#and who isn’t absolutely fuming?

[mrsaltieri-real]

Oh yeah absolutely fuck Scream 7, fuck Paramount fuck the producers Melissa and Jenna solo

Facts. It’s the audacity they have to now try and meatride Neve Campbell to come back after not paying her what she was worth in the first place because they’ve realised how much they’ve fucked up. I hope Neve tells them to go and fuck themselves. They could’ve paid her from the start but NO. They fired Melissa for standing up for what’s RIGHT and then people got rightfully angry and now are trying to throw money at Neve to ensure Scream 7’s a success (it’ll FLOP)

Melissa and Neve deserve so much fucking better.

[lustlovehart]

You Gotta Kiss The One

A/n: This isn’t my usually writing, so this is more short scenario rather than actual story, so sorry if it isn’t my best. Anyways, I was in need of some fluff for the twst men so here we are. (This came out a bit cheesy honestly) Also, unfortunately no Jamil because i went through 7 drafts for his part and hated absolutely all of them.

Pairing: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Vil, Idia, Malleus, Rollo x Reader

Summary: [Fluff] In a turn of events, it seems you’ve lost your voice, and it’s up to the one you love to give out the cure, a kiss from their lips to yours.

Warnings: Cheesy Fluff, Reader wasn’t meant to be Yuu but they’re friends with Grim so, 50% Yuu.

Unfortunately, making potions with Grim never goes right. One moment, you’re carefully adding in the newt that assists in projecting a beautiful singing voice to its recipient, and in the next your head gets shoved in the concoction. When you finally emerge, your throat attempts to sound out your criticisms of Grim's recklessness. But, your lips are the only thing that moves in motion, your voice not even croaking out a word.

“Why ain’t yah talkin'?” Your hands quickly grab onto the recipe book pointing at the bold disclaimer at the bottom of the page.

If the potion is consumed before the newt is added, it will have the opposite effects.

Before you can read the rest of the text, your companion snatches the book from your hands, reading the rest of it on his own. When Grim reads out the instructions, your eyes narrow when you hear a slight chuckle escape from him when he tells you your only solutions. It’s either never talk again or...

Of course, never talking again has its pros, but, if you don’t have your voice, however will you tell… Him, about your feelings…? Of course, you could just write your confession, but that doesn’t have quite the kick words spoken from your chest do—

"Uhh... seems you gotta kiss your little crush [Name]!"

…

"What."

Before you're allowed to interject, Grim is already reaching his paw up and taking you by the hand, not even allowing you to tell Crewel about your situation. You’re quite sure if you had just told him you could’ve avoided the whole dilemma. Alas, Grim’s very eager in bathing in your embarrassment.

—————

Riddle is fuming at Grim's carelessness, it’s already bad enough that you have no magic in this faraway land, but to be subjected to a potion that doesn’t have a real cure? That’s even worse. He most definitely beheads the feline after he hears about the situation, immediately sending him onto a time-off corner, prattling on about how he should’ve been listening to the rules and acting accordingly in class.

His lecture is cut short at the sound of scribbling, his head turning to look at you furiously writing down on a piece of paper. Your lips are straight-lined as you lift the words to his face.

“Grim said the cure is a kiss.”

Oh… his mouth opens to question you more about this so-called cure, though the heart shape you form with your hands, however, is all the information he needs. It’s unfortunate that it only works if you kiss whoever it is you “love”, he could’ve gotten away with kissing you under the guise of helping if it was just anyone who could kiss you—

Who’s he kidding his face is close to turning red at such a thought. Of course the cure is something so basic, true love. Ah, no not true love, just simply a crush. Yes, a crush.

A crush that can’t be him.

He stays composed externally but internally he can’t deny he’s a little disappointed, it doesn’t matter however, he’ll help you get this kiss from your mystery student, even if it hurts a little to watch. The sound of flipping paper attracts his attention once again.

“So kiss me. Please.”

… What…? What…?! What?!

His eyes widen at the words, his mouth agape at the statement, his skin quickly flushing at the thought. You. Him. You and him. Him and you.

He’s essentially frozen in place. But, the extremely quiet sound of a broken up “okay” signals to you his permission. The feeling of soft lips being placed on his own snapped him out of his trance. He blinks a few times at your face, a smile invading your mouth.

“Thanks Riddle.”

—————

Your hands are furiously shaking Leona's shoulders, despite your relentless attempts at awakening him from his slumber, he doesn't even tell you to stop.

He didn’t even show any signal of stirring when Grim practically shouts to you about getting that kiss from him to “fix yah up”. Didn’t show any sign when you threw one of his shoes at the cat either.

He might be dead, he’s pretty still, like a corpse… Nah, he’s just being a douche.

Carefully, you drop down to his level, your face smooshed into his mattress as you look at his sleeping face. He looks a lot more peaceful in his sleep, his face is less serious and a bit more softer. He does look like a prince from a fairytale when he’s asleep, actually, maybe more of a princess with how pretty he is.

If you had your voice, you’re sure there would be hushed chuckles leaving your throat as you take out your phone. Your fingers are quick to swipe open your camera, lifting the device to Leona's face. Your joy doesn’t last long though, as when you’re just about to take a picture, the sight of Leona stares back at you on your screen, the subdued expression he previously held replaced with his usual face.

“What do you think you’re doin?”

…He’s awake! You’re quick to open the notes app, ready to explain the whole thing to him, along with indirectly confessing your feelings, unfortunately. But, he seems to think differently, as your phone is swiftly snatched from your palms and placed on his nightstand. When you reach over to grab it, his arm pulls you back down, your head buried into his chest, essentially being used as a secondary pillow for him.

“That typing’s loud, i’m tryna sleep.” … and I’m trying to get my voice back.

No matter how much you struggle, he doesn’t let you go. After a few minutes of trying to get your phone back, you give up, becoming his human-sized plushie in your defeat. Maybe he’ll be in the mood when he’s awake. So, your eyes gradually shut themself, sleep taking you over as you wrap your arms around the lion next to you.

…

“Hey, quit talking in your sleep.”

“Hmm…? Oh sorry— Wait what…?!” His palm flies of your mouth as words get muffled in his skin.

Appears you missed the Leona Kingscholar, kissing you. That’s unfortunate.

—————

“Hmm…? You need my help yes? Well then just sign here and I’ll get you that kiss you need!” Azul slips the golden contract across the table, the con man smiling as you read through the fine print.

In the corner, you notice the extremely tiny text saying how you’ll be obligated to stand by his side for the next month and do whatever tasks he needed to be done from you.

You swiftly slide the paper back to him as your head vigorously shakes a firm “No”.

“Oh? Do my terms not satisfy you? Your situation sounds very similar to our princess from the Coral Sea, having to kiss her prince for her voice back. I wonder how you’ll get that princely kiss…” he shrugs his shoulders before sighing, grabbing a stack of papers along with a pen, waving you off before looking at the sales revenue from this week. “No matter, if you don’t need my help please exit, I am a busy man—“

Your hand slams on the surface of his desk, his pupils widening at the sudden outburst. He stays silent for a moment, the glimmer of his glasses covering your view of his eyes. If you had, you would’ve seen the slightest hint of longing in him.

“A very determined soul you are… I'll change your conditions if you want your voice back so bad.” His fingers snap, the old contract disintegrating as a new one forms in his hands. “No fine print, I’ll help you get your kiss, and you work for the Monstro lounge for 2 weeks. Just 2 weeks. Is that a deal?” You squint, looking to make sure there really is no fine print. When you’re assured there really is none, you take a pen from his gloved palm, writing your signature on the line.

“It’s a deal it seems, now, tell me who it is you have affections for, and I’ll make sure you get that kiss—-“The sudden pull of his collar stops him mid-sentence, your lips connecting to his own before pulling away.

He’s extremely flustered, his cheeks blushed, his hat lopsided, eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He did agree to get you that kiss, but… he truly wasn’t expecting you to kiss him…! Of all possible candidates at the school…

“Wha… I’m… Huh…!?”

You straighten your posture before rolling your sleeves up, “So when do I start Azul?”

—————

Your eyes watch Vil meticulously crush, stir, and drop different ingredients into the cauldron, each one changing the color of the liquid inside. To be honest, you’re a little disappointed he knows a cure, you’ll have to wait another time before really confessing to him. His well manicured fingers take the ladle into his hand, carefully pouring the bright drink into a bowl, handing it to you as his eyes await for you to drink it up.

When you do, you set the bowl down, ready to speak, but no sound comes out. Your eyes stare into his, confusion set in your irises.

“I thought you had a dry throat?” Oh, you shake your head, your index finger pointing toward the cauldron and signaling poorly acted-out explosions and screams. “So it was a failed potion?” You pause for a moment before remembering what unit you were on in class. “It was that singing potion wasn’t it?” He contemplates for a moment before grabbing a small vile on the shelf, a potion the was already premade.

He pops it open, ready to pour it down your throat, but before he does, he pulls it back, quickly replacing the concoction with his extremely soft lips the taste of something good invading your taste buds, you assume it to be his chapstick. He stills for a moment, letting your lips lock and exchange touches. When he releases, he doesn’t give you the chance to interject, making you chug the drink down your throat, some of it escaping the corner of your lips, his gloved thumb wiping it off your chin.

“Vi… Vil…? Why’d you do that…?”

“How did Grim tell you to lift it?” He backs away from you, putting the empty glass in the sink.

“He said I… Had to kiss someone I liked. Why?”

“That’s what he said? Huh, I see.” He takes out his own brand of chapstick, reapplying it to his lips. You stay leant on the shelf of the rooms, watching as Vil’s silhouette moves towards the door. “No reason. Now, I have to get back to filming. Take better care of your lips, [Name].” He’s already out the door by the time you work up the courage to say anything else.

As he walks in the hallway, the leather of his gloves clench. It seems Grim did correctly tell you the cure. It doesn’t matter though, whether it was his kiss or that potion that worked, all he cared about was getting you fixed. He’s an actor, he’s keen to notice the presentations of people around him. He was sure you liked him, and even Rook fed into such a delusion. But, there was always a gnawing feeling of not being fair enough to you. So just in case, if you never really did like him, he won’t know.

He’s a good actor, but even actors can’t lie to themself. He really hopes it was his lips that cured you and not that potion.

…

The next day, when Vil finishes applying his makeup, the door to his room is knocked on, albeit very quickly. By the time he finally opens it, nobody is found, only a gift basket filled with fruits and low-grade beauty care, well low grade to him. If his suspicions about who this came from are correct, he can’t blame them for not having enough money to afford proper skin care.

When he looks in, all he sees is a card with a small smiley face and a heart. But he already knows who his secret sender truly is.

—————

Your knocking on Idias door gets harder and harder with every strike. You know he’s in there, but chances are he’s too absorbed in a game to notice your frantic hits. You’re about to hit the wood one more time before the door swings open and your fist is only an inch away from his nose.

“I… I only heard you just now…”

You’ve been out there for 10 minutes.

“You didn’t text me beforehand like usual… Is… Is there something you need…?” He steps to the side allowing you in his room, immediately having you sit on his bed before shutting the entrance. You look around a moment before handing him the note you had pre-written on your phone.

“No voice. Cure is a kiss from person I like. I like you, Idia. Please kiss me.”

It isn’t exactly the confession you wished to give him, but by the time you were typing it, you had deleted so much of the text you originally had from embarrassment, and by the time you looked up, you were already at his door… and Ortho was beaming in excitement behind you, you couldn’t possibly disappoint him by just walking away again.

He essentially shortcircuits the moment he reads the words off the screen.

He doesn’t speak, not even a panicked screech. The only sign of embarrassment he shows you is the sight of his hair turning pink.

“Wha… Wha… What…?”

You expected that, so you lifted your finger, signaling him to scroll down.

“You don’t need to like me back, just kiss me and i’ll leave.”

“No no, If we were in like… like a game… that type of game… you would have… ughhh…. You would have my… affection bar… filled— not filled maybe like 110%… up…” he struggled to get the words out he didn’t even make eye contact with you once in his speech. But, you understand what he’s trying to say to you. “Nevermind, forget it…! Just find someone… someone else… you deserve like a prince of something…”

His posture is hunched over, and he’s quick to turn away from you. You’re sure if he was closer to the wall he would curl into the corner and attempt to hide from you.

You’re pretty sure he’s about to do just that, he’s already slowly making his way to the corner. He’s only narrowly stopped when he feels you tug on his sleeve, pulling his face into your own.

His mouth was slightly open from shock, so his razor sharp teeth poked you, but even then it was still a nice feeling. When you part, he stares at you for an entire minute. His hair was already pink, but somehow it must’ve gotten even pinker.

“You… You won the game…”

“Did I…? What does that mean…?”

“Forget I said that. I’m gonna die now”

—————

It’s been at least half an hour since you’ve met up with Malleus, and he seems to not have noticed you don’t have a voice to reply. But at the same time, it’s nice listening to him ramble on and on about his Gargoyle studies—

“You have not spoken.” Your head is quick to turn, your body slightly jolting at the sight of Malleus’s face mere inches away from your own. Sometimes, you forget he doesn’t have any sense of space. This point is further proven when he moves his face away but your shoulders are still in contact. “Why is that?”

Your hand reaches down to your side attempting to take out your phone, but, it only grasps air. You look back down into your pocket, not noticing any holes for it to fall out of.

What? Did… Did I loose it or something?!

“This thing…” your head flips back to the man in front of you, his gloved fingers turning the phone with narrowed eyes. “I don’t understand, why not just talk to me? Would you rather use this phone than converse with me…?” You can spot early signs of Malleus’s emotional turmoils. It doesn’t take long for you to see the hint of disappointment in his eyes at the mere notion of you not even wanting to talk to him.

Along with that, clouds are beggining to form in the sky

You immediately shake your head at him, your fingers pointing to your throat while forming an x. Though your movements are so quick from the sheer panic of lightning striking, he doesn’t understand what you’re doing until you slow down.

“Ah, you did talk about that potion unit didn’t you.” You nod your head, ready to perform a collection of poorly acted-out charades to showcase your cure. You only got as far as the heart in your hands before he interrupts. “If I remember correctly, the fix to that is a kiss from the one who holds your affections… is it not?” The boom of thunder increases at an incredible rate, and even the pout Malleus holds on his face gets more obvious. “Have you come here to ask for my aide?” You can tell, it’s very obvious he’s trying to hide his dispiritedness beside a veneer of support. “Then… I will help a dear… friend.”

At his words, you shake your head the hardest you’ve probably ever shaken it to disagree with someone. You’re sure you must’ve swayed your brain too hard, by the time you stop you honestly feel a little dizzy.

“Ah, do you not want my help?” The lightning in the air starts fading, but in exchange, it’s like the clouds have gotten darker. “Am I, not allowed the see the object of your desire?” You wish you just had your phone out from the beginning, it would’ve made things so much easier. You bring your arm up, pointing at him.

Malleus is smart, he needs it if he will be Briar Valley’s ruler. Yet, he’s a bit dense in terms of human emotions and relationships.

“I thought you didn’t want my help…?” You’re sure if you could make any sound, pure screams of frustration would’ve left you. “I’m left in confusion as to how it is I can help you. I want to assist you Child of man but, I don’t wish to see you kiss anyone else—“Your hands immediately take him by the tie, dragging him into you as your lips practically smash together. If anyone saw you, such a scene would be quite the scandal for the heir. Minutes go by when you finally release him, and when you look up, the sky is the clearest it's been for the past month. “So it was me.” The look in his eyes is fond, it’s a warm sight.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner, I didn’t hide it…”

“You didn’t?”

“I confessed to you twice before this Malleus…”

—————

(This is self indulgent cuz i’m unfortunately a Rollo fan…)

Considering how far away Noble Bell is from Night Raven, you have no doubt you’d be stuck voiceless for quite awhile before you get to see Rollo again. Grim is just left to watch you sulk as your head falls in disappointment. You honestly don’t know how to tell Rollo about your situation either, you could always text him, but how do you even tell him you need to kiss him as your cure? Along with that… over text? That’s just pathetic. He’d probably shame you for being so ungraceful with your feeling towards him.

“Quit moppin’ and tell him already! I’m gettin' depressed just watchin’ ya…” with your head buried into your arms you can feel Grim practically shaking you out of your ball of shame with his tiny paws. “Come… on…! You’re not gonna get your voice back doin' nothin’!” He’s… unfortunately, completely correct.

With a soundless groan, you reach for your phone and open your contacts, drafting the text you’ll send to Rollo.

Rollo, I need to tell you something… your fingers continuing to vigorously type your paragraph.

Three knocks disperse your attention.

“[Name] are you there?” The familiar voice immediately strikes panic in your body as you accidentally throw your phone into the air, pathetically catching it as you stumble towards the door with a loud thud. On the other side, the door can be seen harshly shaking at an impact from within the room, Rollo glancing to each side of him in confusion. “Are you okay?” The lack of a reply makes worry bubble inside of him.

Before he’s given the chance to open the entrance himself, the door swings inward, allowing him to peak in through the crevice. He looks inside with initial confusion before hurriedly shuffling towards the room, the sight of your body on the floor making him even more puzzled with every passing second.

He lifts your upper body, having you sit face to face with him in such close proximity. Your eyes are dazed, looking directly into his eyes before looking around as if you didn’t even notice this was the genuine Rollo Flamme and not just a product of your imagination.

Damn you Grim… Leaving me as soon as you opened the door…

“Your room… is very disorderly [Name].” I was on the floor and you’re focused on how messy my room is? “I did tell you about how messy it was last time I was here too didn’t I?” I get it, I’m messy, so stop rubbing it in… A moment of silence passes before he quirks up an eyebrow, suspicions of his growing by the minute. “No witty comeback this time? Have you finally decided to start listening to me?” Your lack of reply Honestly worries him. Your eyes take a glance at your phone, making his tired face look over as well.

When he moves to grab it, he pauses his hand frozen in place. Your text is still displayed on your screen, as well as the current predicament you find yourself in. Realization hits you in waves as you quickly crawl over to snatch your phone from his palm. When you tried, his hand moves away in time to avoid your reach.

“It’s quite distasteful to admit such a thing through text.” I knew it… your head leans down, once more, in defeat. But, that's quickly changed when his nimble fingers take your face and lead them to his own. Honestly, it felt as if it lasted for eternity when in reality, the exchange only lasted for a couple of seconds. It was as if, Rollo finally felt the need to indulge himself in a little sin, only a little. When you finally separate, you're both left on the floor of your room, awkwardly glancing at the material.

“So… why’d you come here, Rollo? I thought after everything that happened at Fleur City you wouldn’t wanna come here again…”

“I do. I still don’t wanna be here.”

“Then why are you—“

“There’s a holiday at Noble Bell, we have a day off. I came to spend it with you.”

A/n: If anyone has like, any thoughts for the twst characters pls share them!! I may not be doing requests right now but I might write something short of you send in an ask!! Honestly, I just really enjoy when people ramble in my inbox. Also, I’m not too familar with writing Idia and Leona so i’m sorry if they weren’t written good!

[goldfish-afterhours]

Genshin Characters Apologizing After a Bad Fight

Characters: Diluc, Childe, Kaeya, Zhongli x Gn!reader

Type/genre: Bulleted headcanons, angst/hurt comfort?

Warnings: Curse words, probably not the healthiest coping mechanisms/apologies

Diluc

His apology comes out strained, as if the words are clinging to the back of his throat

His fists are clenched tight by his side. He prepares himself for you to yell, to scream at him

But you don’t even turn around to look at him

Diluc always saw you as his rock, his lighthouse in the stormy night, the one who keeps him steady as his duties of both vineyard owner and vigilante shake him back and forth like a ragdoll

But right now, it hits him for the first time how small your back is, how human you look

Has he been taking you for granted all this time?

When you don’t respond to his apology, he calls your name, and you finally turn around

His eyes widen when he sees the tears streaming down your face

His heart absolutely breaks. How could he have made you, his love, his everything, hurt this much?

Before either of you says anything, Diluc flies towards you, cradling your head gently in his arms, as if any slight pressure would cause you to break and shatter like glass

“How pathetic of me to make you cry. I’m so sorry.”

Childe

His heart could rival the weight of the world right now

Childe isn’t used to disappointing others. No, he’s always been the golden boy, the prodigy, the one who sets the bar and breaks it at the same time

So how come you are sitting with your back to him, refusing to say a word?

And why can’t he find it in himself to say something, anything, to make this better?

He is petty person, someone willing to drown an entire city rather than admit defeat. Any word of apology is almost impossible to force out of him.

Instead, he drops a book in front of you. It flips to a random page, and you can see the photos and names of people listed on it

Not unlike a cat bringing their owner a mouse, this was Childe’s form of an apology, even without the actual words being uttered.

“Choose any person from this book. I’ll bring you their head.”

Kaeya

His fingers are restless, constantly scratching the back of his hand or twisting each other

His jaw is clenched, shoulders slumped forwards as he refuses to look you in the eye

“I…I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

You knew that Kaeya had a hard time with apologizing—not because he was arrogant and thought he could do no wrong, but the emotional and physical toll it took on him was great

He often finds himself caught in a dilemma

On one hand, he has a difficult time admitting he is wrong as it forces him into a vulnerable position. To be wrong is shameful, an embarrassment.

On the other hand, he knows he fucked up. And he knows there are only a very few amount of fuck ups people let slide before they get fed up and leave.

And having you leave is not something he can afford

Kaeya’s seen this before. Faced again and again with abandonment, he knows a simple “I’m sorry” is not enough to make most people stay

But it is all he can offer

He prepares himself for the worst, but he was not prepared for the way you gently lifted his chin with your hands, a soft kiss melting away his fears

Zhongli

When you slam the door to your room, Zhongli doesn’t try to stop you

He doesn’t knock on your door, nor does he try to coax you out

He knows your type of anger—it’s like fire, and feeding premature apologies or sweet nothings would only fan the flames

So he sits outside your door until you’re ready to come out

Slips you snacks and books from under your door, in case you get hungry or bored in your anger

When you see the treats and novels slowly appear from under the door, you’re still fuming, but it’s difficult to be furious knowing your thoughtful lover is on the other side, not pushing you to calm down but trying to make you comfortable as you sit with your anger.

When you finally calm down enough to unlock the door and step outside, Zhongli is waiting

There is not a trace of annoyance on his face, but you can tell he relaxes a little from relief that you are willing to come speak with him again

Takes your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze as he apologizes for his behaviour earlier.

“Please accept my apology, my love. I never meant to hurt you.”

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

"It’s no longer 1937… she’s not gonna be saved by the prince." 

The absolute DISRESPECT for the FIRST ANIMATED MOVIE EVER MADE and its female character who was strong in her own way! The DISRESPECT for Snow White coming from people who plan to """update""" her story??? I'm FUMING. i am FURIOUS. This is the SAME shit I said about Girlboss Cinderella do you understand???

Snow White was an abused CHILD who was isolated within her castle and then suddenly thrown into the  woods and she managed to survive using only her hope and kindness!!! She found a house and offered to work to earn her keep and she DID!!! Snow does not have to be a badass to be a strong female character. And more importantly, SHE DOES NOT NEED TO BE "BADASS" TO DESERVE HER HAPPY ENDING. Some of us in abusive situations CANNOT escape on our own. We CANNOT physically fight back and WE STILL DESERVE HAPPY ENDINGS.

Women don't have to be badasses in order to be strong female characters. So she needs to be saved-- so WHAT? Saying Snow White is an antifeminist character solely because she doesn't save herself is offensive to abuse survivors and to the original character who WAS a good character. You can criticize OTHER parts of the movie– the implication that men living without women will be useless and filthy the entire time, or we can discuss the Queen’s feud with Snow being fuelled by misogynist standards, etc.!! But just saying “she needs to be saved so it’s bad” LIKE. ARE YOU SERIOUS

Badass Snow White reboots are fine in moderation, but just like Girlboss Cinderella reboots, too many and it becomes clear what society is trying to say now- that if you're feminine and can't fight a battle, you don't deserve to be saved. Do you see why this is a bad message????? Some girls are badasses who can kill and fight as well as or better than the boys. Those girls have Mulan, Merida, Raya, Moana, Rapunzel, Elsa. They are good female characters. But you know what? So is Snow White. So is Cinderella.

I'm sure people are going to accuse me of being antifeminist for saying “oh she NEEDS to be saved by a man”– I’m NOT SAYING THAT. You could have her be saved by a woman. Be saved by the dwarves, her platonic friends. By the animals. You could write a badass Snow White reboot without being disrespectful to the original film or tale. Just fucking TODAY I read the Disney Mirrorverse Snow White book– it’s written for 13yos basically so not high art but even with them having to make her an adaptational badass, they managed to keep her personality PERFECTLY. She learns how to save herself in this book, but also remains HERSELF. And her previous inability to fight was NOT CRITICIZED by any character; her sudden badassery was a bonus for her, not an indication of her character!!!

YOU are the ones saying that if Snow White (and Cinderella) isn't saving herself, she doesn't deserve to be saved. But everyone deserves happiness and that includes those too weak to fight for it alone.

anyway that was a long feminist rant. this is also super disrespectful to the FIRST ANIMATED MOVIE EVER, the people who worked on it, Walt Disney himself, and everyone who enjoyed or was inspired by it. You absolute fucking dickheads.

also can't believe i have to say this but if y'all use this as an excuse to be racist towards anyone in the cast i will hunt you down and put shoelaces in your lungs

[theorist-fox]

Hesitate

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

It can also be read as a standalone!

The description you'll read of Simon is heavily based on this fanart by @tiggerriot (give the creator some love!!!) because it has been occupying my mind 24/7. I'm in a chokehold.

Word count: 6k

Summary: Simon loses sight of you for far too long. In that time, he realizes he can't go a day without having you within reach. When you return, he tells you in the only way he knows.

18+

CW: smut (fingering, PinV), but with plot. Tiny angst, fluff. Protective and possessive Simon Riley. Mentions of stabbing and blood. Minor injuries.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“Quiet.”

He barges in. Because of course he does. There isn’t a piece of flooring in this godforsaken base that hasn’t been violently reclaimed by Ghost’s boots.

Not even in your goddamn room.

Thankfully, you have the reflexes of a trained operative and have moved out of the way in time, otherwise you'd be sporting a wonderful, purple knob in the middle of your forehead. And while there is a certain distaste surging in your chest – the kind that makes your lips pucker and your stomach knot –, you know there is very little you can do to move the mountain that is Ghost.

So, you close the door behind you with an exhausted sigh, as he ventures further into your room.

“Good eve-“

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “Where the fuck ‘ave you been, uh?”

The balaclava on his face does absolutely nothing to hide the hatred sizzling in his eyes. Funny, because you’ve always thought that it was the whole point of the thing – to hide his face. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows just how expressive his eyes are. 

Does he know he tells so much more with those than he ever does with words? 

Nevertheless, yours are as telling as his own, as they bulge out of your sockets. The odd look you give him is comical, compared to the ire that's practically singeing his clothes.

“Uh,” you stutter. “Deployment?”

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits. So tiny you have to squint your eyes yourself to catch a glimpse of his irises.

“Alone?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

To match the distrust in his tone, you tilt your head toward his, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“…Yeah?” You reply, and the more you go on the more sarcastic you sound. “We do that, sometimes. Lone ops, recon. Y’know, we’re in the UKSF, in case you, uh – forgot.”

He hums gravelly. A sound that causes his body to straighten up as if the cogs have finally started whirring and working seamlessly once again.

“Don’t get smart, now.” He warns, freezing you with a look.

You pucker your lips and instinctively show him your palms, cheekily replying with an “I would never.”

Wrong move, unfortunately. 

You are your worst enemy. 

If this conversation goes downhill, you are the one to blame. Schedule a punishing whipping for yourself, later – you better fetch the goddamn cat o’ nine tails.

The movement causes the long sleeve of your loungewear to slip further down your forearm, pooling at your elbow, and exposing a large bruise. A galaxy of greens and mauves in the shape of five fingers and a large palm.

Ghost’s eyes zero on your arm with the rapidity of a hawk. Price has always said it, after all: he only knows one sniper who’s better than Ghost, and she’s a thousand klicks away now. You miss her – Farah would’ve been a lot nicer about this than him.

When his focus returns to you, he doesn’t even have to ask. As you’ve already stated time and time again, he conveys a lot more with his eyes.

And they are absolutely fuming. 

You suck in a sharp breath, nodding your head slowly while returning your sleeve where it’s supposed to be. Fucking traitorous piece of cotton that should stick around your wrist.

“Y’know,” you start, your chest all puffed because – well, you ain’t breathing right. Not with Ghost staring you down like you’ve gone and killed the King of England. “I had to sneak in, grab the USB key our contact set up for us, and then – bang, vanish. And I did it, yeah? I was brilliant at it.”

The smile on your face is as fake as the cheerful tone you’re using to dispense this information. It cracks as soon as you see the fabric of the balaclava shift on his jaw. 

He’s grinding his molars into dust.

“And?” 

You gesture vaguely. Shift your eyes to the ceiling. Tongue your cheek. Try to downplay it. “Well, ‘s nothing really.”

“Sergeant.” He barks. If he had hackles, they’d be dusting the ceiling. 

You sigh. 

God, how long have you been holding onto that breath? You’re positive it was the air you’ve inhaled, like, ten thousand years ago.

“Someone thought I was acting a bit dodgy and had me pinned to the floor.” You made grabby hands with a cheeky smile, “I have meaty forearms. Plenty to grip.”

Humor is usually the key to lessen the tension that would strangle your and his lungs. Normally, he’d let it go. He’d listlessly smack the back of your head or pinch the flesh of your biceps and call it a day.

Now, sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight. The night lamp on your bedside table sheds light against his back, making him look like he's the wolf ready to pounce what it's going to be his dinner.

It makes your blood curdle.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff, digging your fingertips in the back of your neck to release some tension. “Nothing happened. I jabbed him in the throat before he could shout for help and shoved him under a desk. Got myself a proper blood shower.”

Ghost’s eye twitches.

And then he goes silent. 

Not the news of the year, of course. He’s always silent. You know he doesn’t get his callsign from that, but you can’t help but find his personality incredibly fitting with the military nickname.

However, this isn’t the usual Simon shut-up-and-sod-off Riley. He’s so still you wonder if he’s breathing. You have half a mind to wave your hand in front of his eyes to check if he’s gone catatonic.

You don’t, of course. Dogs bite.

You sneer, more in concern than anything, and gingerly take a step forward. Initially, your question comes out simply as a sideway tilt of your head paired with a puzzled look – a question mark would be floating above you, if physically possible.

But when that doesn’t seem enough to coax an answer out of him, you blurt out an “Oi.”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel to your face. Always with the heavy-lidded gaze that makes him look like he’d love to be anywhere but where he currently is. 

He seems… calmer. You're not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. You prefer it when he's fuming because, as the saying goes, better the devil you know. 

“Off.” He states. 

Of course, he prefers syllables to full, clear sentences. Expressions you (or anyone else, really) don’t seem to catch, unfortunately. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him that if he wants to have a conversation, he should start stringing words one after the other instead of settling for just one.

“What?” You deadpan. “Off with the bullshit? Off with my head? Words, L.T.” 

You don’t seem to have learned from your past mistake of using humor to sneak out of a predicament when Ghost appears to have all hell ready to unleash. 

He roughly points at your chest, “The shirt,” and then aims his finger to the floor. “Off.”

Look at you: dumbfounded. 

Sure, you two have fucked, occasionally – ever since he’d come to terms with the idea that he could do it without getting into trouble. It’s not like he gives two shits about someone finding out, he just doesn’t want to deal with commanding officers explaining to him why he shouldn’t stick it anywhere he finds fitting. God forbid someone puts him through one of those seminars about relationship policies and how they can disrupt the chain of command.

You splutter, “Wha – Excuse me?”

“Ya heard.” He reiterates. “The shirt. Off.”

You scoff. “You wanna fuck now?”

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He says flatly.

“Oh, sorry!” You snark. “Didn’t think there were other reasons why you’d want me to flash my tits.”

“Didn’t say tha’ either.” He deadpans and swipes his index finger in the air again. “Off with the shirt.”

You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose while, stubbornly, still wearing the t-shirt. 

“Not in the mood to have sex, honestly,” you explain, trying to stay calm in the face of the implications of the request. “I came back this morning, I’m beat. I need a cuppa and some sleep –“

He switches, then. “Take off that fucking shirt, sergeant.”

You bristle. Anyone would, at that tone.

Suddenly, you’re back to basic training in Pirbright with your wench of a drill instructor calling you a fucking idiot. 

Needless to say, you follow through with his order and rip the shirt off with more spite than cooperation. With a big frown on your face, you turn on your heel and start stomping angrily towards the bed.

“Make it quick.” You snap, getting on your knees on the edge of the mattress, ready to get pounded into oblivion. 

You’ll like it, eventually, even if you’re not really in the mood. 

Ghost fucks you good. It’s undeniable. 

You’ve soaked his sheets, his clothes, his mask – he’s that type of good. You won’t tell him though; his ego is already too big. If it grows more, HQ won’t be able to contain it and the whole base will blow up into smithereens.   

You’re saving lives, here, by keeping your mouth shut about it.

But he has other plans, it seems. 

“The fuck are you doin’.” 

It is not, in fact, a question. 

You look over your shoulder and find him still standing where you left him, a few paces back.

You quirk a brow, and shoot it back at him, “The fuck are you doing.”

“Why are you bendin’ over.” He states.

"To fuck?" You say, an unsaid obviously lingering in the air. 

Something shifts under his mask, as if he’s scowling. “Who said I wanted to fuck?” 

You splutter, yet again caught by surprise. “You made me get naked.”

He sighs, sounding exasperated, and approaches you, who is – by the way – still shamefully on all fours on the tiny bed of your quarters. 

Suddenly, all that spite sublimates under the heavy, hot weight of embarrassment. 

What are you doing, on your knees on the bed, half naked, if he doesn’t want to fuck?

In your defense, while the two of you often spent time chatting about everything and nothing, that happened in public places. Not once has he knocked on your door for a spot of tea and decent conversation.

Regardless, as soon as you manage to stand on your knees, you can feel him right behind you. Scorching fingers of shame crawl up to your neck. You feel your chest warm up, all the way to the apples of your cheeks. Awkwardly, you bring your arms up to cover your breasts. 

“Off,” he orders, again.

You swallow dryly, offering an insecure smile. “…With the pants?” 

He gives you a glacial look. Your blood freezes in your vessels. You think you might have turned cyanotic. 

“Fuckin’ hell – Off the bed.”

Obviously, your feet touch the ground with impeccable speed, because after that display, the least you can do is follow through with his orders before you make a fool of yourself twice in under a minute.

You feel his fingers curl around the top of your head, only allowing the pads to tangle through your hair and touch your scalp. It’s as if he doesn’t really want to touch you, but feels compelled to do so.

He flicks his wrist to give you a sense of the direction he wants you to turn to, and you do, waddling a little on your feet as you slowly twirl.

Your hands are tucked under your biceps, which are currently strangling your ribcage in an attempt to cover as much of your chest as you can with your forearms. 

When you’re finally facing him again, you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes, however, are not on your tits as you expect. He’s not even ogling, to be honest – which would be a blow to your ego, if the situation weren’t so… odd. 

Your brows are pinched. Your mouth parts only so you can suck in some air and then worry your lip between your teeth. 

This is much too intimate than what you’re used to. 

You realize, as he studies your body, with that weirdly placed hand on your head, that Ghost has never… seen it. 

Or – well, he’s seen it all right, but he’s never looked at it. Your encounters are usually very quick and to the point.

He fucks you. 

You come – once or twice. Thrice, if he’s feeling particularly generous.

He comes. 

Get yourself a glass o’ water and jog on. ‘M knackered.

Yeah, okay. G’night, prick.

Right back at ya.

That’s it.

Sometimes, you don’t even take off each other’s clothes. Sometimes, he doesn’t even turn on the lights. 

Now, his gaze is heavy as he looks at the dip of your waist, then at the fuzz below your belly button and where it leads, until the hem of your slouchy sweatpants that have seen better days. It’s like having lasers pointed at every nook and cranny of you, leaving scorching lines along your profile. 

He taps his finger on your forearm, the one without the bruise – a silent request to take your arms off your chest. Your hands are shaking as you comply, but you’re too preoccupied with him to notice. 

Ghost seems utterly uninterested at the sight of your tits bouncing down in response to gravity, instead setting his focus on the edges of your ribcage.

He flicks his wrist again, and you slowly turn the other way, giving him your back.

You feel his fingers twitch against your scalp, before a cold fingertip brushes against your right side.

"Here." He states, barely tracing the lines of your ribs. 

It's been so long since he's last spoken that you feel goosebumps rise along your neck. God, his voice will never not make your insides churn.

Regardless, you spread your elbows out, lifting your right arm so you can look at where he's pointing. You can't see much, but you definitely feel how the slight movement of your shoulder causes your right side to ache as if the skin were ready to burst at the seams.

“Ow.” 

You frown and curiously try again to take a peek at the cause of the pain. After some squirming, you spot the darkening patch of flesh, speckled with purples and yellows.

“Mh,” you muse. “Didn’t know that was there.”

The hand on your head finally abandons it, allowing the muscles on your neck to relax. 

You continue, somewhat feeling the need to explain why there is yet another bruise. “When that man saw me, he knocked me onto the floor. Must’ve hit it harder than I thought.”

He hums noncommittally. You could’ve told him the most absurd tale, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, much too focused on the expanse of your back. 

You shrug, then. “’S alright. It’ll pass. It’s just a bruise.”

It’s then that he meets your eyes. 

There’s always a sort of veil over his, whenever the air around you both thickens. You wish you had scissors to rip it, sometimes. Or walk to the curtain and take a peek inside. 

“What is this?” You gesture at the two of you, looking back at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He deflects your questions with the same reflexes he uses to dodge bullets, answering instead with a question of his own. “You went to medical?”

Your lips twitch and you have to school your face into more muted frustration. 

Your response is a little petty, but you can’t help but give it to him. “No, just a couple of bumps, nothing that needs a trip to the doctor."

He is a looming shadow behind you, encompassing you with dark tendrils that threaten to swallow you whole. He sucks the warmth of the room with the ice embedded in his eyes – it forces you to look away, finding comfort in your own hands cupping your biceps.

You don’t even manage to reach for your t-shirt again, feeling the need to cover yourself up, that he curls an uncharacteristically gentle hand around your jaw. 

You stiffen. 

He seizes that moment to turn your head, his other fingers already hooked at the hem of his balaclava around the neck. He slides it up and off naturally.

There’s always some sort of solemnity when his face comes into view. 

Each groove and bump tell a story of their own, not a single one coming from the same tale, nor the same blade. 

He has crow's feet, but he rarely smiles – if ever. There are lines originating from the sides of his nose tipping at each corner of his mouth. They should symbolize happiness carved, but you fear it’s the opposite. 

Thick, convoluted scars paint him like rough brush strokes given by an angry hand – bristles of steel, paint of blood. 

Teeth peek out from a particularly gruesome injury that has torn the flesh off his upper lip. He constantly looks like he’s scowling at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was. Would fit the character, and all.

Truth is, Simon rarely cares enough to scowl at anyone. You can either get a cold side glance or a disinterested one – if it’s the former, then you might be in his good graces. 

Right now, though, you don’t think he’s giving you either. His eyes are murky; a mud of anger, annoyance, and disappointment. He looks like he hates you with all his might, staring at you as if he could, by sheer force of thought, scoop out the eyes from your sockets.

“You wanna kill me?” You mumble, finding it hard to speak as he holds your jaw between his fingers. “Get in line, mate. There are at least a bunch a’ Russian men and their mothers before you, ever since I shanked their colleague.”

Then, his eyes leave yours to glance at your lips. He must think you haven’t noticed, because he doesn’t bother to hide it. However – and you’ve always found this incredibly interesting – Ghost tends to forget when he’s wearing the mask and when he isn’t. 

Each time, it’s like watching a child learning how to rein it in. Or, you know, like that sibling you have to surreptitiously elbow under the table at Christmas dinner when your pissed uncle is going off a tangent regarding the most idiotic, misplaced subject ever known to man.

That’s Ghost right now. 

The sibling elbowing him? Simon.

He blinks out of his headspace and then frowns, returning his eyes to yours.

“Don’t need to.” He grunts. “You’re doin’ a fine job by yourself.”

You scoff. “It’s just a bruise.”

His jaw ticks. 

“Yeah, but it’s on you.”

It’s said low and bitter, as if he’s had to fight tooth and nail to yank it out of his chest. 

You, on the other hand, are stock still in place – not only because of his hand holding you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder to where he stands, but also because what was that?

You swallow but it's futile because your tongue is stuck to your palate. The air surrounding you crackles. The oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it. 

You blink. That’s all it takes, and he lands his mouth on you.

Ghost’s kisses are always rough, determined to take your breath away and leave you wondering if you’ll ever say any other name but his own. This one is not much different, but you have to recognize that it is somewhat angrier. 

His lips part as if he could swallow you whole, working his tongue against yours and hindering your movements with his fingers holding your face, and a hand over your belly.

You can work with this. This, you know how to behave around. This is charted territory – the hunger, the stress, the need to decompress and find solace in the oasis you offer so generously between your legs.

You know the dance, and so you press your bum against his groin. You weren’t in the mood, like – ten minutes ago. You were a different person back then. 

If Ghost now wants to split you in half, you’d hand him the butcher knife.

You’re already turning feverish, lifting your right arm to tangle with his hair, ready to grab and pull and bite and – 

He stops you.  Palm to your knuckles, guiding it down once more. He doesn’t hold your hand, instead removing his own as though your skin were burning coal. 

Not as carefully, though, he snakes under your sweatpants and unceremoniously dips his middle finger inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss. 

You weren’t that wet, and while you're not one to say no to a bit of pain, this has caught you so off guard that you decide to chastise him by nipping at his lower lip. 

It’s not much of a punishment, you guess, because his hips jerk to rub himself against you. 

You wish to move and take this to the bed, where you can lie down and be his pillow princess. Let him fuck you until his heart's content, because you're tired and you'd love to get used for his pleasure and yours.

But he’s an unmoving statue, boots glued to the floor and hand shackled to your pussy, dipping in relentlessly until your knees buckle under the sheer pressure of his finger buried to the knuckle. 

When your hips start undulating to increase the friction – specifically of his palm against your neglected bundle of nerves where your pussy tips – he inserts a second finger, and you positively melt against his chest. It’s then that he releases your lips, allowing you to moan under your breath. 

He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can find, leaving love bites on the length of your shoulders all the way to your neck. Teeth and tongue and words that escape his lips, while he curls his fingers inside you, drowning your thoughts in frayed growls from his mouth, and raunchy squelches from between your legs. His offhand gets busy and starts toying and pulling at your nipples. 

You're being absolutely ravaged; his nails are talons and he wants to rip you apart and eat you inside out after he's prepped you alright. It's juxtaposing - the pleasure, and the crudeness. It's new, but not unwelcome.

“You should’ve told me.” He grunts. You don’t pay it much mind, he usually murmurs a lot during sex, and less than half of the time you catch what he says – the other times, you’re already too stupid to use your senses.

“Should’ve.”

He snaps his finger upward, burying them to the knuckle.

“Told me."

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"You were being posted." 

Finally, he curls his fingers inside, making your legs quiver.

You whimper and your eyes roll back. Is this your punishment? Hell fucking yes, then. You’ll keep your secrets more often. 

But alas, you do feel compelled to at least explain and apologize.

“M’sorry,” you breathe, “It was a last-minute thing. Got called the day before.”

Surely, he’ll understand. That’s how deployments work: they give you a timeframe, and you might or might not get the dreaded call. If you do, then you’re off – one day you’re lounging at the beach, the next you’re buried in gore.

No in-between. 

You don't want to distract him though. You're so close. If he just – moved a little, maybe? Or allowed you to rest your legs somewhere. 

You shift imperceptibly so that you can rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm. The callouses on the heel of his hand make it somehow even better.

He allows you, meaning that even if you’ve kept the deployment from him, he’s feeling magnanimous.

You roll your head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck, the tip of your nose tucked behind his lobe. You pant as he fucks you with his fingers, and murmur sweet things about how good he is to you, because he’s being kind and for that he deserves a generous stroke to his ego. You leave open kisses on his neck, his jaw, lapping the sweat off his skin with your tongue – to try and give back some of the pleasure he’s offering you.

When you come, it is with a loud groan muffled in his neck, and he holds you by the waist before you keel over. The orgasm almost stings, since he’s ripped it out of you so quickly and forcefully. It tingles from the tips of your toes, curling against the linoleum, all the way to the knot that finally snaps in your gut. 

Only then, when your vision clears and your skin still prickles in goosebumps, do you hear him through the ringing of your ears.

“You don’t understand.” He’s saying, like a prayer repeated gruffly to the skin of your neck. 

He doesn’t say it once, he doesn’t say it twice. He repeats it with fervor, and the more it escapes his mouth, the angrier it gets.

You feel the back of your knee being pushed by his own, and you stumble forward on the mattress. You’re confused, still descending from the high of your orgasm, feeling your limbs move under his command and notyours. Trying to find sense in his words. 

You don’t understand.

Your ears are cottoned – the orgasm has been that blissful – but you still catch the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Your front is plastered against the mattress, cheek buried in linen of freshly washed sheets. 

You don’t have the strength to stand, nor to look behind, so you can solely rely on your hearing, on your touch.

Shallow breaths. 

Shuffle of fabric – he’s taking off his shirt. 

His hand skims over your back, purposefully avoiding the bruise on your side. 

A finger pulls down the sweatpants to your ankles – the air feels cold against your skin, flushed and burning. 

Wet fingertips trail down your legs with uncommon reverence, until they reach down and yank the pants off your feet.

The denim of his jeans shifts. A thud – he’s on his knees.

He forces your leg to bend and kisses your ankle. Then the arch of your foot. Your toes, and it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The actions are paired with a wet, rhythmic sound – he’s touching himself the way you’d touch him. 

He has fingered you with such voracity you thought you’d rip in half on his hand, and now he’s on his knees, kissing your feet. He’s switching rapidly – angry, then devoted. 

The former you know, but the latter is different. It’s new. 

You feel the mattress dip and protest under the additional weight, each of his thighs on either side of yours, keeping your legs flush together. 

A hand appears in your vision, gripping the sheets. 

You kiss the knuckle on his thumb, and he flicks it gently over your nose. 

His chest exudes warmth even if he isn’t properly touching your back. He simply hovers above it, putting his weight on his palm, while his other hand is busy stroking his cock.

You're wet and prepped just how he likes, in fact he slides in easily. 

You already came, which means you're hypersensitive – it feels like he's inserting something long and scorching hot inside. Your breath hitches in your throat at the intrusion, and he dips his forehead to your shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss.

He fucks you slow and deep, dragging backward without ever pulling out. He wants to stay sheathed inside. He wants to bury himself in there, with your velvet walls squeezing him dry. You won’t complain. You’ll keep him snug until he’s sated. Until you are, too.  

This dance you know as well, and so you fold your arms behind you, bending your elbows so that he can grip both your forearms with one hand and use them as leverage to rail you until you’re only babbling nonsense.

But he… doesn’t?

He still fucks you, sure, but his hand doesn’t reach for your arms, preferring the sheets instead, and it makes you feel a little neglected, wondering if you're doing something wrong. Sure – you just came, he’s treated you to your nice little post-operation orgasm, and then proceeded to fuck you. So, he must still be into this – into you. 

Right? 

You thought this could’ve been a nice way to reciprocate, since you know how much he likes to get you to bend as he pleases.

A thank you of sorts. 

You reach up with your fingers, tickling his abdomen to make him notice that you’ve prepared yourself for him, arms knotted behind your back like a bow on a present – just in case he’s missed it, you know?

But he reaches down only to guide your arms back to the bed, distending them ahead. He goes to hold one hand but stops, instead digging his palm back into the mattress.

Just when you’re about to protest, lifting your head from the bed, he drags his tongue around the shell of your ear. 

You shudder. 

"I- I'm not good at this." He grunts as he fucks you slowly, dragging breathy moans out of your lips. "So jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s then that his pace picks up, punching a ragged groan out of your lips at the first abrupt thrust. 

He’s either doing it to shut you up, or to make you focus on something else while he speaks. So, maybe, if you’re busy molding your pussy around his cock and rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you won’t hear what he’s saying.

“Lieut –“

“Simon.” He chides loudly. “Fuck – Told you it’s Simon, ‘ere.”

You grip the sheets as your head bobs to the pace he takes. Your breathing is more akin to a wheeze, and your belly flutters each time he hits you just right.

“Simon,” you whimper.

“Yeah,” he croons. “Simon. Good.”

Simon is as breathless as you are, but much more contained.

“Need to know where you are,” he murmurs under his breath. “You got no idea wha’ I –“

He releases a shuddering breath that tickles your ear. 

You’re keening and shivering, trying to focus on his words but it seems like he’s trying his best to prevent you from listening, even if he’s the one who’s asked you to.

There’s something rabid in his motions. He bullies his cock as deep as it can reach, his hips brutally slap against your ass. You can feel the fat recoiling, the vibration tipping at the base of your skull. He’s feral and yet it’s so different.

He groans, but it's frustrated more than satisfied. 

“You got no fuckin’ idea, do ya?” He mutters the sentence like a curse. “No fuckin’ idea. You – “

You reach for his hand with your own, but he swats it away. 

You try again and he nibbles at your ear.

“Don’t." He warns lowly, stilling his motions until he’s hilted all the way inside. 

You suck in a breath as he shoves himself until there’s not an inch of space for him to move.

He’s ramrod stiff above you, struggling to keep his chest off your back – denying you of his skin. Of intimacy. Of contact. 

You twist your head that much to look at his face and find him staring blankly ahead. 

To say it worries you would be an understatement, especially if paired with the puzzling behavior he’s had all evening. 

You follow the trajectory of his gaze with your eyes and heartbreakingly discover that he's burning holes in your bruised flesh – the hand of that now-dead man still darkly imprinted on your skin. 

Is that why he doesn't touch you? Is that why he's taking pains to not press his weight on your body when he'd usually have you flattened under the whole of him?

You feel yourself falter. “Si-“

“You’re hurt.” he croaks. “I’ll hurt you more.”

You don’t know what staggers you the most: his cock up your cervix making you dizzy, or the hesitance in his voice. 

Hesitance.

Simon doesn’t hesitate. He’s not tentative. 

He takes.

If he can’t take, he delegates, and whatever he needs eventually will fall into his hand. 

You fell into his hand without too much of a fuss. He gave you the impression that you were the one demanding and obtaining, but the truth obviously lies elsewhere. 

Simon wanted you, too. He wants you, too.

He gave you the chance to sneak into his office and request an immediate closure to the cat-and-mouse chase. He delegated it to you.

And then he took.

Hesitance, clearly, isn’t in his daily vocabulary. 

This dance, you don’t know. You’re out of your zone. You don’t know which steps to take without tripping over his toes and disrupting the music. 

He’s unmoving inside of you, catching his breath with his lips on your ear.

“Can’t hurt you.” He breathes, and you have to focus to even catch it. 

“You won’t,” you whisper, trying a first step. “I’ll tell you if – “

And it’s the wrong one.

He starts again, pulling out and fiercely slamming back in. Your breathing snaps, palm coming down to slap against the mattress, “Fuck!”

It would feel oh, so good, if you were in the right headspace. 

He won’t allow you to talk. He’s begging you, in his contorted ways, to let him speak without judgment. Without the fear of knowing he has dropped the mask too low. 

This is his time. 

You should’ve shut your mouth, for once, and allowed him to speak. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He asked for one thing. 

Jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.

You purse your lips in a line and nudge your head against his own, a silent way to prompt him to go on.

I’m sorry. I’m listening.

“You got no idea.” He repeats again, but this time his voice cracks – overwhelmed.

He starts his voracious pace that always steals your breath and fucks your brain into a mush.

“I’ve looked for ya, asked ‘round – no one fucking knew. Got told you were off on deployment, and that’s it.” 

Each word is as accusatory and irate as the cock he’s drilling inside of you. 

“You weren’t comin’ back. One. Two. Three weeks. No fuckin’ sign of ya.” He thrusts in for each week you’ve gone missing, “I was – “

He stops. Inhales sharply. Hesitates, once again.

“Don’t wanna feel tha’ again – don’t put me through that again.”

Suddenly, you can feel everything at once. 

Your body perks up. 

Vision, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all filled of him.

And it’s not about sex anymore. 

It never has been, but how obvious it is now.

You want to hold his hand, but you decide to leave him space. 

The hand-shaped bruise on your arm glares at him like a promise he silently made with himself and failed to keep. You won’t make him feel like he broke a thing, because he hasn’t.

If anything, you’ve never felt more whole in your life.

You and Simon have never gone further than physical. You don't know how to soothe a heart so afraid if it belongs to him. So, you do the only thing you’ve learned that manages to get through to him.

You keen and moan and breathe, allowing tiny praises and sinful curses to leave your lips. 

Like that – yeah. Shit.

Yes, yes, yes. 

Deeper. Please.

His name – not his callsign, not his rank.

Simon, you croon. Simon, Simon, Simon. 

You feel the pressure of his come spurting out, flooding your walls like a dam has broken and crushed. His mouth on your ear won’t allow a single sound to pass, but he’s clearly overly affected – you know, by the way his breath comes. As if he’s clinging to life and has found purchase for survival right on your skin.

You want to kiss him, but you leave the choice up to him. You won’t squirm under the press of his forehead against your temple, but your lips are there for him to taste – moist and plump and ready.

Simon’s lashes flutter against your cheekbone as he regains his bearings. Looks at you. His eyes hint at regret – it’s a fraction of a second that has your stomach knot. But then he squashes it down, when he realizes that you saw nothing wrong in his words.

He kisses your cheek, and then your lips. Thankfulness seeps through.

"Don't hide from me again," he murmurs and gingerly hooks his thumb around your pinky. Not touching you yet, not so close to where you’re already aching.

You curl your finger around his own. “I won’t.”

[mxtxfanatic]

When Wei Wuxian Stops Giving a Fuck

Wei Wuxian spends 95% of the novel being so polite and charming and funny and kind that I think people honestly forget how terrifying and decisive he can be once you exhaust his patience. These are some of my favorite moments when Wei Wuxian stops being nice to people who absolutely never deserved it:

Wei Wuxian found the scene unbearable. “After so many years, the Lan family is still like this,” he thought to himself. “They’re still affecting that stupid, undying self-restraint. Hmph. Watch this!” He spat at Lady Mo and said, “Who the hell do you think you’re screaming at? Do you think they’re your servants? These people traveled through half the country in order to help you for free. What exactly do they owe you? How old is your honorable son? He should be at least seventeen this year, right? And he’s still ‘a child?’ How old does he have to be to understand human speech? Yesterday, didn’t these cultivators say several times not to touch anything or approach the western courtyard? Because your son couldn’t stop himself from pilfering what isn’t his, as though he were a starving dog stealing chickens in the night, you’re blaming me? You’re blaming them?”

—Chapt. 4: Feral III, fanyiyi

[Jin Zixuan's] blood grew hot and he blurted out, “If she’s unhappy, then let her break off the engagement! I certainly don’t cherish your wonderful shijie. If you cherish her so much, why don't you take it up with your father? Doesn’t he love you more than his own son?” After hearing the last sentence, Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, and Wei Wuxian was no longer able to contain his own fury. He flew at Jin Zixuan, his fist raised. Though Jin Zixuan had been prepared to defend himself, he hadn’t expected Wei Wuxian to hit back so quickly. The attack started before he had even finished speaking, and when the fist struck him it immediately caused half his face to go numb.

—Chapt. 18: Elegance VIII, fanyiyi

Wen Chao’s complexion switched between red and white. Wei WuXian added, “Right, what was the accusation given to those who insult famous cultivators of the Wen Sect again? How should they be punished? I remember that it was execution, right? Yes, very well, you can go die now.” Wen Chao couldn’t hold himself back any longer, unsheathing his sword and lunging at Wei WuXian. With that, he lunged out of Wen ZhuLiu’s range of protection. Wen ZhuLiu had always been used to defending against the attacks of others. He had never expected Wen Chao to leave by his own will. Facing the sudden difficulty, he somehow couldn’t react in time. On the other hand, as Wei WuXian provoked Wen Chao, he was precisely waiting for the moment of uncontrollable rage. The smile by his lips didn’t falter at all as he attacked with the speed of lightning. In a split second, he had snatched the sword and reversed the situation, subduing Wen Chao with just one move!

—Chapt. 53: Courage, exr

After he said a few harsh words to her, standing where she was, Jiang YanLi had burst into tears. When Wei WuXian returned, this happened to be the scene that he saw. Although his shijie had an easy temper, except for how they cuddled and cried together the day the three of them reunited after Lotus Pier was destroyed, she hadn’t really shed many tears in front of others, much less cry so loudly, so pitifully in front of so many people. Wei WuXian was filled with panic. As he tried to ask her, Jiang YanLi was crying so badly that she couldn’t even speak properly. Then, when he saw Jin ZiXuan standing on the side, astonished, he fumed with anger, wondering to himself why it was the dog of a person again. With a kick, he pounced on Jin ZiXuan. The fight between the two would have alerted the Heavens. All of the cultivators around the base came to break up their fight. Amid the ruckus, he finally understood what was the cause of all this, and became even more angered. He spread his tough talk, saying that one day he’d definitely make Jin ZiXuan die in his hands, he told people to drag out the cultivator woman. A round of questions later, the truth emerged, and Jin ZiXuan’s entire body was frozen. No matter how much Wei WuXian continued to curse at him, he returned neither words nor fists, his face dark.

—Chapt. 69: Departure, exr

Hearing this, Wei WuXian’s smile disappeared at once. He asked, “Discipline?” He turned his head slowly, “A crooked path?” Lan WangJi’s voice was low, “Wei Ying.” Jin ZiXun and the others noticed the unusual atmosphere as well. Holding their breaths, they looked at him. Wei WuXian smiled again, “Do you know why I’m not carrying my sword? It wouldn’t make a difference if I told you anyways.” He turned around, stating one word at a time, “Because I want you to know that even if I don’t use my sword, with nothing but what you call a ‘crooked path’, I will still rise unparalleled and leave all of you staring at me from behind.” With his words, all of the people present were shocked speechless.

—Chapt. 70: Departure, exr

Wei WuXian, “Cut the nonsense. I’m sure everyone knows that my patience is limited. Where is he? With so much time wasted on you, I’ll give you three. Three!” Jin ZiXun wanted to resist, but when he saw Jin GuangShan’s face, he felt his heart shiver. Wei WuXian began again, “Two!” Jin ZiXun finally yelled, “... Fine! Fine! It’s just a few Wen- dogs. Take them if you want to. I’m not fooling around with you any longer! Go find them at Qiongqi Path on your own!” Wei WuXian laughed coldly, “If only you said it sooner.”

...

The group felt their scalps tingle and their blood run cold. The head inspector stammered, “The YunmengJiang Sect and the LanlingJin Sect have been getting along with each other. You mustn’t...” Hearing this, Wei WuXian glanced at him, his tone amused, “You’re quite brave. Are you threatening me?” The head inspector hurried, “Of course not, of course not.” Wei WuXian, “Congratulations to you for successfully draining all my patience. Since you don’t want to speak up, let’s let him answer on his own.” As though it’d been waiting for his words for a long time, Wen Ning’s frozen corpse suddenly moved, raising its head. Before the two nearest inspectors could even scream, each of their throats was clenched by a hand as firm as iron. ... He suddenly spun around, putting his hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder before shouting, “Wen QiongLin!” As if a reply, Wen Ning let out a long, thundering roar. The ears of everyone within the valley ached. Wei WuXian spoke one word at a time, “Whoever caused all of you to be like this, let them meet the same end. I give you the right to do so. Settle everything!” Hearing this, Wen Ning immediately crashed the two inspectors that he was holding together. Like exploding watermelons, the two heads immediately let out a loud bang, sending red and white flying everywhere.

—Chapt. 72: Recklessness, exr

He walked beside the person whose words were the harshest and ground his foot against the person’s face, laughing, “Talk. Why aren’t you talking anymore? Mr. Hero, just what are you going to do to me?!” The person’s nasal bones had broken from the force, bleeding and screaming uncontrollably. Many cultivators were watching from on top of the city gate. They wanted to help, but they didn’t dare approach the scene. One of them shouted from afar, “Wei... Wei Ying! If you’re really that strong, why don’t you go find those sect leaders participating in the pledge conference? What could you prove by picking on us low-level cultivators with no power to fight back?” Wei WuXian let out another short whistle. The cultivator who shouted felt as a hand suddenly tugged him down. He fell off the city gate, breaking both of his legs, and began to scream. Amid the wails, Wei WuXian’s expression didn’t change at all, “Low-level cultivators? Do I have to tolerate you, just because you’re low-level cultivators? If you dared say those things, you had to dare shoulder the consequences. If you knew that you were insignificant pieces of scum as filthy as ants, how come you didn’t know to think before you speak?!” Everyone was as pale as ash, making not a single noise. A moment later, when Wei WuXian didn’t hear any more chatter, he continued in satisfaction, “Yes, that’s the spirit.”

—Chapt. 77: Nightfall, exr

One of the cultivators who stood in the front rows of one of the arrays commented bitterly, “Wei Ying, you disappoint me so much. There used to be a time when I admired you and said that at least you were someone who founded your own sect. Now that I think about it, it’s almost repulsive. From this moment on, I’ll forever stand on the opposite side of you!” Hearing this, Wei WuXian first paused, but soon exploded with laughter, “Hahahaha...” He laughed so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe, “You admired me? You said you admired me, but why haven’t I ever seen you when you admired me? And as soon as I’m loathed by everyone, you jump out and wave your little flag?” Tears of laughter seeped from the corners of Wei WuXian’s eyes, “Your admiration as a bit too cheap, isn’t it? You said that you’ll forever stand on the opposite side of me. Very well. Does the fact that you’re standing on the opposite side of me affect me at all? Both your admiration and your hatred are so, so insignificant. How could you be so shameless as to flaunt them in front of others?”

—Chapt. 78: Nightfall, exr

Just because a person is kind does not mean that they are unconditionally kind. Nobody is obligated to tolerate bullshit forever, and I am really glad that mxtx wrote Wei Wuxian as a character with clear boundaries, limits, and an understanding of when he needs to remind people who tf he is.

[randombush3]

my kink is karma

alexia putellas x reader

This is an ode to exes

Which i don’t think is the point of the song but who cares

[...]

Alexia storms into the changing room. It’s not the first time, but it’s the worst strop ever seen, and she might as well have crossed her arms and screamed and cried because her mood is hardly subtle. 

She’s not trying to keep it a secret, though. 

Today is the first day after this season’s transfer window. Namely, the day of awkward set plays and trying to gel a team in far too little time. It’s a busy period for any leader – Alexia, as captain, knows that – and she should be focused. She would be focused, but…

“She’s gone, then?” asks Irene, too respected to be burnt to a crisp by the fire Alexia will roar at any who prod her. Safe and sound, she chances a hand on her teammate’s shoulder. It’s pushed off, searing hot and melted. 

“On the pitches. Now.” 

The team groans in unison. 

…

Tuesday. 

You hate Tuesdays. 

You think you always have. They just suck. 

And it’s worse because this is a foreign country and this is a foreign pitch and this isn’t home; home kicked you out, betrayed and shrieking about it shamelessly. 

Home took advantage of the expensive rent – the price of privacy – to throw your decision at you with nothing but selfishness, personifying herself into the antithesis of ‘supportive girlfriend’. 

Good thing she’s your ex-girlfriend. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. 

…

The first Spain camp since things ended is a shitshow. The team is already a disorientated herd of misled sheep, searching for safety amongst wolves and butchers. World Cup medals now dusted and stored at parents’ houses, it begins to wear off, that bliss, that haze. 

Now it’s all glares across changing rooms and divided friend groups. Whispered questions behind your back run down the muscles – have you gotten more toned since you left?! – like hot water from steaming showers, gossip flowing like an unstoppable river. You let the current take you. You drown in your tears some nights. 

Now it’s Alexia, burning like an inferno, punching holes in pads at the gym. With every hit, she grunts as though loud noises scare off ex-girlfriends (of which, she is afraid she is accumulating). Deceived by the Devil herself, red-hot and ablaze, she watches the past go up in flames. She shoots you more harsh looks. She feels the heat radiating in her throat, in her chest, in the bridges disintegrating before her. And she doesn’t care, no: if Karma’s real, she hopes it’s your turn. 

“Now it’s funny, though,” you insist, sitting with Laia at lunch because it’s hard to face her cronies. You’re a traitor. “Comical.” 

Laia buys none of your good humour. Laia has watched the obsession crawl into your ears, piercing skin and bone until it plagues your mind. 

“I heard she’s losing it,” she says to make you feel better. Because you’re not finding it funny, not really. “Moved back in with her mum and all.” 

“You know, she struggles to be alone. She’ll have someone new soon – someone younger than me, someone to make her feel like she’s in control.” It’s easy to say things like this now. Easy to scorn and be scorned, easy to hate her and hate that it’s hate you feel. 

But whatever. You have other things to worry about. 

…

She’s mindlessly drunk – there is no other way to cope tonight. There you are in Paris, elegant and poised, amazonian as you stride the green carpet, amicable as you converse with Messi. 

And, well, here she is. 

It’s a tantrum, really. It’s not fair – life’s not fair – and she is belly-up on the floor, arms and legs battering the rug hard enough for clouds of dust to erupt from the fabric. She is aware of her tears, aware of the sheer ridiculousness of her behaviour, too, but she is enraged. Absolutely fucking fuming, even. 

No one else is here, but she feels watched nonetheless. Your eyes are sharp as you stare her down, the screen not enough to make it hurt less, nothing but the meltdown serving to dull whatever it is that’s bubbling up inside her. The Ballon D’or is just as much a traitor as you are.

It can’t just move on like that. It can’t just not be hers. She can’t lose it. 

She knew it was inevitable, but it’s still not right. And it’s not fair. And it’s not supposed to be yours. 

You’re not supposed to be winning. 

Before she knows it, her phone is in her hand and her mouth is running like it has your long, athletic legs and goals aren’t being scored but rather launched like missiles into unsuspecting audience members. 

“Ale, you can’t talk about her like that.” 

Somewhere in England, you are sitting down with a smug smile glossed over your lips. 

Alexia tears at the image in her mind until her eyes are red and your face is too. 

…

Shining and shimmering, you continue to dazzle under the spotlight. The move was a good idea, and the training is paying off. You are finally getting the recognition you were owed.

And you begin to keep score, mentally. 

It’s a competition that Alexia is always going to lose, and you are loving it. 

She’s injured again, her knee giving out after being pushed too far in the Southern Hemisphere (you’d warned her – vindication). 

She dyed her hair back. 

She looks exhausted, she looks like she is ruined, she looks like a building waiting for a wrecking ball to take the final swing. 

God, you are enjoying this. 

A few months go by and you can add crashing her car to the list. 

You’re counting every mistake, every falter, every trip and fall. You’re watching her like a hawk, waiting for it to be enough, for it to be satisfying. You’re addicted to it, to the feeling of justice, of facing consequences that slowly become misfortune. 

It’s… hot. Watching the rug be pulled out from under her feet is weirdly empowering. Lucifer has fallen from Heaven. Finally. 

People say you’re jealous, but your kink is karma. 

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Girl dad Astarion who is mourning the times when his biggest problem was coming up with more or less child-friendly excuses to not read yet another bedtime story. Or to fix the dress of a shabby old doll that gave him the creeps. Or to kiss some scratches better, even though the minuscule wounds usually troubled him more than they did the damn child. 

Nobody ever told him that children grow up this fucking fast, okay?

But now he has to watch his darling little girl grow into a beautiful young woman, and he is—quite frankly—terrified for her. 

Because wherever he looks, he can see that strangers are watching her, too. 

It doesn’t even bother him that they notice his daughter’s beauty, no, you would have to be blind not to see it. She’s stunning—obviously. She's his child after all…and Tav’s, of course, but that’s not the point. 

It’s the way they're looking at the girl that disgusts Astarion to his very core. Leering eyes following her every move. Ulterior motives buried under layers of false niceties. Seemingly innocent little touches stolen as if those filthy hands were entitled to her body in any way. 

And for all their obnoxious gawking, they don’t even see her. They seldom care for his daughter’s talents, her sense of humour, or her intelligence. Her heart.

Those heads are only turning for a pretty face, and for all the small privileges that might afford her, they always come with a price—a price Astarion has paid once upon a time; a price he doesn’t ever want his daughter to even consider accepting.

But the world is not kind. It’s already leaving scratches on his child that neither he nor Tav can kiss better any longer. 

And Astarion hates it because the last time he felt this helpless was when his own pretty face was all that kept him, well, as alive as he could be. A thing to be used for other people's gain. Selling himself out for crumbs.

And then, one day, he notices a new bracelet on his daughter’s wrist. 

She happily hands it over to him so he can take a look. Then she tells him some stranger gifted it to her. Just like that! 

All they wanted for it was a little smile—isn’t that so great, father? 

It’s not. Far from it. Astarion is fuming inside. 

How dare some random nitwit think that ugly trinket worthy of his daughter’s wonderful smile? The audacity. The nerve. Unbelievable! 

“Darling, it’s not a gift if they’re expecting something in return,” a forced smile tugs at his lips, trying to soften his scolding tone.

It doesn’t work.

“But it’s so pretty, I had to have it!” 

The girl sulks, her little nose scrunched up as if he just sent her to bed without her fairy tales. Astarion supposes, in a way, he has.

“And what do we do when we see something we want, dear?” 

She rolls her eyes at him in a way that always has Tav cackling up. Maybe it's because, in moments like this, she looks a little too much like her father. 

“We just pocket it.”

“Exactly, my darling child, we just pocket it,” Astarion nods approvingly. “And if they ask for a smile next time?”

“We stab them,” she sighs.

“Absolutely, we do. Now, off with you, lest your daggers get all rusty, you lazy duck.” 

Ending the discussion with a gentle smile, Astarion watches the girl go before he produces the offending bracelet from his sleeve. 

It’s always out of sight, out of mind with pretty things, isn't it?

He takes another look at the bracelet, scrunching up his nose as if it gave off a particularly vile smell. In a way, it does.

In fact, it’s giving Astarion the creeps. And it's not even made from real gold, by the way.

Astarion scoffs at the cheap trinket. This child still has so much to learn.  

[dancingdonatello]

I want to put your work under a microscope and study it my god it’s STUNNING. Like the stories compared to the stuff I usually read is pretty short, and yet you convey so much character and emotions in each one! 

I don’t think you’d done anything like this yet but if you have already sorry! But I’m hopeless to a good opposites attract dynamic, so could I request Donnie with an S/O who is a witch apprentice in witch town but they suck at magic? Most of their spells leads to explosions so they prefer stuff like science instead cuz everything is laid out for you and everything makes sense?

I’m genuinely curious how people would write for Donnie with a witch s/o considering how he’s shown to view witch town in the show 

rise donnie x reader

He absolutely preens when you express your interest in science. He shows you his collection of microscopes and usb drives. His fancy super computer. His database of many classified scientific files that could start another world war.

You’re enchanted by all of it. Your many compliments and avoidance to mention any witch stuff to him definitely helps your speedy relationship. You’re dating within a month, despite his ��hatred’ for witches and magic. In fact, he sort of forgets that you’re one in the first place. Sort of.

He catches you practicing some magic by yourself and realizes that you’ve never once shown him any magic. He feels a little sheepish, thinking he made the relationship all about him. It’s too easy for him to get caught up in himself.

He urges you to show him something. It blows up in your faces but he doesn’t seem too mad about it. He wipes the sparkly dust off his face and shrugs at your embarrassed teary eyed look. “Mine explode all the time too. At least yours isn’t toxic fumes and radioactive fuel.”

He’ll even brainstorm with you and April to try and find methods in improving your skill.

(And no matter how hard you try, you cannot get him unbanned from Witch Town. The council refuses to hear you out. His wanted poster remains on every public bulletin board. You draw hearts on them to make up for it.)

[janeyseymour]

Without a Shadow of a Doubt

This has been sitting in my WIPs for literal months- and here it is. I hope you enjoy her.

Summary: Melissa helps you raise a child, and on more than one occasion, you have serious doubts that you're a good mother.

WC: ~5.1k

When you moved into your new apartment complex with your three month old baby girl, perhaps the last thing you expected was to meet someone who would fill a hole in your heart that your ex-husband left when he up and abandoned you and the new baby that he claimed would be the love of his life. 

Of course, that statement came with a caveat; he wanted a son. So when the doctor gleefully announced that you had given birth to a daughter, he fumed and stormed his way out of the hospital. And when you came home the next day, once your mother picked you up and took you back to your quaint little apartment in, anything that belonged to you was in a box. He told you to get out, and the divorce papers would come through a few weeks later.

Your mother had been gracious enough to let you and your little girl stay with her for some time, but you need your freedom and space. So, not only did you have an ongoing divorce- you also had a three month old baby that depended on you for everything, and on top of that, you were dealing with moving into a new apartment. So, maybe the last thing you expected was to meet someone who would fill a hole in your heart, but the absolute last thing that you expected was to fall in love with a woman. But it would end up happening. 

Your mother has been a huge help in this whole ordeal- helping to bring the various boxes into the new little one bedroom apartment that now had your name on the lease, holding and rocking your little girl while you did as much as you could, fed you and the baby when you were too exhausted and would fall asleep sitting in the rocking chair that she had helped assemble, and above all else, she has been your rock. She’s been the one person who shows you unwavering love and support in terms of your impending divorce. Almost everyone else in your life attempted to show sympathy, but it oftentimes came off as judgmental or downright pity.

But now, your mother is sitting in the Philadelphia airport waiting for her flight back to Indiana to take off, and you’re in the new apartment all alone. All alone, aside from the baby. She’s strapped to your chest as you attempt to make dinner for yourself, but something in her little body is not having any parts of this. She wails- ear-piercing shrieks that make you want to burst into tears too. You quickly get her out of the sling and attempt to hold her and soothe her all while continuing to stir the pot of soup you have on the burner. This was so much easier when you had both hands free.

But your little love just continues to cry, her face bright red, and the tears are running down her pudgy little cheeks as she clenches her little fists and beats your chest repeatedly.

Giving up, you turn off the stove and turn your attention fully to the baby.

“Sweet Ellie girl,” you sigh. You stroke her cheek gently with the tip of your finger. “What is it?” You know she isn’t hungry- she ate half an hour ago. She burped afterward. Her diaper is dry. What on Earth could this sweet little thing want? You suppose that she just wants to be held and loved. You can do that- you can do that far better than your soon-to-be ex-husband could ever. With a little exhale, you open the pantry and grab yourself a granola bar to eat before settling into the rocking recliner that you have in the living room thanks to your father. You eat around Ellie as you mindlessly hum a few lullabies before switching into a few of the softer songs you know. You were somewhat hoping that she would be lulled to sleep with your soothing voice and sweet melodies, but your efforts are fruitless. That sweet little love of yours continues to stare up at you with wide eyes as she clutches your pinky in her own hand.

You sit there for what feels like forever, humming songs ranging from Adele to Bob Dylan to Join Mitchell and everything in between. That is, until you hear a knock on your door.

That in itself is odd. You don’t know anybody here, at least not yet. And it couldn’t be your mother. You know she had boarded her plane an hour ago and is in the air- she had texted you that much. She then followed that text up with a reminder to take care of yourself and that she was always just a phone call away if you needed her for anything. Your heart almost flies into your throat at the thought of it being Michael, your ex. Why would he show up here after serving you with divorce papers and telling you that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the ‘little worm’ you brought into the world?

“Let’s go see who’s at the door,” you whisper to the little one in your arms. You continue to mindlessly hum a tune, one that you’ve always adored- ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by the Beatles- as you make your way over to the door. Looking through the peephole, you see a redhead with a box in her arms. Her green eyes nearly stare into your soul as she tries to decipher if you’re going to answer or not.

Out of curiosity, you open the door. “Hello, can I help you?”

The woman, whose green eyes have already been imprinted into your memory, just gives you half a shrug as she looks down at the baby in your arms.

“Uh, I didn’t think I left any boxes in the moving truck?” you question with a nervous chuckle.

The woman almost snorts out a laugh before she remembers why she’s here. “No. I uh, I’m your next door neighbor. I saw that you had a baby, and I work at a school, and I-“ she hums absentmindedly. “Some of my coworkers were getting rid of their baby items, so I came to offer them to you- if you want them.”

“Oh!” your eyebrows creep up your forehead. “That’s- that’s really kind of you.”

“Do you want the stuff or not?” the redhead asks.

“Please,” you smile softly. “Thank you.”

“Where you want it?” she asks a she looks around your place.

“If you just want to put it on the kitchen table, I can handle it once I get Ellie in her crib for the night.”

The woman, whose name you still don’t know, enters your apartment, sets the box down, and looks around.

“Did you not eat?”

You look up at her, lifting your gaze from your baby. “I did.” Your eyes dart to the wrapper from your granola bar, and you’re just a bit embarrassed that you hadn’t thrown it out. But how were you to know that she would drop by?

“All you had was a granola bar?” she asks as her own eyes follow your gaze. You nod sheepishly. Her eyes go to the pot on the stove, and before you can stop her, she looks inside. It’s just chicken stock, onion, and celery- that was as far as you got with making dinner before Ellie started wailing and effectively put your meal on hold. “Sit down,” are the next words out of her mouth. “Hold your little girl, and I’m making you dinner.”

“What?” your mouth opens and closes a few times. “I- You don’t have to do that. I don’t know you, you don’t know me.”

“Melissa,” is all the woman says as she opens up your refrigerator and grabs the chicken breast that you were meant to put into the soup. “Now sit and relax.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, so you settle in a chair.

“Th-thank you,” you say quietly after a few moments of awkward silence.

She waves a hand in dismissal. “So, what’s your story?”

You mull over in your head just how much of your past you should reveal to this woman, a stranger- but also your next door neighbor who is cooking you dinner. You end up detailing that your husband left you days after you had your little girl, just dipping slightly into the fact that he left you due to the fact that you had a daughter and not a son. “Her name is Elizabeth, but I’ve kind of landed on the nickname ‘Ellie’,” you tell her softly.

“And your name?” she prompts.

You give her your name as she stirs the dinner she’s making. And it smells heavenly.

“Well, Y/N,” Melissa says your name in such a way that you’ve never loved your name more. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be better off without him. He sounds like a jackass.” And then she sets the bowl down in front of you and holds her arms out expectantly.

“Oh,” you whisper. “I uh, I can hold her while I eat. You don’t have to. You’ve already done enough.”

“Just let me hold her.” Green eyes are rolled before practically daring you to protest. “You’ve been holding her for the last hour, at least. Your arms have to be tired.”

You bite your lip before hesitantly handing your sweet pride and joy over to the woman who stormed her way into your life not an hour ago, expecting Ellie to fuss- the only people she let hold her were you and her mother. She’s not even particularly fond of your father holding her, much to his disappointment. And somehow, Melissa knows just how to keep your little girl calm and quiet while you eat one of the most delicious bowls of soup you’ve ever had. She even has your little girl giggling before managing to get Ellie to fall asleep. You see the way that she’s a natural with your daughter, watching over both her and you with soft eyes that you weren’t quite expecting.

And since that day, Melissa has been a near constant in your apartment. Whether it’s to make a meal, to hold Ellie while you simply rest and reset, or to keep you company, she’s almost always there. Her presence is always warm and inviting, which is something that you’ve come to learn isn’t necessarily the norm for the woman that lives next to you.

You’ve discovered that she usually likes to keep to herself and her personal life is under wraps to almost everybody she knows. You’ve also discovered that you are the exception. Melissa Schemmenti, a woman who is usually very reserved and has described herself as ‘an aloof bitch at times’, is beyond soft for you. She’s even softer when it comes to your little girl, who you swear is growing up before your eyes.

About three months pass of you living in this new apartment with your next door neighbor almost always keeping you company before you finally give into the fact that you have a small thing for your neighbor. It takes another month before you ask her what her game is.

“What do you mean?” Melissa rolls her eyes at your question.

You hum softly as the two of you prepare a meal while Ellie is down for her nap. “You’ve told me yourself that you’re tough, aloof- and yet you’re always so gentle and kind to my daughter and me.”

She laughs, like fully laughs. “I thought my intentions were pretty clear.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I started by helping out a neighbor, but I may or may not have fallen for her and her sweet little girl.” Green eyes search your face for your reaction. The only reaction she gets is you taking a step towards her before pulling her in by the waist and planting a soft kiss to her lips.

Her eyes are blown wide when you pull away, and for a split second you think you made a mistake. But then she’s opening her mouth again. “Wow.”

“I- I may have fallen for you too,” you admit, cheeks flushed. “But I never thought you would want to-”

“I thought you were straight,” Melissa bites her bottom lip. At the shake of your head, she breathes a quiet, “Oh thank God,” before pulling you back in for a second kiss. 

That is the beginning of your relationship with Melissa Schemmenti, next door neighbor. From the start, it’s been a serious relationship. You made it quite clear that you did not have the time for any flings, and she just rolled her eyes before heading towards the little nursery that you had set up for your daughter. Sometimes she jokes that she’s really only here for Ellie and not you.

She’s always been great with your sweet girl- and as you would come to find out, she will always be great with Ellie. So great actually… that sometimes feel that she’s a better mother to your daughter than you are. 

The first time it happens is when Ellie is turning one year old. You’ve been so wrapped up in your job and making sure that your little girl is as happy as she can be at any given moment, that you entirely forget about planning a first birthday party for her.

“Shit!” you groan as you’re finishing up a project that you brought home for the weekend. “Fucking dammit!”

Your girlfriend stops her cooking and turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “Care to share with the class why you’re yelling out curse words while our girl is asleep?”

You pause your tirade when you hear her refer to Ellie as both of yours- it’s something she’s started doing recently, and it makes your heart flutter for a second. A dopey grin washes over your face for a moment before you frown again.

“I’ve been so busy trying to work on this website that I forgot to plan Ellie girl’s birthday party,” you admit quietly, planting your head in your hands. “I can’t believe I forgot. I’m a terrible mother.”

“You are not a terrible mother, and you didn’t forget,” Melissa tells you as she turns back around to tend to the pan on the stove.

“What are you talking about? I absolutely did.”

“You’ve been mumbling about planning it in your sleep, but when I never got an invitation, I planned it all for the two of you,” the redhead reveals.

“Wha- how?”

“If you checked your personal email once in a while, you would know this,” Melissa teases you. “It was pulled up on your laptop when you fell asleep in bed a few weeks ago, so I just sent out some e-vites.”

A few clicks of your laptop later, and you see that what she’s saying is true- there are quite a few responses to a birthday party being held at the apartment this weekend.

“I’ve been quietly cleaning while you’ve been working yourself to the point of exhaustion too, so the place will be ready,” the teacher chuckles. “I figure we use your place for the actual gathering, and we can put coats and presents and things like that at mine.”

You stand and make your way over to your girlfriend, spinning her around to face you. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“I ask myself that about you every night,” Melissa hums as she leans in to give you a quick peck.

“Thank you,” you whisper as you close your eyes and press your forehead against hers. “I’m glad that Ellie at least has one mother that didn’t forget to plan her first birthday party.”

Your girlfriend rolls her eyes, not that you see it. “I already told you, you didn’t forget- you just needed a bit of a push to send out the invites.”

“You planned the whole thing,” you point out.

Melissa kisses you softly. “I’m just looking out for my girls the best I can.”

The birthday party is an absolute success. It’s filled with her coworkers who have come to love and adore your little girl almost as much as Melissa, your parents were able to fly out for the gathering, and a few of your coworkers from your new job are able to make it to help celebrate the milestone of your little girl.

After everyone heads out, you’re exhausted, Ellie is absolutely beat, and you’re sure Melissa has to be tired too. But still, she insists that you hand over your little girl for her to hold while you take a nap after all of the emotions that you’ve felt today.

“Babe, I can handle it,” you try to tell her. “I’m-” you stifle a yawn. 

“Go take a nap, hun,” the redhead says softly as she kisses your cheek. “Miss El and I are just going to do a bit of cleaning up before we come lay down with you.”

About an hour has gone by by the time your little girl and girlfriend are finished tidying up, and you’re dozing in and out of sleep. Feeling the bed dip slightly, you peel open your eyes and hold out your arms for your little girl to come into them. Ellie wiggles in the redhead’s arms and reaches for you, and as Melissa lays the two of them down, Ellie squeals with delight- she’s between two of her favorite people. She lets out the softest yawn before promptly falling asleep.

Melissa watches as your eyes soften, gaze on your little angel. “She’s perfect,” she muses softly.

“She really is,” you agree just as quietly. “And it has a lot to do with the fact that she has an amazing second mother who has really stepped up.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s because she has you for a mother,” the teacher argues.

You roll your eyes. “I’m hardly a great mother,” you sigh. “Honestly, there are some days I think you’re a better mother than I am.”

Melissa frowns, the lines in her forehead deepening. “Hun.”

You shrug. “I do my best with her, but you pulled all of this together for us. If it was up to me, there wouldn’t have been a first birthday party.”

“There would have been,” your girlfriend tells you. “And it would’ve been just as great.”

“I still should’ve-“

“You do everything you can for that little girl of ours,” the redhead says softly as she reaches over and brushes a few hairs away from your face. “Sometimes you need a little help, and I’ll always be here to help.”

As the years go on, there are times where you feel that you’re doing wonderfully as a mother, and there are other times that you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing and are beyond terrified that you’re ruining your child’s life. 

Every time, Melissa is there to reassure you that you are perfect for your little girl.  

The second time that you feel like Melissa is a better mother than you and you are feeling doubtful tenfold, at this point, you’ve been married for three years now. Ellie is five and entering kindergarten. The day where you send your little girl off comes quicker than you ever could’ve imagined, and yet here you are, walking hand in hand with your wife and your daughter into Abbott.

“You’re going to have such a great time with Auntie Barb,” you tell Ellie softly.

“It’s Mrs. Howard, Momma,” your daughter giggles. “At school, she’s Mrs. Howard.”

“How silly of me,” you playfully roll your eyes. “You’re going to have a great time with Mrs. Howard.”

And all is fine, and Ellie is excited, until it comes time to part with you and Melissa. Then it’s waterworks, and she can’t believe that you would even leave her for this long (despite the fact that she’s spent several nights with Barb and Gerald).

Despite every word of encouragement and praise that you give your little girl, she’s still absolutely hysterical. She clings to you, yes- but she’s mostly clinging to your wife. Ellie wants you, yes- but she really wants Melissa. The redhead looks down at the little girl she loves more than anything and sighs. She really should be down in her own classroom prepping for her little eagles, but Ellie comes first- she always has and always will.

“Baby,” Melissa breathes quietly as she kneels down in front of the girl in pigtails. “You’ve been so excited for school. What has you so nervous all of a sudden?”

“I want you,” Ellie mumbles into your wife’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna go to school; I just want to spend time with you.”

“Well,” the second grade teacher says softly. “Little girls have to go to school. But can you think of it this way? You get to make new friends, and I know Auntie Barb is so excited to have her little Ellie Belly in her class. During lunch, you can come say hi to Mom for the first few days, and we can call Momma if you want. And then when we get home, you get all the love.”

Your little girl looks at your wife suspiciously before furrowing her brow and sticking out her pinky. “You promise?”

You see the warmth wash over Melissa’s face as she sticks out her pinky. “I promise you, lovey. So, why don’t we let Momma head to work, and you and I can make our way down to Auntie Barb’s?”

Ellie worries her lip between her teeth before looking to you. “I guess.”

Green eyes meet your own as she pulls your little girl into her arms again. She whispers conspiratorially to your daughter, “I think Momma might need a hug before we head down, what do you think?”

Ellie flings herself at you with a bright, somewhat still teary, grin. “I love you Momma.”

“I love you too, sweet girl,” you tell her softly as you hold her close. You pepper her face in kisses before releasing her back.

Your daughter’s first day of kindergarten has you anxious as all hell. You hope she’s having an okay day, and you really do expect to receive a phone call at lunch from the two of them. You don’t.

You having a good first day? Is El? you text your wife.

It takes a minute, but you get a reply back. These kids are going to be the death of me, but El is having a grand ol’ time with Barb. She told me at lunch that she can’t wait to come back tomorrow.

You smile at that. You knew once Ellie actually made it into the room, she would be just fine. You only wish that your words of encouragement and affirmations would’ve made her feel more at ease. Instead, it was Melissa’s words. Thank you for helping get her to class today when I couldn’t. You’re the best Mom that little girl could ask for.

I’m pretty sure that’s you.

I couldn’t get her to let go of either of us, you reply. You just seem to have the magic touch with her.

Babe, you get a response. You have such a way with our daughter, but you also have to remember that I’ve been a teacher for years and have dealt with kids not wanting to go into school for forever- this is new to you just as it is for El.

That day when you get home from work, Melissa and your Ellie are already curled up on the couch relaxing. They’re both dead tired from their first days, and you can tell that it’s going to be an early night for everyone the way both of their eyelids are drooping as they try to stay awake for dinner. You drop your bag on the bench you keep by the front door before pressing gentle kisses to both of their heads and walking into the kitchen to start on dinner.

“Don’t,” your wife’s voice floats into the room as she carries a barely awake Ellie in. “I ordered your favorite on my way home, it’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

Your face falls just slightly- you were planning on making their favorite, in order for them to be able to relax and enjoy the first day of school being over. You just give her a soft smile instead, before you turn yourself back around to face the counter. And that’s when you see the beautiful bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase.

“Honey,” you sigh.

“Miss Ellie girl and I stopped on our way home to pick up flowers for Momma,” Melissa says softly. “Didn’t we?”

Your daughter nods in her arms before reaching for you. With a small grin on your face, and a few tears now beading in your eyes, you take your little girl. “Thank you,” you whisper as you delicately press a kiss to your wife’s cheek. You then dot a few sweet kisses to Ellie’s hairline.

Dinner is a quiet affair aside from Ellie sleepily telling you about her first day in kindergarten. The three of you settle on the couch to relax once dinner is cleaned up. It doesn’t take long for Ellie to fall asleep, sprawled out on both you and Melissa.

Melissa quietly details her first day- how the children were, how she was so happy to see Ellie giggling along with her classmates at lunch, and how Barbara just gushed about how your daughter was a big help in calming others’ nerves.

“She’s a good kid,” your wife finishes. “You’ve done great with her, babe.”

You look down at the little girl laying in your lap. “I didn’t do much.”

Green eyes stare at you incredulously. “Honey, I wish you could see how amazing you are. You’ve done wonderfully with her. She has your kindness and your compassion- she has your heart. And unfortunately for both of us, she picked up on my stubbornness. You’ve done so much for our little girl, and you are the perfect mother to her.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I just… you know how I feel about this.”

“Tell me.”

“You already know,” you sigh as you rest your head against her shoulder. “And I think we need to start heading up to bed.”

“It can wait a few minutes,” your wife tells you. “So talk about it.”

With a breath, you tell her how you feel that you’re failing because you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re hurting Ellie because you’re so unsure of what you’re doing that your little girl is aware of your hesitations in the way you speak with her and act with her sometimes.

That weekend you head out to the grocery store, and for once Melissa and your daughter are not with you. No. Instead, they’re at home. Your wife has Ellie make you a card telling you that you are the world’s best mother and listing the things that she loves about you while Melissa writes it out. Then, the two of them get to turning the living room into a comfortable space to watch your favorite movies.

When you return home, your welcomed with a new bouquet of flowers (you later find out that Barbara dropped them off while you were out), the card, and what you can only describe as a blanket fort.

“What is this?” you ask softly as you carry in an armful of groceries.

“The best, for Momma,” Melissa says softly as she takes the bags out of your hands. She sets them down before pulling you into her arms. “Enjoy today.” She kisses you quickly before heading back out to the car and bringing in the rest of the groceries while Ellie pulls you into the massive pile of blankets on the floor.

“Momma, read the card,” your little girl tells you. You pull her into your lap and cuddle her close before reading the card. On one side is what Ellie had to say, while the other side is what your wife wanted to tell you. Their words and kindness bring tears to your eyes.

“Did we make you sad?” your daughter looks to you fearfully.

“No, baby. These are happy tears. Happy tears,” you promise her as you repeatedly kiss her head over and over.

Once your wife is finished putting away the groceries, she plops herself down next to the two of you and reaches for the remote. You put a gentle hand out to stop her, and when she looks at your curiously, you just kiss her gently.

“Thank you,” you sigh quietly as you press your foreheads together. The moment of silence most likely would’ve been longer if not for Ellie squealing about putting the movie on that she had picked out for you.

The rest of the day passes by in a blissful haze full of movies, warmth, and lots of snacks. The two of you put Ellie to bed before cleaning up the living room mess, and as you clean, you pick up the card again and read what Melissa had to say.

“I mean it, you know,” your wife says softly as she wraps her arms around your waist. “I am the luckiest person alive to get to have fallen in love with you, to help raise our beautiful little girl, and be the one who gets to love both of you through every high and low- every doubt and fear. But I promise you, we are the lucky ones to have you.”

You crane your neck to kiss her gently. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Melissa repeats back as she tucks a few stray hairs behind your ear. “Please know that I will always be here for you- my wonderful, lovely, perfect wife, as we work our way through motherhood together.”

From next to your wife, you groan as you let your head fall against her shoulder.

“What?”

“If I’m feeling like this now, how the hell am I going to feel when she’s a teenager?”

The redhead chuckles as she brings your left hand up to her lips and kisses just under the rings that sit beautifully on your finger. “I’ll be there for you, and Ellie. Always.”

And she is there for you. She always has been. She always is. She always will be.

tags and lmk if u wanna be on this list: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie

[stvolanis]

ok ive seen you do farleigh start being the sweetest bf ever, but now do farleigh being a BULLY

oh my gosh i feel like REALISTICALLY, if Farleigh was in a relationship w/ someone he’d be such a tease/asshole!!! But like in an annoying boyfriend kind of way💕

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who you’ve been in a relationship with for a little over a year.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who goes out of his way to completely torment you. Putting things on higher shelves, just to laugh at you when you get onto the counter to reach it, but end up falling off. Of course, he’ll ask if you’re okay like a good boyfriend, but he’d still continue laughing while helping you back up.

“Stupid girl.” He’d Mutter with an eye roll. Yet, he secretly liked when you came to him when you were in distress.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who moves your clothes out of the bathroom, including your towel while you’re showering just to be able to see you naked with water dripping down your pretty body. You complain to him about how your freezing, but all he does is stare at you.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who isn’t abusive, at all, and is an amazing boyfriend—but does get a little rough when you pass by and he lays a heavy hand on your ass, making you wince. Or when you say something bratty and he’ll reach over and grab your throat, just to make sure you know who’s the one in control a little too tight.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who loves to pick on you over your sensitivity. “Such a crybaby.” He’d mock as you sniffled against him, rubbing your watery eyes as you watch the most reasonable movie to cry to, “the notebook”.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who sometimes doesn’t take your emotions about certain things seriously. For example, when he failed to remember the exact kind of dog you told him you wanted when you had randomly asked him if he remembered. He’d click his tongue in annoyance. “Okay, how am I supposed to remember that?” He’d defend, but get annoyed when you make a big deal out of it. (You’re kinda extra)

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who adores his little girlfriend, always so needy for him and his approval. You make him feel wanted and appreciated; his little sunshine. But, he would never say any of that outloud till he was on his deathbed. He liked that you chased for him, as toxic as it was.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who will 100% bully you, but makes sure you know he loves you. But dear god, forbid someone says something to you he doesn’t like—have mercy on their soul (and I’m not even religious). He has a mouth on him he uses to talk shit, so best believe he has some hands on him too that he isn’t afraid to use. Only he can’t torment you.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who fucks you like he hates you. Slapping, spitting, choking, biting, etc. He’ll whispers the most vile things to you while he pounds into your sopping cunt. “Such a fuckin’ slut, aren’t you? Always beggin’ f’my cock like a bitch in heat.” He’d coo at you mockingly, his breath fanning your neck.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who uses you as a stress reliever when he’s mad. Say Oliver pissed him off by fooling Felix into doing some random shit, he’d come into your shared room absolutely fuming. “Knees. Now.” Is all he’d have to mutter before you’re on your knees between his delicious thighs, hair in a ponytail. He loved your obedience.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who lowkey hates that you have a life outside of him cause like—what do you mean youre going out with Venetia? So he makes sure to remind you that he’s the only one who’ll treat you as good as he does before you leave by fucking you silly, cum dripping down your thighs.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who’s your biggest bully, but also your biggest supporter. Yes, he’ll make fun of you for a lot of stuff, but he’ll always make sure you know he loves you by little gestures like giving you things that remind him of you, getting your favorite food when you’re upset, etc. and it warms your little heart.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who goes a little too far one day with his taunting and mocking, to the point where you’re locked in the bathroom wiping your tears with your sleeves. “Baby, yknow im just messin’ around. Come out, Princess.” He’d say as he rattled the door handle. Never an apology leaving his mouth.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who bribes you to come out by promising to take you on a little shopping spree to your favorite make-up store, and obviously you come out cause like, who would pass up an offer like that? Not you, that’s for sure.

Mean! Farleigh Start! Who fucks you softer that night. Instead of slurs in your ear, you’re met with a few praises and tender kisses against your sweaty skin. He holds you after and doesn’t apologize, but you know that he’s sorry. And thats enough for you.

Mean Farleigh Start! Whos considerably nicer to you than other people. With you, at least, he tries to have a filter. He doesn’t with other people. He’s an absolute menace to society, no one is safe when it comes to his harassment, except for you. He’s not always an asshole to you, he can be sweet sometimes.

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

TAG LIST: @elvisalltheway101 @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @luxuriouslokistan-3 @foxevxid @salepso @parkbabyj

[oimitocat]

IF I TOUCH YA… | OS

༘۠ anton x m!reader

༘۠ nonidol! au + swimmer!anton + swimmer!reader + rivals with benefits + angst + nsfw + shower sex + technically public sex

༘۠ a/n: i’m still new to riize, please spare me. i’m sorry if this suck, i’m literally trying to get back into my writing mojo. [i’m trying because shotaro and sungchan redebuted ;( ] angst cus i LOVE angst ;)

“DAMNIT!” you growl, slamming your fist against the shower door.

anton, anton, anton.

that’s the only thing— the only name bouncing around your head. the (beautiful) idiot beat you by a—

“SECOND. A FUCKING SECOND!” you fume, the hot water running down your back doesn’t help, the steam giving you comedic energy with your emotions.

it’s a reoccurring situation, you beat him one day, he beats you another day. yet this whole week he’s been beating you by mere seconds.

“n/n…” his soft voice comes out from outside the shower stall.

“what.” you grunt, angrily scrubbing the shampoo in your hair.

you know he’s standing outside, fidgeting. what you don’t know is how fast his heart is racing, how anxious he is at the sound of you being so angry. he knows you’re competitive, he is too, yet he had always hoped it wouldn’t affect the friendship or companionship he was trying to have with you.

“the hell do you want, lee?”

he takes a deep breath, glancing back at the shower room door. almost everyone had left, except the coach which said he’ll go to his office and watch his anime.

“are you going to sulk like a sore loser or go home de-stressed?”

he jolts when your door flies open with a slam. you’re glaring at him but his eyes fly down, below your hips. he’s not hiding anything, why would he? he came inside the shower room with purpose, no towel on with purpose.

“so that wasn’t a one time thing?” you question, raising a brow.

he hesitates, looking around and playing innocent. “did you want it to?”

he gasps when you yank him by the wrist. he’s genuinely surprised at how fast you accepted the invitation, he thought you’d put up more of a fight but no, clearly you wanted your vengeance. he almost pushes you away, but your lips on his is just a beautiful feeling. this is the only time you actually give him something other than a glare or competitive comments. he’s all bark no bite, this is exactly how you two tangoed the first time, except that time you only took a blowjob from him.

left his throat sore and his tongue felt heavy during the entirety of the next day, the ghost of your dick in his mouth there.

he’s not a virgin, by no means, but he’s never done something this crazy. fucking in the shower room? what if someone forgot their shampoo or something and tries to come in? what if their coach decided to do his job and actually check up on you two for once?

you grip his hips, pushing him against the stall wall, the water still running. your lips are over his neck, nipping and kissing. he gets lost in that sensation, his hands coming up to mess with your wet hair.

your body is hot, the water burning your skin. he’s not a hot shower person, so apart from him already feeling sweaty in your hands, the steam isn’t helping with his libido. he tugs at your hair when you trail down his chest and stomach. his hips twitch forward as you go lower. he’s so hard it’s embarrassing.

“don’t look at me as if i’d help you with it.”

and you embarrass him. of course you do.

“you clean?” you ask as you come back up and eye his plush, wet lips.

his eyes are naturally doe, you almost find it cute. (who are you kidding, it absolutely is. you wanna to destroy him, corrupt him so bad).

“yeah,” his voice is always soft, yet you fell in love with how hoarse and raspy you can make it sound.

“fine, let me show you how much you piss me off,” you growl, placing your hands behind his thighs and swooping him up in one swift movement.

you grunt, forgetting how tall and built this boy is. he cling to you out of fear, his heart racing. this is new to him and doing it with you just brings out a rush he never new he’d experience. yet, despite the arousal and sexual hunger, he eyes you with a hint of perplexion. are you joking? you don’t actually get pissed off at him, right? but of what? him beating you lately or his existence in general?

he can’t ponder about it for more than a mere second before your fingers spread his cheeks apart. he hooks his ankles behind you, securing himself in your hold as you push in. you make a small, almost silent noise when your tip pushes the moist gland.

“h-hold on, grab me right,” he gasps as his arms wrap around your neck again.

“this isn’t easy, idiot,” you huff, “you’re not exactly small or light.”

he closes his eyes when some water drips from the top of his head. yet, when he feels you thrust he snaps them open and gasps.

“fuck, you’re so warm,” you grunt, pulling him down by the hips to slam into him.

it’s taking everything in you to hoist him up and move him. a hardcore arm workout, but one you know you’ll enjoy. you place a soft kiss, contrasting your brutal movements, onto his wet skin, making him moan— his neck is sensitive to kisses. especially with how wet and hot yours are.

from the rush in the moment, you build the pace and stamina to fuck him into the wall. his arms tighten around you, his airy moans echoing softly. he’s trying to be silent just in case, or at least you think. is he always this soft voiced? you grin— could you make him get loud?

you pull out entirely before slamming back inside. his breath hitches and his eyes snap open again.

“ah- oh fuck-!” he squeaks as you slam him down onto you.

his dick flops uselessly between the two of you. your fingers dig into the softness of his flesh in his ass, nails digging into him. you’ll leave marks, he knows it. yet, that’s what he’s hoping for, because where you’ll look at him nasty for doing the drills perfectly or getting praised for his renewed charts , he’ll know those marks happened when you looked at him with something other than hate.

you aim like you’re on a mission, which you are. the wet sound of skin against skin bounces around the shower walls. the running water isn’t loud enough anymore— you’re grunting as you chase your high and anton is letting out high pitched whines.

he presses his cheek against the side of your face. you feel so good, he can feel you splitting him open. he can feel the warmth of your dick inside his equally warm walls.

“y-y/n, you feel so good,” he pants out. “guess you’re good at something.”

fuck. that literally pissed you off. like, maybe not exactly in a way where his words irked you, but in the sense that it drove you to keep proving him right since he clearly wants to be right.

he grunts and moans when you get brutal. you’re growling and digging your nails into his skin.

“ah, ah,” his thighs twitch around your waist, a clear sign he’s getting close and sensitive.

you let out heavy breaths, a gruttal moan leaves your throat as you feel your climax building.

“imagine coach comes in here and sees his best swimmer getting fucked like a slut,” you cackle between your grunts. you feels his hole clench around you and you can’t help but feel amused at that. “you wanna get caught being a slut? what would the school think?” his breathing turns more erratic, “what would your daddy think?”

“fuck- y/n stop,” he tries but you just feel so good slamming into him that he just sounds stupid.

“the district stars fucking in the shower rooms, what a header,” you grin as you push your hips flush into his reddened ass cheeks, spilling deep into him.

he shudders, your warm seed sending him over the edge. he can’t even bask in the post-orgasm for a second because you pull out and set him back on his feet. you feel the pull in your shoulder blades, this is going to be embedded in your muscles for a while. yet you don’t find yourself showing any shred of care for him when you notice how wobbly his legs are.

“just watch, i’ll make sure you become a good fuck more than a good swimmer, lee.” you grunt, stepping out of the shower stall while glaring at him.

his heart aches, but he just throws you a lazy, lustful smile. because he knows that as long as he beats you, you’ll take out your anger on him.

and that would mean he’ll mean something to you. one way or another.

[elexaria]

poly!ghoap x reader except we’re following canon and johnny has died. the apartment feels empty without his sunshine personality in it. simon’s bed just feels lonely, cold and desolate. after a week, he finally lets you snuggle up to him in his bed and it honestly makes him emotional because … it still isn’t the same. it’s not the same as having johnny there :(

and you miss him too, fuck you miss him like crazy. having someone to talk absolute drivel with, someone who always stands behind you, hands wrapped around your waist as he buries his face in the small of your neck :( you love simon, but he’s not like johnny. he’s not as outwardly affectionate, he doesn’t do sweet talking the same. you both just miss your johnny boy.

and the raw, emotional sex that finally comes almost a month after johnny has passed… it hits different. waves of intense emotion and pleasure ebbing throughout your bodies, simon’s blurry eyes slowly shutting as he holds onto your body, almost as if he fears you’ll leave him too. in the grieving process, neither of you have had the chance to spend time with one another— simon had lost his soulmate, after all. you return the same clinginess as simon, arms wrapped tightly around the back of his neck as you sniffle, feeling overwhelmed by the warmth of his body and his vulnerability.

you two never truly heal over johnny’s traumatic passing, but you learn how to live with it. after all, johnny would be fuming you two were still wallowing around the apartment. just bone already 🙄

[iheartsteve0704]

Agathario | Workplace Enemies to Lovers AU

Agatha has been working her ass off at the NYT and in a few months will mark her 5th year there as a writer

They announce an open position and everyone in the office knows it’ll go to Agatha since she has seniority and she is hard worker

To her displeasure, the day she believes she’ll get her promotion (even blows out her hair, buys a new outfit, and gets a manicure) a new girl starts in the office and her name is Rio Vidal and she just took Agatha’s dream job

Agatha is fuming. Not only is Rio majorly younger than her but word around the office is that Rio got the position by being a nepo baby (spoiler alert: that’s far from the truth)

And to top it off, not only does Agatha’s boss asks her to show Rio around but Rio also happens to move into the apartment across from hers

Agatha gives Rio the cold shoulder and makes her opinion clear and straightforward, she doesn’t like her and she doesn’t want to be friends

Agatha is nothing but mean and hateful towards Rio, who doesn’t even blink at Agatha’s antics because she’s so used to people undermining her for being so young and successful

Agatha and Rio end up being paired for an article and they can’t even be in the same meeting room together alone without arguing

Agatha goes behind Rio’s back and writes the article without her and Rio ends up getting in major trouble with their boss

The older woman tried her best to avoid Rio all day until Rio corners her in the bathroom and confronts her

Agatha is pretends to be unbothered and it only pisses Rio off more who gets in her face and suddenly Agatha is pressed up against the tile wall and only a breath is left between them

Eyes flicker down and breathe hitches. It’s Agatha who closes the gap and Rio melts into the touch of Agatha’s hand on her waist

They try to avoid each other after this but keep being put in situations where they are alone and can’t keep their hands off each other

They start sleeping with each other and wake up in each other’s arms more times than they can keep track of and it’s clear sometimes is happening between them but every time Rio tries to tell Agatha how she feels, the older woman averts the topic right away because she doesn’t know how to do this and especially now with someone like Rio

People in the office are getting suspicious too and it makes Agatha nervous because she doesn’t want to lose her job so she starts being an absolute asshole to Rio, who is hurt and confused

When Rio confronts her about it Agatha tells her that them sleeping together is nothing but that, it’s just sex. That Agatha has no feelings for her whatsoever even though the truth is that she’s falling in love with Rio and it scares the hell out of her.

After their conversation, Rio avoids Agatha like the plague and gives her the cold shoulder. Agatha can’t deny it kills her every time Rio looks away or shys away from her touch but she tells herself it’s a good thing for her reputation and her job but she’s so so lonely and misses the warmth Rio brought into her life

When the big company holiday party comes around Agatha goes with her work friends and tries to not cry or scream or pass out when she sees Rio walk in wearing a low cut black dress with a beautiful woman who has an arm draped over her waist

Agatha watches them flirt and fawn over each other all night and it isn’t until she catches Rio eye towards the end that she knows that it’s all intentional, to drive Agatha crazy

Agatha has to stop herself from banging on Rio’s door that night and instead drinks herself into oblivion and falls asleep on the couch with her evening dress still on

It’s a constant back and forth after that, Rio parading different woman and Agatha dating shitty men because she knows no other woman could ever compare

Agatha’s “friends” notice she’s been in a slump, not knowing the real truth with Rio, so they decide to take her out to the club and Agatha only agreed because she wants to drink and dance and just forget the past few months of hell

Her friends ditch her to dance and Agatha sets up shop at the bar where gross men keep trying to start up conversation with her

She keeps shooting down one after another and has another rejection on the tip of her tongue when she notices it’s a woman

Agatha welcomes it until the woman starts getting really handsy and Agatha is way too drunk to be in this situation

She tries her best to back down and reject her but the girl isn’t listening and keeps pushing Agatha past her limits

Agatha looks around at the bystanders with pleading eyes and feels relief when she hears a familiar voice say “is everything okay here, sweetheart?” And slide inbetween herself and the woman. Rio.

Rio protectively puts her arm around Agatha’s waist and gives the other woman a frightening death glare until she turns away in fear.

As soon as the girl leaves, Rio starts to pull away but Agatha keeps her close. They look at each other and those blue eyes tell all

Rio decides to be chivalrous and walk Agatha home and gets her situated into her bed

When Rio is about to leave Agatha grabs her wrist and whispers “I miss you” and pulls her in for a kiss. Rio melts into it for a moment until she comes to. Rio knows Agatha won’t remember this the next day.

Rio ends up resigning on Monday because she can’t deal with seeing Agatha everyday when all it does is break her heart

Agatha is confused and alarmed and when she tries to confront Rio at her door she comes to realize that she apartment is empty and she’s moved out

Agatha hears through the grape vine that Rio is moving to San Francisco for a new job and Agatha can’t take that, can’t take Rio being gone from her life for good and then she realizes how fucking stupid she’s been and that no job or reputation mattered when the woman she loves is about to leave her for good

She rushes to the airport and finds Rio sitting at her gate, her head in her heads. Shes clearly crying.

Agatha runs to her and sinks down on the floor in front of her, putting her hands gently on her knees until Rio looks up at her with glassy eyes and red cheeks

Agatha pleads repeatedly, apologizes profusely, and cries when she tries to explain how stupid she’s been.

Then Agatha finally tells her that she’s in love with her and that she’ll follow her anywhere she wants to go whether it be SF, New York, or anywhere in the world because all roads lead to Rio because there’s no one like her and no one has ever made Agatha feel like this before

[ho-for-joequinn-fics]

The Emperor’s Angel

This is probably the only thing I’ll ever write on this blog since my main focus is writing for Eddie on @eddiemunsonfuxks, so enjoy this one and done fic of our newly beloved Emperor Geta 🥴

Emperor Geta x General Acacius’ Daughter!Reader

warnings: I don’t know jack shit about the Roman Empire, so we’re just going to pretend that I do 💀 Let’s pretend for the sake of this fic that all the children in Rome are on a lovely little field trip for the day 💀 18+ only! Minors DNI! This fic isn’t for you! possessive!Emperor Geta, Geta uses a pet name (Angel) for Reader instead of her real name, death threats, unprotected p in v smut, rough sex, public sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink, creampie, profanity, etc

Anxiety and rage coursed through your veins as you slipped away from the rowdy Colosseum to escape the ordeal that your father, the General of the Roman army, had gotten you into.

He was challenged by Lucius, son of Lucilla, to fight him in the Colosseum to the death, but instead of agreeing and battling him like a real warrior, he offered you up instead. Not to fight in his place, no, but to give you up to marry Lucius as some sort of bullshit peace offering, and much to your dismay, Lucius agreed to the offer.

There was only one problem with that, you belonged to Emperor Geta.

You and the Emperor had been seeing each other behind your father’s back for several months now, quite close to nearing the one year mark, and with how possessive he was of you, you just knew there was no way in Hell he was letting you go to Lucius of all people.

You had seen the rage in your lover’s gaze when he stared at your father in disbelief, Emperor Geta shocked that your father cared more about his own life rather than his precious daughter. Emperor Caracalla had glanced over at you with a weary look in his eyes, knowing this wasn’t going to end well for both Lucius and your dad considering his brother’s short temper and sadistic tendencies.

That’s when you had fled from the Colosseum and headed towards your chambers in the palace, not wanting to stick around and witness what events would unfold after Lucius agreed to marry you, nor wanting to face your father after he handed you over to someone you despised. There was absolutely no way you were marrying that man, especially since your heart wholeheartedly belonged to Emperor Geta in all his sadistic glory.

Little did you know, he was in hot pursuit of you after screaming in your father’s face that you belonged to him and that no one was to take his precious angel away from him. He demanded your father accept Lucius’ original challenge or he would have him put to death either way.

You barely made it to your chambers before a firm grasp on your upper arm was spinning you around in a flash. Your gaze met the fuming orbs of your lover, his pupils completely overtaken by the rage he felt towards your father and his inconsiderate act of defiance.

“And where do you think you’re running off to, Angel? You���re going to miss such an entertaining battle between your disgrace of a father and that useless peasant Lucius.” His grin was sickening and you’d be fibbing if you denied the fact that it had your cunt flooding with arousal.

“I couldn’t stand to look at my father any longer after he pulled that stunt.” You scoffed, your hands resting on the breastplate of Geta’s gold plated armor. “Who the fuck does he think he is? What makes him think I would want to marry Lucius of all people? If only he knew my heart belongs to you, my perfect Emperor.”

“Oh he does now, my love. Everyone does. I had no choice but to reveal our long kept secret because there was absolutely no way I was giving you away to that peasant. You’re mine, Angel, and no one will ever take you away from me.” Geta’s arms wrapped firmly around your waist now, pressing your hips flush against him as he gazed down at you.

“I’m yours, Geta.” You promised, bringing one of your hands up from where it rested on his chest plate and reaching to cup his cheek, your thumb tracing along his cheekbone before you were leaning up to kiss him deeply.

Geta immediately kissed you harder, more possessively, one arm wrapping tighter around you while his other hand moved to grasp at your ass through your royal robe and gown. “How about we show all of Rome who the fuck you belong to.” He rasped into the space between your mouths, pulling a low moan from your throat as he gave your ass a squeeze. “We’ll force your father to watch as I desecrate his poor daughter’s precious little cunt.”

You whimpered at that, knowing that meant Geta was going to ruthlessly fuck you with zero remorse. Not that you minded, you absolutely loved it when he fucked you as though you were nothing but a fuck toy. You knew that he loved you and cared about you, you were truly the only other thing in this world aside from power that meant anything to him, sometimes he just couldn’t help but to take his sadistic tendencies out on you. It’s a good thing you were able to handle it.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, your tongue tracing along his bottom one. “I want them all to see that I’m yours and yours alone.”

“That’s my good Angel.” Geta gave your ass a smack before he was lifting you up to carry you into his own chambers, making sure the doors were secured before making his way onto his balcony where he set you back down. The balcony overlooked the entire Colosseum, so it was the perfect place to fuck you for all to see without anyone getting a glimpse of your goods. They were for his eyes only. “Take off your fucking garments.”

You moaned at his demand, immediately removing every single article of clothing that adorned your breathtaking body and tossing them to the ground without a care of whether they got dirty or not. Geta removed his white and gold embellished robe before laying it across the edge of the balcony rail, wanting to make sure you had some sort of padding while he bent you over it to fuck you.

Next to go was his gold-plated armor, carelessly tossing it atop your pile of clothes before he was working at freeing his aching cock from beneath his tunic. “Bend over the railing, Angel.” He commanded, giving his thick veiny cock a few strokes while he positioned himself behind where you obediently bent over for him, his cock twitching in his grasp over the fact that you were completely bare naked compared to him.

“EYES UP HERE, ROME!” Geta bellowed out towards the Colosseum crowd, all eyes suddenly shifting towards where the two of you were present on his expansive balcony. “YOU’RE ALL TO WATCH AS I CLAIM MY FUTURE BRIDE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU! ANYONE WHO DOESN’T FOLLOW THAT ORDER WILL BE PUT TO DEATH BY MY ROYAL GUARDS!”

Your father’s blood was boiling seeing you in such a vulnerable position, but he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it because Geta wouldn’t hesitate to have him killed. He thought that maybe Geta forced you to be with him and put into this situation, but little did your father know, you wanted this and were in on the whole thing.

“Hold tight, Angel.” Geta murmured in your ear, waiting until your hands were gripping around the stone rail of his balcony before forcing his cock inside you in one hard thrust forward, punching the breath right out of you. “YOU SEE, ROME, THIS WOMAN IS MINE. SHE’S BEEN MINE FOR NEARLY A YEAR AND NO ONE IS GOING TO TAKE HER FROM ME!”

You screamed out as his pace started out with zero remorse just as you anticipated, your head thrown back and eyes rolled towards the back of your skull while you took every harsh nudge of his cock against your sweet spots. Tears sprang from your eyes when he tightly fisted his fingers through your hair and forced your head back so he could gaze upon your features as he fucked you, a twisted grin stretching across his lips.

“OH, IF ONLY YOU COULD SEE HOW BREATHTAKING HER FACE LOOKS WHILE SHE TAKES MY COCK, GENERAL ACACIUS! CAN YOU HEAR HOW SHE SCREAMS FOR ME? ONLY FOR ME?” Geta sneered as his gaze flicked towards your father, staring directly at him while he abused your cunt just the way you liked it. His grip on your hip was bruising while the one in your hair continued pulling tears from your eyes, knowing by your pleasured noises and the occasional clench around his cock that you were enjoying the pain.

“I’m gonna cum.” You moaned lewdly as you gave another clench around him, a guttural moan erupting from Geta’s throat in response.

“Not until I breed you, Angel, until you’re so full of my cum that you’re destined to give me an heir.” Geta rasped into your ear as he continued pounding away inside your soaked cunt, his cock and balls drenched from how much you were dripping for him. He grinned when his mention of breeding you made you clench even tighter around him, his hand releasing your hair so he could clasp it around your throat. “You like the sound of that, huh?”

“Breed me! I’ll give you all the heirs you want! I’ll be your good little Empress!” You squealed as you gazed back at him through heavily lidded eyes, hiking one of your legs up onto the balcony railing so that he had a better angle. You screamed even louder as the new angle had his cock slamming against your cervix with every forward thrust, knowing there was no way you were going to be able to last for much longer. “Breed me! Breed me! Please, my love, breed me!”

“Gods!” Geta roared as he used both hands to get an extra bruising grip on your waist while pounding away inside you, tossing his head back when he felt his knot snap and spilling thick, sticky loads of his cum into your womb.

He didn’t let up on his thrusts, not stopping until he came two more times before finally letting you cum for him, your orgasm so overpowering from how much he’d edged you before his fingers finally gave your touch starved bundle of nerves what they needed, that he had to wrap his arms around you to prevent you from falling when your one knee keeping you upright buckled beneath you.

He held you in his arms after he’d pulled out of you until you finally came down from your high, dropping your leg down from where you had propped it on the railing so you could spin around to grab his face and pull him into a starved kiss, not paying any mind to the thousands of eyes still watching the two of you. “I love you, Geta. You really want to make me your wife?”

“Angel, I wanted to make you my wife the moment I first laid eyes on you. You have no idea how ecstatic I was when I realized you want me just as much as I want you.” His own hands reached to cup your face, his thumbs gentle as they brushed against your cheeks, contrast to how he just fucked you in front of the entirety of Rome. “I love you, my sweet Angel, and I’ll love you until my dying breath.”

You kissed him again, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pressed yourself against him. “Take me inside your chambers to breed me some more? And leave the balcony doors open so everyone can hear as you fuck their future Empress some more.”

“That’s my girl.” Geta groaned, lifting you up to carry you back inside and lay you down onto his bed where he fucked several more loads of his cum inside you, this time letting you cum right along with him.

All of Rome now knew that General Acacius’ daughter was off limits, which you were quite thankful for because you hated the unwanted attention from other men throughout the Roman Empire. None of them compared to Emperor Geta, you preferred his level of sadist over any other personality trait in the world. He may have been one evil man, but he had a soft spot for you and you only and that itself made being with him worth it.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 🩷

Fic tag list: @jasminelafleur @nailbatanddungeon

[santanasaintmendes]

la mano arriba, cintura sola, da media vuelta, danza kuduro 

part5! to the ¡cosmic girl records!

!cosmic girl records!

summary: carnival, beaches, feijoada, the brazil grand prix, your best friend and boyfriend team up to . . . bully you? 

olliebearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader 

fc!: random pics and girls from pinterest, all credits go to their rightful owners in the images used below

warnings: swearing, aussie slander (i’m sorry, turning on my own kind fr), lando insults y/n’s singing 😔, girlfriend stealing

a/n: thank you for how quickly ‘make tacos not war’ got to 100 likes! Here’s part 5 to the cosmic girl records!

wordcount: 1.2k

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, lilymhe, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, georgerussell64, alex_albon, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 8,429,229 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: her name was lola, she was a showgirl 🇧🇷

tagged olliebearman, landonorris, georgerussell64, alex_albon, lilymhe and 3 others

view 3,292,949 comments 

user2: WITH YELLOW FEATHERS IN HER HAIR

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 user4: AND A DRESS CUT DOWN TO THERE 

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 user5: SHE WOULD MERENGUE 

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 user6: AND DO THE CHA CHA 

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 user7: 💃💃💃

 user10: who’s lola i don’t get it 😓

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 user15: the entire nation just took a sigh 

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 user11: suffer in silence you uncultured swine 

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 user12: damn 😭

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 user13: it’s a song lol, yk Copacabana by barry manilow 

user14: always count on y/n to give you best f1 content 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

 landonorris: not to brag but we absolutely smashed you guys 

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 lilymhe: no need to rub it in lando onewin 

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 user1: LANDO ONEWIN HELP 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: yeah pal, you guys literally won by 1 point 

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 landonorris: we still won 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: I DEMAND A REMATCH

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 lilymhe: y/n nO

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 landonorris: so you can lose again?

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 unfortunatelyy/n: SO WE CAN BEAT YOUR SORRY ASSES 

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 olliebearman: you’re so scary when your mad, i can see your fuming while you stare at your phone 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: why do you like exposing me so much 😞

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 olliebearman: it’s out of love 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: sure whatever 😒

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 olliebearman: she’s literally hugging me right now

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 unfortunatelyy/n: I’M BREAKING UP WITH YOU 

user8: ugh to have friends like the f1 grid 

user9: COPACABANA, MUSIC AND PASSION WERE ALWAYS THE FASHION

 georgerussell64: thank you for capturing my good side in that photo

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 unfortunatelyy/n: you just want to talk about your abs don’t you?

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 georgerussell64: yes 😌

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 unfortunatelyy/n: GET OUT OF MY COMMENT SECTION 

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 georgerussell64: OKAY OKAY GEEZ SO AGGRESSIVE 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT 

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 georgerussell64: OKAY I’M GOING 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: GO AWAYYYY📢

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, georgerussell64, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, schecoperez and 11,483,292 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: i love my friends 🥲

tagged landonorris, olliebearman and oscarpiastri 

view 47,439 comments 

user1: LET MY GIRL SING HER DISNEY SONGS 🗣️

user2: “do i look like national geographic” OSCAR PLS 😭

 user3: HELP “friends” how does it feel ollie 😭😭

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 olliebearman: 🥲

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 unfortunatelyy/n: whoops 🫣

 oscarpiastri: i’m sorry but it was a dumb question

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 unfortunatelyy/n: IT WAS VALID THOUGH DO THEY

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 oscarpiastri: why would u ask me tho 😭

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 unfortunatelyy/n: isn’t it obvious, you’re one of those vegemite eating people who ride kangaroos to school and go “crikey mate” 

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 oscarpiastri: I-

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 user6: she’s not wrong 

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 olliebearman: it’s okay you get used to it 

user4: it’s okay guys, ollie and y/n are sophisticated adults who purchase vegetables responsibly 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 landonorris: okay but u were loud asf and it was 2am 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: u a grown ass man who goes to sleep before 2am?! 

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 landonorris: YES??? I HAVE A JOB??

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 unfortunatelyy/n: damn ok 😒 that’s still unfortunate

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 landonorris: okay miss insomniac, no one wants to hear a live production of Frozen on a budget at 2 in the morning 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: ouch that hurt 

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 landonorris: i’m sorry it's just the truth, i’m pretty sure the entire hotel doesn’t want to be hearing it too 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: was i really that loud??

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 landonorris: we share a wall. and yes. 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: damn ok 😔

user5: i can confirm as an australian, koalas do get angry 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

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 unfortunatelyy/n: I KNEW IT 

liked by olliebearman, oscarpiastri, landonorris, georgerussell64, lewishamilton, lilymhe, francisca.cgomes and 4,292,573 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: um, dois, três . . . carnival!

view 11,392 comments 

 user1: she’s STUNNING how did ollie bag her

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 user2: pasta.

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 user1: what?

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 user2: long story.

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 user7: only the real OG’s know 

user2: Olá do Brasil! 🇧🇷

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

user3: oh to be y/n 😔

 user4: does she have a job or does she just travel and cling off ollie

|  user5: damn so aggressive and for what 

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 user6: she just graduated and is going to be an engineer for mercedes next year 

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 user4: damn my bad ya’ll, respect 🫡

 lilymhe: MARRY ME 😍

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 unfortunatelyy/n: 💍

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 alex_albon: nO StOp 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: @lilymhe u know this loser?

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 lilymhe: nope he doesn’t ring a bell 

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 alex_albon: I’M LITERALLY COOKING LUNCH FOR YOU 

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 lilymhe: hm you seem to be on your phone rather than cooking 

|  alex_albon: BECAUSE THIS LOSER IS SHAMELESSLY FLIRTING WITH YOU 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: are you feeling okay honey? i’ve got the psychiatric ward on the phone 

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 lilymhe: cancel that mf 

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 alex_albon: do i mean nothing to you

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 lilymhe: who are you again?

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 alex_albon: I’M GOING TO EAT YOUR LUNCH 

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 lilymhe: no wait 

 olliebearman: hey there gorgeous 😍

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 unfortunatelyy/n: i’m going to light you on fire

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 olliebearman: WHAT 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: yep say goodbye to that mfing ice cream hair

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 olliebearman: i didn’t realise you hated the hair that much 😔

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 unfortunatelyy/n: well now u do 🤗

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 olliebearman: ☹️

user5: i’m sorry ollie she’s right, the hair is just not hitting 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, charles_leclerc, alex_albon, lilymhe, alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt and 11,492,293 others 

unfortunately/n: dig, set, spike . . . right?

tagged olliebearman, landonorris, lilymhe, georgerussell64 and 6 others 

view 83,492 comments 

 landonorris: yes duh if that wasn’t obvious 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: that block button is looking really nice right now 

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 landonorris: mhm we all know how that went down last time 

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 user2: GUYS THEY’RE TALKING IN FULL SENTENCES WHAT DO WE DO 

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 user3: who knew they had that many words in their vocabulary 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: @landonorris that was a moment of weakness 

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 user4: what are they yapping on about 😭

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 landonorris: what if i told everyone 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: you wouldn’t live to see another day 

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 user5: HELP WE STAN A PSYCHO

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 olliebearman: oh hey guys are we talking about the time y/n was threatening to block lando and she accidentally called emergency services at 3am and they heard her shouting so they dispatched police to her house and kicked her door down 😃

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 user6: WHAT 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: WHY DO YOU HATE ME 

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 user7: when did it become lando AND ollie bullying y/n 😭😭

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 landonorris: and may i add, that occasion wasn’t the only time y/n called someone when threatening to block me 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: 🖕🖕

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 user8: not the double middle finger 

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 user9: oh she mad 

liked by georgerussell64, alex_albon, pierregasly, oscarpiastri, kimi.antonelli, arthur_leclerc and 44,329,928 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: lovely photos, boys 

tagged olliebearman, landonorris and charles_leclerc 

view 44,829 comments 

 user1: sorry but i speak for everyone when i say WE LOVE Y/N

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 user2: SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK 

 user3: the ollie pic 😭

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 user4: y/n was not joking when she said she had mad photoshop skills 

 charles_leclerc: WHAT DID I DO 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: live.

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 user5: charles must be having deja vu 

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 charles_leclerc: WHEN DID U EVEN TAKE THAT PHOTO

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 unfortunatelyy/n: your girlfriend took the photo for me 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: i mean, my wife 

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 charles_leclerc: WOW. @alexandrasaintmleux 

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 alexandrasaintmleux: 😊

 olliebearman: sorry 😔 it’ll never happen again i was getting blackmailed 

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 user6: ollie’s such an easy target in everything im afraid 

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 landonorris: YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL HER U DUMBASS 

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 olliebearman: whoops 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: @landonorris 🤨

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 landonorris: i have no idea what hes talking about 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: sounds suspicious but ok 

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 olliebearman: WHY ARE YOU BELIEVING HIM 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: WHY DO YOU ASK SO MANY QUESTIONS 

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 olliebearman: just say you hate me already 😔

taglisttime!: @ilivbullyingjeongin

a/n: thank you for reading! i hope it made you laugh, have a happy + safe day xoxo santanasaintmendes <3