: Look at him going into deep thought. *Turns back to Che'ri*

Thrawn, directly behind her now: So have you-

Thalias, jumping about a foot in the air: -STOP SNEAKING UP ON PEOPLE LIKE THAT!!!!

Thrawn: I wasn't????? Anyway, has Che'ri had anymore nightmares?

(He was sneaking but he doesn't know that lmao).

...

Lamiov: *sends Ba'kif a message about Thrawn*

Ba'kif: *Dropping absolutely everything and moving faster than his colleagues would if there was all out war because his Son is up to things*

...

^^^ All that was just in the prologue and I was nearly losing it lmao.

...

Thurfian: *makes a decision*

Thivik: *judgemental vibes*

...

Thrawn: *rattling off info about the paintings in the reception area of the Mitth crib on wherever it is that they were*

Thrass: How the fuck did you know all of that-

...

Lappincyk: Larawn. Has a nice ring to it.

Me thinking of that vine: Larawn James sjsjs

...

Lappincyk: Ok and what is Thrawn to you?

Thrass making a spur of the moment decision: He's my friend.

Thrawn, sitting down: :3

(That felt like a set up. Thooraki and Lamiov going "Thrawn needs someone who knows politics" and then shoving Thrass into his orbit).

...

Jixtus: I have information you'll want

Thistrian: let me consult with the Patriarch.

Thurfian: Tell them to feck off. We don't want anything to do with them.

Thistrian: o h

...

Ba'kif when he found out about the Magys: SORRY YOU WHAT- NO. WHAT POSSESSED YOU

Thrawn: :)

Samakro: I'll see this through. I'm in too deep.

...

Thivik what's on that datacard??? WHAT DID THRASS PUT TOGETHER-

...

All the Thrawn and Thrass interactions give me life.

...

Zistalmu: I got a divorce.

Thurfian: babe, please. :'(

...

Roscu: *blathering on & being all high and mighty while a fucking asteroid missile is lining her up*

Ziinda: Can you shut the fuck up?

Roscu: I- ok.

...

Thrawn: I'll see y'all later. Uingali and I are going on a trip for a bit.

Samakro: k, bye.

later

Samakro: Where are we???

Bridge crew: idk man??

Che'ri: I'm following him. He's in danger and we need to be there.

Samakro after a lot of talking with Thalias: Oh. ok.

...

Thrawn: Can you fire a charric?

Qilori: *nervous wreck* nO

Thrawn dragging him up out of his chair: You're about to learn.

...

Thrass, holding a chair & ready to use it: Yeah, that's right! Drop the knife!

The thief: *slowly puts the knife down, looking behind Thrass the whole time*

Thrawn standing menacingly behind Thrass ready to deck the thief like he did his accomplices: >:)

...

Thrass: Ok, Roscu, but if you did fire on us you'd be killing a Mitth Aristocra and his brother.

Thrawn: :0

Lappincyk: :D

Roscu: Damn, ok.

*after the Odo ceremony*

Thrawn: Are we actually brothers now?

Thrass: Yeah, if you want :3

Thrawn: :') ok

*cue secret sharing*

...

CEDF: *trying to keep the peace in the Ascendancy on Syndicure orders*

CDF and Family Fleets, with the indignant air of a 10 yr old Sephora girl: Oh my GODS, can you LEAVE? You have NO POWER here!!!!

CEDF: Ok, fuck you. *sorts out the fighting anyway then dips off to wherever they get sent to next*

...

Che'ri: I'm fine. I can cook my own food while you're gone, and Mid Captain Samakro can check in on me.

Samakro: *worried Dad being left with the kids for the first time noises*

Thalias: ok.

Che'ri: Niceeee

Samakro: *sweating bullets*

...

Thalias: You Borika?

Borika, fake accent on: You a cop?

Thalias: What-

...

Borika: *nice rancher lady*

Borika 0.5 seconds after Thalias mentions the Seekers program: *pulls a charric on Thalias once they're inside the house and drops the accent*

Thalias: Holy fu- HANg oN-

...

TIMMY!!!! WHY DIDN'T YOU LET BORIKA AND THRAWN MEET!!!!!

...

Fuck the Ascendancy too btw. The systems in place are shit. Those poor sky-walkers.

...

*Two families fighting*

Ar'alani having been sent to deal with it, angry admiral voice engaged: OI, STOP THAT

One gunboat: NO. YOU HAVE NO JURISDICTION HERE CEDF.

Ar'alani, fed up: Flicker all of them, then drag them away from each other

Wutroow: That's going to piss a lot of people off, Admiral.

Ar'alani: idgaf. They're being stupid and putting civilians in danger.

Wutroow: Then might I suggest dragging them back to different orbital levels? if they want at it again, they'll at least have to try.

Ar'alani: Excellent thinking. Let's do that.

...

Ja'fosk 20mins after they flickered everyone and are headed back to UAG: Ar'alani you need to stop hanging around with Thrawn so much.

Ar'alani: Ok but he's right.

Ja'fosk:

Ar'alani: Y'all are just haters.

Ja'fosk: Just get back to UAG.

Ar'alani: Ok.

...

Ar'alani: *Firing on Dy'lothe's ship because he's ignoring her and possibly about to fuck up Thrawn's plan*

Dy'lothe: AR'ALANI, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?

Ar'alani, sick of CDF bs: GETTING YOUR ATTENTION. ANSWER YOUR DAMN COMMS, MAN-

(SHIP, SHIP, SHIP, SHIP)

...

Dy'lothe: Acting on the Syndicure's orders-

Ar'alani: Oh, so illegal orders, then?

Dy'lothe: ...yeah

Ar'alani: ha.

...

Ba'kif: Here's Thrawn's latest plan. I'm giving you and anyone else you can convince permission to go and assist him.

Ar'alani on four hours of sleep: This is completely insane and could ruin our careers.

Ba'kif: So you'll do it, then?

Ar'alani: Of course!

...

Thalias: There's no bus to the spaceport-

Borika: I've got you, girlie. I'll drive you.

...

Samakro: Oh yes, you're Thrawn's big, strong protector.

Thalias: yes.

Samakro: :)

...

Samakro: So, here's Thrawn's plan.

Thalias: Fuckkkkk, that's insane.

Samakro: Yeah... anyway good luck with Thurfian. I'll wait here for you.

(SHIP, SHIP, SHIP!!)

...

Che'ri: *possessed by the Magys*

Samakro, dad mode engaged: IF YOU DON'T LET HER GO, I'LL OBLITERATE YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE

Magys: You jest

Samakro: I do not >:)

Thalias: TAKE ME INSTEAD

Samakro: HELL NO-

...

Thalias: I pulled a charric on the Patriarch.

Samakro: WHAT-

...

Jixtus: And what question would that be?

Thrawn: The most critical one. Are you ready to surrender?

Everyone: oohhHhhoOhohoho, you've got some balls saying that, Senior Captain.

...

QILORI KNOWS ABOUT THE SKY-WALKERS. nOOoooOOOOOOOOO

...

Can we appreciate how well Thrawn's plan went? They tore Jixtus UP.

...

Ja'fosk, pleased: How did Senior Captain Thrawn obtain such accurate information?

Samakro who was fully ready to admit that he fed Thalias false info because he thought she was a spy: o H, uH. Yeah he kinda just pulls things like that out of thin air, you know? I can't explain it.

...

Che'ri has now met both Kivu siblings AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I think she's going to figure it out if Thalias hasn't told her yet.

...

Everyone going into the chamber thinking Thrawn's going to get a promotion or something and then the Admiralty exiling him and stripping his honour chains sucker punched me in the gut. Thurfian's smugness did not help matters either. I could feel the anger from everyone in that scene.

...

Sorry the way the Aristocra had everyone lined up for serious consequences instead of the commendations etc they got in the end because Thrawn took all of the blame himself to keep them in positions where they'd be able to guide the Ascendancy's forces in his absence got to me oh my gods.

...

Ba'kif: We're telling you so that you don't kick up a fuss about the exile thing

Ar'alani: I would never!

(She would. She was going to)

...

Ba'kif: *explaining the Clone Wars*

Ar'alani: I'm not remembering all that. Happy for them, though. Or Sorry that happened.

...

(Not crack, just pain)

Ar'alani: Don't you dare leave before I say goodbye to you, Thrawn.

Thrawn: Of course not. That's not what friends do.

Timmy: *doesn't write their goodbye scene*

Me: *screaming*

...

Thrawn: It's only for six months. Perhaps a year.

Ar'alani: And then you come home?

Thrawn: Yes. It will be alright.

Me: It was not, in fact, alright. seventeen-ish years and then another nine missing out on Peridea is not 1, mate.

...

Ba'kif: it's a shame I'll never see you in admiral whites.

Thrawn: Nobody here is senseless enough to promote me to admiral lmao

...

Ba'kif: We have time for one final meal together, if you wish

Thrawn: If you don't mind, I'd like to eat alone. There's a bistro where Thrass and I used to meet. I'd like to spend my last evening on Csilla remembering him.

...

I'm not okay. Probably going to have new fics to write now. hhhhhhh. That was sad as hell at the end there.

...

Also these two trilogies just highlight how little Felony understands Thrawn, and I hope all of you understand after reading the books, how badly he massacred our boy in Ahsoka. It shouldn't be, "omg we got him in live action!" anymore. It should be, "who is that blue guy and why are we being given such shit quality shows and expected to like it when the characters that mean so much to us have been reduced to having less dimension than a cardboard cut out, and that a slug could move 1 kilometer at a faster pace than the supposed plot that's scarcely here?" Have some standards that aren't six feet under, please, everyone (this is not aimed at y'all who have seen this from the start <3).

Anyway! Onto the Imperial Era I go :D

#thrawn ascendancy: lesser evil #thrawn #jixtus #generalius nakirre #ba'kif #lamiov #thalias #samakro #che'ri #borika #ar'alani #thurfian #zistalmu #grand admiral thrawn #wutroow

[lustaffairs]

✏️

Smut request with this gif? And dark vibes?

🙏

File room boss

>1k, dark(ish?)!Steve Murphy x boss f!reader

A/N: ty @milla-frenchy. Steve bc the first line of your javi fic the brat instantly made me want to take steve here 😫

WARNINGS: I8+, mildly? dubcon, piv, orgasm denial, creampie.

--------------------------------------

Murphy had been acting erratic, and you thought he might have been on drugs. You weren't sure if it was the carnage, the divorce, or both. You asked him to see the DEA counselor, but he never went. One morning you got back from a work trip, and he was even more of a mess. He hadn’t shaved since the last time you saw him. His tie was already loosened. His eyes had darker circles. He looked hot, but you were worried about him. You called him into your office and asked him to give you his service weapon. He rolled his eyes, took it out of the back of his pants, and set it on your desk. Then, he braced his hands on the desk like he might push it across the room. He looked at you darkly.

His eyes were glassy. He asked, “That all? Or ya want this too?” His hand went toward his crotch and your heart skipped a beat, but he was only reaching to unclip his badge.

“Keep it,” you told him. “But I’m putting you on file duty until you get your shit together.”

“Oh come on,” Murphy complained. “You wanna catch this guy or not?”

You glared at him for questioning you. Then you said, “Follow me.” You led him into the file room and he sat on a filing cabinet as you showed him the shelves he should go through. You looked back to see if he was paying attention and he was staring at your ass in your skirt.

“Murphy,” you scolded. “Are you there?”

His eyes shamelessly panned over your body. “Yeah, I’m here,” he answered in a trance, then his eyes met yours. “Just need a second.”

“For what?” you asked. He got off the filing cabinet and brazenly adjusted himself before going to close the blinds. He returned with a darker look in his eyes.

“Sit down,” he put his hands on his hips and nodded to the filing cabinet where he had been sitting.

“You’re on thin ice, Murphy.”

“Just sit,” he repeated in a lower, more ominous tone. He wet his lips and watched as you took your seat. The metal cabinet was cool on the backs of your thighs. Complying was the last thing you should have done, but his display of dominance was turning you on.

He loomed over you, crossing his arms. “Know what I think?” He waited for you to say something.

You rolled your eyes. “What, Murphy?”

“I think you're into bad guys.”

Your face heated up at the accusation. He stepped all the way toward you, and his pants grazed your leg. The cabinet was hip height and just wide enough for him to brace his hands on either side of you. Not to be intimidated, you tried not to pull away. You couldn't do anything about the throbbing between your legs, but you didn't have to show it.

“How many ya thought about fuckin’ a Narco?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed.

"The Lion's a good-lookin' fella," he mused.

"No way."

He nodded. “I see those 'fuck me' eyes,” he taunted. “I see’em." He froze at the bottom of his nod and locked eyes with you. “But never when I’m on my best behavior.”

“Which is when?” you retorted.

He smiled with a barely audible chuckle, then walked his hands further as he leaned in. His face was a few inches from yours, and he smelled like cigarettes and whisky. Your heart fluttered and you were gushing wet.

“Now's your chance, boss,” he murmured. He brought his lips almost to yours, then barely grazed them. The spark between you was too much. You kissed him.

Right away, his tongue slid between your lips, he cradled your head, and used his knees to nudge your legs open. The force of his kiss and his body brought you down flat beneath him.

After you were laid down on the surface, he groped your breast and you moaned softly into his mouth. Your hips lifted on their own, seeking contact..He broke the kiss to mutter, “Good girl.” Then, with one hand, he unbuckled his belt, undid his pants and began to tug them down. The bulge in his boxer briefs made your breath hitch.

He stood up to further tug his pants down, then he pulled you by your thighs to the very edge of the cabinet. He threw his loosened tie over his shoulder then hiked up your skirt all the way. You watched his massive hands as he ripped open your pantyhose for access and the cool air hit your dripping cunt.

He looked at your cunt and wet his lips. You wanted him too bad to stop it.

“This doesn't change anything,” you told him.

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head with a contemplative pout. “We’ll see.”

He pulled his underwear down under his balls and you heard yourself whisper, “Jesus,” at the sight of his thick, stiff cock and his big balls.

He nodded and spat on his dick. Then he wet his lips as he ran his swollen tip through your dripping folds and said, “you're gonna gimme my gun back, aren't ya?” You bit your lip and didn't answer, scolding yourself for being so susceptible to this version of him.

He nodded, and when you didn't answer, he began to pull away. Fuck. You could always get him transferred.

You nodded in agreement.

“Good girl,” he whispered, then notched himself at your entrance and shoved inside. You failed to stifle your moan at the stretch, and he quickly covered your mouth with his. He backed up and slid into you again. His lips broke away, then he started slamming into you, pounding you with his big dick. The files in the cabinet were jostling around, then the file cabinet itself started moving and it was all making too much noise. “Fuck,” he breathed and slowed down. You writhed under him, desperate to come. "Door's unlocked, by the way."

"Why??" You whisper yelled, and he didn't answer. He was so reckless, like he had nothing to lose.

“Can't let ya come,” he panted, “you're too damn loud." Fine, you weren't going to beg. This would give you enough to think about and get off for weeks to come. He kissed you and slowly thrust into you for a minute, grunting and sighing quietly.

Then his deep voice broke the silence. “Where ya want it? Inside or on your blouse?”

“Fuck, Murphy,” you whined. “Not on my shirt.”

After a few more thrusts, he bottomed out and pulsed inside you. “Mmm,” you managed to be quiet but not silent. You were so close, but didn't get there. He pulled out right after he finished. Then he put himself together and left the file room alone without a word. Murphy was waiting for you in your office when you got there.

“My firearm?” he asked.

--------

Ty for reading 💕

#steve murphy smut #steve murphy x reader #steve murphy #dark!steve murphy #cw dubcon #narcos smut #lustaffairs ❤️‍🔥 #narcos fic #boyd holbrook #boyd bungalow ☠️

[kira-fluff]

haikyuu!! neurodivergent headcanons 💕

tw: several listed mental illnesses, some of these are solely off of vibes but most of them I have reasons lol note! I do not believe autism is a mental illness or something that is "wrong" with an individual, hence why the title is "neurodivergent" rather than "mental illness". just had to put that out there! to all my neurodivergent babies I love you! a/n: hello! as a neurodivergent like myself (depression, anxiety, ptsd, bulimia, etc etc) i thought it would be really cool to do an analysis on one of my biggest hobbies (psychological illnesses) and relate them to haikyuu characters! some of them have a deeper explanation because I feel so strongly about it.

attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADD/ADHD) BOKUTO, hinata, NISHINOYA, atsumu, lev

generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) sugawara, OIKAWA, asahi, yamaguchi, yachi, aone, akaashi, tendo

social anxiety disorder (SAD) asahi, KENMA

post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) oikawa

depression (MDD) oikawa, KENMA, kuroo, suna, matsukawa, tendo

autism sakusa, USHIJIMA, kageyama, kyotani, kenma

eating disorder(s) (AND, BND, BED) OIKAWA, KENMA

obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) oikawa

borderline personality disorder (BPD) daishou

insomnia kuroo, kenma, osamu

hypersomnia suna

analysis under the cut

it's pretty obvious that bokuto struggles the most to self-regulate, even to others, but I personally believe that oikawa struggles the most with his mental health.

like almost everyone in haikyuu, oikawa is obsessed with volleyball, but he takes it to a point of overexertion and taking his anger and frustration at his own inadequacies out on others.

I really think oikawa's relationship between he and kageyama and he and ushijima are the ones that show how bad his anxiety is

ushijima and kageyama both don't understand the emotions oikawa is feeling which could be written off as them not understanding their talents, but I think it's something more

to me, I feel it is blatantly obvious that ushijima is autistic. he just so frequently seems to be unable to read the emotions of others or takes things literally when it's something else intended. I'm not autistic, though, so autistic community, let me know your thoughts!

bokuto and hinata both have an insane amount of energy, but struggle to be successful in school. sports works for both of them because their focus is constantly needed to be diverted or "all over the place" that it helps them be great players

kuroo is one of those other characters that I feel like I'm reaching to say he has mental health struggles but to me it just comes off in vibes. first of all, any kid with divorced parents should be in therapy so I feel there's definitely some struggles there.

I think kuroo is the type that hides his struggles and pretends they aren't happening. he puts a lot of pressure on himself to be the best at everything he does, and so he feels he doesn't have time to deal with the emotions that leave him feeling empty

kenma was someone I immediately felt was autistic. he has so many key factors like an obsession/hyperfocus on his hobbies and trouble socializing (social anxiety).

kenma has some of the strongest evidence toward my beliefs, specifically in this quote: "I'm not good with people, and I don't want to interact with them. and yet, I'm very concerned about what others think of me." like, tell me that doesn't radiate autistic/SAD vibes!!!!

idk what it is, like inadequacies or what but I genuinely believe oikawa has some kind of trauma. like he's definitely carrying something that so heavily effected him that it controls the choices he makes in life

I don't have much evidence that suna has depression, it's just a vibe because of his mannerisms and what he says. I think it's the kind where it's well-managed, but it shows up in physical symptoms like apathy more than anything.

atsumu gives ADHD vibes solely because of like how all over the place he is and how he can't always seem to properly get out what he's trying to say lol

sakusa is one that to me could be seen as "done with your bullshit" but I think he also hates crowds (like me, I mean who doesn't) and struggles socially probably because of anxiety or autism. not sure!

basing daishou off of vibes, too, because if I'm being honest all I've seen in the show is him having hostile relationships or being on-off with them, though its certain I could be reading too much into it, but that's the fun of headcanons.

do you agree with what I wrote? I would love to hear your thoughts!

#haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #kuroo headcanons #haikyū!! #haikyuu headcanons #neurodiverse stuff #kenma x reader #fem!reader #kenma kozume x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #suna headcanons #suna x reader #suna rintaro fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #atsumu miya x reader #osamu miya x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #nishinoya yu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #tendo satori x reader #daishou x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #kuroo x reader #yamaguchi tadashi x reader #akaashi keji x reader

[moonshynecybin]

context here and here... short fic (~1k words) about reporter au marc, turning over what their sepang could be... unspeakably divorced vibes to this one...

Marc lays the recorder down in front of Valentino. He starts, carefully neutral:

“So. You were a little bit shaky on the braking this weekend, was there any specific reason? It looked like you were having trouble with grip?”

Vale crosses his arms, narrow posture folding.

“Marc.” He counters. Face serious.

Marc ignores him. Ignores the tornado shredding his stomach. He scribbles something in his notebook, mindlessly underlining a question he doesn’t even want to ask. He’s been trying to keep it more professional, after the last few weeks. After—

“Do you need me to repeat the question?” He says.

Vale doesn’t give an inch. “Why did you write that article?”

So he did see it. Marc flicks his eyes up from his notebook, quick. Vale’s eyes bore into him. unerring. Feline.

He shrugs a little. Sucks on his teeth.

“Did you have a problem with it?” He shouldn’t, really. Wouldn’t if it were anyone else. Marc’s just doing his job, he won’t compromise that for anyone. Journalism isn't about making people happy.

“No.” Vale says, and Marc’s asked him enough questions at this point to know what he looks like when he lies.

He fingers the end of Marc’s recorder. Long hands against shitty plastic. He switches it off.

“You didn’t tell me this was going to be off the record.” Marc says mildly, like he’s joking. He doesn’t know what Vale wants from this— apparently not an interview—and judging by the expression dragging at the corners of his face, the chances of Vale indulging the small part of Marc scaffolded on hope are slim. In fact, a picture is starting to form, uneasy and edgy, lighting the barely-dormant spark of hurt in his gut.

He can’t be serious.

Vale laughs, brittle and hard.

“So you don’t regret it?”

He is serious.

Marc puts his pen down as something in him clenches, sick and determined. Vale can’t— he shouldn’t get to do this, after the last few weeks. shouldn’t get to be mad at him for the sort of article that he wouldn’t care about if anyone else had written it. Not after how he's ignored Marc, skipping over him in press scrums. After how he implied Marc was overstepping, too familiar. Not professional. After how Marc— after they—

After.

Marc feels like an idiot. Whatever. His piece is still good, his writing stands on its own. It asks valid questions, makes the correct comparisons, and gives Jorge Lorenzo a few hard-earned compliments. It's an incisive article. Interesting. Impersonal. Entirely professional.

Just like Vale wanted.

“Why would I?”

Vale keeps studying him, and Marc thinks a muscle jumps in his jaw. He meets him head on, intense. That same chemistry that they’ve been building for the last few seasons turned sour now, crackling like a live wire. Vale’s eyes drop to Marc’s mouth, then back to his eyes. His expression sets.

Marc sees him arrive at some sort of conclusion.

It can’t be just about the article— others have said worse, gone farther. Marc was careful to stay in bounds, tame and even normal compared to some of the other journos in the paddock. No remarks about his personality or his age. Just a few observations about how Jorge is steadily gaining in the standings, and how Vale is slowly losing the lead he’s had all season. The facts, as Marc sees them. Objective.

But Marc has also never written anything like that before. Has built a name for himself on complex opinions and strategic analysis. On the experience he has as a former racer, and as someone who was supposed to be on the other side of the recorder— supposed to be answering questions instead of asking them. On interviews strengthened by the easy, genuine relationship he has with Valentino Rossi.

But it’s not like he can exactly rely on that last one anymore.

Vale tilts his head forward, eyebrows up. A wry little expression plays across his face, there for a flash, before he shakes his head and pushes back his chair.

“Eh, I guess you are right.” Vale stands, nods. He leans over the table and waves a hand in the air, face animated. Cheerful, if you don’t know him. Studied nonchalance. “Why would you? It’s your job.”

He says the last bit like it means something, extra emphasis on each syllable.

“It is my job.” Marc agrees.

“Right.” Vale says, after a moment, tension threading through them both, taught as a bow string.

He says it like it’s final. Like it’s the end of something. It's exactly the same tone of voice he used a few weeks ago in Phillip Island, when Marc had stumbled out of the cold bed in his crappy hotel room and saw Vale fully dressed, looking for his wallet. About to leave. His head had whipped up when he saw Marc awake, and the look on his face was crystal clear. Had made Marc abruptly feel like he was about to vomit, cold rising from his toes as Vale started to speak.

Too young. Too close. Too unprofessional.

Right.

“Right.” Vale says again now, confirming whatever he sees in Marc’s face, blue eyes clear and remote. The hinge of his jaw is wound tight, day-old stubble blurring his sideburns.

Marc’s chest throbs.

He doesn’t say anything, lets the silence fill the room until it’s about to burst.

Vale stares at him a minute longer before he turns and leaves, door swinging behind him.

Marc sits there, staring at his notebook for a long time.

He doesn’t end up writing anything.

#its like. marc being hurt and not technicallyyyy doing anything wrong or outside of his job. but still kind of deciding to ruin vale's day #and stick it to his ego about the championship... #motogp #callie speaks #rosquez #my fic #reporter au

[visenyaism]

hello, hope you can help

is daemon actually a valyrian supremicist ? it’s a statement I’ve been seeing around a lot online and just kind of absorbed into my understanding of the character but is it actually accurate ?

i admit he he certainly gives off those vibes but in my reading of fire & blood and watching of hotd I don’t recall him actually saying anything that would support this notion

but maybe it was addressed elsewhere, because it seems an incredibly popular Headcanon

i think his beliefs about valyrian blood supremacy are impossible to divorce from his weird psychosexual attachment to his brother, status as the product of two generations of valyrian targ sibling marriages everyone got groomed into, and his desperate need to larp as the conquerors to cope. does he believe in those beliefs in of themselves? eh probably

#dragons are the valyrian mandate of heaven and daemon does love those #asoiaf

[ravenbloodshot]

Jude Bellingham (Soccer Player).... Personality Reading

He's very disciplined about his sexual needs/lust. It's like he has a high sex drive but he doesn't act irrational bc of it and knows how to keep himself under control (I doubt he's easily seduced).

He's no sore loser, very good at accepting defeat in a healthy way. Doesn't throw a temper tantrum and likely won't be one of those soccer players that act all dramatic, throwing themselves around, pretending to be hurt. He has a sort of class about him

I think he ignores his wants alot. Like if he wanted to eat a bunch of junk food or partake in sex, he ignores these desires.

He has this childlike innocence to him, it could be bc he's young, but his mind isn't very dirty/corrupt and he's quite naive. I feel like he's more naive socially than anything, I doubt he can read ppl well and just goes off what they say to him (which he could end up being deceived). He could still have a child's mindset so I think he will need mature support from other adults to guide him (like a wise mentor)

He has problems with holding himself responsible/accountable. And he's quite cynical and prone to depression. He's like the kind of person that believes in fate or 'the universe' but only to blame situations on that. it's as if he sometimes believes 'oh its fate doing, there's nothing I can do to fix this" or "it's God's will". This mindset holds him back from taking action to fix his problems instead he sits back, slumps his shoulders, hangs his head and says "I guess this is my fate".

Okay, so. Remember when I told you guys he's obsessive, well that's showing up again. He's possessive and obsessive in romantic relationships, controlling too. Doesn't want his partner out of his sight and texts/calls too much to the point of love bombing. Too clingy, too passionate, too intense, too much of a cancer lol (I love y'all cancers though ❤). He should be careful with who he marry (or should I say his partner should be careful marrying him). He can get into a nasty divorce. The guy also gives "if I can't have you, nobody can" vibes sooooooo........

I will admit, I said he's quite a disciplined guy but in relationships (especially when he falls in love), all that sexual/emotional/physical disciplinance goes out the window. He also can become obsessed with getting with a person that doesn't want him.

This guy's suffers from mental health problems and has abandonment issues, he feels alone and like a outcast a lot. I see some anxiety and panic attacks. He's constantly on an emotional rollercoaster, highs and lows.

He has feminine gentleness about him, can take on a caretaker role. He's quite fragile.

Ik he's mixed (European/African) but he could feel like he doesn't belong to neither his black side or his white side. Has some identity issues. But I see he has interest in exploring his roots for both sides (idky his energy gives off someone who was raised by a single parent).

Has some drinking problems and is surrounded by a lot of yes men (ppl constantly lying to him).

Has some interest in the wars happening rn, may or may not end up saying something about the Israel-Hamas situation on social media. Even if he doesn't, irl he has a grounded stance on the matter

Wicked Games by The Weekend is a song that fits this readings energy

#jude bellingham #soccer #football #jude bellingham tarot #cancer sun #spotify