#but I don't quite mean it in what ever the fuck that way is

[obsessedduh]

genre: smutty with a mini plotty

cw: it's a shabang! simon and johnny are a little fruity tuity. simon is meanie,ig. implied fem reader!

side note: sha-sha-shabang 😼😼 this was so rushed but whatever bro.

MDNI – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*

you, simon and johnny have been living together for quite a bit now. you moved in around eleven months ago because of the ad they put online. you broke up with your boyfriend, so you were in need of a place to stay, and they were your best option. not to mention crazy hot and a bonus they were dating!

it's been great so far! well, in some cases, simon is welcoming, johnny isn't so much. you quickly became close with simon! johnny, not even an inch.

you think he hates you, but you don't know why. you've tried to be polite but he always comes across as he doesn't want you to be near him, like you were an annoying fly buzzing near his ear and all he was wants to do is squash you in his palm.

every time you talk to simon, he would always find a way to stop your conversation, and every time and when simon wasn't looking, he would give the darkest glare ever.

you gave up on being nice to him. he was such a prick! not to mention full of arguments. it wasn't a day the two of you wouldn't argue, and it was honestly pissing simon the fuck off. you guys would argue over the most dumbest things as well, i mean once you guys argued over an unwashed spoon. seriously, an unwashed-fucking-spoon!?

today was one of those days, you and johnny are arguing and simon was not in the mood. he walked up to the two of you and told you guys to shut the fuck up, which you both did. he made you guys sit next to each other on their shared bed. he stood up and stared at the two of you with a serious look on his face and honestly you have never seen him that serious. it was horrifying...

"the fuck is wrong with you two? been arguing non stop ever since you met."

dead silent. just the two of you guys side eyeing each other, "don't just sit there and answer me."

you were about to speak when johnny interrupted you, you shoot him a glare but don't bother to start anything, "she's annoyin' and dresses like a fuckin' slut."

you scoff, "no the fuck i don't!?"

"oh? but yer' fuckin' doo. always wearin' them tight clothes."

"um, they're called pj's ever hear of that!?"

he rolls his eyes, "i ain' never seen pj's tha' show s'much fuckin' cleavage."

simon simply stares at the two of you and then simply laughs, "all this because you guys need to bang one out?"

you both look at him with wide eyes. you both say in unison, "WHAT."

── ✧《✩》✧ ──

you guys never thought today would end up like this. johnny's cock buried deep inside your pussy. not only was johnny's cock bigger but also thicker than your ex's, really thick. it took a bit to accommodate to you. your gummy walls slowly clenching around his length.

but that was ages ago now because at this point, you and johnny were oh so very desperate, and simon was being very mean! just when you guys were close and think he will finally let you guys cum, he'll tell johnny to pull out or slow down, bursting your bubbles and ruining your orgasms. the pleasure slowly fading as you both whine wanting the addicting pleasure to come back.

again, if he tells johnny to go faster. he gets all excited and does so, hoping simon let's the both of you cum but then just when you guys are close. he tells johnny to pull out, leaving the two of you again for the sixth time that night, disappointed.

it's become so cruel because it's been going on for about an hour and a half straight of your guys' pleasure being taken off of you and right now, johnny is plowing in you, desperate to cum as much as you are while simon watches the two of you with his cock in his hand. he stares at the two of you with a shit-eating grin. what a cruel, cruel man, taking pleasure from the two of you like this.

johnny was close again, his thrusts slightly slowing down and becoming uncoordinated. you also were close, simon could tell from the way you moaned and clenching around johnny's extra hard, so he told johnny to pull out. johnny did so with a groan and you whined. the empty feeling and your core untightening making you desperate all over again.

"don't act like that. you wanna cum? beg for it."

you both let out a string of please's, looking at him with pleading eyes that are filled with tears. he smirks and watches you two beg, which didn't even sound like begging just a load of words to be fair. he shrugs, "alright then, go on."

johnny wastes no time and buries his cock back inside of you, spreading your legs wide open so he can fuck you better. you guys are sobbing at this point. the sensitivity of not cum becoming prone. johnny slips his hand a little lower and rubs your clit. as soon as his thumb comes in contact with your clit, you cum hard, waves of pleasure rushing over you as your pussy spasms around his cock.

johnny cums not to long after, his cock twitching inside of you while he paints your sensitive walls white. your greedy pussy was still clenching him hard, trying to take all of his cum for himself.

he pulls out and his slowly goes limp on you thigh. simon watches johnny's cum pool out of puffy folds and the way you both pant. you both suddenly see a camera flash and look at simon.

"there, now the next time you guys argue. i'll show you this photo and remind you guys of the time you guys finally got along..."

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*

extra side note: guys i know its bit dookie but whatever man, my motivation to write has been slipping lately so this is a lazy write.

wanna know more about me? —> here

masterlist —> here

[fadingdaggerr]

HIIII! I LOVE THE FIC YOU WROTE, THE AND NOW? SINCE UHM YOU'VE DONE CASUAL AND RED WINE SUPERNOVA, DO YOU THINK YOU CAN DO ONE WITH GOOD LUCK, BABE? OF COURSE WITH A HAPPY ENDING BUT WITH LOTS OF ANGST? OH AND IF YOU CAN'T OR TOTALLY DON'T WANT TO, IT'S ALSO FINE!

truth be told

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: melissa loves you, in what way, she doesn’t want to know. based on good luck, babe! by chappell roan | 7.8k

includes: they/them used for reader (legit once), r is mean direct during the fights (within reason? up to interpretation), angst, HURT/comfort, happy ending

warnings: internalized homophobia and comphet, unhealthy relationship dynamic, swearing, verbal fighting, light kissing/making out

note: i do think melissa is bisexual, but the song is about a lesbian dealing with comphet, so for the sake of the fic, melissa is meant to be read as a lesbian. let’s go lesbians, let’s go! buncha lesbians coming thru! also u can’t tell me mel isn’t a taurus. be so fr. i know lisa’s a leo but look me in the eyes and say that a primary trait of ‘stubborn’ isn’t melissa. u can’t. ruled by venus? like come on.

I, Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti

You’re quite comfortable in this spot on the floor, curled against the couch with your head resting against Melissa’s thigh, rounded nails grazing over the stretch of your neck and exposed shoulder. Eyes numbly glued to the corner of the coffee table, the chattering of the Schemmenti family around you feels far away, not even Vinny and Annette’s arguing over God-knows-what can reach you. It’s peaceful here, even with the yelling and seemingly genetic snort-laugh they all possess. It feels like home in every way.

Something that sounds far away, underwater, that resembles your name passes your ear, but does not breach the wall of comfort around you. The light rocking of your head and grazing nails turning to gentle scratching pulls you back to shore, head shifting to look up at Melissa, eyes scanning her face. All you manage is a questioning hum as you regain your social bearings.

Melissa’s hand slides up your neck to softly hold your chin, “was asking if you’re alright. You’re awful quiet down there by yourself.”

“‘M good, Mel. Just existing, I guess,” you answer, leaning into her more.

Her thumb brushes over your cheek, just barely passing the corner of your lips, foregoing an actual response. The twitch of a smile against her skin has her heart racing, her own light smile fading. Melissa’s mind pushes the casualness to the forefront of her mind, how you are so at ease in this undoubtedly chaotic environment. A sip of her wine replaces the instinct to rip her hand away from you, cross her legs and leave you suddenly without a place to rest.

Take you, Joseph Vincent Peterson

“Why does this credentialing shit have to be so intense? I mean, seriously, didn’t I just fucking do six years of schooling and another two, two, of assisting,” Melissa loudly complains as she goes through all her notes over the counter, “that should be proof enough, but no.”

You grab her tensing hand from across the table, ceasing your organizing of notes by topic, “honey, see how confident you are though? Means you’ll kill it, won’t even be a sweat.”

“You don’t know that,” she says dejectedly, peering back down to her elementary mathematics notes.

“I do,” you say, standing from your seat to round the table and stand behind her. Slowly, you wrap your arms around her, reaching for her balled hands, and leaning to rest your chin on her shoulder, “I know these things. You got this in the bag, pretty.”

Taking a deep breath with closed eyes, Melissa relaxes against you as a lingering kiss is pressed to her cheek. Turning slightly to face you, she presses her own lips to the corner of yours in silent thanks. You suck in a tight breath, she rarely ever allows herself to be so affectionate, even a kiss on the cheek is a rare occurrence. Sure, Melissa is a hugger, with only a select few, but this is so different. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you are grateful her eyes are back on the notebook and she can’t see the dumbfounded look on your face.

You give her another half hour to obsess over words on a page before convincing her to call it a night, not even you can bear another moment looking at any of this. Admitting defeat, she lets you guide her to the couch, melting into the plastic lining. Melissa watches as you take your place against the arm of the couch, legs crossed in front of you while you flip through channels.

It takes less than ten minutes for the redhead to slowly start scooting closer, creaking plastic making her movements unstealthy. Taking the hint, you uncross your legs to make room for her and open your arms in quiet invitation. Unlike her previous shifting, Melissa nearly pounces into your arms, taking residence against your chest. One hand goes to her hair, scratching her scalp, the other rests on her arm, massaging the muscle.

It’s hard to tell when, or even if, Melissa is asleep on you. Her lack of talking or the slightest movement leads you to believe she’s dead to the world. Only a small whisper of caution passes your mind as your lips press to her crown, lingering there longer than you should. Snuggling into you, the redhead suppresses the smile of utter peace that begs to cross her wine-stained lips.

To have and to hold

Movie nights are always some of your favorite times with Melissa, struggling on a puzzle that you swore you could do. When you were sober. Now, the border still remains incomplete as your attentions divert to the TV when dramatic music begins playing. Admittedly, you aren’t really watching the movie to begin with, but Melissa seems to be so engrossed she hasn’t realized she’s still fidgeting with the same piece.

Aiming for her hand, you flick a puzzle piece into her lap to get her attention. Peeking up over the frames of her glasses, Melissa looks at you quizzically. Gesturing to the puzzle, you look back to her in silent question. She answers in a shrug, moving in tandem with you as you sit up to sit on the couch. A little grin grows as she realizes that she’d get to take her typical spot, but she has something else in mind.

Rushing ahead, she takes your usual spot against the arm of the couch, legs open to make space for your body and arms stretched out in invitation. Without question, you take your place, tucking your face into her neck as her arms wrap around you. Melissa is so warm, so warm that you feel like a cat on a sunspot, settling into her as her breathing calms your heartbeat.

Something switches in your mind, a sense of bravery fills you, and you press your lips to Melissa’s neck gently, lingering against soft skin. You try to pull away, but a hand on the back of your head keeps you in place, and you’re quick to oblige. Lazy, wet kisses glide across blushing skin, never harsh, not one mark left, just simple adoration.

Frayed whimpers leave her as you find a particularly sensitive spot, just below a freckle on the underside of her soft jaw. You can’t help but smile against her at the sound, instantly becoming your mission in life to hear it again and again. Trailing downwards, you stop at her clavicle, allowing your teeth to graze the bone, relishing in her breath hitching. She is chrysanthemum and mirth personified.

Wanting hands pull you up to her lips, and you stay hovering, barely a space between you. Noses brush, nails dig into your neck, hearts rapid. You feel you should tell her before you go any further.

“I love you,” it’s merely a whisper into the miniscule space, but it makes her hands pull you down to her lips. All teeth, all tongue, all need, but she doesn’t match your words.

For better, or for worse

Arm-in-arm, you and Melissa brave the harsh wind of the Philly night weather. She hadn’t believed you, and now she’s proven wrong, of course she passed her credentialing exam with nearly perfect scores. You’ve always told her how you have enough faith in her for the two of you.

Whiskey sours brought you together, at this very bar, having seen each other drinking one after finals junior year, and whiskey sours were how you celebrate every occasion. Ever since then, she has stolen the maraschino cherries from your glass with a grin, always pretending she didn’t.

Three drinks in, Melissa sweet talks you on to the dancefloor. With little room from the sea of people, she stays pressed against you, hands gripping at your sides. As the music slows, she slides her hands up to your neck, looking into you with something you can’t place, but you don’t complain. She’s a heavenly being, especially under the color-shifting lights and strobes. Green irises flick from your lips to your eyes, and there’s something in them that makes you desperately need to kiss her. Fluttering lashes quicken as she catches herself, stepping back before you can think of acting.

Just as much as she seems to not notice the pattern, you pretend not to.

“I’m gonna get a beer,” she shouts over the music, refusing to make eye contact. You manage a nod, watching her disappear into the crowd of drunk dancers. Carefully, you weave through the crowd to the bathrooms, needing a moment to breathe air without sweat mixed in.

After an embarrassing amount of recovery time, and a hit off a pipe offered by a kind stranger, you make your way back out to the bar, scanning for familiar red hair. Spotting her, no longer near the bar, but off to the side with a man. Melissa’s wearing her go on, get me a free drink smile, teeth just barely digging into her bottom lip, and he seems to be perfectly happy to do so. And you let him, cozying up to the bar to order a double to nurse.

Against your better judgment, you periodically check on Melissa and this mystery man. At first, her hands are to herself, and impressively, so are his. A few sips later, and her weight rests on the hand on his leg, leaning into his space with hooded eyes. Bile rises in your throat. You want to leave, but you came together, leaving her isn’t an option, not that it ever has been. When you check again, the man’s hand is cradling her face, and Melissa’s eyes flick to yours briefly.

She wishes she didn’t see the way your lips pursed, forcibly hiding a frown. In an effort to displace this feeling she can’t describe bubbling in her chest, she lets Joe kiss her, rough and wanting. Melissa kisses him back, lets his hands roam, nods when he mumbles to ask to take her home. With an arm around her waist, she walks with him as he walks her out.

Passing by you, she asks him to wait and sidles up next to you, “I’m- uh- I’m going home with Joe. You good to get home?”

“Yeah, love walking” you reply shortly, “just text me the address, so I know the secondary location.”

Melissa gives you an unimpressed look, “not funny. If I need a ride out of there, can I count on you?”

Looking her directly in the eye, you respond, “you can always count on me.”

Joe drives her home the next morning, with a hand on her thigh that makes her skin crawl, but she lets him. When he asks if he can see her again, she tells him she’ll let him know, and he seems to take it in stride. Stepping inside, taking her shoes off, making coffee, she’s fine. But the moment Melissa sits on the couch, a dark, twisted feeling crawls up her back and into her chest at the thought of seeing you later. The inevitable conversation you’ll have makes her feel sick, almost feeling as if she has to hide it despite you knowing. 

For richer, or for poorer

It almost feels too good to be real. Here in Melissa’s room, fan blowing, radio playing some classic rock station, on top of her comforter, pressed against her. Her lips dominate yours, tongue stroking yours for another taste of the cherry cola you’d been drinking when you got here, currently going flat on her nightstand. Greedy hands hold your shirt, refusing to let you move, needing you right where she has you.

Some days, she reveled in your attention so much that she would let herself turn her head when you went to kiss the corner of her lips. It always leads here, with her lips on yours, though she particularly loves it when it travels to her room. Your hands on her hips, fingers just barely dipping under her shirt, only the softest of touches. Always so gentle with her, your touch was never anything more than featherlike, especially so in moments like this.

Needing air, Melissa cups one side of your jaw and travels down your chin, to your jaw, to your neck, open mouth kisses littering your skin on the other. Shaky pants pass your lips, spurring her on further, mumbling baby as her teeth nip at the unmarked expanse of your neck. The hand in her hair only scratches her scalp, as it had before, but the slower ministrations match your deep breaths at every pass of her tongue. A thought passes her mind, one that freezes her from head to toe. Melissa needs you like this forever.

Feeling the lack of lips on you, your eyes peek down to Melissa’s paling face. Warmth leaves you as she pulls away, rolling from her side to lay on her back, face fear stricken. Taking the hint, you don’t touch her, just propping yourself up on your elbow against her pillow, “you okay, baby?”

You watch her take a few deep breaths, keeping your eyes on her saints, “I’m fine.”

“I can-” You take a breath yourself, “I can go, if that’s what you need.” Her short tone was making you squirrely, and her eyes forcibly ignoring you wasn’t helping the case.

“You don’t have to go. I said I’m fine,” she realizes her own tone, “I just… I just need a minute.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, rolling off the bed, “I’ll go put something on for dinner… you can take over when you’re done with your minute.” Melissa only looks at the door once you leave, face crumpling as she tries to push tears back. 

She doesn’t need you, doesn’t want you, she doesn’t. She doesn’t, she doesn’t, she can’t. Not when you hold her hand to not lose her in crowds, not when you fix her hair before getting out of the car, not even when she caves the moment your lips brush hers. It’s hard to deny the way her heart clenches when you forgo her name, always baby or pretty. It’s easier to say she loves you when she reminds herself you’re her friend.

In sickness and in health

Joseph ‘but call me Joe’ is a major pain in your ass. After three months of having his number, of not mentioning him, she texted him to invite him to the bar with you and your friends. Not once did she mention him coming, yet here he stands in a navy auto-body shop t-shirt. Their previous, singular night together clearly gives him this gnarly confidence, arm around Melissa’s waist and a hand just above her ass.

Your fingers burn from your biting, wishing you could throw the glass in your hand at him. He dares touch her in front of you, and she dares to let him. Each forceful placement of your glass back on the table makes green eyes flick to you, but they dart away before you can look back. Melissa wishes that the permanent frown on your face didn’t make her so upset.

Instead all she feels is acid in her throat, guilt and self-disgust making her squirm under Joe’s touch. Joe. She entirely forgot his presence until his hand slid into her back pocket. Peeking up, she notices that his eyes are not on her or the people talking, but on you, a hard look in his eyes. Acid bubbles, angered that he dares to look at you with such contempt.

Melissa nudges him with her hip to get his attention, cocking her head towards you in silent question. Joe leans into her, “your friend looks at me like I’m breaking a rule touching you.”

“Doesn’t mean you need to give the ugly eye. They’re just looking out for me,” she mutters, taking a sip of the amaretto sour he ordered her. It’s God awful, but she deserves as much in her mind.

Joe just gruffs a laugh, “looking out for you or jealous?” He takes her silence as not understanding, “when you’re not getting goo-goo eyes, I’m getting death rays.”

She won’t dignify an answer, hoping he’ll just take it as processing. Melissa knows, oh, she knows how you care for her, how you do more than just that. How you love her. It makes her feel ill, when it’s so clearly swirling in your eyes. The fact that others know, both her family and not, how they push her towards you, it’s terrifying.

Her mother adores you, always asking if you’re coming to dinner, begging for your presence at every dinner after the second one you attended. Kristin Marie jokes with you, not just insults, even asks your advice on things. Annette calls you Melissa’s other half, and when she gets a stony jade glare, it’s only because you two go everywhere together.

As if she knows it’s on her, she meets your gaze from across the table. Her mouth opens to speak to you, but a hand tugs her chin to the left, and Joe presses a rough kiss to her petallike lips. It’s a dare, a dare to cross him, a dare to even look at Melissa, a dare to take what he claims as his.

Forty horrible minutes pass, and on her way back from the restroom, Melissa scans the room. Everyone was right where she left them, chatting through mouthfuls of chips, except for you. Your spot had been filled in by the others, empty glass still sitting on the coaster. Over his shoulder, Joe gives her a grin, sated, waving his hand to get her closer.

Her hands scramble through her purse the second she’s seated, digging for her phone in hopes of a text from you. A single notification sits on her screen.

To anyone else, to Joe rudely peering over her shoulder to read the message, it would seem normal. However, Melissa knows better. There’s no heart at the end, no little ‘love you,’ probably written after you’d already started your journey. Just simply got tired, walking home.

In irritation, definitely not to shovel away guilt, she lets Joe kiss her again at the end of the night, after she downed another amaretto. Even lets him take her home, though he tried taking it back to hers, but to have him in a bed you have lied in? Unthinkable.

Joe’s kisses are as rough as his hands on her, just short of hurting when he grabs at her breasts. His voice is gruff as he offers to drive her home, despite her not feeling anything close to pleasure, close to some sort of good. It’s divine punishment, it seems.

To love and cherish

Melissa misses you. You are right next to her on the couch, yet she misses you. She’s grown too used to the comfort of laying against your chest, having your arms wrapped around her as you watch whatever movie she decides on. It’s ridiculous, truly. She’s with Joe, she shouldn’t be seeking comfort from anyone else, but her ear longs to be above your beating heart.

You’re still pressed against the arm of the couch, though you stay balled up and keep unblinking attention on the screen. The thought passes her mind to simply scoot up next to you, but it’s unwise with the mood you’re in. Since she called you and said Joe officially asked her to be his girlfriend, you’ve entirely pulled back. Not so much as a kiss on her cheek in six months. Melissa feels like she’s in the thick of withdrawal. 

Green eyes feel like crosshairs as you feel them scope your body, attempting to read your displeasure without asking. Truthfully, you want to be here with her, but the clock on your time goes down with each second that gets closer to Joe arriving for their date night. In effort to not cause a fight, you’ve kept away, always leaving before he gets there so as to not be forced to talk. Joseph gets a lot of joy in reminding you he’s there to see his girlfriend.

“What?” You speak into the open air, not bothering to peek at a staring Melissa.

“You’re quiet,” the redhead offers cautiously. She’s seen your bad side, but she’s never been on it. Silence from you is a sort of weapon.

You sigh, “I don’t have anything to say.” More like you don’t have anything good to say.

“You’ve got plenty, or else you wouldn’t be quiet. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Her hand comes to stroke your hair, an attempt to smother the fire, but you duck away from her touch, finally looking at her.

“Just drop it, Melissa. You don’t wanna hear it,” you look back at the TV. It’s the most honest you want to be with her.

The calm demeanor drops, “and how do you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell! Me!”

“You! You are what’s wrong!” You shout as you turn to face her, brows furrowed and nostrils flaring. “You kiss me! You touch me! You tell me you care about me! You hate every woman that gets within ten yards of me, who dares show interest in me. For what?” Melissa is in shocked silence, not answering. “Because you can’t stand that they want me, that I could want them too? Because I could maybe, just maybe, have feelings for someone that isn’t you?”

“That’s not-”

A bitter laugh leaves you, “have you ever stopped to think about what you’re doing to me when you kiss me, let me kiss you, and then just start sleeping with some guy? How do you tell me you care about me more than anything and then kiss him in front of me? I have never hidden how much I love you Melissa, not once, and you rub it in my face?”

Standing from the couch, you try to create distance as you pace with your hands on your hips. You can’t even look at her, knowing the hurt look on her face will break you. You’ll say it’s all fine when it isn’t. This dam cannot be patched. She tries to hide it, but you hear her sniffle as she stands to be level with you.

Her arms cross to create a proactive barrier, “you are the one that just assumes it’s all about you. Joe is a good guy, he cares about me, loves me. He tells me, he tells his friends.”

“And do you care about him? Love him too?”

Melissa’s eyes widen, “I… I could.”

“You could?” It’s almost a laugh. “You sound real confident in that ability. Let me know how that goes.”

The red she sees matches her hair, “and what have you done? Sit and wallow.”

“Oh, sorry, were the many times I said ‘I love you, Melissa’ not clear enough? Or were you just purposefully pretending to hear ‘you’re my bestest platonic pal’?”

“How was I supposed to know what that meant?!”

Your stills, a sudden calm coming over you as you realize the lost cause, “be so fucking rea- you know what? I’m done.” Stepping around her, you go to the door to put on your shoes, feeling like there’s glass coating the soles.

“You’re-”

“Going home,” you say standing, “I can’t do this anymore. At this point, I’m just torturing myself.” There’s no pause before opening the door.

“Please, don’t leave,” Melissa’s voice cracks.

You can’t face her, “I love you. But I can’t say I feel the same about the idea of you only loving me when others aren’t around.”

“I love you, I do. Just, please don’t go.” The door slams in Melissa’s face.

Eyes stay on the driveway as you leave, immediately pulling into your spot, Joe.

Until we death to us part

A surprise dinner for their one year anniversary might just be the most romantic thing Joe has done for Melissa the entirety of their relationship. He called her to tell her to dress to the nines, well maybe the sevens, which made her laugh, quick to hang up to start curling her hair. As she sections her hair, she wonders what kind of restaurant, which cuisine, silently praying that it’s not Italian.

Leaning against his truck, Joe lays on the horn to alert her of his presence, climbing into the cabin as Melissa steps outside. When she gets in herself, Melissa does a once over of his clothing for the evening, hoping to not find an oil stain that seems to be on every single shirt the man owned. None. Not even a mark of too-much-bleach to get rid of an old stain. Collar pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. Joseph bought a new shirt, just for tonight.

“You look handsome,” she says, leaning against the middle console to press her lip to his cheek.

Wiping her gloss from his face, through a cocky grin he says, “thought I should clean up.”

Metallica plays on the radio, no other conversation is even attempted before he pulls into the parking lot of Yamitsuki. Joe’s already a quarter of the way to the door by the time Melissa gets out of the truck, carefully dropping to the pavement in her heels. At least it’s not Italian, at least it’s not Italian.

In hopes to get and keep his attention, her arm wraps around his when he reaches him at the host stand. When the host seats them, Joe yanks his arm from Melissa’s to get in the booth across from her. The redhead sits silently, letting the man order her drink and the appetizer he wants. When he reorders his beer, wanting an American brew, she mentally steps back. Nodding and humming seems to get her through most of these conversations.

A loud laugh from the hibachi station captures both hers and Joe’s attention, though he seems more interested in the puffs of fire coming from the grill. The woman laughing grips the counter as she tries to catch her breath, her date, facing away from Melissa, is shaking with laughter as they rub the woman’s arm. Silver catches the light, and green eyes are drawn to the rings on the date’s hand. A wide silver band, only one constellation engraved into the metal. She doesn’t have to look closer. She knows it’s Taurus, she knows it’s hers.

Tempura, onigiri, even her beloved donburi, they all taste like straw as her mind rotates her constellation brushing against someone new. Melissa doesn’t even have in her to frown when Joe slams his glass on the table to get the attention of the server as they rush past with trays. Peeking away from the adult tantrum over a Budweiser, her eyes go back to the grill.

God, she wishes she hadn’t. Talking kindly to the cook, she gets a view of your profile. Warm lighting makes you glow, the easy smile on your lips makes her heart clench. You’re here, with this woman, and you’re happy. You’re without her and you’re happy. Her grip in the table cloth tightens, pulling everything her way.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asks with a mouthful of noodles. Her eyes snap to him, brows furrowed in confusion, “your face, you look upset. Is it the food?”

She finds it in herself to smile a little, “I’m fine. Just spaced out for a second.”

He doesn’t believe her, so in true Joe-fashion, he talks about everything and nothing to move her attention away from whatever’s bothering her. It would be annoying if it wasn’t a tad endearing.

A silent prayer goes to all deities above when she walks into the empty restroom, Melissa also locks the door to ensure the privacy stays. The ringed fingers gripping her lungs let go, and for the first time since she walked in the restaurant, she can finally take a deep breath. Leaning on her hands against the counter, Melissa looks at herself in the mirror. Time to put your big girl pants on, Schemmenti.

Turning on the sink, Melissa runs her hands under the cold water to cool down, the splotchy red on her chest finally dissipating. Shaking the water from her hands, she nods to herself. Turning on her heel, she forces her shoulders back, spine straight, totally fine. Stepping back into the hall, she immediately collides with another person.

“Shit, I am so sorry,” a familiar voice says as hands hold onto Melissa’s elbows to stop her sway. Long lashes flutter around wide eyes as she only stares, watching your eyes fly from where your hand rests on her arm to her face. Your eyes quickly widen as your hands pull away, though they harden swiftly, concern becoming stone. “Sorry,” is all you mumble before turning away from her, giving up on your journey to the restrooms.

What possesses her, she doesn’t know, but she follows you. Grabbing your arm, she tugs you in the restroom she had just left, locking the door behind her, she leans against it as you just stare at her. The unblinking glare you give is something she hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of, but it feels as awful as she assumed.

“Nothing?”

Your jaw drops a little, and you let out a sharp, breathy laugh, “nothing? Nothing what? Was I supposed to faint?”

“Was maybe thinking you wouldn’t just walk past me when I haven’t seen you in six months.”

“And why’s that?” At her lack of answer, your head tilts, “did you want me to stay behind glass to break in case of sudden realization?”

“Sudden realization?” It could be better to play dumb.

Biting your cheek, you look at the ceiling before you speak, “yes. Sudden realization. Maybe realize that kissing me, wanting me to kiss you, it’s pretty gay. Very gay, actually, in my professional opinion.”

“I’m not gay,” Melissa mumbles, twiddling with her fingers. Maybe playing dumb wasn’t the move.

You nod slowly, “right.”

“I’m not. I love Joe, we’re here for our anniversary. I’m not gay.”

Closing your eyes, you exhale deeply, “glad that’s settled. Can you stop holding me hostage?”

Melissa can feel the weight of your words. You’re not just a hostage of this room. You’ve been perpetually held hostage by your feelings for her, imprisoned for years and years, with never getting the love you bore in return. She tries to step closer to you, but you move at the same time, pivoting around her and unlocking the door. Your name leaving her lips in a cracked voice makes you halt, but the simmering fire in your chest refuses to let you soften.

“Let me go, Melissa. Should be easy, since, you know, you don’t love me, not really.”

“B-” The door shuts in her face again.

This is my solemn vow.

—☽—

Melissa wakes with a jolt, beads of sweat gliding down her spine. Heaving breaths constrict her chest and she drops her head into her hands in an attempt to focus and calm herself. The tight feeling in her chest dissipates as a final deep breath leaves her lungs, face cooling and heart slowing. Lifting her head from her hands, she peers to the right to make sure she hadn’t woken Joe.

Perhaps she would have, had he been there.

Joe was only ever home maybe two nights a week, always ‘working late’ and coming home well rested the next morning. Nina was getting most of his time these days, all his attention, love, and acknowledgement. It was getting hard to keep track of the times he’d almost called her Ni instead of Mel, after it hit double digits, she didn’t care anymore. It was clear now, more than ever, that she was his wife in nothing but name.

Only in her dreams does she get a level of peace, the smell of patchouli and spearmint comforting her in the haze of sleep. Oversized knit sweaters and denim brush her skin in this personal Eden, but the morning sun brings her to gasoline and another woman’s perfume. 

A part of her, deep in the back of her mind, screams, and it has only gotten louder over the last ten years. The voice screams, bordering on blood-curdling, telling her how much she hates him, how much she doesn’t love him, how much she regrets him. Every morning she wakes with him gone, the more she listens to that little voice. Every time she smells Chanel on the Eagles jacket she bought for their five year anniversary, the voice gets a little louder.

The voice warps and becomes familiar as Melissa stares blankly at the empty space beside her. You could? Let me know how that goes. If you were able to see her now, you’d be giving her that raised brow, biting your inner lip to keep from saying something she probably didn’t want to hear. In this moment, she would do anything to hear what you’d say, even if she may cry, even if she doesn’t know where you are.

With her mind running a mile a minute, she was unable to will herself back into sleep, giving up to make coffee instead. As if the universe wanted to mock her, the door quietly opens and closes, careful footsteps walking through the living room before the pause in the doorway to the kitchen. Joe and Melissa just stare at each other blankly, silence permeating their existence in these four walls. Without another word, she just pours him a cup of coffee, spooning in a little sugar before sliding it towards him.

Joseph, to his credit, reads that something is wrong, terribly wrong. There’s no anger on Melissa’s face, not even a twinge of sadness. The few times she was awake when he got home, she wouldn’t even look at him, just frown, but now, nothing. Sipping his coffee, he accepts the fate that comes at him like a fastball.

Before he even fully sits down across from her, she speaks without breaking eye contact, “I want a divorce.”

Joe did not argue, he’d seen this long coming. He saw it when they told her parents they were engaged, how Annette had to purse her lips, Kristin Marie taking her sister aside to talk privately. He loved Melissa, for a time, but he knew she loved the non-existent obligation to him, and he drifted. Regrets of his behavior disappeared the less Melissa seemed to care. Their positions were identical; he is only her husband in name.

By the end of March, he was fully moved out and placing his key in the palm of her hand. Pausing his steps, he turns back to Melissa, pressing a short kiss to her cheek, “I hope you find what you need.”

July is Melissa’s favorite month. No school starting or ending, no prep days just yet, not even a single manilla folder on the coffee table. Just Melissa, Cabernet, and the sunlight. She felt content under the sun, warming her skin and making the freckles across her chest and shoulders bloom. When Barbara invited her to the beach, she almost said no, until the mention of a private beach hut and bottomless margaritas.

By the second marg, the cackles coming from the hut could be heard from the waterfront, not that the two women cared. The third, and beginning of the fourth, the conversation went from silly to serious, both women speaking in not-so-hushed voices.

“He just didn’t care. I said I wanted a divorce, and all I got was okay. Was expecting some sort of fight,” Melissa says as she plays with the pink umbrella in her drink.

Barbara’s head drops to the side, “to be fair, dear, you weren’t really in it anymore either. You can’t seriously think he couldn’t pick up on that.”

“Wasn’t expecting a screaming match or anything, just a talk. I tried making it work, he’s the one who was out and about with Nina.”

“Melissa Ann,” Barbara starts, “you have been mentally checked out of that marriage before you even walked down the aisle. I’ve known you seven years, and I’m sorry, but it’s been clear you didn’t love him anymore. If you ever did.”

The redhead stares at Barbara with a heavy look, “what do you mean by that?”

“I’d like to think I know you well. And knowing you means I see you, see you as you are. That man, any man, is not what you long for.” Putting her drink on the table, Barbara reaches over to grab Melissa’s hand, squeezing it lovingly, “you look more in love in those university photos that you do in your wedding ones.”

Melissa fiddles with her fingers, “I’ll never have that back, I’m too late. It’s too late.”

“It’s not. Not too late to give yourself the space to see yourself, to find who makes you happy,” she reassures her friend. The tears threatening to spill from Melissa’s eyes make her tug her in for a hug, “you will be okay. And you won’t be alone.”

—☽—

Elaine stands from the table slowly, avoiding Melissa’s eyes as she mumbles a bye and leaves the bar. Six months down the drain, all because Melissa wasn’t ready to move in, just barely having given the woman the code to the door so she could let herself in. She’d called Melissa scared and a child, but what hurt the most, a coward. The redhead didn’t even dignify her with a real response, just saying if you’re done, then go. I won’t stop you.

Sipping the last of her drink, Melissa pays the tab for her vodka soda and the cosmopolitan Elaine had, telling the bartender to keep the change as she leaves to walk home. Walking the three miles home wasn’t going to be fun, but she could maybe clear her head, definitely get tired enough to fall asleep on the couch.

Ten minutes into her journey, a voice from nearby was calling out, catching Melissa’s attention immediately.

“Bosco! C’mon, inside time!” The laugh that follows stops Melissa in her tracks, another call of Bosco has her walking quickly to find the source. Under a streetlight, she pauses.

Across the street, in a little fenced yard, was a Brittany spaniel doing laps around the yard, darting and dashing away from the owner. Giggles filled the yard as the dog and owner seemingly played tag, the collar jingling in tandem with the laughter. Green eyes trail away from Bosco. You.

You look the same you had the last she saw you, apart from your hair being longer, smile lines a little deeper. Melissa can’t help it, eyes going to your hands, scanning for rings she doesn’t find. No wedding band, but especially, no constellation. Had you gotten married and divorced like her? Were you just the kind to not wear your ring? She doesn’t think so. Are you happy? You look happy, she hopes you’re happy. How long have you been here? Only two miles from her? Last she knew, you left Philly to no-one-would-tell-her-where.

She watches you stop running, hands on your knees as you speak breathily, “alright, for real. Inside time, Bosco baby!” Tears spring to her eyes as your grin grows, watching your dog gallop towards you and almost knock you over. “Oh, you’re excited to watch Living Single, huh? Let’s go.” Melissa watches Bosco trot next to you as you disappear behind the door, from her.

A watery smile crosses her lips, you were still watching the show you watched together nearly every night. Melissa still remembers the nights where you would play with her hair, twirling it around your fingers as she sunk into your chest, pressing soft kisses to her head as you giggled at something Khadijah said to Max. Those nights were her only sense of comfort, and for years, the mere memory would make her heart quake.

Pressing on, she keeps on her way home. Instead of falling asleep when she finally gets to her couch, Melissa turns on Living Single and curls against the arm of the couch, nudging her nose into plastic-wrapped fabric. She can almost smell the incense and mint gum.

For the next couple of weeks, Melisa takes it upon herself to go on more walks. Walks to the deli, to the bar, to the coffee shop, even to the park. Occasionally, there are days where she takes the longer path, one that passes the fenced yard of a brick building. To her dismay, she has yet to see you. Part of her panics, thinking that you may have seen her and were avoiding being seen. The rational part reminds her that you have a life. Luck just seems to be running low.

On a chilly Thursday, however, she stares at her feet to keep the wind from making tears and smudging her eyeliner. The clacking of steps on the pavement and jingling of a collar brings her eyes up, a familiar spaniel practically tugging against the blue leash. Bosco looks at Melissa’s still form, and starts pulling harder, trying desperately to meet a new friend.

“BoBo,” you almost whine, looking up from the grocery list on your phone, “hell you doing bud-”

Stopping in your tracks, your arm jerks as your dog pulls, but you stay in place. Wide eyes meet, and all either of you can do is stare. With a huff, Bosco pulls again, forcing you closer to Melissa. Nudging her hand, he begs to be pet, forcing her hand on top of his head.

You swallow the lump in your throat, speaking quietly, “you can pet him.”

Wordlessly, without taking her eyes off of you, her nails scratch gently at the dog’s head. Your own eyes flick around her face, only quickly dipping to where her hand pets Bosco. No ring. Shaking your head, you look back up.

“Melissa,” you say with a little nod. The corner of her lips turns up at hearing her name from you. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good…” She clears her throat, “how are you?”

“Yeah, good. You still teaching?”

A little smile stretches across her face, “second grade, over at Abbott in West. Eleven years, almost, now.”

“That’s nice, Abbott’s nice. Micah’s daughter’s starting there next year,” you say, fidgeting with the leash in your hands.

A surprised laugh leaves her, “Micah’s got a kid? Jesus…”

“I know,” you chuckle, “the man who still ties his shoes with bunny ears.”

Bosco takes the second of silence to hop up on Melissa, front paws going to her chest as he tries to sniff and lick her face. The motion shocks Melissa, who only manages a little oof! You’re quick to move, stepping close to hold under his arms and gently pull him back towards you, still hopping and trying to get to Melissa.

“Dude, what the hell?” You say, looking down at your dog, before quickly going back to Melissa, “I’m sorry about him. New people are apparently chew toys to him.”

“It’s okay,” she replies with a smile, she’s more than okay right now. Entirely stunned by the newfound closeness, the time passing around only really hits her as a car honks at a bicycle in the street, insecurity crawling in. Clearing her throat, she adds, “I- uh- it was nice seeing you.”

The little smile falls from your lips, “oh… Okay, yeah. Nice seeing you, Mel. Sure I’ll see you around.” With a little frown, you gently tug Bosco’s leash, him immediately walking with you.

Melissa turns quickly and starts to follow you, almost running to catch up. “Wait, wait. That came out wrong. I didn’t mean go, I just- it is nice to see you,” she speaks through little pants. “Would you wanna get coffee or a drink sometime? Catch up? Only if you want to,” she rushes the last part, trying not to seem as desperate as she is.

And there it is. The little grin she loved so much, had missed so much. You try to suppress it, but it’s entirely impossible. “Whiskey sours?”

—☽—

Whiskey sours. Coffee. Meeting at Wawa for lunch. Diner pancakes for supper. It was small, and then it was damn near every day for weeks on end. Time had taken the anger she had last seen in you, replaced with sheer nerves, and now comfort once again. Melissa slowly gives in and shares little things, trying to gain your trust. The lack of any Joe-mention was telling enough, as if no ring wasn’t practically shouting. To be subtle or to not be subtle, that is the question. But this is Melissa Ann Caterna Schemmenti.

“Random question.”

“Potential random answer,” you reply through a bite of your burrito.

Melissa mulls over her words, “is six months together not stupid soon to move in with someone? My ex called me a child for saying no fucking way.”

“Personally, yeah. Knowing you, even bigger yeah. Clearly didn’t know you well enough to be moving in with you.”

Melissa nods as she wipes her lips with a napkin, “no, she clearly did not.”

The pause of your chewing only lasts a brief moment before you look up, “her loss.” There’s no hiding the blush that covers Melissa’s face.

Through lunch, and the subsequent walk to finish the never ending conversation, neither of you really want to leave the other. Every topic carries to another, nearly twelve years apart coming undone the closer you sit. You fumble through inviting her over, with the mention of thinking you have the ingredients for sours, as if you hadn’t bought everything the night before.

Late into the night, with the TV low and Bosco curled in his bed, you rest against the arm of the couch. Melissa keeps her legs tucked to her chest, chin resting on her knees as her eyes struggle to focus on the screen. Sitting here with you, it’s so hard to not want to be held by you, it feels almost second nature. The churning in her mind makes her entirely unaware of the attention on her.

Shifting, you rest your back against the arm, putting one foot down on the floor. A socked foot pokes Melissa, making her jump slightly. Prehnite eyes flick towards you, quickly scanning over your position. She bites her inner cheek, eyes meeting yours in silent question. The answer she receives is a weak attempt to reach for her, too lazy to say anything.

Lightning quick, Melissa lays on top of you, taking her place in the warmth of your neck. Your arms wrap around her snuggly, holding her as if she would disappear. She feels your nose nudge her hair, a little movement against her forehead feels like a smile, one that matches her own. Gently, with a butterfly's touch, Melissa pressing a short kiss to the column of your throat before resting again.

She loves you. She does, she does, she can.

i’ve got a doctorate in projecting

if you’re looking for a longer form of a similar concept then please, if u haven’t, read the entwined series by @lot-of-nothing it is INCREDIBLE i’m speechless

feedback appreciated as always <3

[thewertsearch]

Anonymous asked: You: "Wow Homestuck is my favorite comic ever! Kanaya is the best :)" Hussie: "LOL, LMAO" @morganwick asked: (Try not to think about the idea that the conversation future Jade alluded to where Kanaya got the password was the one with past Jade that immediately followed that conversation, and that Jade is waiting for a password from Kanaya that'll never come…) @bladekindeyewear asked: [...] regarding the password Jade said earlier she had been patiently waiting for… unfortunately, I think we saw Jade give her said password just before the walkaround… and in hindsight, it’s quite a regrettable one. “GG: the password is…………… GG: CROOOOOOOOOOOAK”

I had the same chilling thought over the weekend.

Yes, it's very possible that Kanaya closed her password loop in her very next conversation, which means the timeline doesn't actually require her to be resurrected. This removes the main piece of evidence I had that she's coming back - but even so, I still don't think she's gone for good.

What it boils down to, basically, is that Kanaya still has a lot to do.

First of all, her arc surrounding the survival of her race is still unresolved. Sure, someone like Karkat or fellow Space girl Jade could pick up the baton, but this arc isn't theirs. Jade has no personal investment in it, and Karkat, while obviously motivated to save his species, isn't connected to the Matriorb or Mother Grub the way Kanaya is. This revival plotline is hers, and right now, it's dangling like a loose thread.

If that was the only narrative issue, I could look past it - but it's not.

Guys, this was her last conversation with Rose. And I'm sorry, but I just don't believe that one of the longest-running ships in the comic would end here. Kanaya's romantic arc with Rose is really just getting started, and their last conversation really doesn't scan as a goodbye, even in retrospect.

Like, sure, these last words would be kind of ironic, but is this really how you close the door on one of the most kickass compelling relationships we have? Rosemary deserves a better death than this.

Speaking of which...

This is how we're disposing of Kanaya? With an (admittedly kind of funny) SBaHJ reference?

Bro, a significantly less important character, gets a dramatic death pose, framed by one of Karkat's best lines, and Kanaya - Kanaya Fucking Maryam - gets a sparkly Hope wand and a meme? I'm calling bullshit.

Now, Homestuck is more than happy to give its characters undignified deaths. Tavros certainly got one - but Tavros also died at the end of an intense, dramatic flash animation, and his murder served as the culmination of the Vriska/Tavros arc we've been following since early Hivebent. Tavros died without dignity, but the narrative weight of his death was enormous.

Kanaya died in the middle of multiple character arcs, in a manner that lacked dignity or narrative weight. She was essentially collateral damage to an unrelated feud between Eridan and Feferi. She died like a secondary character, and she's not.

I'm self-aware enough to admit that this is partially wishful thinking. It's not like I'm an unbiased observer - Kanaya is my favorite character, and I dug deep into the comic for evidence that her death doesn't make sense. But, that said - her death doesn't make sense. My narrative instincts are telling me that Kanaya is coming back - I just don't know how.

[jarimaa]

Gojo Satoru

I said once in my sukuna vs gojo post, that he doesn't prioritise personal connection, but it's more nuanced than that, so very badly worded from my part.

Gojo very much understood personal connections and relationships.

Gojo however loves being the strongest, he loves his strength, revels in it infact and wouldn't give up on it for anything, even if it caused him loneliness and that's why his dehumanisation comes from HIMSELF too. He is fine being a tool and being lonely if it means he can have his strength. Yes, his mindset is fucked up, that's the point.

That's why I never subscribed to all the "bring back nerfed" theories because chapter 236 made it ever clear.

Sukuna calls him (and kashimo) greedy, because unlike sukuna who thinks "love" is worthless, gojo very much wants both connections AND strength.

It wasn't that people were not reaching out to him, it's just that, he wouldn't stoop to their level, he wanted them to become stronger so that they can become as strong as him, so no one is lonely, so that strength doesn't isolate them like it did with him.

He pushes away people while at the same time craves attachment and understanding, but since he would NEVER give up on his strength, that results into largening the gap/distance even more. He causes his own misery and is ready to live with it.

The recent chapter was pretty much very consistent with his portrayal, he fully committed to his role by becoming the monster he was stopping himself from being all these year, for his students. Even in this chapter yuta very much reached out to him, in a way gojo couldn't to geto during that kfc meet, but it's gojo who again decided that it's his burden to bear alone. His was being reached out, it's HIM who didn't close the gap.

People are not ok with him just being treated like a tool and just being seen for his strength, but my point is, when has he ever had any identity beyond being "The strongest," not to imply he doesn’t have any other identity at all, but everyone always prioritized his identity as the strongest, EVEN he himself.

That's the reason why he loved his youth so much and considered it the best time of his life, because then, he had BOTH, strength and a equal buddy (geto), that's why that friendship lasted such huge impact on him. (Also imma just say here, people both underestimate and overestimate his relationship with geto, it's very funny to watch)

People were complaining about characters seeing him as a tool, but they were quite unironically doing the very same thing. Putting him on pedestal, using him to continue being in series for their own happiness and enjoyment of the series, not respecting his wishes from chapter 236, and treating him the same way characters within the story do with him.

Also, you can dislike the way he was treated, that's precisely the point, but don't go around claiming the gege assassinated his own writing because your dislike ≠ bad writing. People are using morality of their real life within a story where everything is being questioned, the so called "good guys" of the story keep repeating that they are not heros, most of them are murderers themselves.

The curses are showing humanity, everything related to normal human morality is being questioned.

So the "he would be happy powerless" doesn't work because thats what YOUR morality tells you (its fine to feel that way), but he most likely wouldn't be happy with it, he isn't a real person either lol. Dude has nasty aspects to him, it’s one of them, they add more to his character, he is selfish (and selfless too), and let him be like that.

In the very end, Gojo very much managed to raise a bunch of students who will carry his will, he is alive in them.

Peace out ✌️

Pretty much my rant after this chapter because of the discourse going around is creating wayyy too many misinterpretations. Also I don't care what you think of the series as long as you just stop forcing your beliefs on others and saying its bad writing, when it's not. I don't think a character can exist outside of the narrative or story he was created in, gojo is amazing because of jujutsu kaisen story, outside of it, who is he?

[whousestypewriters]

you again?? - jameson x reader

pairing: jameson hawthorne x fem!reader

warnings: swearing

a/n: part two is here!! hope you like it! its also like 11pm when is started writing this so sorry if its crap - i need to sleep guys

part one: i don't even know your name

its officially been one week since the night you met jameson.

jameson hawthorne to be exact.

one quick google search of his name - okayyy you were curious about the guy and searched his name up, but you weren't expecting him to be fucking famous - and you now had enough information that you could practically be his mother.

so yes its been one week since you were kissed by the devastatingly handsome boy and then you left him on the stairs running into the night.

your thoughts have been plagued by him. you even made a playlist for him.

cause you know what? you're only human.

try having the most handsome, charming, flirty person you've ever met kiss you and not think about it. its physically impossible.

so for seven whole days you've had to fight off the thoughts of jameson.

you were majorly unsuccessful.

like right now, as you sit on the bus driving towards your new job. clearly the whole stealing a car didn't work out. but you choose to positively ignore it, the same way you try ignore any thoughts of jameson - delusion is real.

pulling up at the nearest bus stop you get off the bus in your new clothes that you spent nearly every every penny you own on.

you trek the five miles uphill and in the heat to get to the gate of the house you were working in. nearly dying from the exercise you're about to press the ringer to call up to the house when a black unmarked veichle pulls up beside you.

the window winds down and alisa's - the woman who interviewed you - head sticks out looking down at you in question.

feeling its better to lie you simply say "car broke down this morning, had to catch them bus then walk."

at alisa exasperated look its clearly just the answer she was hoping for. "hop in the car."

pulling yourself inside you make eye contact with alisa and smile hoping it will be returned. it wasn't.

"okay, so y/n... was it?"

you nod. "yes."

"okay, good. y/n, when we arrive up at the house shortly, i'll give you your company computer, keycard - which will get you inside the property and our office in town - and files. you can also have the keys to this car - until you can get your own sorted - how long do you think it'll be out of action for?"

"at least a few months," you lie effortlessly. "they have to order the parts in from overseas."

alisa eyes you for a moment and you tense up wondering if you'd been caught out. "thats fine, just let me know when its out."

you revert back to silence and look out the window to the house - well actually house is an understatement. its a fucking mansion. like seriously its huge and gorgeous like straight out of an 1800's movie.

the sweeping structure looks like it has at least four floors. alisa noticing your wonder at the house starts off into a spiel about the house - it has a bowling alley?? - woah this is a huge place.

when you pull up in front of the house the driver gets out and opens your door handing you the car keys and walking off. alisa appears by you side and opens the huge - and i mean huge - front door.

she struts inside, seriously she's like a supermodel, formidable and determined as she walks into the house - mansion - and over to a table inside the grandest foyer ever.

holy shit these people are loaded.

it has grand archways on either side of the room and a intricately carved ceiling. you could honestly house at least ten families of five in here and still have room for more.

alisa turns back to you and hands you a key card, computer and two books that you have to read through as soon as possible.

"read that sooner rather than later, the hawthornes have quite a bit of information you have to learn about before you're officially allowed to be here without me."

you smile up at alisa. "thanks."

wait...

hawthornes?

alisa smiles back at you, before her looks returns to its usual stoney face. "that look of wonder in your eyes will disappear after you read this," she says patting the folders in your arms. " a word of warning though, don't lose your heart to a hawthorne, its not worth it." her words are sharp, a warning.

you're about to ask why, when a voice appears from the bottom of the stairs. "and who is this?" you turn to see a darker skinned boy with a charming grin walking towards you.

"xander, this is y/n my new assistant, she'll be around more often," alisa explains.

the boy - xander - raises an eyebrow and takes your hand, kissing it with a grin. "enchantè, y/n. i have a feeling we're going to be best friends."

you can't help the grin that takes over your own face. "really?"

"mhm. besties."

you're about to respond to him with a cheeky remark when another voice appears at the bottom of the stairs. "who's the new girl?"

you tense up and try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. that voice. its the same flirty voice that has filled your dreams for the past few nights.

turning around you past on a smile and look to the approaching jameson hawthorne.

he falters slightly his eyes creasing in recognition before he continues on his path towards alisa. pretending he doesn't know you.

"and you are?"

"y/n," you answer, in the same fashion. "who are you?"

"jameson hawthorne at your service."

"lovely to meet you y/n," he winks. "for the very first time." he turns to xander in expliantion. "we've absolutely never met before, never before. and we most certainly haven't done anything illegal."

you can't decide if you want to slap him or kiss him.

the second is certainly more appealing.

a/n pt2: i hope you liked it!! sorry there wasn't too much jamie in this one <33

taglist: @lxvebelle, @reminiscentreader, @ravenclawdirectioner, @mrs-jameson-hawthorne, @tornqdowarnings

@zenikswaffleshop

[toxinoire]

More Mean Girls Headcanons

• Regina definitely got bangs (The Reneé Rapp bangs💖) post canon

• She has a faint scar under it from the bus, because while her back is her main thing, she did gash her face.

• Karen can quite literally guess your entire personality with the sweetest and kindest smile in existence

• She'll just end up giving you an existential crisis while being all :D

• Janis has a stash of candy everywhere she goes

• She's a fucking sweet tooth

• Damian has to make sure she brushes her teeth

• Gretchen actually has the best immune system out of all of them

• And then when she does get sick, she cannot get out of bed

• Cady is feral as hell

• Don't be fooled by the height and the charm

• Seriously if you even think of being a dick to her friends she will punch you, no hesitation

• Damian and Gretchen became besties immediately

• After everyone made up, Cady's first initial reaction "AW YISS A REAL FRIEND GROUP"

• And then Janis painted everyone

• Gretchen cried

• And then Cady cried

• And then everyone cried

• "What's so great about literature-" And then Regina emerges from the shadows like "Sit your ass down and listen to me go off"

• Janis and Regina once got into a debate with five people about the nuances of the Iliad and The Odyssey

• Damian is sure someone pissed their pants

• Karen's just happy and generally just excited about fluffy blankets

• Sometimes, Regina and Cady take turns calling Gretchen at around 8 at night to gently remind her to sleep

• Gretchen forgets to sleep because she overthinks what she should do the next day

• "Gretch, I know you're anxious, but we're here and we'll help you. Now go to sleep so you have energy tomorrow."

• "Please go to sleep. Nothing is predictable. Things will go off the rails. On the bright side, we're stuck with you and we are now automatically going with you when it does."

• Both of those actually help

• Janis and Damian once made everyone mini pride shoelaces with their respective flags

• So every pride month, you see six teens in white shoes with shoelaces have whole ass gradients of different pride flags

• It's iconic really.

• Regina's vocabulary is either "Fuck off" or "Your presence is like a fucking housefly circling all the food on the table, leave me be" depending on her mood

• The first time they ever saw Karen be so utterly terrifying at someone was when someone catcalled them.

• The boy cried

• Cady likes to literally poke people for fun

• She also has a collection of dinosour figures

• "What if I-" "No."

• Janis collects FNAF plushies like they're pokemon

• She has multiple plushies of the same animatronics

• Her favorite is Lolbit

• She has six animatronic plushies in particular standing on her highest shelf sitting next to each other with handmade nametags of her and her friends on each one on who she thinks could be who

• She's Lolbit, Damian's Bonnie, Cady's Funtime Freddy, Gretchen's Glamrock Freddy, Karen's Chica, and Regina's Roxy

• Gretchen and Karen are everyone's hypewomen

• They'll be screaming like soccer moms whenever someone in the group has an achievement

• Cady normally sucks at history but she loves medieval history

• She got so into it so much that she got into weaponry

• This child can very much use a bow and arrow

• And a sword

• She got Regina into swordsmanship

• They duel. A lot.

• It scares the others sometimes

• Gretchen's way of threatening Janis is "I'll use your favorite paint to make the worst color gradient in existence."

• It works

• Damian has a love/hate relationship with the insanity in this friend group

[melanieph321]

Kenan Yildiz x Reader - Claim Me Part 2/3

+18

Part 1

Summary - Reader is Dusan Vlahovic sister and is dating Kenan. However, Reader has yet told her brother of the relationship as he is very protective of her.

Enjoy!

For lunch with the team and their families, you chose to wear pants. Levi's jeans, to be specific. Somehow, Kenan had managed to arrange the seating at the restaurant so that the two of you would be seated right before each other. You were thankful that he had been eager to tell you about his achievements before your arrival at the restaurant. It allowed you to prepare for the worst, like your boyfriend attempting to play footsie while you tried to enjoy your food.

It was pretty funny. His reaction as his foot went up your legs, expecting to feel your bare thighs, only to be met with the rough fabric of your jeans.

"Whatta..."

You had to look away not to burst out in laughter.

"Behave."

Your behavior earned you an elbow from Dusan, who, God forbid, despised laughter around the table. Or laughter in general.

"Are you twelve, or what?" He hissed, to which you were quite offended by. Kenan must have noticed this because his face went from playful to leathal in just a matter of seconds.

"It's okay." You nodded assuringly. However, he was not happy with Dusan and had to excuse himself to go use the restroom.

"Hey?"

There wasn't much you could say to cheer him up. However, he seemed to appreciate the fact that you came looking for him after he had been gone for a while.

"Hey?" He said, meeting your reflection through the mirror. "You know this is the men's restroom, right?"

"Really, then why are you in here?"

He chuckled.

You came up behind him and rested your chin on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist. "It's getting kind of boring out there. What if we ditched this thing and went somewhere else?"

"Won't your brother notice?"

"Nina can cover for me. She always does."

Kenan turned around, forcing you to shift your arms to wrap around his neck, your forheads pressed together.

"I love you." He said.

"Love you too."

"I mean it Y/N. I've never felt this way about another person."

"Felt what?" You raised your head, your nose caressing his, only then did you notice that Kenan's eyes were closed.

"I guess I just don't want to lose you." He sighed.

"Baby." You shrugged his shoulders. His eyelids opened. "What makes you think you're gonna lose me? I'm not going anywhere."

Kenan shied away, the two of you letting go of each other. You kept an eye on the bathroom door as anyone could burst in at any moment.

"I know that." Kenan nodded. It was difficult for him to express his feelings at times. "Like I said before, I want to be able to hold your hand without looking over my shoulder for Dusan. I think it would be better if we just told him the truth. Rip off the bandaid, I mean."

"Kenan I don't..."

"I get it." He nodded. "It's not as easy as I believe. But what if it is?"

You felt for him. You really did. But more than anything, you admired Kenan for wanting to tell Dusan that the two of you were seeing each other. He wanted to do so despite the fact that it could jeopardize the teams dynamic. Not to mention the ridicule and cold shoulders he could face from his other teammates. Still, Kenan thought that you were worth the risk.

"Have I ever told you how good you look in a suit?"

Kenan looked up from where he had been standing by the sink. He saw you scowling him up and down, a devious smile on your lips. "No, but try me." He grinned.

"You look hot." You said, approaching him were he stood. "So fucking hot."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. You can only imagine what it's doing to me right now, seeing you all dressed up."

Kenan's raised a curious brow. His hand went to wrap around your waist as you stood before him again. "Tell me." He whispered. "What exactly is it doing to you?"

Your lip was caught between your teeth. You bit down hard. Even more so, feeling Kenan's hand slip down the length of your back to the curve of your ass. He squeezed it, pressing you against his growing erection.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now."

"In here?" He frowned, questionably looking around the Men's restroom.

You nodded. "In here."

You grabbed his tie, pulling him towards one of the bathroom stalls. As the door trapped the two of you inside, the explicit kissing began.

It was filthy and primitive beyond measure. You had managed to cover up your last hickey with make up, but as Kenan got busy nipping at your cleavage, licking and sucking your breast, you feared that you had no way to cover up those future bruises.

"Fuck Y/N, you're unreal." He groand and slipped a hand down your jeans, feeling the heat from your damped panties. "I want to fuck you until you scream my name."

You smiled. "Then what are you waiting for?"

Kenan paused to look at you,  not sure if this was you giving him his full consent to fuck your brians out. Nevertheless he went for a more tender approach, wanting to please you all the way, without rushing.

You moaned as his fingertips slipped under the fabric of your panties, brushing the bed of you pubic hair, searching for your opening. Once he found it, he slipped two fingers inside, sensing that you were more than ready for it.

The back of your head hit the stall, with a hand covering your mouth to smother your gasping moan.

"Yes baby,  you like that?"

"Mhm." You nodded, fighting back tears in your eyes. He kept a steady paste, thrusting his fingers in and out of you in angles that hit every right spot.

"Don't be shy, baby." He talk you through it, the erruption of your orgasm. "You can come for me. Please, baby, come all over my fingers."

You stood on your tippy toes, climbing the steep hill of your rising orgasm. "Kenan,  I'm gonna..."

"Yes baby, let it go."

It was unbearable, your panties pushed to the side, Kenan's braud fingers deep inside of you, lubricated by the liquid that help spark the flame of the craziest orgasm that you ever experienced.

"Fuck."

You crumbled against the bathroom walls. With Kenan slipping out of you to reach for your jaw, pulling your face towards his, rewarding his good girl with a gentle kiss.

"You did good baby. So fucking good."

You smiled weakly and allowed his helping hand to get you back up on your feet.

"I want you to feel good to."

He smiled. "You already do."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Looking down the bulge in Kenan's pants gave him away. It was your turn to pleasure him.

"Y/N, you don't have to..." He protested, seeing you lower yourself to your knees. "The floor is dirty, baby. I don't want you to..."

"But Kenan..." You whimpered, your eyes big as you looked up at him. "I want to."

"Yes?"

You nodded, "Yes."

His hand went to the back of your head, gripping your hair. You were eager, licking your lips as you reached for his zipper, the bulge in his pants more than ready to be set free.

"Y/N, is that you?"

You froze.

Outside of the stall, the door to the restroom flung open, followed by heavy footsteps.

You looked up to see that Kenan shared the same look of panic in his eyes.

"Y/N!" Dusan hissed, your body trembling with the anger in his voice. "I can see your heels. I know you're in there. Who's in there with you?"

Your heart sank. Not like this, you thought. He will kill him. Your brother is gonna kill your boyfriend.

Part 1

[oflgtfol]

MarvelDC anon x5 sorry im back again I just wanted to say I agree 100% with everything you say and don’t rly have anything to add there that isnt just recycling your points. It’s genuinely fucking crazy how the entire point of the superhero in 90% of cases is that they are vigilantes who operate outside of the legal system and yet so many of them are given plot lines about how the cops or the military are Awesome. Or like will show them buddy buddy with cops or the government. LIKE STOP ITTTT. STOP ITTTTT. And most of the time too it’s for characters where them being hyper connected with the government etc makes their overall story Worse. Ill use flash as an example bc You Know that guy but I LOVE flash I love him as a disabled character struggling w addiction issues for personal reasons BUT HIM LOSING HIS LEGS LIKE SHOOTING PEOPLE IN THE SWANA REGION AND THEN BECOMING A GOVERNMENT GUY IS SO FUCKING ASSSSSSS IT MAKES HIM WORSE AS A CHARACTER AND A PERSON IN A WAY THAT ISNT INTERESTING BECAUSE THEY NEVER SAY ANYTHING INTERESTING ABOUT IT!!!!! Like why the fuck did Flash even become disabled in regard to Going To Commit Imperialism For The U. S. A like NYC gets destroyed on the daily!!!! Have him lose his legs by a building falling on top of him!!!! Im spitballing ideas here but why wasn’t Venom Flash uhhhhhh Him Losing his legs in an event like that, in conjunction with him saving someone else, since this is the era of Symby and Eddie's breakup Symby is slithering along + sees this and helps him out, bc you know they can make their own choices and do what they want and maybe they wanna be a hero too even for a moment, then like maybe a few months later or whatever They Meet again and Symby is like hey….. I felt something when we bonded for that brief time. Im going through something rough too right now (The Divorce) so why don’t we try something new together. AND NOW BOOM. you can have Flash as Venom. Now without the stupid venom as addiction metaphor too! Like if you really fucking want you can include stuff about the government trying to manipulate them or whatever but as a whole this would have been so much better of an angle to start venom flash with but NO that we DIDNT GET Because Of The Military Complex meaning We Cant Ever Have Good Things

i know this is so controversial among the venom fans but like i'm really not that attached to flash lmfao i know nothing about him he's just some guy to me i just know he's so much better than mac gargan cuz by god that was a dark time for venom comics.

so now i'm the one nodding along with you and not adding anything lol. i trust you to come up with a better backstory for him because i literally don't know anything about him beyond the vaguest outline. i don't even know what war he fought in that he lost his legs to i dont know Anything. eddie some little absolute freak to me but flash is just some guy

Like if you really fucking want you can include stuff about the government trying to manipulate them or whatever but as a whole this would have been so much better of an angle to start venom flash with but NO that we DIDNT GET Because Of The Military Complex meaning We Cant Ever Have Good Things

i do have to say though that this is totally how i thought venom 2011 was going to go. the first like, four-ish issues got my hopes up so much. i really honestly thought it was going to be drawing parallels between symby and flash how they are ultimately just tools of the government, just weapons that can be discarded in pushing the military's agenda.

this whole page drove me insane at the time and it still kinda does. the way flash is lying directly to his superior to stay with symby longer despite how much he's been drilled that being with the symbiote too long is a danger. they aren't friends yet this early but there's still this impulse to stick with it. and it's because they're parallels!!! the symbiote is quite literally being treated as a mindless tool by the government - it's deprived of all rights that a sentient, sapient being requires. it's trapped and it's being forced into serving and fighting on behalf of a government that doesn't even care for it. likewise, flash is being given the illusion of choice, and to some extent he still does have a choice, but he's being so manipulated by the government here that really he is also just a mindless tool for them - or at least, they want him to be mindless about it. the final fucking panel at the bottom of the final page is crazy.

it was such a strong start to a run that i was very apprehensive about due to aforementioned lack of knowledge of flash as a character, and my general fed-up-ness with the way the comics had been handling venom and eddie in general during that irl time period. so i was so so hoping that it would be taking a blatant and staunch anti-military stance, or even at the bare minimum if it was even still done in a liberal way, as long as there was still SOME criticism of the military complex i would be jumping for joy. and the idea of flash and symby then also bonding during all that?!! crazy. but then it just kinda. goes off the fucking rails halfway through that run/??? like demons and hell and satan kinda off the rails. absolute bonkers. i need to reread venom 2011 actually i barely remember it it was like a fever dream to me. could have been because i descended into madness shortly after i read it but i digress

[endwersed]

WIP Wednesday

Cashing in on the open tag from the amazing @renmackree 💖

Here's a bit more from my current Sterek FWB AU - you don't see me. Derek continues to be straight (ha, sure) and Stiles continues to enable him. A li'l nsfw.

-

“I feel like I should argue, on account of your heterosexuality, and all,” Stiles says, tongue darting out to wet his lips for a second, “but I’m definitely way too horny to be a gentleman right now, so… get your pants off and get over here, Hale.”

Derek doesn’t quite trip and fall into a heap on the floor in his haste to step out of his shorts and briefs – but it’s a pretty near thing.

The clothes leave a dark cotton puddle behind his hurried footsteps, and it’s barely any time at all before he finds himself kneeing his way onto the bed, the soft mattress dipping beneath him as he chases Stiles towards the centre of it. Stiles has this huge, borderline ridiculous grin on his face as he watches Derek catch up to him, his eyes lidded, the brown almost entirely eaten up by the black of his pupils as he looks his fill.

In the mussed-up sheets, his fingers flex and unflex, pulling the fabric between his knuckles as he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. The inviting smile remains around it.

Without a word needing to pass between them, Stiles leans himself up and rolls himself over, flopping down onto his belly, the round of his perky ass now on full display for Derek’s laser focus. He pulls his legs underneath himself and shoves his shoulders against the bed, presenting himself face down and ass up, his knees shifting apart as he twists his head on the pillow to peer at Derek over his shoulder.

Derek knows he looks more than a little moronic right now; blinking down at Stiles with a gaping mouth, his hand curled tightly around his dick to stroke himself to full hardness – not that it takes much at all. But there’s very little he can do about it when it feels like his brain is threatening to leak out of his ears pretty much any second now.

“Condom?” he just about finds the cells to ask.

Immediately, he kind of really hates himself for even offering in the first place. Truly, he cannot think of something on this godforsaken earth that he wants more than to feel Stiles' tight, hot asshole clinging around his raw cock.

But it's what he should do; it's the right thing to do. So, even as he burns to bite them back, he lets the words spill from his lips just like acid, all the same.

Derek's skin grows hot with a renewed hunger when Stiles gives a quick shake of his head.

“I’m not seeing anyone. Still clean.” He shoves his forearms beneath the pillow he rests his head against, hips hitching just that little bit backwards, still not quite close enough for any skin-to-skin contact. “You?”

Derek feels something settle in the deep recesses of his bones, hearing that from Stiles. A question, unasked but introspectively obsessed upon, all the same, has been nudging at his bristling consciousness ever since Scott and Allison’s engagement party. A question of whether anything had blossomed from Scott practically forcing Stiles to meet that loser Brad.

He knows that they swapped numbers, couldn’t get away from the conversation fast enough to avoid hearing Stiles telling Scott all a-fucking-bout it. But he could never find the right way to ask Stiles whether anything came of that exchange; whether this… thing between them, between Derek and Stiles, had a quickly approaching expiry date, because somebody finally clued up and realised that Stiles is quite possibly the ultimate gay catch.

With a deep-seated sense of tranquility, he knows, now. Stiles isn’t seeing anyone. Stiles is still in this, with him. Stiles is still… his.

Whatever the fuck that means.

“Yeah,” Derek finally answers Stiles’ returned question. “Still clean, too.”

Stiles flashes him a grin, all teeth and promise.

“Then what are you waiting for, big guy?” he goads. “I was ready before you even joined the party.”

-

Low low low pressure tags 🥰 @dear-massacre @eevylynn @hedwig221b @lucky-bishop @violetfairydust

[justagaycryptid]

Ngl Will is a better man than me because if I had to deal with half the shit he’s had to put up with over the years I would have immediately quit

[front-facing-pokemon]

[wereh0gz]

Y'know I think I'm starting to truly understand the kids who just didn't do anything in class during middle and high school. As someone who used to be a gifted kid and never really got it. Fucking hell

[mewtwo24]

You know reading vol 5 of mdzs before all the rest (don't ask me why I'm a clown and there were Circumstances) has to be the craziest experience of my life. Because it took all of ten minutes of wwx talking to literally hit me so hard in the gut I had to sit down and listen to really loud music for a while to calm down.

Who needs therapy when mxtx is alive and writing, I guess????? 🤡

Can't wait to get to the actual tragic parts I just know I'm gonna be that "help" frog phone meme

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

ok so if i can't tell the truth about how i feel because that's mean and i can't be passive agressive then literally what is left. how do i communicate that she has hurt me and that it hurts more that she doesn't even seem to realise it without either sounding like a complete bitch or a petty bitter bitch........

[musical-chick-13]

I swear to every deity in existence, if Makima. MAKIMA. Complex genuinely terrifying villain of all time loses to fucking...Look. You know. I will actually throw hands.

[giantkillerjack]

Fear Street Trilogy (2021) does right what almost every other horror franchise does wrong and I love it very very much and I literally don't want to elaborate even though I could for like 10 pages because I wouldn't want to spoil anything! Just! One of the absolute best when it comes to the genre of ghost stories/slasher movies/nostalgic Halloween vibes, you name it. Instant classic.

[ID: a man yelling LET'S GO LESBIANS into a microphone and running down a street followed by a variety of lesbians.]

This image showed up when I searched the gif keyboard for Fear Street, and I cannot think of a more apt gif for these lesbian horror movies (eat it, Bly Manor!!!!)