#i did these warm ups without refs!

[airanke]

Pro-tip: use tools you're familiar with!! Tomorrow I will draw Abiteth 💙💙

[tianhai03]

did another arthur study for fun

[sharkbitten-sailor]

forsaken survivors x cat!reader - headcanons .ᐟ

a/n: not sure if i messed up anything due to lack of experience in writing. plus, english is not my native language, so im sorry for any grammar or spelling errors!

general hcs - you have all the charming features of a cat - a tail that sways when you're curious, ears that twitch at every little sound, and, of course, the softest paws imaginable! - oh, and you have some cat-like traits too. man, how are you so adaptable and flexible? you can literally slip through the thinnest corner ever or loop the killer without getting hit. not even once. - basically liquid at this point/hj - whether it’s scratching at walls or leaving marks on a killer who got too close, your claws are a force to be reckoned with. or simply you get bored :p - you have a favorite hiding spot and get grumpy when someone else takes it/ref - you rarely purr, mostly just hiss at everyone in sight lol unless they’re your absolute favorite.

noob - at first, noob don't quite know how to feel about you. they’re both fascinated by your unique traits and a little anxious, unsure of how to approach you. - it takes them time to warm up, but once they do, they find your presence incredibly soothing. probably because you remind them of their old pet cat, tac. - just having you around helps them feel less overwhelmed. - as a cat owner, they know a few tricks to help you relax: scratching your cheeks, rubbing your ears… but the only issue? they don’t have enough confidence to do it. - still, they did try to groom you once. you looked so peaceful that their face turned red like a berry. total flustered mess. - they have a habit of asking you the most unexpected things out of nowhere. “d-do you like b-boxy cola...?” “w-what about... salty food...?” - it’s their way of making conversation, even if it’s awkward at first. - one time, it was just the two of you left, and noob was completely overwhelmed by anxiety to the point that their figure trembled constantly. - without a word, you nudged them gently. that small act alone made their worries fade almost instantly. it melted their heart in a way they didn’t expect. - you see them as a premium napping spot. no words, no hesitation; you just stroll up, plop down next to them and sleep. - noob's honest reaction: OVERHEATING. brain blue-screening. - the argue to pat those small lil' ears of yours when you're sleeping ughhh >>>>

007n7 - he assumes you’ll steer clear once you learn about his past, just like everyone else. but you? you dgaf. the past is the past, and that’s that. - he’s caught off guard by that attitude of yours, almost unsure of how to react. - is this… genuine? the fact that you don’t just tolerate his presence; you actually seem to enjoy it leaves him a little stunned. and, maybe, a sense of happiness. - sometimes, 007n7 catches himself watching you, wondering how you can be so carefree in this ever-lasting hell. - secretly impresses by how fearless you look when looping the killer. you made it seem way too easy. - adores every moment when you try to mimic his clones. it makes him remember about the old time, in a good way. - after every match, you make it a habit to sit beside him during breaks. no hesitation, no awkwardness. just quiet companionship. - if elliot or others don't take care of his injuries, you do, calmly patching him up without a trace of discomfort. - he learns (the hard way) that you have a habit of affectionate arm-biting. whether he likes it or not, he’s your favorite target, and there’s no escaping it😇 - but hey, at least you do knead him sometimes :D especially his burger-hat. - he finds it both silly and calm to hear your soft purrs. something about them just sounds like honey: smooth, warm, comforting. - somehow, being around you helps. both in and outside the rounds. you've kind of become his metal life support at this point. - he asks if he can pat your ears, and you nod. the moment his hand touches them, he's stunned by how soft they are. a second later, realization hits. his face turns bright red as he quickly pulls away, completely flustered </3 - overall, 10/10.

shedletsky - a cat person meets a cat? what do you expect? chaos? check. instant best buddies? double check. - it takes no time at all for you two to bond. something about your energy just clicks with his. - he finds endless joy in teasing you, not caring if you hiss at him in response. in fact, he lives for it. - flicking your ears just to see your reaction/ref - he’s a menace who constantly pats your head just to get a reaction. always ends up with bite marks and scratches. - but does he stop? absolutely not. - your best revenge? stealing his precious fried chickens. he gets annoyed so bad. "you little gremlin- put that down!" - no matter how serious things get, one way or another, you and shedletsky always make it worse in the best way possible. - likes to stay close to you during rounds. either to guard you (cuz you're too curious and reckless for your own good) or to show off his sword skills. it's kinda awesome until he misses the stun. "oops, my bad. time to run!" - since there isn't enough room, when it's your turn to sleep on the couch or floor, he usually offers you his sleeping spot. (or, y'know… you just end up sleeping together :p) - gives off total 'one dares to think, one dares to try' duo energy. he cooks, you eat. you distract, he stuns. - actually enjoys when you knead on him. it's pretty soothing. - attempted to touch your paws once… and yeah, never again. the sacred toe beans remain off-limits. - little do you know, your presence alone is one of many thing that push him forward.

guest 1337 - dang. how hard is it to write for this guy bruh - when you first got kidnapped here, he was the most wary of you, more than anyone else. even when shedletsky took a quick liking to you. - can't blame him though. he've been through a freaking war himself. - might take quite long (like forever) to earn his trust. - it starts small: offering him a boxy cola (which he side-eyes but still drink) or a medkit, sticking around even when he insists he doesn’t need help. then, saving him more times than you can count by alerting him when the killer is near (thanks to your sharp senses), buying both of you some precious seconds to escape. - slowly, he starts seeing something, rather someone familiar in you, none other than his daughter - it's when your relationship with him takes another path. - he's already someone who puts others before himself, but with you, it's even 'worse'. you might have 9 lives, but he refuses to let you waste even one. - he tends to walk straight to you when the round has just started. something about the thought of you wandering alone doesn’t sit right with him. - he's ready to take the hits, insisting he's fine no matter how battered he gets. you have to threaten to bite him if he doesn't take a break. - doesn't make a difference if you have sharp senses of a cat, you are still a curious lil' goofball creature. guest 1337 has to pull you out of those mess you made + lecture you the n+1th time to not touch john doe's spikes or 1x1x1x1's minions. - he doesn’t trust you around his food. rightfully so. the number of times you've swiped a meal off his plate just to annoy him is unreal. - "unbelievable," he mutters while grabbing it back. - gives you a pat as a way of saying "good job," though it's not something he does often.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Personality Idioms

to describe your characters

All Brawn and No Brains - Refers to someone who’s strong and muscular, but not very intelligent.

Armchair Critic - People who pretend to know a lot about something, but really don’t know anything about it at all; those who sit back and criticize the way you do something without getting up and helping out. There’s a little armchair critic in all of us. Have you ever criticized an athlete’s performance (or, more likely, a ref’s call)? Or judged a dancer or singer on a reality TV show?

Born with a Silver Spoon in one’s Mouth - Means you come from a wealthy family with a high social position. The spoon you actually use these days probably isn’t a great indicator of your wealth, but in the Middle Ages, only commoners used wooden spoons. This idiom speaks more to the spoon-bearer’s personality than just their social status: Entitled, naive, presumptuous. All the qualities you’d expect of someone who wasn’t allowed to leave the palace walls.

Butter wouldn’t Melt in his/her Mouth - Describes someone who appears demure, innocent or sincere, but is actually unkind and devious. It’s saying you’re so cool and collected, that you wouldn’t even be warm enough to melt butter.

Doubting Thomas - A skeptic who refuses to believe something without personal experience or physical evidence. The idiom comes from apostle Thomas (Didymus), who did not believe Jesus had risen from the dead. He said to the other disciples: “Unless I shall see in His hands the imprint of the nails, and put my fingers into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.” While being skeptical and demanding truth are wonderful qualities to have when learning new things, constant doubters can also come off as being overly critical or looking down on others’ beliefs.

Dyed-in-the-Wool - Describes a person’s deeply ingrained political, cultural or religious beliefs. It comes from the fact that when wool is dyed before it is woven, the color is less likely to fade. In the positive sense, you could be a dyed-in-the-wool sports fan, meaning you’re faithful to your team, even when they suck. But, it can also mean you are unwilling to be open to other ideas or beliefs because of how ingrained you are in your own opinions.

Long in the Tooth - Means someone's old. This idiom likely comes from the practice of examining horses’ teeth to determine their age. It’s generally an unkind or humorous way to refer to people who do something they seem too old for.

Shrinking Violet - An exceedingly shy person. This idiom is typically assigned to girls, but who’s “Violet?” The poetic origin of this idiom was describing the flower, not a girl. Sometimes, this idiom is used as “she’s no shrinking violet,” which describes a woman who is outspoken and not afraid to express her views.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[demie90s]

request for model! reader who is pretty with a mean streak, impatient and snappy new yorker vibe, chats and makes fun of everyone/super sarcastic on the team but becomes really sweet and soft when talking to caitlin, and caitlin loves how special it is talking to her, but no one believes that she is soft until the team overhears caitlin on the phone with reader and they are shook

She’s Only Sweet to Me

Caitlin x Model!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Your that girl—model-pretty, sharp-tongued, New York raised with a mouth that could make a ref cry. Caitlin’s the only one who gets a different version of her.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Slow burn, sports romance, slice of life, banter & fluff

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Strong language, sarcasm, affectionate nicknames, team-wide whiplash, Caitlin being loved correctly

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.4k

ᴠɪʙᴇ:“You’re literally annoying.” / “And you’re literally 6’0 and still missed a layup.” —5 minutes later on the phone— “Hi baby… you eat today? You sound tired, I miss you.”

First Person — Caitlin’s POV

Everyone on the Fever thinks I’m lying. Like, actually lying.

They’ve seen her—tall, gorgeous, snatched hair, designer everything, iced-out nameplate that says “rude.”

She comes to games in sunglasses she refuses to take off, tells the refs they suck with zero hesitation, and once called Aliyah “adorable in a puppy way.”

Last week, she looked up from her phone, smacked on her gum, and told NaLyssa:

“You could’ve blocked that shot, but I get it. Maybe your spirit left your body.”

No one’s safe. Not even the coaching staff. She’s sarcastic, impatient, always talking shit And somehow? She’s my girlfriend.

Which no one believes.

Because apparently I’m “too nice” and she “probably doesn’t even like people.”

But they don’t get it. She melts for me. And today? They’re about to find out.

We’re sitting in the recovery room after practice. Everyone’s scrolling, chatting, decompressing. I’ve got ice on my ankle and my phone buzzes.

🖤 lil meanie: “u done?? pick up pls. miss u”

I smile before I even unlock my screen.

“Hey, baby.”

Her voice is so soft I literally sink back into the cushions.

“Hi, pretty girl… you okay? Did they overwork you again?”

I can feel heads turning. But I keep going, like it’s normal. Because to me, it is.

“A little,” I say. “I’ve got ice on. But I’m okay now. You calling made it better.”

I hear a dramatic gasp from the next table. I glance up. Erica’s looking at me like I just revealed a secret identity.

“She’s still being mean to everybody else?” I whisper.

“Ugh, yes,” she sighs. “Someone told me I looked ‘too good to be stressed’ so I’d better not miss my free throws.”

Pause.

“That someone was me. But still.”

I laugh, covering the mic. But she hears it.

“Are they around?” she asks. Her voice drops, warm and teasing. “Are you hiding me?”

And now I’m grinning like an idiot.

“No,” I murmur. “They’re just… shocked. You’re kind of ruining your whole brand right now.”

She laughs—this ridiculously cute little sound.

“Should I hang up before they find out I make you playlists and send you ‘drink water’ texts like I’m your mom?”

It’s too late.

“WHO IS THAT?” Kristy yells.

Grace is frozen mid-protein shake. Aliyah’s halfway off the table like she needs answers immediately.

“That’s her? The meanie?? The model???”

I stay calm. I blink.

“Yeah. She’s sweet when she likes you.”

“YOU MEAN TO TELL ME—”

Erica’s hands are in the air like she’s testifying in church. “—THAT IS THE SAME GIRL WHO CALLED ME A ‘SPIRITUAL CHARITY CASE’??”

I shrug, smug.

“She tells me I’m her peace.”

And then. Without warning, I put her on speaker.

“Hi,” I say.

“They’re all here. They heard everything.”

There’s silence.Then.

“…I hope every one of you pulls your hamstring in warmups.”

“There she is,” Grace laughs.

Aliyah claps. “Order has been restored.”

But me? I’m still smiling. Because the second I take her off speaker, she’s right back to it.

“Sorry you had to share me for a second,” she murmurs.

“Now… tell me what you want for dinner, baby.”

Yeah. She’s only sweet to me. And they finally get it.

[dionysus-drabbles]

Constantly on the cusp (of tryin’ to kiss you)

pairing: sid jenkins x f!reader

summary: you hooked up with sid all summer. it becomes a hell of a lot harder trying to navigate your relationship when you’re back at college together.

word count: ~2.4k

warnings: fluff, smut, & a hint of angst, freud references, dug out my a level psych textbooks for this one, possible mischaracterisation, reader smokes, reader is described as wearing a bra, shirt, shorts, and tights but it’s easily overlooked, protected piv sex, teasing, one or two mentions of marijuana, hickeys, ghosting, one mention of alcohol, sid is mentioned to have kissed another girl, refs to casual sex between sid & reader.

a/n: if ur the anon who requested, hi! hope I did ur req justice, i tried to include fluff, smut, and a little angst - I got a little carried away! hope I characterised him well enough & you enjoy it 💋 title from do i wanna know? by the arctic monkeys

It’s a warm Friday night, the cool breeze blowing through the window serving as a distant threat of the September weather yet to come. The sky is streaked with pink and purple, the gold of the sun setting shining in the horizon, the type of night you’ll know you’ll see as nostalgic as you grow older, and you’re in Sid’s room. You’re sat at his desk, reading from one of your psychology textbooks, pausing for a minute so Sid can keep up with writing notes, but the telltale scratching sound of pen on paper doesn’t come. When you spin your chair around, Sid’s lying on his bed, fingers laced over his stomach, eyes fixed on the ceiling - pen and notebook by his side.

“Oi,” you say, standing up and plopping down on the bed next to him, the shift in weight making him sit up and meet your gaze. “You’re meant to be taking notes,”

“It’s only September,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, suit yourself. Have fun failing your a-levels while we all go to uni, though, yeah?”

“Don’t be a twat. Why can’t I read and you make the notes?”

“Made them already,”

“Why can’t I use yours, then?”

“You’re seriously asking that?” You cock a brow, letting out a snort of amusement. You fall into silence for a minute, one that’s nothing if not awkward. Following your summer, being in Sid’s room without so much as a spliff, let alone your clothes on, felt unnatural. You’d found yourself fucking Sid for the first time after the first party of the summer, and it had quickly turned into a regular occurrence. Throughout August, the elephant in the room had been September, and you supposed it had been silently agreed to forget it ever happened. Easier said than done, based on the way your thighs pressed together whenever he moved vaguely in your direction.

“Can we not do this tonight, at least? Reckon we could make it to Tony’s party,” he suggested, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Psychodynamic approach isn’t going to learn itself, Sidney,”

“Fuck Freud. He just makes this shit up, it doesn’t make sense,”

“See, if you’d revised, you’d be calling it unfalsifiable,” you teased, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket.

“Piss off, let me have one,” Sid insisted as you lit it, blowing the smoke from your first toke in his face instead.

“Never taught manners, hm?” You snarked, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Please?” He countered, if reluctant. You turned to face him - when did you two get this close together? You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, smell his breath, and you suddenly realise his eyes are on your lips, not the cigarette. It’s instinctive now, the way you tilt your head ever so slightly when he’s this close to you, the way you lean in ever so slightly. His lips are about to brush yours when your phone beeps with a text and you both jolt back. You read it, shoving the cigarette into his hand as you stand up.

“I need to head home. Finish the fag. You can keep the textbook.” You leave without waiting for a response.

You have two unread messages!

sid: same time nxt week?

sid: will do wrk this time

When he next comes to revise it’s at your house, and somehow that makes you feel like you have the upper ground in this emotional cold war more than anything else. Your stomach turns whenever you think of how near you were to kissing the week before, and you’re not entirely sure if it’s butterflies or nausea. Either way, you’re sickeningly fixated on it. Unfortunately, the one time he’s focused, keeping to his promise to do work, you’re distracted.

“We’ve finished psychodynamic. Take five before humanistic?” You suggest, and he nods, leaning to open the window before coming to sit beside you on the bed. You give him a cigarette before you get one for yourself this time, but curse when you feel in your pockets to find them empty. And, like he can read your mind, he offers a lighter. You go to take it from him, cigarette between your lips, but he lights it for you instead. It’s oddly intimate, and you’re sure the feeling in your stomach is butterflies this time - and every other time.

You’re quiet as you smoke. Apparently, your mind thinks this is the perfect time to replay every single interaction you’ve had with Sid in this room. Every smoke, every kiss, every fuck, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep your resolve.

“Hey,” he says, nudging your leg with his foot. “Is there…are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, we uh- we should probably get back to-“ you stub your cigarette out as you speak, the butt of his already sat in the ashtray, but you’re not given the chance to finish your sentence as his lips press against yours. It’s a shock, but the farthest thing from unwelcome. One of his hands entangles in your hair, the other on your waist, and one of yours caresses the skin of his cheek whilst the other cards through the tufts of hair his beanie leaves revealed at the nape of his neck. Your tongue presses at his lips, compelling them to slide open, and you taste the smoke in his mouth, reminiscent of the cigarettes stubbed out only a moment before, stifling the taste of weed. He’s just as addictive, if not more than, and you think that you’d happily never smoke again if he said you could be together, have this regularity with him.

There’s a moment of awkward shuffling as Sid readjusts his position, and you take the minute to catch your breath. His back’s to your bed frame, and his hand travels south to your thigh and nudges with his pointer and middle finger, and you’ve been hooking up long enough to know he wants you in his lap.

“Are you- can I?” He stammers, hand having moved to the hem of your shirt, looking down at it before meeting your eyes, and god, you’re not sure why you ever thought you had the higher ground with him. You pull it off for him, and his breathing falters, leaving him shakily as his eyes are level with your breasts. You can feel his hardening cock twitch in his trousers belong you, and all of a sudden it’s summer again, and you don’t care about exams, universities, anything but each other.

His lips attach to your chest, sucking dark bruises onto your flesh. They’re discreet, they’ll be hidden by your shirt, but they’re there, and he gave them to you. You grind your hips down into him and he lets out a broken moan, voice cracking with pleasure halfway through. The possibility of coming before he’s even inside you crosses his mind, and he knows he needs to fuck you as soon as possible. He helps you manoeuvre until you’re beneath him, hands shaking with desperation as he fiddles with the button on your shorts, tugging the zip down and sliding his hand beneath the shorts, the tights, taking a minute to slide his fingers across your cunt through your pants, dragging his gaze back to yours with a grin.

“All this, already?” He mocks, tilting his head to the side as you break eye contact and squirm from the pressure of his fingers.

He knows he’s in no position to talk, and he knows the risk of blowing his load in his jeans is getting more and more realistic, so he wastes no time in pushing your clothing down to your mid thighs and nudging a finger into your heat whilst his thumb circles lightly around your clit, painfully teasing. You throw your head back, whining, and he uses his other hand to stroke your cheek, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “Need you to be quiet, yeah? Don’t want anyone hearing, need this all for me,” the possessiveness mixed with his thumb pressing firmly on your clit and the addition of a second finger has you clenching around him, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you try to muffle any noise that might slip out. You know you’re close, your fingers scrabble for purchase on Sid’s back, one hand pulling his beanie off and allowing you to reach your hand into his hair.

He knows you’re close, attentive to the way your legs start trembling and you tense up, and he withdraws any contact before you do. Any complaints you make he hushes, murmuring into your ear as he frees himself of his own jeans, pulling a condom from his pocket in the process.

“You’re so mean,” You whine, hands reaching to help roll the condom onto his cock, tip red and already leaking precum.

“Yeah, m’sorry, sorry for being mean,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves back over you. “Let me…need to make it up to you now, right?” He asks, aligning his cock with your entrance. He kisses you as he pushes inside, any noises either of you would make muffled into each other’s mouths. He rambles as he fucks into you, chests almost pressed together, as physically close to you as possible.

“So good. So gorgeous. Been missing doing this, y’know? Made me wait so long to have you, got me going crazy,” he nips at the juncture of your jaw and neck between sentences, each word punctuated with the type of slow stroke that has you arching your back into him, and you find yourself pulling his t-shirt off and running your hands over his skin as if it’s the last time you’ll ever feel it, smiling as you watch the muscles in his abdomen tense and relax as your fingertips brush against his hips. He picks up the pace ever so slightly, moving one of your legs so it presses against his waist and your heel digs into his back, and you mirror it with the other. He kisses you again as he watches you try to stifle a moan from the new angle, nails raking up and down the pale, smooth expanse of his back. Neither of you last much longer, and he has to leave within the hour. You’re left with a dull ache between your legs, a chest tingling from where his lips attacked it, and heart pounding with adrenaline. Oh, and a text. One that comes precisely seven minutes after he leaves.

sid: u free same time next wk?

Then next week, you’re left waiting. Five minutes turns into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. Thirty into an hour. You check your phone.

You have zero new messages!

You: nvr heard of warning sum1 when ur busy, sidney?

You don’t receive a response. He’s not in second period psychology on Monday, and you catch Michelle as you leave class.

“D’y’know where Sid is? He just aired me on Friday,” you say, lugging your bag onto your shoulder. Michelle shrugs.

“Probably on a comedown. You should’ve been there Friday, everything was going pretty hard, you’d have loved it. Last saw him then,” she shrugs, and your heart sinks. Oh. For a moment, your chest falls. Why would he do that? Shag you and ghost you? Why didn’t he do that in the summer, if he wanted to? The hurt quickly shifts into rage, a furious red feeling that seems to engulf you. If he wanted to play it that way, play the ghosting game, you’d let him. Fine. You didn’t need him. You resolved not to message him, going as far as to change his name in your contacts, but the texts you received that evening made it hard to stick to.

do not answer: (y/n)?

do not answer: im sorry, yeah?

do not answer: i need 2 talk 2 u

do not answer: coming ovr

You don’t say no. You should’ve said no, you know it’s better if you say no, you know you’re supposed to want to say no. But you don’t. When the knock comes on the door fifteen minutes later, you’re hoping it’s him. September weather has settled over Bristol, and it’s pouring with rain, so you end up opening the door to a particularly rain-drenched Sid Jenkins. He makes no effort to come inside, though.

“I’m sorry,” he says it before you’ve even fully opened the door.

“It’s fine, I don’t care, but, like, don’t expect any more tutoring, yeah?” you shrug, hoping your lie that you don’t care is more believable than it seems. He lurches forward and kisses you, a hand firmly on either side of your face, and when he pulls away you drag him inside and slam the door, staring at him with a sort of offended disbelief.

“I was gonna message, alright?! But then this girl kissed me at Tony’s for pres, and…I don’t know, I called her your name, and I just freaked out. I’m sorry for shagging and ghosting you, but it’s just…I can’t not date you, y’know? You’re just so nice and smart, and you actually listen to what I say. I’ve never had that before, I got scared. Tell me to leave, I will, I just needed to…I needed to tell you.” Sid rambles, and he could not be any more shocked when you kiss him. His arms wrap around your waist, and you don’t even care that he reeks of leftover sweat, booze, and weed from the weekend, or that his clothes are soaking yours. He’s yours, he thinks you’re nice, and smart, and pretty, and he wants to date you. You smile as you pull away, pushing his glasses back up his nose from where they’ve slipped and thumbing a section of wet hair off his forehead.

“So, dating, yeah?” You grin, still holding each other.

“I don’t know, I-do you want to?”

“Yes, Sid, I want to,” you giggle, and you’ve barely finished speaking before you’re kissing again. “Y’know, Freud would have said that calling another girl my name was an example of parapraxis”

“Are you really mentioning Freud right now?”

[scribblesofagoonerr]

derby day | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

just small blurb inspired by yesterday's game.

double the trouble masterlist

“I cold, Nana!” You whined, your little body shivering despite the pink puffer jacket wrapped snugly around you.

“I know, sweetheart,” Amanda replied, her voice soft and soothing, “It’s a good job you’ve got a big puffer jacket on to keep you warm, isn’t it?”

“I still cold, doh. I don’ like it!” You squirmed in your seat, frustration bubbling as the icy rain drizzled down around you.

You weren’t having a good time at all. The cold, biting air somehow seemed to cut straight through your coat, and after a weekend filled with back-to-back games, you were utterly exhausted.

Sitting in the pouring rain at Stamford Bridge, tired, wet and grumpy your mood was quickly going downhill.

Arsenal were losing. To make matters worse, Katie had just been sent off the pitch. That was the final straw.

You’d had enough.

“Boo! Bad ref! No’ like ou'!” You shouted, your tiny fists clenched in defiance. Your cheeks flushed with anger as you glared at the pitch, completely unbothered by the looks from those around you, “Bad ref! Bad decision!”

Besides you, Monkey blinked in surprise, “Yikes. Didn’t expect that,” She muttered, shaking her head with a mix of amusement and agreement, “Seriously, ref? That was a bad call!” She said louder, crossing her arms dramatically.

You nodded with vigour, your little scowl growing even deeper, “I don’ like her. Dat was mean to send Auntie Katie off da pitch!” Your voice trembled with indignation as you shifted restlessly, clearly unhappy with the referee’s decision.

“The ref is clearly biased, I guess,” Monkey chimed in, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh, like she was about to give up on everything.

Around you, the atmosphere was a mix of energy and frustration. Fans were singing, chanting, and booing in waves that echoed through the stadium. A few choice words–ones you knew you weren’t supposed to say–rang out loud and clear from some disgruntled supporters nearby.

So, naturally, you thought it must be okay for you to say them too.

“You’re shit, ref!” Your little voice rang out over the Arsenal away end, the words surprisingly loud for someone so small. Heads turned, and a few fans nearby exchanged amused glances.

“You tell ‘em, kid!” One fan chuckled, clearly trying to stifle their laughter.

Monkey froze, her jaw dropping as she turned to stare at you in disbelief, “Oh my God,” She whispered, clearly trying not to laugh.

Nobody–nobody– saw that one coming from you.

“Excuse me, young lady!” Amanda’s voice was sharp, cutting through the moment like the cold rain around you, “We do not say words like that. Where on earth did you hear that kind of language?” Her eyebrows shot up as she turned to face you, her expression full of disapproval.

Without missing a beat, you pointed an accusing finger straight at Monkey, “Monks’ said it before!” You declared with the kind of righteous confidence only a child could muster.

Monkey’s mouth fell open, “What? No, I didn’t! Don’t even try to pin the blame on me, you little worm!” She argued, her tone somewhere between exasperated and amused.

Amanda’s stern gaze shifted to your favourite person, “Monkey,” She warned, her voice full of suspicion.

“I didn’t, 'Manda!” Monkey held her hands up defensively, “I swear, I didn’t teach her that–She must’ve heard it from the other fans!” She insisted, her cheeks turning red.

“Nuh uh, it’ all Monks’ fault!” You disagreed with a stubborn pout, crossing your arms tightly across your chest, “It true, Nana. I only copyin’ her!”

Monkey glared at you, her eyes narrowing with a mix of shock and playful annoyance, “You lyin’ little…” She muttered under her breath, clearly biting back the rest of her words.

“Monkey!” Amanda cut in, her sharp tone cutting her off before she could finish.

Monkey slumped back in her seat with a defeated sigh, “I wasn’t… I weren’t gonna say anythin’ bad,” She mumbled, glancing away as her embarrassment deepened.

“Don’ like it! Arsenal no win!” You pouted, kicking your little legs in frustration as Amanda tried her best to call you.

“They tried their best, sweetheart,” Amanda replied soothingly, tucking your hood tighter around your face to shield you from the rain.

“Tupid’ Chelsea. Don’ like dem!” You huffed, crossing your arms as Monkey snorted beside you.

“Hey, I have a great chant in mind,” Monkey said, her eyes lighting up mischeviously.

Amanda shot her a warning look, “Don’t you even think about it, madam.”

Before Monkey could reply, the referee’s whistle pierced through the air, signalling the end of the game. Arsenal had lost after six gruelling minutes of added time.

The result was clear, and so was your stormy mood–it darkened even further.

You balled your little fists and glared at the pitch with fiery determination, “I wanna fight dem! Dey meanies!” You declared loudly, kicking your feet as if you were preparing for battle.

“No, no, ah-ah. We don’t fight,” Amanda said quickly, catching you before you could squirm out of your seat.

“But why no' fight, Nana?” You whined, your pout deepening, “Dey made Arsenal lose! I wan' fight ‘em!”

“No fighting, and that’s final,” Amanda repeated, steadying you with a firm hand.

“Fine,” You grumbled, crossing your arms dramatically, “But I wan’ go see Mummy now. She’s sad. I cheer her up!”

Amanda hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the potential chaos you could cause.

“Don’t worry, ‘Manda, I’ll take her down. I’ll make sure she doesn’t start swinging at anyone in blue,” Monkey offered with a grin, already standing up and tugging her jacket on.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Amanda said with relief before focusing her attention back on you, “Right, little miss, listen to me. Your big sister is going to take you down to see Mummy, but you have to promise there’ll be no fighting. Understood?”

You nodded solemnly, sticking your thumb up in a dramatic gesture, “Ou' got it, dude!” You declared before scrambling out of your seat, your little legs ready to bolt, “C’mon, Monks! We gots to find Mummy an' make her feel 'appy again!”

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Monkey replied, grabbing a hold of your hand before you could dash off like you had a terrible habit of doing so.

“Ou' so slow!” You huffed, stomping your foot, “Havin’ a baby makes ou' slower, Monks’!”

Monkey raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, “That’s not true. My baby’s literally the size of a blueberry--it’s still tiny,” She explained, giving your hand a gentle squeeze to keep you from wandering.

“Monks’, when ou' have our' baby, will ou' still play football?” You asked, your wide eyes looking up at her with curiosity.

“I guess,” Your favourite person agreed, glancing down at you with a small smile.

“But who’s gonna look after the baby when our' on da pitch? Cos’ Mummy will be playin’ too!” You pressed, clearly concerned.

Monkey paused, thoughtful for a moment, “I don’t know yet, Buddy,” She admitted with a small shrug, “But I guess I’ve still got time to figure it out.”

Your eyes lit up with determination, “I can watch dem for ou'! I can do a good job cos’ I’m gonna be da best Auntie!” You declared confidently, puffing out your chest.

Monkey chuckled, ruffling your hair, “Oh, yeah? Somehow, I don’t think a three-year-old is the best babysitter for a newborn.”

“I nearly four!” You argued, your voice rising in indignation, “Dat means I gonna be older an' even better!”

“Alright,” Monkey bit back a grin, shaking her head, “Maybe we can revisit that when you’re officially four years old then.”

You frowned, unimpressed with her response, “Monks–”

“Look!” Monkey interrupted quickly, pointing towards the pitch with a smirk, “There’s Mum! Why don’t you go bombard her with all your questions?”

Your eyes lit up at the sight of Leah, and you let out an excited squeal, “Mummy! Mummy!”

Leah turned around at the sound of your voice, a tired but warm smile spreading across her face as she spotted you barreling toward her. She crouched down just in time to scoop you into her arms, holding you close, “Hi, Bubba!” She greeted, her voice filled with affection.

You scrunched up your nose almost immediately, “Ew, Mummy! Our' all wet. Gross.”

Leah laughed, brushing a stray piece of wet hair from her face, “Well, that’s what happens when you play a full ninety minutes in this lovely British weather.”

“That’s some fine sarcasm,” Monkey quipped from behind you, clearly amused.

Your attention quickly shifted to the pitch, your little face scrunching up with frustration as you spotted several Chelsea players and the referee, “Bad ref! Bad Chelsea!” You shouted, while giving them a death glare.

“Oh, here we go again,” Monkey snickered, try and failing to hide her amusement.

“Put me down, Mummy. I wan' fight d! emLet me at ‘em!” You grumbled, thrasing around in Leah's arms, "I fight 'em all!"

Leah sighed, tightening her grip on you as you continued to wiggle in her arms, “Ah, ah, not happening, Bubba. We don’t fight.”

“But dey made Arsenal lose!” You protested, kicking your feet in the air, “I teach ‘em a lesson! Tupid’ Ref! ‘Tupid Blues!”

“Because fighting isn’t how we solve things,” Leah explained patiently, kissing your forehead, “And I don’t think anyone will take too kindly to a toddler running riot around the pitch, would they?”

“I no run riot, Mummy. I just… I kick ‘em!” You insisted, wanting down as soon as possible.

Monkey snorted, shaking her head in amusement, “Well I don’t think that would go down well either.”

Leah nodded, gently rubbing your back to calm you down, “Exactly. Right now, I just need my Bubba to give me a big hug. Can you do that for me?”

You grumbled under your breath but relented, wrapping your arms tightly around Leah’s neck, “Fine, but if dey do it ‘gain, I gon' fight ‘em, Mummy!”

Leah smiled, her voice soft and reassuring, “I’m sure you’ll always have my back, Bubba. But for now, how about we just focus on cheering each other up, yeah?”

“Okay, Mummy,” You said with a small smile, nestling into her shoulder as your earlier frustration began to fade away. But then your head shot up, and your eyes sparkled with excitement, “Mummy! Monks’ said when I’m four, I can look afta her baby!”

Leah froze, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at Monkey, who immediately stiffened, a guilty look spreading across her face.

“She what?” Leah asked slowly, her tone calm but dangerously sharp, as Monkey took a cautious step back.

“I–uh–gotta go!” Monkey stammered, spinning on her heel and making a break for it, leaving Leah standing there, stunned and you giggling mischievously in her arms.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[waitingonher]

ELECTRIC TOUCH — [jason grace dating headcanons]

author's note: i need 2024 to be THE year. 2023 did me soooo dirty. im praying

dating JASON GRACE would be like dating someone from a regency era romance novel…he’s just SUCH a hopeless romantic but he would rather die than admit it.

in the initial first few weeks of dating, jason was sosososooooo shy about pda/physical touch. it’s not that he was uncomfortable, he LOVES physical touch, but he had just gone so long without it that he wasn’t used to it. but eventually, he warms up to it…and now he can’t go without having at least one part of him touching you 😭 

when it came to things like hugs, kisses, handholding, etc. jason would always wait for you to initiate it because he was so anxious about making you uncomfortable ?? fjsldfjs 

but when you communicated that he didn’t need to ask/wait for you all the time, jason started initiating things more. even still, he occasionally gets nervous to even hold your hand? like wdym you’ve been dating for over six months and you still get nervous doing simple couple things 😭 it’s very endearing though 

chivalry is NOT dead,, and it’s because of jason LMAO. he’s the type to swap shoes with you even though you’re wearing heels that are 3x too small for him, but hey, at least your feet don’t hurt anymore!

jason’s also hellbent on carrying things for you, opening doors for you, pulling out/pushing in chairs for you, etc… GOD HE’S SO CUTE. 

since dating him, you don’t think you’ve ever touched a single door or car handle when he’s with you. 

jason is NOT afraid to advocate or stand up for you, especially if you’re more on the quiet & non-confrontational side. if you’re in a group setting and someone interrupts you, he’s making sure you get your chance to say what you wanted to say. and he doesn’t do it in a way that leaves you embarrassed, he’s very very classy with it! 

if you’re a big music person, jason will literally learn your favorite artist’s entire discography so you guys have another thing to talk about. 

you guys also have a shared playlist of “your songs” and he’s so serious about it 😭 if jason hears a song that even remotely reminds him of you, he’s going to the ends of the earth to figure out what it’s called. 

rip to anyone around him if shazam doesn’t work! he’s gonna send voice messages to your big group chat humming the tune, but he’s so tone deaf that no one knows the song…and his search history is just variations of “song that goes du du ooh du ooh du du ooh” a for effort though babes…

jason’s love languages are definitely acts of service and quality time. over the years and throughout the many battles he’s fought, he’s come to realize that all he wants to do when he comes home is just spend time with his loved ones. 

after a busy day, you’ll come home to find your laundry folded, bed sheets washed & freshly made, along with a sweet little note from jason <3 

your guys’ thing are writing notes to each other. considering his and your busy schedule, you’ll write and leave tiny notes around the house for each other to find. it’s one of the many reasons why jason gets up in the morning. 

he loves coming home to you after a long day to simply melt in your arms. there’s just something so soothing about cuddling with you after a busy day. 

it does not matter where you are, you guys could literally be cleaning the camp toilets and he’d still be able to find the fun in it. you’re his home, and he’d follow you wherever you go. 

if you play sports, you already know he’s showing up to ALL your games. it doesn’t matter if it’s pouring rain or if it’s hours away, he’s absolutely determined to show his support. jason even makes posters with your jersey number and when you have big tournaments he’ll show up with posters of your face 😭 the refs are SO tired of jason help

i feel like if he really tried, jason would be a good cook. 

one day you sent him a recipe you saw online saying you wanted to make it with him, but then he decided to make it himself to surprise you. and it was actually so good??? 

JASON IN A “KISS THE COOK” APRON OMFG. that’s what you got him for his birthday and every single time without fail, he’ll wear it when he’s cooking. 

one of his hidden talents is that he’s super good at origami. he originally picked it up because he heard it was a good stress reliever, but now he also does it for you <3 

he loves your reaction when he gives you little paper rings or an origami version of your favorite animal! 

this guy DREAMS of domesticity. he’s always been the type to date to marry, and that’s just what he intends to do with you! even though you guys are still young, he’s been planning your proposal sfjfls

tell me why he already knows what kind of ring he wants to get you… omg. 

he really wants to just settle down with you in new rome. but honestly, he’s willing to do anything as long as you’re at his side. 

expect flowers from jason at least once a month! he even keeps one flower so he knows when it’s time to get you a new bouquet. and if he’s away, he’ll get one of his friends to deliver it! 

i have this headcanon that the aphrodite cabin teams up with the hephaestus cabin to throw a really elaborate party, essentially like prom. anyways, jason would go all out for your promposal jfdsls i feel like he would either do a super funny poster/proposal like y’know that one guy who did that medieval promposal 😭 yeah well jason would do something like that but like...more roman... LMFAO him pulling up to your place in a chariot 

or he would do something super super intricate and planned out…like a fancy picnic and then he’d have the fauns arrange fireflies to spell out “prom?” when it’s dark out. 

ugh! jason grace the man that you are… <3 best bf ever,, i can confirm btw

[nameless-jamie]

Hi, I love your writing and I love that you post so frequently! Could you wrote a fic based on the scene in the finally in which Rupert tells West Ham's coqch to take Jamie out? Could be a separate story (maybe Y/N is Richmond's lawyer) and she finds out and wants to finish Rupert? Or in the P/A universe and Jamie teases her about being protective and caring about him after she stands up to Rupert?

Thanks!

Red Card

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes, angry Y/N, sexist joke from Rupert

A/N: I hope it's okay that I used your request for a Jamie Tartt x PA ff, I thought it fit so well. Thank you for the idea!

The energy in Nelson Road was electric. The stands were packed with Richmond fans, their chants echoing through the stadium as the team prepared for one of their toughest matches yet. The anticipation was palpable, the tension thick in the air, but none of it compared to the storm brewing inside her the moment she overheard Rupert Mannion’s words.

Y/N wasn’t even supposed to be standing on the sidelines during the match—technically, her job as Jamie Tartt’s personal assistant didn’t require her to be this close to the action. But after years of working with Jamie, she’d become part of Richmond’s inner circle, always hovering near the dugout with Roy, Beard, and Ted, ready to handle whatever ridiculous emergency Jamie threw at her.

But tonight? Tonight, she was glad she was there.

Because she overheard everything.

Standing just a few feet from West Ham’s technical area, she had no choice but to hear Rupert fucking Mannion—West Ham’s owner, snake, all-around waste of oxygen—lean toward his coach and murmur,

"Take Tartt out."

She had frozen, fingers tightening around the clipboard she had been holding.

"Hard. Do whatever it takes."

It was quiet. Calculated. Cruel.

Rupert’s voice was as smooth as it was poisonous, a quiet command given to West Ham’s coach, the kind of thing meant to be whispered in dark corners and carried out with no one the wiser. But she had heard it, and once she had, there was no way in hell she was going to let it slide.

It made something snap inside her.

Without thinking, she stormed across the grass, ignoring Roy’s “Oi, what the fuck are you doin’?” and Beard’s sharp “Y/N—don’t—”

She was already moving.

Marching straight up to him.

“Mister Mannion,” she said, voice saccharine-sweet with rage.

Rupert barely glanced at her. “Ah, Miss Y/L/N. Didn’t realize Jamie let his little assistant wander around unsupervised.”

She clenched her jaw. “I heard what you just said about Jamie.”

Rupert smirked. “Did you?”

“You told your coach to injure him.” Her voice was pure steel.

Rupert sighed, as if she were boring him. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Football is a physical sport.” He tilted his head, looking her over like she was some insignificant little thing he could swat away. “Though, I suppose you’d know all about being handled roughly. What’s Jamie got you doing these days? Fetching his water? Maybe warming his bed?”

Y/N lunged.

Her vision went red as she launched herself at him, fully prepared to end him right then and there.

Before she could so much as grab the smug bastard, two line refs yanked her back.

“Let me go—” she growled, twisting in their grip.

Roy and Ted were already jogging toward her, Roy looking absolutely thrilled and Ted looking like he was suppressing laughter.

One of the refs shook his head. “Sorry, miss, but you’re outta here.”

She stood beside Roy and Ted on the touchline, fuming, while the referee held up the red card like she was some kind of violent offender.

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Ted said, ever the peacemaker. “Now, I don’t wanna tell ya how to do your job, sir, but surely we can all agree that giving someone a red card when they aren’t technically a player is a little… excessive?”

“It’s the rules,” the ref said flatly.

“She doesn’t even play, mate!” Roy barked. “You can’t send her off!”

The ref shrugged. “Rules are rules.”

Roy, arms crossed, scowled so hard he looked ready to combust. “It’s a stupid fucking rule.”

“Stupid or not, she has to leave,” the ref insisted.

Y/N threw her arms in the air. “Oh, come on! I didn’t even do anything.”

The linesman coughed. “You tried to assault West Ham’s owner.”

“Tried being the keyword,” she snapped. “If you lot hadn’t held me back, I’d have succeeded.”

Rupert, still standing smugly nearby, let out a low chuckle. “My, my,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. “I didn’t realize Jamie’s assistant was so… passionate about her job.”

Y/N whirled back toward Rupert. “You’re a disgusting, pathetic excuse for a man,” she seethed.

Rupert only chuckled, waving his fingers at her like she was some little girl throwing a tantrum. “Run along now.”

The rage inside her burned.

“If anyone on West Ham lays a hand on Jamie, I swear to God, I will—”

Rupert tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “It looks an awful lot like you’re getting rather—” his lips curled into a smirk, “—emotionally involved with your client.”

The audacity of this man.

She felt the anger boiling in her chest, sharp and blinding, but before she could lunge, two line refs grabbed her arms, holding her back.

“Ohhh, I hate you,” she seethed.

Rupert just smiled, infuriatingly unbothered. “Careful now, boys. Wouldn’t want Jamie’s newest toy to get too scratched up before he inevitably trades her in for someone better.”

That was it. That was her breaking point.

She surged forward, only for the refs to tighten their grip, dragging her back toward the tunnel.

“LET ME AT HIM,” she yelled, legs kicking uselessly as she was forcibly removed.

“Jesus Christ,” Roy muttered, but there was unmistakable approval in his tone.

Ted just sighed. “Well, that went about as well as we could’ve hoped.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the way he dismissed her or the fact that she couldn’t do a damn thing about it, but she let the refs drag her off, still spitting curses as Roy followed them, arguing the whole way.

Jamie, standing on the pitch, barely caught the end of it—just enough to see his PA being forcibly escorted out, Roy yelling at the ref, and Y/N looking ready to kill someone.

He frowned. “What the fuck?”

Isaac, jogging up beside him, snorted. “Mate, Y/N just got a red card. She got sent off.”

“Right. And… why?” Jamie blinked. “She ain’t even a player.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got more fight in her than half of us,” Isaac muttered.

Sam, ever the optimist, said, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explana—”

“—Apparently she tried to murder Mr. Mannion,” Colin interrupted.

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuckin' hell.”

Jamie found her in the locker room after the game, sitting on one of the benches with her arms crossed, scowling at the floor.

She barely glanced up as he walked in.

He leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, smirking. “So.”

She huffed. “So.”

He tilted his head. “Wanna tell me why my personal assistant got sent off the pitch? ’Cause, I gotta say, love, that’s a new one—even for you.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Rupert told his coach to target you. To hurt you.”

Jamie felt something twist in his stomach. He wasn’t surprised—not really—but hearing it from her, hearing how angry she was about it…

It did something to him.

Before he could respond, she turned to face him fully, eyes blazing. “And then that prick had the audacity to say some sexist bullshit about me, and I—” She clenched her fists. “I snapped.”

Jamie smirked. “You snapped.”

“Yes.”

“And got dragged off the pitch.”

“Yes.”

“And got a red card even though you don’t play football.”

She groaned, rubbing her face. “Yes.”

Jamie couldn’t help it—he laughed.

Y/N shot him a glare. “Jamie.”

“Nah, nah, I’m just—” He shook his head, grinning. “You got sent off tryin’ to protect me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don��t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a thing.” A really sexy thing. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Admit it. You care about me.”

She scoffed. “Of course, I care about you. You’re my job.”

Jamie smirked. “And?”

“And nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Jamie leaned in, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “You sure sure?”

Y/N shoved him. “Shut up, Jamie.”

He laughed, stepping back. “Alright, alright.” He crossed his arms, eyes still bright with amusement. “But just so you know—next time, if you’re gonna get sent off, at least make it worth it.”

She huffed. “Oh, trust me. Next time, I’m throwing a punch.”

Jamie grinned. “Now that, love, I’d pay to see.”

And even though he teased her for it—because of course he would—he couldn’t help but feel something warm settle in his chest.

Because she had fought for him.

[bouncybongfairy]

Tease War

Ghost Simon Riley x Fem Reader

Summary: You try to tease Ghost until he breaks. Probably would have succeeded if you weren't a slut with self control issues.

Word Count: 1.0k

Ref Account: @kaionyx.

^(More specifically that post about teasing... obviously)^

TW: Rough Smut, Overtimulation, Dumbification, Thigh Riding

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Hearing the sound of the front door open and slamming shut made your stomach jump. Ghost was gone for the weekend and it felt like an eternity. For the past two days all you could think about was having him on top of you. Completely destroying your achy cunt while whispering the most vile things into your ear. Nothing satisfied you the way he did. It wasn’t just sex with him, you never fucked anyone that could bring you so close to your limits. Someone who could command complete control without needing to lay a finger on you. Hearing the heavy stomps of his boots upstairs made your heart skip a beat. You jumped slightly when he opened the door, the loud -thunk- of his duffle bag hitting the floor. He was still wearing most of his tactical gear, he looked huge. 

“I missed you,” he said, voice low and rough. You sat up and grabbed his shirt as he walked by the bedframe, trying to pull him into the tangled mess of blankets. 

“Come here,” you whine, pulling harder. 

“I have to get undressed,” he chuckles, starting to shed his gear and clothes. 

Part of you felt like he was teasing you; putting on a show. Biting the inside of your lip as he unlaced his boots. Unbuckling his belt, drawing attention to his bulge. Peeling his shirt off, making every muscle in his torso flex. The waistband of his boxers was extremely low, exposing his happy trail. His skin was littered with cuts, scraps and bruises. Taking his mask off lets his hair wild, standing up in several places. 

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you point out. 

“Doing what?” he asks. 

“Teasing me…” you said it with confidence but felt a little silly after vocalizing it. 

“All it takes is for me to undress in front of you to tease you? What are you gonna bust from a hug?” he chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed and turning on his controller. 

“Right, like you wouldn't fold if I did the same,” you scoff, crossing your arms.

“Come on love, we both know who’s more capable of showing self control. Don’t we?” he asked rhetorically. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you chuckled. 

“If you’d like to test my resolve, be my guest,” he said. 

You were determined to do exactly that, feeling quite confident that you’d break him first. Running your hands down his chest and onto his stomach from behind. Sucking hickies onto his neck, letting your lips drag up and down his skin. You moved to straddle him, playing with his hair while grinding against his bulge. The only thing separating your sexes was his boxers. You could feel him getting hard, his skin warming up and a red glow forming on his cheeks. Getting on your knees and pressing kisses against his bulge, admiring how his length was straining against the fabric. 

When that wasn’t giving any reaction, you take your shirt off. Turning around and grinding yourself against him. Letting your back rest against his chest, your head falling back on his shoulder. Moaning quietly into his ear as you rocked your hips against his length. The longer you went at it, the more you were getting worked up. Sweaty and breathing hard, leaving a wet patch on his boxers. Eventually you have to stop because you are getting close. You turn back around and get on your knees in front of him, catching your breath. He was looking down at you, grinning from ear to ear. 

One of the things he loved about you was how intelligent you were. It amazed him that physical gratification dumbed you down to such a primitive level. It was so obvious that you were breaking down, becoming more cock-drunk by the second. Kneeling in front of him, red in the face, practically panting with your cheek resting against his knee. How could a girl with such a perspective mind be completely oblivious to being used for show. All he could do was smile down at you, watching you do all the work for him. 

“Ignorance must be bliss, yeah?” he asked, brushing some hair out of your face; the contact making you arch your back. 

His dick twitched, watching how sensitive and overstimulated you had made yourself. Frenetically rambling about how much you wanted him. How long you waited for him to come home, offering any service you could think of in exchange for more than his eyes on you. A burning sensation began to develop in your stomach and chest. Extreme lust turned into frustration from him being so reactionless. His smirk that you earlier read as bashful was now just antagonistic. Sitting in the same position he started in; cocky bastard. You stood up and started riding his thigh, wetness immediately running down his leg. 

You suck in a loud gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck and moaning into his ear. No longer caring about the silly mind games from before. Your sex was swollen and hot against his skin. He pulled away from you and leaned back slightly, still doing nothing more for you other than watching. Admiring your chest bouncing and facial expressions. You grabbed his hand and held it to your throat, letting your head tilt back. The feeling of him touching you made you speed up on his thigh. Guiding his hand to slide down your body as you were getting closer. 

Your stomach was tightening and your legs were shaking. It was becoming harder to keep yourself up right once you were within reach of your climax. He finally threw you a bone and flick his thumb over your nipple which sent you over the edge. Cumming on his thigh, you rest your sweaty forehead against his shoulder. Letting out strangled moans while riding out your high. Feeling your pussy twitch against his thigh made him want to pin you against the mattress. Once you were done, you crawled off him and collapsed on the bed. He thought it was endearing that you assumed he was done with you.

[reminiscingtonight]

And The Things You'd Do

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader (Alessia Russo & Russo!Reader + Kyra Cooney-Cross & Russo!Reader)

Word Count: 1.4k

[The Thing About Families Masterlist]

It’s the shuffling of feet that draws your attention. 

You’re off stretching on the side of the field. Having just come back from injury, you’ve been approved for some light training and warm-ups while the other girls do their own drills. You’ve been doing alright all by your lonesome, so you’re surprised to see the Australian girl approaching. 

You’re quick to narrow your eyes at the sheepish look on her face.

“What is it?”

Kyra turns and you instantly see the problem. She tries to wiggle her arm, one sleeve somehow caught underneath her pinnie. “I’m stuck.”

Sighing, you jerk your head at her. “C’mere.”

The young girl brightens up at your command, dutifully rushing to your side before allowing you to free her from her self-made prison. 

“Go on,” you chuckle when she finally pops free. 

Kyra lets out a whoop before sprinting back towards the other girls.

You’re smiling fondly at her departing figure when you hear a familiar drawl.

“Thought you were getting sick of her.”

You roll your eyes. “Please. I had to grow up with you, Gio, and Luca. Kyra’s a breeze compared to you lot.”

Alessia lets out an offended squawk. “You take that back!”

You raise an eyebrow at her raised arm and Alessia freezes. She gives you a grin, quickly recycling her plans to give you a noogie. “Sorry. Point taken.”

“What can I say? She grew on me.”

Alessia huffs, dragging a toe in the grass as the two of you slowly make your way back to the others. “The taste of coffee can grow on you. Being relegated to passenger-side-car-DJ can grow on you. Annoying Australians cannot grow on you!”

“Relax, rat. I’m not replacing you with her. Think of Kyra as your unofficial niece.”

Alessia pulls a face at your words.

You shake your head. “Take it up with Lia. I’m pretty sure she’s ready to duel Mini for guardianship.”

---

So maybe you should’ve thought things through. 

When the ref whips out her red card, pointing for you to get off the field, you realize you might have gone a little too far. 

In your defense, it really wasn’t your fault.

The first yellow you get on purpose. 

No one messes with your baby sister. 

When Alessia is blatantly fouled and the referee lets play go on without a single care that the blonde is clutching her ankle in pain, it only seems right that you bulldoze through the player at fault. 

She milks the muck out of it and you’re rolling your eyes at the yellow card pointed your way, confidently swaggering your way back across the field to where Alessia’s still on the ground. 

Alessia winces when the trainer presses a little too hard on the joint, fingers nearly crushing yours that you’ve graciously lent her for support. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t have to do what?”

Alessia tries to look stern but all you can see is the little girl who would follow you everywhere just because she could. You know she’s trying to be strong but you’d recognize the tearful look on her face from a mile away.

Lia doesn’t find the humor in your act of retribution, rightfully chastising you into the locker room at halftime.

“It’s not my fault! Look what she did to Less! She’ll lucky if she only needs to be in the boot for two weeks!”

It isn’t until Kim gives you one of her disapproving glares that you wilt. 

“Sorry Kim,” you mumble, scuffing your shoes on the ground. “Won’t happen again.”

It happens again.

There’s only ten minutes left in the match when you feed the ball into your midfield and time seems to come to a standstill. 

You watch on with a twisted horror as Kyra leaps up to receive your ball. She barely gets a touch on it before she’s caught on the wrong side of a flying elbow, crumpling to the ground.

The whistle blows and you can practically hear the blood pumping in your ears. One second you’re rushing across the field to be by Kyra’s side. The next you’re pivoting midstride, catching sight of the smirk on the offending player’s face. 

No one’s close enough to stop you from shoving her over. 

“You think that’s funny? Throwing your elbow into her face? Let’s see if you think it’s funny when I do it to you!” 

Steph catches you by the waist and hauls you back before anyone can test how serious you are. 

You’re still yelling and spitting when the ref stalks over, hand already digging into her pocket. 

There are boos and jeers when the inevitable comes and you throw a hand up in disgust. 

“Go on then, you gonna card her for drawing blood too?”

It’s clear your teammates don’t know what to do. 

Getting a yellow card is rare enough for you. But getting two and then being thrown out of a game? Practically unheard of in the years you’ve been at the club.

You ignore the look on their faces as you stomp all the way off the pitch and straight for the med room. You see Leah quirk her eyebrow, ready to give you an earful but you just push past, knowing full well that you’re going to get your ass handed to you later.

Alessia blinks up in surprise at the sound of the door opening.

She’s sat on top of an examining table, ankle propped on a pillow and wrapped in ice.

It only takes a second for her to realize what’s wrong with the picture. Alessia glances at the clock on the wall before her eyes flicker back to your fuming face. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you mutter. You poke at the ice, ignoring the way Alessia hisses and slaps your shoulder. “How’s the foot? Are we going to need to amputate?”

Alessia rolls her eyes. “My foot is fine. Now what is this I hear of you getting a red card?” 

You glare at her phone, the sound of another message coming in, no doubt your mother telling Alessia about what you’ve done.

“Tell ma to stop snitching. That girl got exactly what she deserved for elbowing Kyra In the face.”

“Kyra got what?” Alessia gasps, eyes going wide.

Before you can repeat, the door opens behind you.

The two of you turn to see a sullen looking Kyra.

“Hi.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard Kyra so quiet before.

“Oh wow, you look miserable.” You’re not sure if Alessia thinks this is hilarious or sad, but you’d definitely say the latter.

Kyra did look miserable. Her nose is already becoming discolored, swelling and bruises become more prominent.

“C’mere,” you huff, pressing an icepack against her nose when she gets close enough to you.

Kyra hisses and tries to jerk back but you just follow with the ice.

“The sooner you stop moving the sooner your 15 minutes of icing will be done.”

You don’t even make it to the 15 before the door slams open again for the third time. 

“What did I say about getting unnecessary cards?!”

“Unnecessary?” you gwak. “Look at the kid! What part of me defending her was unnecessary?”

You backtrack. “Look at both of the kids.” You gesture wildly between Alessia and Kyra. 

Lia rolls her eyes but follows your fingers nonetheless. 

“Ma’s never going to let Less leave our house ever again, and Mini will probably drop by to kidnap Kyra and revoke our Australian baby access!”

“I’m not a baby--”

“Ma can’t stop me from moving out--”

You and Lia whip around to glare at Alessia. “You’re not moving out.”

Alessia frowns. “Whatever.” She crosses her arms. “Kyra’s a baby.”

The younger girl gasps in defiance before whimpering at the pain that radiates through her nose.

Lia looks a little exasperated when she turns back to you.

“Please. No more red cards.”

“No more red cards,” you echo. 

When Lia grabs hold of your hand, leading you back to be chewed out by your captains, you turn to get one last glance at the two troublemakers.

Alessia and Kyra are already looking your way, shooting you two thumbs up.

You shake your head.

Oh the things you do for family.

[wingedqueenlynx]

I wanna do my own Headcanons post about Arkhamverse Riddler cause I think he's neat and I wanna share my brain juice about him :3c

1. Ambidextrous.

Originally started out with a dominant left hand, he started teaching himself himself to write with both after getting jumped by school bullies. Which was further proved useful whenever Batman broke one of his hands lol

2. Ex smoker.

It's common knowledge that he did have an ashtray laying around in one of his hideouts in Arkham Origins. I headcanon that he wasn't a heavy smoker, just only having the odd cig here or there, but then quit soon after he went on the run and became the Riddler. Which makes sense for a guy who loves the sound of his own voice and is known to get loud- he'd hate the idea of his perfect voice getting raspy or subject himself to coughing his lungs out. But there are times where he gets the cravings for the nicotine during times of high stress- it would get to the point where he'll linger with the rogues that smoke in order to get the second hand smoke off them XD

3. Nearsighted, hatred for eye contacts and mildly light sensitive.

That basterd is blind without his glasses- anything further than 4 feet away from him will become blurry blobs. In Arkham Knight, he was seen with his classic orange round glasses- which turns out, the orange tint helps mute the effects of blue light, meaning him constantly sitting in front of computer screens for hours at a times had only aggravated his sight further.

He also hates the thought of putting in eye contacts in his eyes. He tried them once and hated the sensation of feeling them and the hassle of putting them in or removing them. It's probably one of the main reasons he lost the fight against Batman and Catwoman- he had no fucking clue where they were due to the lack of glasses, out of fear of getting punched in the face with them on lol

4. Poor blood circulation and scarred hands.

In every instance, we see Riddler throughout the games he always wore some type of gloves on his hands, and I believe it is not only just a style choice. If you shake his hands without his gloves on, they are cool to the touch due to poor circulation. He always had trouble warming them up, and it's even worse during the cold months in Gotham (or dealing with Mr Freeze)- with the cold hitting him harder as he'd feel them go numb with the cold. So it's rare to see him without them on.

When his gloves are off, you can see that his hands are peppered with cuts, scars and burns from all the injuries from either building or getting beat up. Which I do have a drawn ref of :3c

Really worn work hands. There is a new scar addition every other day with the way he progresses. Most is self-inflicted from his work or moments of frustration, unfortunately :/

5. Surprisingly good with kids.

In general, I hate it when DC writers give him the Cluemaster mentality when it comes to kids, regardless if it's his own or not. Like- why would he mistreat his own kid similar (if not worse) than what his own dad did to him or bully other kids? That doesn't make a lick of sense to me. He does have some morals- professionals have standards. He'd never stoop down to Joker's level. He's a villain, not a monster.

If a kid does happen to stumble across Eddie setting up a trophy or something, naturally, they would either turn around and leave the question cladded rogue alone or ask him a million questions. Eddie would definitely answer their questions and feed their curiosity, knowing that a child can still learn to be smart. Knowing that their brains aren't fully developed yet. I think he secretly loves it when kids are willing to learn new stuff, and if they somehow tell him a fact or a riddle he didn't know (which is extremely rare, but he plays along) he might reward them with a trophy lol

Just the idea of him having deep buried paternal instincts just scratches my brain very nicely. Like he'll easily play the cold, cocky and callous asshole around the other heroes and villains, but put a crying baby in the room and have everyone panic while he just picks em up and begins yapping about the blueprints to his non euclidean traps or how he can divide PI by 10 trillon digits. Face calm as ever and his smooth talking voice slowly becoming white noise and the baby is just out like a light. Then he hands em over to Batman like it was an accomplished task.

(Which I will give Ktjl some points, with hearing the audio clips of Riddler chatting with Little Ivy over the phone and becoming besties and supporting my headcanon. I'm glad they GirlDad coded him. He was great! Everything else in that game tho...... yeah..... I have my gripes.)

6. Bisexual disaster.

It's pretty common knowledge that Eddie swings both ways. Having an eye on both Batman and Catwoman trying to gain their attention by whatever means for at least one of them to acknowledge him. Unfortunately, his attemps of doing so only pushed the Bat and the Cat closer together instead, so those plans backfired. Maybe that's why he lashed out in Knight???? He couldn't have his either option /j.

And then there is his odd relationship with Crane. Either suggesting "toxic" sexual tension or bitter exs- no in between. Crane knows how to push his buttons, and Eddie can only bitch about it.

He yearns for human connection with a partner, despite Eddie being- well, Eddie. Always making a mountain out of a mole hill- a true Bisexual Disaster smh

7. His Daddy Issues (The Depressing one)

Alright. We all know this Arkhamverse Riddler trivia when it comes to him and his Dad, whenever it's brought up. Eddie won his class contest in school and yearned a 20 dollar prize for his efforts, he showed his Dad, he got hit and was accused of cheating. I know Eddie did say in his audio tape that he did, but I think differently. It wasn't up till that point in his childhood, his Dad was mostly verbally abusive towards him, and that hit set Eddie into shock.

I think he actually did win the prize without cheating. Just the trauma of his Dad putting his hands on him, put him into such shock from it- he somehow convinced himself that he did cheat, despite him knowing that wasn't the case. All he wanted was for his Dad to acknowledge that he wasn't a moron and was capable, but regardless if he won or not, his Dad would've done the same either way. Eddie was stuck in a "Damned if I do, and Damned if I Don't" situation with his father.

So yeah. Those are the few personal Headcanons I have for him. I do have a handful more headcanons, but I didn't wanna make this post any longer than it should lol

I love this greasy green loser- if you couldn't tell

[morningmask27]

acrylic on canvas 30x40 cm

it is very evil of Belladonna to not bite women when she probably has the entire lesbian community on their knees now

anyways, Dracula's Ex-Girlfriend was so fucking good and despite my hatred of drawing (let alone painting) humans it compelled me to create something.

I'm just going to leave a wall of commentary on the process under the cut because I need to chatter about all of this real quick

I chose this scene at the end because 1. it was super hard to find one still where Bella and Fay are both properly visible (yet somehow Fay's still facing the other direction) and 2. this scene just hits a bit different to me.

the discussion of smoking, a thing that's bad, but it being life, right as Bella drank that bartender dry made me think of a few things I experienced and while I personally will still keep on going against what Fay said here, I still got to see things in a somewhat different light I guess.

Fay's care is also so present here. Bella is self-destructing massively, but Fay still comforts her, even after she "fell back" on her bad habits (she never quit) and this hug just hit me personally quite a lot. the silent care, the "you're warm". I can't fully describe everything it makes me feel, but this scene was good.

on a more technical level. I had to take some creative liberties with the lighting and such because it was DARK and my painting skills aren't ready to make such minute details with extremely dark colors. It would get ugly and muddied, so I had to adapt. the harsh shading on Bella's face is less striking, but I don't know if I could make it better with my current skills.

This was also one of the first times I've really rendered a human face; Last time I "tried" it was 1. without a ref (unwise) and 2. when I was even worse at drawing humans and I ended up so mad at this painting that I Could Not Go Paint Again for a while because of how mad I was lol, so I'm honestly really impressed with how I managed to do this without making a huge mess.

At least until I got to add the blood. It still looks good now, but I had to fiddle a lot with the reds I used and the skintones to mitigate the damage of a few first strokes that got too grandiose.

I also decided that Fangs. I am a bit of a vampire researcher and seeing the different traits they get in different media is always fun and here the fangs seem a bit retractable, but Bella's a vampire and I am a sucker for fangs, so I had to include them.

my handwriting also didn't fail me too horribly, even if I had a few accidents and had to clean them up before I got this "clean" little text. I really don't have good brushes for very thin and precise strokes (nor the capacity to not tremble the entire time honestly)

This was honestly quite fun too. Four hours of listening to some music, having a weird moment with my mother on the phone and just painting. I did really not want to draw Bella's face at first and drew nearly everything else before I began, but once I did I got into the groove and it went fine, so I'm pleased with this.

[lovinglin]

HRJWHSNHWAJHEWJHEAJEAJHEAHHDSNHWANDHAJDHAJ💖💕💞💖💕💞💞💞💖💞💞💕💞

WORDS CAN'T DESCRIBE HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS HI HI THANK YOUWHEHNBEANGEANHA THEY LOOK AMAZING IN UR STYLE. SHAKES U SO HARD /POS

ye olde art trade with @lovinglin featuring hER AND HER MAAAAAN

[thisismeracing]

https://www.tumblr.com/thisismeracing/751049960389328896/working-on-a-fluff-piece-with-singledad-lew-but

ok but all im thinking about when i hear this is stepdad!lewis just trying to be liked by his lover's teen daughter and it's just rough for months on end while reader and lew are as in love as can be

and daughter is kinda giving the could shoulder to both of them because how can you be in love with a man that’s not dad?? and idk who you are but you arent my dad to lew.

until the daughter's father fails to show up to something that’s important to her and lew is there to be that shoulder to cry on

and then on those two's relationships with each other start to grow in a more positive direction

☕️

ref

Omg yesssss!!!!

So, maybe this would go like this…

tw: mentions of an absent father.

“She’ll come around, it’s alright,” Lewis would whisper to you after your daughter stormed out of the kitchen and went to school without acknowledging either of you.

You had to give it to him, he was more patient than any other person would be. Hell, even if you were starting to get angry with your kid, Lewis would smile and brush it off. He did it when she ignored him the first time they officially met, he did it when she refused to go to the GP you two went public, and he kept doing it even after a few months, you were basically living together now, but she was still a stubborn fifteen-year-old, and lewis was still the patient forty-something.

So it didn't surprise you when he showed up to her football match wearing her school team’s shirt and a cap so he would call all the attention to himself. Lewis got there even before you did and that did not go unnoticed by your daughter.

Your daughter kept searching for her dad in the stands even after the first period was over. Your daughter scored the winning goal and searched for the man that promised to be there only to realize he wasn't.

Yet, Lewis was there right beside you cheering as if she was his own. Clapping and screaming her name as if she hadn’t ignored him all these months.

She felt bad. Felt guilty, and forgotten by her dad and his new family. The mixture of feelings only being turbinated by her teenage phase.

Still, when she walked to the stands crying, refusing to celebrate with her team, Lewis, the always patient one, was there to embrace her in a warm hug. One that should have been given by her dad. Lewis was the one who told her she did a great job and that the Captain Position would definitely be hers soon. He was the one who offered to train with her and watched her tears cease before she hugged you two finally recognizing how lucky she was. That was the family that was given to her, and she was going to cherish it from now on.

IM SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY 🤭🫣🫣🫣

Send me thots!

[spoofy-drawings]

uh um. them. yeah.

fidds and stan!!!! yay!!!!

anyways ramble below the cut-

After Stanley and Fidds officially met, they agreed to live together in the shack to start up the portal. The major problem was the journals. After searching the shack for a while, they found journal 1, but the other two were not anywhere on the property.

They did their best without them, and got pretty far before Stan got the call for the mystery twins to come stay for the summer. Dipper and Mabel see Fidds like another uncle, taking no time at all to warm up to him with his gentle and adorably sweet nature.

Unfortunately, his mind was way off the deep end. Memory gun use has caused him to spiral, but at least Stan was there to convince him to stop. He’s recovering.

When Ford is finally brought back, Stan is overjoyed, and Ford is happy to see his brother. Fidds is horrified, scared to death of confronting his past, and scurries off first chance he gets. Stan finds him at Greasy’s, chugging several mugs of coffee.

After several long conversations, about the past, present, future, and whatever the hell BILL is, the family settles in and lives happily ever after. Until the twins have to go back to california.

I JUST WANT AN AU WHERE THEYRE HAPPY- so i made my own.

mystery twins are next up for refs!!!!

and uh. possible fiddlestan in this au. bc. i love them highkey.