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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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pinguwrites · 6 months

Text

Our True Nature | Tom Buckley

Pairing -> dom!tom buckley x student!psychic!reader

Summary -> You're different, you always have been; you've know that ever since you were a little kid who made your toys float in the air. Despite your great abilities you've pursued a rather humble life, looking for others like you. Your search comes to an end when you realize that your professor's assistant, Tom Buckley — the one you've been harboring a secret crush on — is a psychic, just like you.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), dom!Tom and sub!reader, age-gap (not specified, but reader is college-aged), praise kink, slight degradation, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, um superpower play??? telekinesis play??? I don't know what that shit's called, overstimulation, mild breeding kink, tom is wild and says dirty stuff, weird magic lore I made up (you can trust me, I used to write fantasy), mild hamilton reference ig, rough sex but not much emphasis on it

Disclaimer: Red Lights characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

When you first saw him it was like the world around you stopped. The rain that had been pouring down like a storm the entire day ceased its brutal assault, and in that week of dull weather and gray skies, the sun finally peeked out from behind the clouds and cast a heavenly glow around his body.

He looked like an angel. Dark hair caressed by sunlight, eyes as pale blue as a glacier, and the most handsome face you’d ever seen. It was all right there, across the parking lot of the university, just waiting to be seen. A god amongst humans, a flower in a field of grass.

But then the moment passed. He walked away, without any word or acknowledgment, like he never even saw you at all. It wasn’t until later on did you realize who this man was — Tom Buckley, your new professor’s assistant.

You supposed that was when the attraction started. You tried to kid yourself and say that it was actually halfway through the year when he started offering private study sessions, or when he made it a point to greet you good morning every day, or even when he insisted you call him Tom, but you knew the truth. You had fallen for him the second you saw him but were only too ashamed to admit it.

A god amongst humans.

It was a silly phrase you used to describe him. He wasn’t a god. Not even close to one. He was nothing like you. He couldn’t see visions of the future, or make a door open and close at his whim. He was just a person, a person you had a silly, undeniable crush on. A person you could not stop staring at.

He was currently leading the lesson today, showcasing a video on how a fake psychic used tricks behind the scenes to fool her audience, but you weren’t paying attention at all. Your chin was resting in your hand, and your gaze was upon Tom like he was the only thing that mattered.

You could barely see him in the poor lighting. The best you got was a figure and a shadow on the projection, but that didn’t deter you at all. All you wanted was to observe him, the way he moved, the way he talked, the way his hands would gesture as he explained the concepts students didn’t understand.

He seemed to notice your blatant staring, because after the video ended and he turned the lights back on, his eyes locked with yours, and he did what he always did: made you stay behind after class.

“Is something wrong?” you asked. It was a routine question. When the students got up to leave you would approach his desk, feigning confusion, waiting for him to say, ‘No, nothing, I just wanted to look over the assignment with you.’

You were sure your friends thought you were dumb. Why else would you need extra help all the time? but that was a much better assumption than the idea that you were fucking Mr. Buckley, so you never bothered correcting them.

“No, nothing, I just . . . ” Tom started but then trailed off. From this distance, you could properly admire the light freckles scattered across his pale face and took a moment to save the image in your head. When he continued, your attention snapped back. “I have a couple of questions.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Let’s go to my office.” He looked a little nervous for some reason. The walk to his office was spent trying to deduce why. Maybe something was wrong this time.

You sat down on one of the chairs by his desk. His room was filled with all sorts of odd things, namely technology used to disprove — or prove — paranormal activity. Occasionally, this material would be showcased in class, and he and Matheson would do replicas of former encounters to demonstrate how they worked.

You always paid very close attention to those days, in case you ever need the information in the future. How to Evade Ghost Hunters 101!

“What is it? Have I really done something wrong this time?” you joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He laughed. A beautiful smile.

“Of course not, you’re my star student.” Your heart warmed at that. “I just wanted to test some things out with you. For the curriculum, Dr. Matheson and I were considering adding it to the course, and we want your opinion.”

You nodded. “That’s fine with me.”

“Good.”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a tarot card pack.

“We want to do a lesson on how pictures and symbolism can be manipulated to fit the victim’s life,” he said, shuffling the deck. “Tarot cards are so vague and general — The Fool, for example, represents new beginnings and adventure. Is that not the foundation of everyone’s life? To explore, to be inexperienced?”

You agreed. “And how are you planning on presenting this to the class? Give out a tarot reading to everyone?”

Tom chuckled. “I just want to try it out with you, to prove it.”

He held out the cards for you to pick, but you stopped him. “Aren’t I supposed to tell you what I want to know?”

There was a brief silence, and if you looked carefully, you could see a light pink tinge glaze over his cheeks, and his breathing hitch ever so slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Don’t worry. Whatever you want to know about me,” you offered, amused at his reaction. “Tell me, what are you looking for?”

“I want to know your secrets,” he admitted. “I want to know what you’re hiding.”

“You’ll be disappointed. There’s nothing interesting about me.”

“We’ll see.”

You picked three cards and placed them down on the table. Each representative of either the past, present, or future, or at least, that’s how you were assuming he was doing the reading.

He turned the first card. It was The Star, reversed.

“Something in the past was bothering you,” he said. “You felt hopeless, like you had no more motivation . . . Am I right in guessing it was the result of something specific?”

“Yes,” you said. Obviously, his reading wasn’t true, how could it be? he wasn’t like you, but he was definitely right about the way people manipulated the symbolism. You doubted he knew the real reason why you had been so depressed.

He flipped over the next card. The Lovers.

He grinned. “I’m sure you can guess what this means. Are you in a relationship?”

You shook your head.

“Then it’s about a potential someone. You’ll find your complimentary, someone you can balance with — it could be platonic, or romantic, but no matter the type of relationship, they’ll be loving, and supportive.”

You looked into his eyes before returning your attention back down to the cards. Oh, how you wished it was him.

He turned the last card.

“The Ten of Cups. Your desires will be fulfilled. You’ll be happy, whatever problems you had in the past will be resolved.”

It was silent for a moment. You expected him to ask you questions of how accurate it was, and how quickly you connected his predictions to events in your life, but he didn’t.

“Do you believe in magic?” he asked bluntly. “The supernatural? You either do or you don’t, I can’t imagine you’d be wasting your time in this class if your opinion was neutral.”

You felt like you’d been put right on the spot. You thought about the right way to answer. “I believe in it, in the sense that I’m open about what we don’t know, and am optimistic about all the possibilities.”

He all but rolled his eyes. “C’mon. That was so wordy. I want to hear the truth.”

He leaned in closer. Your faces were inches apart, and you could feel his minty breath on your face.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “I believe in magic.”

He pulled away, satisfied. “I believe in magic, too.”

You quirked an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? Have you ever seen it in action?”

“Maybe,” he answered vaguely, a grin on his face. “Let me see your palm.”

You wanted to laugh, but you yourself was very eager to comply with his demands, not because you thought the experiments were interesting, but rather you enjoyed spending time with him, and the prospect of him touching you—even though it was only your hand—was thrilling.

Tom caressed the lines on your palms. He was distracted by it.

You weren’t sure what it was about him that made you so drawn. You didn’t believe in love at first sight, it was only something based on lust and looks, but this was more. You didn’t just like him, you found him utterly attractive, in a way that surpassed physicality.

It certainly wasn’t his personality. You thought you two were compatible in mentality, and you got along well, but he was rather boring. He wasn’t fiery nor exciting, nothing that could take you off guard or pique your curiosity.

He was intelligent. He told you he used to study physics, something you just had to respect him for, but you didn’t know that until just recently, and it’s not like his day-to-day actions showcased his genius.

You really didn’t know what it was, and a part of not knowing made it all the more mysterious. But it also made you feel vulnerable. In less than a year, you had become so hopelessly, irrevocably, in love with someone. He could do anything and you wouldn’t blink an eye. He had so much power over you, and he didn’t even know it.

“Can you feel it?” he asked softly, looking up at you.

You pulled your hand away, too flustered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He took your hand again, unrelenting. He gripped it tighter, encasing it in his warmth. It felt so nice.

“Between us,” he clarified, his voice low. He was gazing at you intently.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you like me?” he asked, his tone almost desperate. “I see you do things, impossible things. When you drop a pencil in class it floats back up to your hand, when your coffee gets too cold I see you wrap your hand around the cup and make it bubble. No one else notices, but I do. I see it.”

You froze, or rather, your mind was instantly filled with so many thoughts you couldn’t comprehend them all at once.

You thought you were careful with your abilities because up until now, no one had caught you. Not since you were a teenager who copied off others during a test, not since you got your first car and put it on autopilot so you could sleep during a drive, not even since you were a little girl who was too lazy to tie her own braid at school.

“T-Tom,” you stuttered. “I don’t . . .”

And what was that he said about being like him? Was he implying that he could do these things too? That after all these years of searching, you’d finally found another psychic?

Tom’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” He chuckled nervously. “I don’t know what I was saying. Just forget it.”

He cleared his throat. You still didn’t say anything. It was like someone had pressed a mute button and you couldn’t speak, no matter how badly you wanted to say something.

“You should go,” he suggested. “Thank you, for all the help.”

He stood up, and you did too, mirroring his actions. He lead you over to the exit. “Have a nice day, I look forward to seeing you in class next week.”

You turned around, not wanting to leave yet. “Tom . . .”

He was about to close the door when you stopped it with your foot, budged it open, and leapt into his arms, placing a passionate kiss on his lips.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know what you were thinking. All that you knew was that you wanted him. Badly. As you pushed your way back inside the room, you feared for a moment that he was going to shove you off, tell you he didn’t mean it like that, but he didn’t. He pulled you inside and lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, and sat you on top of his desk, returning the kiss with even more intensity.

“Tom,” you all but moaned. You felt confused and dazed, but with the way Tom was nibbling at your neck, sucking and licking, you could tell he wasn’t in the same boat as you. You relaxed, letting everything go. You could let him take care of this—whatever this was. Let him take care of you.

“Can I take it off?” he asked in between kisses. He tugged at your shirt, fingers hovering above the buttons.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Please, please, please—”

The buttons unbuttoned themselves. You gasped a little in surprise as your shirt was tossed to the side. That was all the confirmation you needed—Tom Buckley was just like you.

The realization that you had finally found another was lost when he started kneading your breasts through your bra. “Such a needy girl,” he cooed. “Didn’t know she could get like that. Doesn’t want to answer my questions but needs me to please her.”

“Fuck,” you let out, surprised at the dirty talk, but pleased nonetheless. “I just want you.”

“I know you do. Staring at me like a piece of meat in class. That’s all I am to you, hmm? Just a hot teacher to fuck. You tell your little friends about me?”

“No!” You whined when his hands went underneath your bra and pinched your nipple. “Ow! I’ve never told anyone.”

“Ah, I knew you were a good girl.”

You whined again and nuzzled your head in the crook of his shoulder, not wanting him to see how flustered he was making you.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured, unclasping your bra, watching your breasts fall out. “Beautiful girl . . . Can I suck?”

“Yes!” you said impatiently. You found it sexy that he kept asking for permission, but also annoying—he needed to get straight to the point, and stop teasing you.

He latched his lip onto your hard nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud, occasionally nipping on it. While his mouth was occupied, his hands were roaming your body, up to your face and down to as far as he could reach, which while you were sitting down, was all the way to your ankles.

He switched nipples and went to your other breast, making you release a sigh of satisfaction. He eventually let go and gave you another kiss, his tongue slipping inside.

You looked down. He was hard, subtly trying to grind himself between your legs. “Mmm,” he moaned against your lips.

His moan was wonderful. If not for your own pleasure, you wanted to continue this just so you could elicit another sound out of him.

In a bold move, you reached down and squeezed his crotch. He let out a sound, more strangled this time, and pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you both.

He placed his hand over the hand that was palming his cock, encouraging you to keep going, with eyes shut and nose scrunched up. He then moved it to lean on your shoulders.

“Do you like it rough or vanilla?” he asked. “I can do both.”

You tried to hide your grin. “Rough.”

He knew that by saying that you didn’t want it completely that way. The actions, yes, but you still wanted to hear him praise you, to caress you, to whisper sweet things in your ear.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He picked you — handsome and strong — and laid you down on the couch. It wasn’t that large, but at least it was more comfortable than his desk, and you didn’t want to wait any longer by going to his place or yours.

“I want to let you know,” he started seriously, “that this isn’t a, uh, one-night stand. I don’t want that, not from you.”

“I don’t want that either,” you said.

“And I don't do this often. Well, I don't do this at all. With other students, I mean. You’re the first. I don’t want you to think that I’m just, how do you say it? playing you?”

You giggled. He didn’t seem like the playboy type at all. In fact, when most men and women flirted with him, he usually got all uncomfortable and quiet, a fact that boosted your ego, as he never felt that way around you.

“This is serious for me, too. Let’s keep it a secret until this semester is over. And when I’m out of your class we can make it public, okay?”

He nodded, and leaned down to kiss you again, soft and delicate.

“Take off your shirt,” you demanded.

He smiled at your behavior. It took a minute, because he was wearing his suit, but he managed to get it off with your help. You didn’t want to damage his clothing, it was probably on the more expensive side, and he looked so exquisite in it.

You admired his chest. He was lean, but you could still see some faint muscles. After all, he had carried you to the couch. He was perfect. It was just what you had hoped for.

This moment didn’t feel real. How was it that you had gotten so lucky? You were here with the man of your dreams, in his arms, and you were about to make love.

“Get on your knees.”

You did as he asked. You had done this a couple times before, so you weren’t really worried. You could even take cock all the way in, but when you saw his size, you gulped.

He guided your face to it. You licked the tip to the base to the balls, wondering how you were going to make it fit. You reasoned with yourself that if you couldn’t you could just use your hands for the rest.

That was, until he slid his cock inside your mouth and pushed it as far as he could. You controlled your gag reflex and started bobbing your head up and down, the sensation causing your eyes to tear, but not in pain.

He wiped them away. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t say anything, not with your mouth filled. You showed your answer by sucking him, fondling his balls, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes.

“Ohhh, you take it so well. So well.”

He pushed your head all the way down, keeping it there for a few seconds. You breathed in through your nose, trying to keep yourself under control whilst still making the experience pleasurable for him. He seemed to like it, with the way he was rolling his hips against your mouth, even though there was nothing left to fit inside.

Then, suddenly, you felt something rubbing your clit through your pants. You tried to pull off of Tom, concerned at what it might be, when you realized it was him. He was the one doing it, making you feel this way.

He kept your head in place, a pleased smile on his face. “Like that?”

You moaned. You couldn’t concentrate on him, not when your body was being pleasured so good. How much practice had he had with his abilities? How could he focus when you were going down on him? It was probably the age. He wasn’t that much older than you, but he was older, and surely that came with more practice.

He pulled you off of him after a few minutes of you squirming and gagging, placing you down on the couch. He made sure your head was in a comfortable position before taking off your pants and pulling out his cock. Your pussy was still being rubbed, by whatever invisible force he was using, and it was about to make you come.

“I—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he shushed, pressing his cock at your entrance.

“Let me make you—”

“No,” he growled. “I’m going to come inside of you. Don’t think, just let your professor handle it.”

You knew he wasn’t technically your professor. He was just the TA, but it was still sexy to hear him say that. It reminded you of your student-teacher relationship, the forbiddeness of it all.

You came just as his cock slid in. He sighed, feeling your pussy flutter and your cream leak out on him. He looked down, taking in the view, before pulling his cock out and slamming it back in, taking you off guard.

His pace was unrelenting. You didn’t know he could be so animalistic. He was panting and groaning in your ear, holding your body in place even though you weren’t going anywhere. He was still rubbing your clit — technically — but you didn't mind. You could take another orgasm. Besides, you weren’t sure if he would stop even if you asked. He looked so blissed out, like he was in another world, the only thing driving him his primal instinct.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he said, increasing the intensity of his pace. The couch was now shuffling a little, moving forward a little bit each time, but Tom didn’t seem to notice. “You need it so bad. Just want me to take care of you, yeah?”

“Yes,” you cried out, rather pathetically. It was crazy to think how submissive this man could make you. You had never been like this with any of your other partners, but with him, you felt safe, like you trust him with anything.

“I can imagine — you in class, giving me one of those eyes you always do. Fuck — the other students don’t suspect a thing, but both you and I know that I’ll have you over my desk by evening.”

The thought alone made your mind whirl.

“I should fill your panties with my cum, make you walk around in it,” he said. That shouldn’t have aroused you as much as it did. He noticed your reaction. “Oh, you enjoy hearing me say those things? Those depraved, dirty things.”

He hit that spot in you, the one that made you go crazy, and you cried out, clutching his shoulders.

“There it is,” he said, mostly to himself, as he kept ramming that spot over and over again. The added sensations made you go limp in his arms. You could feel that familiar coil in your stomach, the one that told you you were going to orgasm again.

You threw your head back, looking up at the ceiling as you came, but your peace of mind didn’t last long. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look back at him, beating that same spot again, all while continuing the assault on your clit. “Look at me, I want to see your face.”

You looked right into his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, and you could tell an orgasm was coming for him, too.

You felt a little ashamed that in such a short time he had made you come twice, and you hadn’t at all — at least, not yet — but like he said before, he didn’t want you to think, so you didn’t, and let whatever thoughts you had left bouncing around in your head leave.

“You’re wonderful,” he praised, kissing you again. He couldn’t get enough of it. Your teeth clashed briefly, but neither of your cared. He just wanted to taste you. “I can’t wait to be with you.”

With that, he came inside, filling you up to the brim with his hot seed. He kept his cock in, holding your hips in place, until he was satisfied and pulled out.

He laid on top of you on the couch, caressing the side of your cheek as you both recovered and took your breath.

It was silent. Just the two of you, in his office. You had finally found the one. The one you were sure you were going to spend the rest of your life with, all happy and in love like a fairytale.

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t think I’d ever find another,” you finally said.

“I didn’t either. I’m glad it was you. I’m glad it’s you I get to share this with.”

“Hey, what was with the cards? Were you just testing me?”

“Yeah.” He turned to face you. “I wasn’t sure if I was just seeing things. I mean, you get up so early and go to work, sometimes you just imagine a kid opening a door on its own or playing tricks with her assignments. I had to be sure.”

“So, you weren’t intending to tell my future?”

“You can’t actually do that,” he said.

“Yes you can.”

He blinked, surprised.

“I know you said the interpretation is very broad, but it still works.”

“You can actually tell the future?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t have to be with Tarot cards only. But whatever methods, I don’t do it often, I feel like it messes with things. But sometimes I just get these images in my head, and I can’t stop it.”

It hadnt occurred to you that even though you were both psychic, your powers, or at least, the direction you went with them, were different.

“If you weren’t reading my future, what were you doing?”

“I noticed that objects imbued with magic, especially artifacts, radiated energy—a feeling, one that only I could sense. If I gave the same impression on those cards, and you happened to pick them, it would either be a huge coincidence or it would mean you were drawn to them, albeit unknowingly. It was just something to give me more confidence.”

You weren’t aware that was something a person could do. You supposed there were plenty of things you didn’t know. You were looking forward to learning from him, and teaching him as well. You were both in uncharted waters, not knowing where this would lead you both. But it was okay, as long as you had him by your side.

You did worry a little that this intense connection you felt with him was only in an otherworldly sense, that you fell for him because of this magic, but you shook the thought away. That wasn’t true. You wouldn’t let it be true. You loved him and he loved you—and that was it. Nothing more.

“I can do another round,” he said suddenly. “You?”

You grinned and nodded. “Yeah. But this time, I want to ride you.”

He laughed and flipped you both over so that you were on top of him. “Show me how you get off, babygirl.”

Taglist:

@henrywintersdearestgirl

@shroombloom-rry

@meetmeatyourworst

@mrkdvidal1989

#pinguwrites #tom buckley #tom buckley x reader #tom buckley x y/n #tom buckley x you #cillian murphy #red lights #fanfiction

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lovingseventeen · 6 months

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svt being green flags early into dating

a/n: dating boys who aren’t seventeen? i don’t recommend KIDDING but it’s tough out here. ngl i wrote this in one dash bc i’ve had it with boys

- picture these hcs as the talking stage/unofficial dating era but you guys are interested in each other

seungcheol:

❥ saw a quote recently that described a man as “alpha male energy without being an incel” and i think this pertains to cheol too

❥ never let’s you pay, picks you up in his car for your dates so you don’t have to commute anywhere and to ensure you get home safe

jeonghan:

❥ teases you but never crosses a boundary

❥ makes clever jokes but they’re never the kind of “dark humor” that’s just disguised as something problematic

joshua:

❥ he’s a prince, a walking green flag even

❥ hence the princess treatment that you tend to get

❥ always offers his hand to you when you walk on anything that could be precarious

jun:

❥ he’s a little silly but he’s very aware of when is a good time

❥ knows exactly how to cheer you up depending on the situation

❥ maybe you get funny voice jun or an attentive jun gently holding your hand and asking what he could do to help

soonyoung:

❥ consistent energy towards you

❥ you see him bounding towards your date meeting spot with the biggest grin on his face - the same genuine grin as the one on your first date

wonwoo:

❥ the best listener and he’s good at following up with you so you know he cares

❥“oh yeah how did your test go? the one you kept staying up for”

❥“did you end up talking to your boss about your hours?”

❥“did you end up getting the tickets for the concert you wanted?”

jihoon:

❥ his schedule may be busy but he does try to make time for you and he communicates when he can’t

❥“i’m a little tight this week but i moved some things around so i’m free saturday night, do you want to get dinner?”

❥“our day off is coming up, are you also free that day? i was thinking spending a day at home together?”

❥ he’s a little extra sappy when he can’t free up time

❥“we’re doing our dome shows this week, i’m so sorry i can’t see you, darling”

seokmin:

❥ also has very good, enthusiastic, energy towards you

❥ loves to text you consistently without being overbearing either

❥ good mornings and good nights are precious to him

❥ tells you unsolicited updates about his day and hopes you’ll do the same

❥ i stubbed my toe - remember to be careful sometimes!

mingyu:

❥ what can i say- he never lets you do anything in the sense that he doesn’t ever want you to feel the need to lift a finger around him

❥ your steak? do you want him to cut it for you?

❥ you need to build your new bookshelf? no you don’t, he’ll do it

minghao:

❥ so casually a gentleman

❥ tends to guide you by the small of your back when you walk together (he’s also always walking on the side closest to the road)

❥ it’s kind of a nice little reminder he’s there

seungkwan:

❥ he always brings an extra something in case you need it on your dates

❥ if it’s chilly outside and you’re talking a stroll around the park, he’ll an extra pair of gloves for you or an extra scarf

❥ or if you’re doing an active date, like trying volleyball maybe, he’ll bring an extra pair of kneepads for you

vernon:

❥ maybe he’s not the best with words but he’ll always send you little recommendations

❥ whether it’s a movie, a song, or a video, it’s his way of telling you “this reminded me of you”

❥ even in most casual instances, he’s thinking about you

chan:

❥ always takes care of planning dates

❥ while of course he wouldn’t stop you from planning a date, he also really enjoys thinking of where to go and what to do so he can just show you a good time :)

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prettieinpink · 4 months

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im the south american anon, thanks for your kind words, i love your account so much ♡. just wondering if you have a guide on how to prepare for a new school year or for 2024, have a wonderful morning/night 💗

GO BACK TO SCHOOL AS HER

ACADEMICS

Try to recreate your ideal study routine before. Study any subject you want using that specific study routine that you can when school opens. This gives you enough time before school starts to make any adjustments needed.

Get a head start. If you do have access to your curriculum or syllabus, read or actively study content on those topics. If you don’t, you can usually search up your class and your state which shows what you’ll be learning.

Experiment with study methods + note-taking. For study methods, search up different ways to effectively study, and pick at least three that appeal to you. Then pick any topic you want, and use those methods to study that topic. See which one worked the best for you and which wasn’t.

For note-taking, search for some ways to take notes, and choose at least 3 that appeal to you. Then watch a video/lecture on any topic, and use those methods to take notes on it. See which ones that worked the best for you.

Create a planner or diary. Use it to keep track of your assessments, assignments due dates, events at school or any after-school activities. This planner would be just purely for school-related things.

I think a digital planner would work best with most students, but some traditional ones are equally as good. It’s up to you to choose how you want to plan your school life, but you need to have at least one planner.

Find a good study website/app. There are so many academic websites/apps out there that can aid you while studying, which are just at your fingertips.

I recommend Duolingo, Quizlet and Khan Academy. Of course, there are so many more out there so I encourage you to explore your options. Some websites are just dedicated to one subject.

Set SMART goals. Set academic goals that are achievable and realistic. Wanting all A’s or 100’s all the time is just way too unrealistic, and the pressure of wanting to reach the standard you set for yourself is just going to stress you out.

Wanting a certain award, or A’s in certain subjects allows you to allocate your focus properly and is within reach. While you should definitely strive for good grades, avoid getting caught up in the mind trap of trying to achieve ‘perfect’ grades.

Create a study place and ritual. Before school starts, choose a place anywhere in which you study regularly. Avoid having more than one, because having just one allows you to settle in and focus better.

If this place is in your house, ensure that the space around it is clean and free of anything that wouldn’t serve you while studying. Plus, you can put up some cute motivational quotes.

A study ritual is habits that you do before studying, that help you while studying. You can create your own of whatever things that help you to be more productive and focused.

HEALTH

Establish a sleep routine early. A week before school preferably, start waking up at the time you’d have to go to school and sleeping at your desired time. This is so that when school starts, you’re not feeling groggy while getting ready because you’ve already adjusted to the time.

Talking about sleep, ensure that you practice good sleep hygiene as quality sleep enhances brain performance and improves energy levels throughout the day.

Plan your meals at school. For us who have canteens or cafes near our schools, we tend to just eat whatever and we forget to nourish our bodies. You still can buy from them, but the night before, try to think about what you can eat for lunch the next day instead of impulsively buying.

Carrying small containers of fruits or vegetables to go with my canteen lunch is my favourite combination.

Carry a water bottle. I used to always forget to stay hydrated during school, so instead of drinking from fountains, I now prefer to carry around my water bottle from class to class.

Wear SPF.

Just having it sitting on my desk while I’m working, reminds me in my mind to drink water. Water also boosts brain performance!

Create a stress management plan. There are going to be times when you feel stressed, but we want to avoid stress impacting our academic performance and mental health.

Before school starts, plan what to do if you feel heavily stressed. This could be like a menu of things you can choose from or a step-by-step guide that you follow through. This plan should contain things that relax you, make you happy and distract you from stress.

Practice good posture. Once school starts, we sit at a desk all day, and most of us forget the proper way to sit while studying/working in class. This can lead to slumping or hunching on a chair, which encourages bad posture.

Remember throughout the day to practice good posture, if you can, put a little reminder on your device. Posture stretches before the school days also help.

Try to incorporate exercise into your schedule. Exercise is frequently neglected when we just have so much studying to do and we’re busy with other activities, but exercise is essential to leading a healthy lifestyle.

The good thing, is you don’t have to do it every day. Doing it 2-3x a week should be enough. Going on walks during lunch/recess, cycling to school or participating in gym are easy ways to incorporate during the school season.

Keep your bag lightweight. Carry the absolute essentials to school, having such a heavy bag can do a number on your back and also affect your posture. If you do have one, try to keep most things in your locker instead of bringing them to and from school.

Engage in social media mindfully. There are so many toxic studying accounts out there that encourage unrealistic expectations or offer harsh ‘motivation’ to students.

Please don’t interact with these types of accounts, even if they provide motivation to you, it is not sustainable at all.

SELF CARE

Choose your favourite way to take a break. Not just once a week, but always take breaks every day. If you want these breaks to be somewhat productive like reading a productivity book or exercising, then go ahead.

However, your breaks can also be ‘unproductive’. Play some games, go online shopping or just take a nap. One break is not better than the other, I just encourage you to take any kind of breaks you want daily.

Plan to engage in hobbies regularly. It is easy to neglect our passions and what brings us happiness when we’re focused on school. If you can, have a chunk of the day just purely for doing hobbies. It can be for 1 hour, 30 minutes or 10.

Or, join an afterschool club that focuses on that specific passion or hobby. Not only is it time for you to engage in the things you enjoy, you meet like-minded people who also enjoy it.

Try to plan things with friends and family. Before school, meet up with your friends or family and do things with them. Once school reopens, opportunities to hang out with your loved ones are scarce. So, do it now.

Create a no-hard productivity day. Plan a day in which you are doing the most minimal amount of productivity that you can. While you can include a few productive things, nothing that is mentally or physically exhausting is allowed on this day.

If you are way too much of a productive or goal-oriented person to spend one day of no hard productivity, create a catch-up day. Choose one day of the week that you focus on completing or doing anything that you didn’t do all the other days.

Keep a journal on you. Sometimes things happen during the school year, and it does cause conflicting or upsetting emotions within us. Creating the practice of journaling before school reopens is a good way for us to process our emotions and situations.

Carry a book you like in your bag or locker. When you finish all of your work in class, or you just want to take a break, you can read a good book. This is also a good alternative to spending your lunches and recesses when you’re not in a sociable mood.

Create a reward system. For example, if I study for x minutes, I can do x for myself. Or I can x grade, and I’ll get x. These don’t have to be big or extravagant rewards, but something simple like one episode of your favourite show can do.

MINDSET CHANGES

Practice a growth mindset. You are going to experience failure at least once (if not more) during your school career. You mustn’t take these experiences to heart, and instead, use them as lessons to encourage self-growth within you.

Practice this mindset now, so that when school reopens, you won’t have a problem with extracting lessons from failures.

Use comparison as a source of inspiration or motivation. It is easy to compare ourselves with our peers, as we are similar ages, but their skills can exceed ours. Instead of using up all of your energy to be envious of the, channel that energy into bettering yourself. Not to beat them, but to beat yourself.

View studying as a time to develop your skills. While yes, we do study to get good grades, studying can help us to grow our other skills as well. We build our discipline, focus and critical thinking as well.

So when you don’t get the best grade from an assessment or assignment, don’t beat yourself up and think all that studying was for nothing. You were building those skills, so next time, you can apply them when you have to study again.

Set firm boundaries with others and yourself. There are times when you just have to say, I have to study. Not just to others, but to yourself. Practice these boundaries before school when it comes to more general productivity.

There is no rejection, just redirection. Change your mindset that rejection is nonexistent, and there is only redirection. Incorporate it in your daily life like;

‘there’s no more stock left of my favourite product, there’s probably something better out there.’

That being said, I’m not saying that if there is a barrier to your goal, you just move on. However, you should not be chasing things that are not meant for you and shift your focus when necessary.

Detach when needed. Stop attaching your value or worth to things that are external and can easily be gone. This doesn’t have to apply to just grades, but also other situations.

Try to start reading or researching about detachment before school reopens.

Time is your most valuable resource, use it to invest wisely. Your teen years are going to be the most suitable time in your life to start investing in yourself.

You have fewer things to worry about(aside from grades) and you have a lot of opportunities now to explore the things that you want. Please, don't spend this time doomscrolling or any other time-wasting activity.

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rustytrident · 1 year

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beelzebub who has obscure knowledge because he cares so much about his brothers' interests, they become his, too – or, a slight beelzebub character study at 3am because i need it and so do you.

beelzebub who can name every constellation in the night sky of all three realms, who knows both astrology and astronomy, who has read all of belphie's essays and research papers, who was there when they were written.

beelzebub who knows how to play (and cheat, and win) about every casino game, who knows how to do fast math even if he doesn't really care for it, who checks the fucking stock market every morning to see if mammon's mood will be affected by it or not.

beelzebub who knows the difference between the scent of white and red roses, who knows how to properly do your (and his) makeup, who has memorised which products are good for his complexion and how many times a day he needs to apply sunscreen, because asmo swears that the fridge light hits him as much as the sun would have in the human world.

beelzebub who can quote jane austen and poe and shakespeare and euripides from memory, who makes references from books that were destroyed with the library of alexandria, who knows about every breed of cat there is, who listens to satan explain whose fur is the thickest and whose the softest.

beelzebub who will rewatch tsl for hours, who will carry boxes upon boxes of games upstairs, who will (poorly) draw ruri from memory, who will know how to play most games levi hyperfixates on and the plot from most anime he has rambled about.

beelzebub who knows even the most bizzare of genres of music, who can taste the difference between a thousand year and a thousand and one year aged demonus, who immediately recognises the jazz song lucifer is playing when he wants to spend quality time with him but doesn't want to disturb him.

beelzebub who, if you ask him about his interests, will reply that he doesn't really have any, who will search within him for an ounce of self, who will give up after a while because he is six beings in one, and he doesn't know if there's room for one more.

beelzebub who decides that it's okay to be a mosaic of his favourite beings, who finds out that he has been carrying seven in him all along, who gazes in your – a human's – eyes and understands why she fought and why she fell and why she tried so much.

beelzebub who, in his spare time, will go in the human world to visit museums and archaeological sites and long abandoned villages, who will reminisce about when everything he just saw was once new and shining, who will retrace the steps he took aeons ago, alone this time.

beelzebub who often feels lost, who grieves and eats and grieves some more, who carries the memory of his sister because he once read that one truly stops existing when they are forgotten, yet smiles when he sees red roses and shiny coins and old books and video games and cursed records and the starry sky, who sighs into your neck right before he falls asleep and promises to never forget the way your skin feels under his.

beelzebub who, without you asking him, tells you he likes flowers and animals, who likes everything the sun touches, whose eyes glimmer when you ask him to tell you about yarrows and their meaning and their colours, who will explain in a heartbeat, just for you.

beelzebub whose self is a wounded one, a fighting one, whose self is a memory box he just keeps adding into, a scrapbook of eternity's erosion, who finds happiness in the little things, in the simple things, who binds his family together.

beelzebub who loved and loves and will love until there's nothing of him left, until he is the last one remembering, until the night sky is no longer a painting, but just an accumulation dead stars.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #beelzebub obey me #beelzebub x reader #i feel like he has so much depth #and if he doesn't he does in my head #some people only view him as the nom nom himbo but good lord #i beg to differ #finally being able to let out the 2 year beel brainrot to real humans and not the voices in my head is fantastic #i hope this wasn't too messy #sing me a song // the song of our glory

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venusgirltarot · 10 months

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What Would An Album About You Sound Like?

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, envision the person you are thinking of and then choose the pile(s) you feel most drawn to.

Pile One

Ahhh okay this is so cute. Im going to try to explain this as best as I can, Pile 1. So this seems like a concept album. The idea of the album (not the sound but idea ya know) reminds me of “Melodrama” by Lorde. I’ll leave a quote here for a better description but it’s like a concept album about a single night

“Melodrama is described as a loose concept album that explores the theme of solitude, in the framework of a single house party with the events and moods that entail it”

The album about you is similar in the sense that it’s a “loose concept album” but it’s about the writer seeing you. It’s like you’re at this party that the songwriter is also at and they’re obsessed from the moment they lay eyes on you. You’re like this beautiful unobtainable being to them and they want to get to know you so bad but they just can’t seem to talk to you. This could also progress to a one night stand that never progresses to more because of a lack of communication to this album is going through the writer meeting you and watching you throughout the night and then goes into their regrets and what they wish they would have said to you the next day, if that makes sense.

They see you at a party and think you’re so beautiful but can’t seem to find the words to tell you that. I keep hearing “I like the way my bedsheets look on your body” from “hello!” By role model. (I believe that’s the right song but lmk if it’s wrong so I can fix it!) and I keep being reminded of this musician on TikTok “Chappell Roan” and their song “Red Wine Supernova” I think that’s similar to what this album would sound like and it also fits the aesthetic. I highly recommend you listen to this song because it fits your album so perfectly. I tried to find a lyric that resonates the best to include but they all work so well that I couldn’t choose.

Despite this entire album being about only you and just one night leading into the next morning, it’s still so diverse (I hope that makes sense) like you’d think there’s only so many songs you could write about a 12ish hour time frame and one person but this writer has endless things to say about you and the night you met them. I could see one song having a feature and it’s later in the album somewhere between tracks 7-12 or so. The aesthetic of the album is very neon lights, the dance floor on prom night after everything has died down and people are starting to go home, slow, melodramatic and just really pretty. Again, I highly recommend you check out “Red Wine Supernova” because it fits so well.

Track list:

1. Pretty

2. Blooming

3. missing you

4. Shinning Eyes

5. Dying Slow

6. Party Streamers

7. Old Fashioned (Feat. Another Artist)

8. Starlight

9. Nova’s Surprise

10. Sunset

11. morning after

12. You

Pile Two

Pile two, your album sounds like one written by Hozier, Noah Kahan or The Lumineers. It reminds me a lot of “Angela” by The Lumineers. Specifically the lyric “Angela, spent your whole life running away” and “vacancy, hotel room, lost in me, lost in you” it also reminds me of Ethel Cain in the sense that it’s a concept album about running away and starting a new life (but not as dark as ethel’s and with a much better outcome than she got. I heard “success story” it’s about leaving behind a difficult past and moving forward. There’s hope for the future in these songs, remembrance of the past and healing trauma. It’s a beautiful album with a good balance of different emotions. I could see this album coming with a short film or a series of music videos that piece together to tell a store. Similar to “III” by the Lumineers.

I keep hearing a few snippets from the deluxe version of “Stick Season” (that will be out June 9th 👀) like “Medicate meditate swear your soul to Jesus / Throw a punch fall in love give yourself a reason” or “we ain’t angry at you love, you’re the greatest thing we’ve lost” it’s such a beautiful album with so much soul and emotion.

I could see this album getting an acoustic live version that artists do sometimes like “Album, live from Wherever” you know? This album has very unique and catchy lyrics that stick with people, the type of lyrics people take and sell on things in their Etsy shop or use as a quote in their yearbook or put in their instagram bio. It almost feels like poetry. I also heard “escapism” this is the type of music that paints a picture and takes you somewhere else. This album will kind of chronologically tell a story about you moving forward and healing from trauma and finding a peaceful ending. Ending with a song like “Angelia”

Track list

1. movement

2. Adelaide’s Interlude

3. mother

4. farmhouse

5. leave me behind

6. baby blue

7. mustang

8. you’re gonna go far

9. more than this

10. peace

11. at your own pace

12. growing pains

13. at last

Pile Three

I feel like this album has a soft rock sort of sound? Like hozier with a rockier edge if that makes sense? It reminds me of the way hozier sings about love. He sings about a very deep and impactful love and his writing his like poetry and I think that’s what an album about you would sound like. I think this album could be about the writer/musician fighting feelings for you because they’re focused on career or are just concerned about the outcome of the relationship. They might have a fear of falling or something.

However, the last card I pulled was the 10 of cups so the outcome is very good. I feel like this album is coming from a reflective place like this is after yourself and your spouse have settled down and had kids or pets or whatever you would like and your partner is looking back at your relationship from the very beginning up until now and writing about it.

I keep hearing “I’m in love with an emo girl” I don’t think this is what the album will sound like but maybe that’s your aesthetic/vibe? This might just be conformation for you. I also keep hearing that Shania Twain song “you’re still the one” this is the kind of album that fans would dissect like narrow down the time you met your person and talk about every lyric and how that lyric relates to you and your relationship etc. this album talks about how devoted and in love with you your person is but also talks about the (I heard “trials and tribulations”) it took for you two to get there so it may include religious reference. Like religion by Lana Del Rey or Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift where there’s this slight aspect of religion/devotion to your partner.

You hear a lot about how you have to actively choose your partner everyday to make a long term relationship work and this album would definitely delve into that a little. It could also be produced by you and your partner’s mutual friends or people who have been there since the beginning or very early in in your relationship. I think this would be a longer album and there’s definitely 18+ songs on there 👀

Track list

1. October

2. Cosmic

3. Full Moon

4. Bourbon Street

5. She’s All Over Me

6. Starla

7. The Empress

8. Diamond Eyes

9. Find More of Me

10. Dreamscape

11. Escapades

12. Midnight

13. You’re All I Need

14. Mirror

15. Apartment 32

16. Deep End

17. Eternity

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writerpetals · 2 months

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home | ❤️

; optional male lead fluff | ☁️

“Okay, are you ready?”

“Ready…”

“One…”

“...two…”

“...three!”

You click the spacebar on your laptop to begin playing the movie to sync up to his own DVD playing on his TV from the other side of the world. The two of you are experts at this by now, figuring out down to the second where to pause and press play to be able to watch your favorite movies together. With your phone snug between your cheek and the pillow, you pull your blankets up to your chin as the movie begins to play on the laptop resting in front of you, and hearing his chuckling, humming, or even his breathing almost makes it feel as if he were right there with you.

Almost.

Of course, you can’t have his arms around you or rest your head on his chest, but you can only do so much to feel like a couple when he has a busy life traveling and you’re stuck in your apartment working on editing videos for your job, preparing projects and meeting deadlines to keep your boss happy. Movie nights are now reserved for weekend mornings for you, and breaks in his schedules for him when he can find time to watch at least half a film with you.

You’re thankful he makes such an effort, allowing you to pick out your favorite movie the two of you have watched a hundred times before, and humor you by following along when you begin to quote your favorite scenes and giggle at all the best parts.

“Next time we don’t even have to play the movie,” he begins to tease, and hearing his deep, sleepy voice on the other end of the phone eases every ounce of tension in your body, “you can just quote all the parts for me and it will be just as good.”

“Hush,” you giggle, and then you tell him, “you know I love this movie.” And you only love the movie so much when he is so many miles away because it reminds you of when you first met, when he barely had any money to take you to see the film, but he insisted on the two of you going regardless.

“Mm,” he hums, and you can tell from the hint of a few slurred words he’s growing tired already, “and I love you.” Of course he always grows a bit more sentimental when the day has been too long and he’s ready to sleep the stress away, and he reminds you often that listening to your voice only puts him even more at ease.

“Are you falling asleep on me already?” you ask, words no higher than a whisper and the two of you are hardly paying attention to the movie at this point.

“It’s midnight here,” he says with a yawn, and you can picture his squished face the moment you hear him stretching. It’s bittersweet imagining him snuggled up in bed with the hotel’s TV being the only source of light in the room, his phone in one hand and his heavy lids failing him as he tries to keep them open.

“You can sleep if you want,” you sigh, reaching to check the timer on the bar to see only thirty minutes have passed. “I’m sure your day is busy tomorrow.”

You can only guess as much when he’s hours ahead of you, knowing time differences sometimes get in the way of even your long distance movie nights.

“I wanna talk to you,” he assures you, but it’s more mumbled and a bit more sleepy. You know he won’t last much longer, and typically one of you ends up falling asleep with the other still on the line. Not that you mind too much, because it’s second best to getting to fall asleep wrapped up in his arms.

“You need your rest.”

“But-”

You call his name, feigning a strict, stern tone that has him chuckling. “Text me when you wake up.”

“I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be sleeping,” you remind him, just in case he manages to get extra sleep somehow, “send me a picture instead.”

He agrees with sleepy laughter spilling from his lips, says his goodnight’s and I love you’s, and your heart aches just a little more for him the moment you hang up the phone.

***

Hours pass before your phone buzzes with a new message, or at least one you bother checking, while you have your computer, headphones, and different hard drives spread around you on your bed. You pull your nose from your laptop and the video you have been editing to check his text with a complementary picture of his sleepy face just as you asked. The widest grin grows on your face taking in his pouty, pink lips and messy hair as he rests against his white pillow case. He’s never looked more inviting, finding yourself wishing you could somehow teleport to his bed in that moment just to hold him close.

“Thanks for the pic,” you tell him the moment he picks up your call, listening to him mumbling something into the receiver. “Are you brushing your teeth?”

“Mhm,” he hums, placing images of his sleepy face and toothpaste covering his mouth in your head. A moment later you hear the sounds of water running as he finishes up, a grin growing on your lips as the two of you enjoy doing the simplest of tasks with the other on the line. “Did I interrupt your work?”

“You know me too well,” you admit with a chuckle.

“Mm, then I know you probably haven’t eaten, right?”

“I’m going to,” you tell him, only lying a little. “Right after I finish cutting up this video and-”

“You can’t forget to eat.” His tone is low and a bit more stern, and it makes you grin from how concerned he is over nothing.

“I didn’t forget,” you sigh, falling back onto your pillows as he chuckles in disbelief.

“Okay, well promise me-” Another voice suddenly echoes through the speaker from far away, assuming someone must be needing him so soon. “I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum, completely used to conversations cutting short by now. The two of you are quick with your goodbyes and then you’re back to editing, the familiar ache in your heart growing as your thoughts become carried away in the moment. Rushed phone calls and missed messages begin to build as the weeks pass without him, and even though you try your best to be understanding, it’s hard to deny the emptiness surrounding you when he’s gone.

It doesn’t take long to get lost in your videos once again, attempting to drown out the worries and lonesomeness by finishing the part of the edit you had been working on, and you only pull your eyes from the bright screen when you hear a knock at your door. With a furrowed brow and pursed lips, you slip from your bed to answer, coming face to face with a younger boy holding up a brown paper bag, a grin on his lips and a receipt in the other hand.

It’s definitely not the first time he has surprised you by ordering food for you himself. After all, he’s so determined to make sure you aren’t missing any meals, and you only wish you could return the favor in taking care of him while he’s away.

***

“Have a good day?” You can already tell by the heaviness in his eyes as he looks through the laptop camera the answer to your question. Of course he would never admit it, always pretending he’s fine just so you won’t worry, but it’s clear as he struggles to stay awake after snuggling into the comfort of the hotel bed that he’s beyond exhausted, yet determined to keep his promise by video chatting as soon as he’s done with schedules and showered.

“Of course,” he says with a sleepy grin, batting his eyes a few times and each blink lasts longer than the last as he attempts to peel his lids open.

“You can sleep if you want,” you giggle with your own laptop on the pillow beside you as you lay in bed, even though it’s only the early afternoon in your part of the world. The curtains are shut and the only light remains a dim glow from the lamp on your bedside table, but it feels nearly as good as if he were right there next to you. “I can see you’re two blinks from fully passing out anyway.”

“Not true,” he says, and then yawns before his head falls to one side, “I’m awake, I’m talking to you, I’m happy.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes to make a face at him, watching him chuckle, and his face lights up just a bit when you stick your tongue out at him. “I can think of something to keep you awake… how about you take off that robe you’re wearing.” With that, you wink, and his laughter grows louder before looking to his right to make sure his roommate isn’t done with his shower yet.

“I’m starting to think you only love me for my body,” he tells you as he begins to pout, causing you to giggle.

“C’mon, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“I don’t think we have enough time.” Laughter falls from his lips before he sighs, and the sleepiness in his body sets in as the two of you say your good night’s, I love you’s, and you refrain from telling him just how much you miss not being able to fall asleep next to him.

***

Later that night you find yourself in your vanity mirror after just having washed up, making faces with a kitten filter on your phone as you take pictures to send to him. Each one earns more giggles, and you end up sending three different pictures with kitten ears in your bathrobe until you’re satisfied. You hope he will enjoy your silliness when he awakens in the morning, finding the messages you send to one another before and after sleep another way to remain close.

You head to bed early that night with an aching heart anticipating receiving a message in return in the morning, and you admit to yourself sometimes it’s the only thing getting you through your day. When you miss him, miss his voice so close and miss his touch as he holds you, the longing grows unbearable and time seems to pass slower the more you find yourself needing him.

Scheduling movie nights in the afternoon and video chats to pretend you’re falling asleep next to one another can only do so much, and eventually the ache in your chest, the loneliness, the desire to be close to him has a few tear drops hitting your pillow you never allow him to see. There’s no point in making it known just how much you miss him, so you pretend you're fine without him as you juggle work projects, videos, and presentations, and fall asleep with him as the last thing on your mind.

He spends another week overseas and it feels like forever without him, but the days are counting down to when you can feel his arms around you again. It’s the anticipation to see him after so long that gives you the strength to keep going, making each message, each phone call, each picture and video chat all the more exciting when you plan your first meal back together, your first movie, your first night out, and secretly to yourself, you imagine nothing but the feeling of his arms holding you close as you fall asleep against his chest.

It’s a Tuesday night when he sneaks into your apartment, spotting the familiar sight of you bundled up with your favorite blanket on the couch, laptop, hard drives, and memory cards scattered about, and the clock reads just past midnight as he presses his lips to your forehead. You’re the one that can hardly hold your eyes open after waiting hours for the news of his plane landing, but he says nothing as he plucks the cap from his head, peels his jacket from his body, and settles beneath the blanket with his head on your chest.

Without a word, you pull him close, smiling on the inside even though you’re still half-asleep and somehow it feels like a dream to finally have him so close. He can’t help but to reach for you, cold fingers slipping beneath your t-shirt as his palms take in the warmth of your body, and he leans in closer to press his lips against your own in a soft, sleepy kiss, and now you realize it’s not a dream.

He is with you, in your arms as you hold one another close, and now you’re both home.

#bts imagines #nct imagines #got7 imagines #monsta x imagines #stray kids imagines #harry styles imagines #bts scenarios #stray kids scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #bts x reader #stray kids x reader #ateez x reader

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kiwisa · 1 year

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genesis: outtakes ✩ the harpy

F1 Grid x Fem! Driver! OC ⏤ George Russell x Fem! Teammate! OC (platonic)

fluff, angst, humor • series' masterlist

✩ SCENE 1 ! THE TWEET

✩ SCENE 2 ! THE INTERVIEW WE DON'T TALK ABOUT

Astrée didn't know how the other pilots managed to keep going during media day. It was only the third interview – she nodded to the departing journalist – and she already wanted to end her life, or someone else's. She was still hesitating. If she was asked to play "Fuck, marry, kill" again, or to rank the other drivers by their looks, the woman would not be able to control her murderous urges.

A gentle nudge in her rib brought her out of her thoughts. Beside her, George – whose sympathetic look annoyed her (she was not a fragile little girl) – was handing her a packet of sweets that he had had time to steal from his driver's room before they were called in to do all those interviews together. Without a word, because she had drained her capacity to talk along this stupid question-and-answer game, she took one and, with the sweet taste, forgot for a moment the nasty remarks that had been made about her all morning.

George squeezed her shoulder before letting go when the new journalist arrived. Astrée could not help but wince as she looked at him. Imagine a pale, sunken face with two dark eyes, hidden by bushy eyebrows just as dark. Thin, wicked lips curled into a pout that was unpleasant to look at because the yellow teeth protruding from them inspired disgust. His shirt did nothing to hide the fat that had accumulated in his belly. One wondered how the buttons on his shirt managed to stay on.

After sitting down opposite them, right next to the camera, he gave her a wicked smile that sent shivers of disgust down her spine.

This was going to be a long one...

George must have been thinking the same thing because he sighed – only his teammate heard it.

The journalist introduced himself. His name was apparently Gregory Reeves and if Astrée gave a fuck, she might have remembered the name of the newspaper he worked for. Too bad for him, the Frenchwoman wasn't in the mood and didn't care about these useless introductions. She knew perfectly well that it was to establish some kind of fake link, a way of going beyond the status of strangers, but frankly, knowing their name didn't change the fact that journalists – or vultures, either name worked – were there to make them say what they wanted.

And if they didn't like their answers, a couple of edits, a made-up sentence or two, and a quote out of context in the headline would suffice.

“So, George, are you feeling confident about this grand prix?”

At this question, Astrée disconnected herself from reality. Staring into space, she let her thoughts wander to a world far more pleasant than this one. George always had the interesting questions. She was just an extra. When the video was broadcast, many would criticize her absent-mindedness. For now, she didn't care about the fallout.

Her teammate answered the question, but then, out of the camera's view, handed her the packet of sweets again, as discreetly as possible. This made her smile.

“Astrée,” the journalist called out to her. She was forced to look up, swallowing the candy quickly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see George watching her carefully, surely sensing the lack of sympathy emanating from her. The good thing about him was that they had quickly found a balance during interviews. The Englishman would become the mediator between the journalists and her.

“Since you are a woman, the rules must be different for you. What underwear do you wear under your tight jumpsuit? It looks great on you, by the way.”

The driver blinked once, twice, three times, hoping it was all a big joke, but it was no use. The journalist looked at her, patiently waiting for her answer, as if his question was perfectly normal.

Fucking hell, she was there to drive a car, not to be interviewed by an old pervert.

Her blood ran cold. She stood up, rolled up her sleeves, took a step forward, raised her arm and⏤

“Can we stop the interview, please?” George held her back, cutting short her urge to hit the now frightened reporter. Good. Be afraid, you sexist bastard. Ignoring the scowl Astrée was giving him – let me rearrange the bastard’s face, that's what she wanted to tell him – he turned to their press agent. “Astrée and I have no desire to talk to someone who is clearly misogynistic. I want this man and his paper blacklisted from the paddock. There is no way he can ask such disgusting questions without consequence.”

The pervert snarled, as if he were legitimate to do so. George ignored him. He brushed the imaginary dust off his polo shirt, stood up and, without a glance at him, held out his hand to Astrée to lead her away.

Once they were far away from the cameras, George handed a new bag of candy as a way to say “sorry you had to experience that” to Astrée who, for the first time since they had become teammates, gave him a blinding smile.

If candy and a few insults were the keys to gaining her friendship, George was ready to take on the cavities and PR problems it would ensue.

✩ SCENE 3 ! THREE GUYS IN A ROOM

Daniel, Lando and Pierre looked at the Williams duo as they left. A silence fell but it was quickly broken by the youngest of the three.

“She scares the shit out of me,” Lando finally said.

“Who? Astrée? Why?” Pierre frowned.

The latter had crossed paths with the young woman several times. If she didn't seem very friendly – with the crap that was said about her every day, he wouldn't be either in her place – the Frenchman had never felt any bad vibes emanating from the woman who had trained in the same academy as him.

Perhaps it was because he couldn't get the image out of his head of an eleven-year-old Astrée crying after scraping her knee and her adorable "thank you" when he had tended to her wound.

“Looks like she's ready to get rid of you if you get in her way. And by “getting rid” I mean murder.”

“You know what, now that you mention it, she kind of reminds me of Max in that respect,” Daniel remarked thoughtfully.

“Wow, can you imagine if they were both on the same team? It's a good thing she's at Williams and not Red Bull.”

“I would pay to see that happen,” Daniel admitted.

Lando suppressed a shiver of horror as he imagined the Dutchman and the Frenchwoman driving the same car. He would rather die than experience that.

One thing was certain, he intended to stay as far away from Astrée as possible, Sebastian and his wish to welcome her in the group be damned.

✩ SCENE 4 ! GEORGE'S 'PROUD MOTHER' MOMENT

The Williams garage seemed to be holding its breath. One could have heard a pin drop. Words seemed to be missing. In the midst of a noisy paddock, their silence surprised the engineers of the other teams who would occasionally pause in the middle of the frantic race to look at them. Curious glances, however, could not break the trance that made hearts beat faster and took the breath away from the engineers and pit crew alike. Imperturbable, their eyes remained riveted on the screen broadcasting the race.

In this mass of black, blue, and white, George Russell, his nails bitten to the quick, was paralysed by stress. Motionless in the middle of the anthill that was the garage, his eyes were burning. He didn't want to blink for fear of missing an action, an overtaking, or – the worst option – a mistake.

If anything were to happen to Car 95 at that moment, when they were fourth, George would cry. The wind of hope that was blowing through the room, reviving the team that had been discouraged after his crash with Bottas, could not fade. Not now.

Discreetly, the British man crossed his fingers.

“How many laps left?”

“Fifteen.”

The royal blue car sped through the turns, almost seeming to fly across the tarmac. George didn't even know how that was possible. It was as if the engine had been changed before the race, as if the car had come back to life after a rather mediocre performance in the first grand prix, as if it felt that the person driving it was destined for great things.

“She’s going to do it.”

Eleventh lap. The blue shape caught up with the orange on the straight before the Tosa, the turn that everyone was dreading, except Astrée – apparently – who didn't slow down when she saw it coming.

The McLaren car in front of her preferred to play it safe. A wise decision. George would surely have done the same. On the TV broadcast, Astrée and Elijah's radio conversation was broadcasted.

“Astrée, slow down. Tosa coming up.”

“Hell no.”

The engineer's words had the opposite effect on the pilot, who accelerated.

“She's crazy,” George whispered.

His fingers – still crossed – tightened, as did his shoulders, his jaw, his whole body. Beside him, Adam, with a notebook in his hand, was not doing well either. He was awfully white, and his pupils were shaking.

The Williams gained ground and put immense pressure on the number 4 McLaren. If it wasn't sticking to Norris – her desire to win never outweighed safety – its presence in his rear-view mirror was enough to destabilise the young driver who gave in and let his opponent pass as the two cars raced into the Tosa corner, one much faster than the other.

The commentator shouted something about Astrée overtaking Norris and 10 laps to go but George didn't hear, too busy shouting for joy with the rest of the team.

“That's my girl!”

Immediately, inquisitive looks were cast at the British man, and some eyebrows were raised. He cleared his throat.

“Platonically.”

The eyes turned back to the screen. George rolled his eyes. It didn't matter if they were drivers, assistants, mechanics, radio crew or engineers, all the regulars in the paddock had a taste for gossip.

For a moment, the TV showed the battle for first place.

“Who cares about Max and Lewis!” a mechanic shouted somewhere in the background. “Put Astrée back on!”

As if the control room had been listening, the images flickered on to the blue car speeding through the Alta chicane. It was as if the turns didn't exist. It was as if fear itself was running away from number 95.

George, who had no fingernails left to deal with his stress, began to crack his fingers a little harder as the laps went by. His breathing seemed to mime his teammate braking and accelerations, and then stopped completely as Max passed the chequered flag.

“Max Verstappen wins the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix! Hamilton takes 2nd place while Iraklidis closes the podium! The first woman to do so! This is a historic moment, ladies and gentlemen!”

Euphoria at Williams’. Screams. Laughter. In the midst of it all, George seemed to be the conductor of the hubbub, jumping around with high-pitched shrieks, letting out “Fuck yes!” and “I knew it!” over and over. He threw himself into the arms of a very uncomfortable Adam, unused to being the subject of an F1 driver's affection.

Amidst the joy and sheer hilarity of it all, no one saw the cameras pointed at the second Williams driver or the footage that was broadcast live for millions of viewers to see.

✩ SCENE 5 ! THE AFTERMATH

The first thing she felt as she entered the Williams garage, still sticky from the champagne, was George's arms around her waist. If being on the podium had already made her dizzy, his teammate carrying and spinning her around in euphoria worsened the feeling.

“You did it!” He shouted into her ears, surely piercing her eardrum in the process. But she didn't really care, too happy to have her moment ruined.

“I did it!” she replied in the same tone.

When he put her down, when all the team members (even Adam) had finished congratulating her, when she could no longer feel her hand after shaking so many in a row, she dropped ungracefully into a chair near the computers recording their race statistics. George sat down next to her, shaking her shoulders.

“I still can't believe it,” she finally said once the euphoria had subsided a little.

She thought back to that moment, so special, that she had always dreamed of. She replayed it in her head over and over again, as if she were a spectator of her own life. Although she had made a few mistakes that would bother her enough to cringe alone in bed tonight, Astrée couldn't help but smile from ear to ear, her cheeks flushed, as she saw the realization of her dream pass under her closed eyelids.

“You must be over the moon,” George pointed out.

“That I am.”

“Your first GP and you're already on the podium...”

Astrée frowned.

"What? No. I don't give a damn about the podium. I mean I do, yes, but nothing compares to meeting Lewis Fucking Hamilton."

✩ taglist !

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sgiandubh · 6 months

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This is not a political post

One more time, in caps and bold: THIS IS NOT A POLITICAL POST. But if I can, as a diplomat and a historian, bring some extra context and try and understand what happened today in S's world, so be it. Enough said about me.

I am fumbling with a ton of thoughts since this morning, when this link was shared with me by one of the closest people in my platoon:

In a nutshell: S signed that (in)famous letter, an initiative of APUK (Artists for Palestine UK), a network that's been operating since 2015. You can read it in full if you open the link and I suggest you do. You will soon find out that the letter, while correctly pointing out the atrocious gesture of bombing a civilian hospital in Gaza, asked the world's governments to 'end their military and political support for Israel’s actions'. Nowhere in that letter did the word Hamas appear, which would immediately point out as supporting what is a terrorist movement that is, alas, also part and parcel of the Palestinian government, under Mahmoud Abbas's weak, irrelevant aegis. The man is an old PLO/Fatah crone: fishy, ineffective and fairly corrupted. His position on the Holocaust is, to be elegant, a study in ambiguity. Enough said.

It is pointless and absurd to try and explain the whole situation in detail. I would have to go back at least to the Balfour Declaration (1919) or the no less infamous end of the British/LoN/UN Palestine Mandate (1948), if I wanted to simply scratch the surface of a subject that is everywhere these days. With an intensity of absolutely legitimate emotions that can simply not be measured by any counter on this planet, as we speak.

But the facts are here, and naïve S had no damn idea: 500 civilians were killed, Tuesday night, in the bombing of the al-Ahli Baptist/Arab Hospital in Gaza City. Hullaballoo ensued on a cataclysmic scale: first, Hananya Naftali, a digital aide to Benjamin Netanyahu recklessly wrote on X that the "Israeli army [Tsahal] bombed a Hamas terrorist base inside a hospital in Gaza". Then erased the tweet. Several video collages released by the Tsahal, the first of which was heavily contested by a NYT journalist (and former Bellingcat researcher) Aric Toler, point out towards the PIJ (Palestinian Islamic Jihad)'s forces being responsible for the strike.

These quotes from an Al Jazeera paper sum up the ensuing scandal better than I ever could - selected by me, but you can and probably should read it all (https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/10/18/what-is-israels-narrative-on-the-gaza-hospital-explosion):

No craters mean no airstrike and most probably a rocket failure. The uneasiness remained, that being said, at the highest level. And the planned US-Egypt-Jordan- Palestine talks hosted by Amman were abruptly called off hours before Biden landed in Tel Aviv.

To cut the story short: the letter is right to point out that you just don't bomb hospitals when you are at war, as per the terms of the Fourth 1949 Geneva Convention, dealing with the protection of civilians in times of war. Both Israel (signed in 1949/ratified in 1951) and Palestine (2014) are, as parties and signatories, legally bound by it, in the eyes of International Law. The only problem with it is that it purposefully omits to put things into context (whodunnit) and forgets the cynical truth: Hamas keeps hundreds of innocent Israelis and two millions of innocent Gaza civilians as its hostages.

Article 18 is at the core of the matter:

The last thing S should have done is to sign that fucking treacherous letter, without getting a second (third, fourth...) opinion.

S is a good man, we all know and love this about him. He is also one of the most naïve people I have ever seen in this lifetime. This is why his final reaction really, really moved this cynic, here:

I am taking this home and keep it. It deeply moved me (yes, me):

" I don't know nearly enough and trying to educate myself on the conflicts in the Middle East. I feel helpless and wish I could help in some way.'

I am sure 'someone nice' called and 'nicely asked", maybe even offered some scarce and biased details, to prompt an impulse signature. I am also sure S didn't read the letter himself. There is no harm saying you were wrong. He did it with dignity and grace - no, it was not easy.

This is a man of worth speaking. Bravo!

But for the love of all that's holy, Sir: don't you ever step into this kind of shit again. These things are far more complex than you could ever fathom and it's a very cynical world out there. Leave it to us, we are handsomely paid for it by our governments. I hear you and I am completely supporting this more than welcome withdrawal. It's not worth much, for sure. But it is an honest POV.

Also, John 8:7:

So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.

Kindly refrain from politics in your comments. Let's not drag trash where it should not be, ever. Thank you all.

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hedgehog-moss · 2 years

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I meant to shear my llamas last spring, but ended up having to cancel due to yet another national lockdown—and it was actually for the best since last summer was so cold and rainy; not a good time to be a naked llama.

So we postponed things by a year, and our new appointment was today, and I'm so pleased with how it went! The shearer said, and I quote, that my llamas were exceptionally nice llamas. I'd never had them shorn before, so I didn't know what to expect, and just to be safe my mum and I added crossbars between the posts in the corral earlier this week—it used to be just a wire fence. I thought wooden rails would be more of a deterrent in case of a llama uprising (literally—Pampe's jumped over this corral fence once when she was a teenager.)

Here are the new crossbars, with fresh leaves still attached, for a bonus llama snack (they have now been eaten)

I decided Pampelune would go first. Pyrgus refused to enter the corral with his mum, so he worriedly watched her being haltered and tied to a post from outside—I was hoping for a poignant mother-son nose-cuddle scene like in Dumbo but no, Pampy actually looked a bit offended by her son's wimpiness, and Gus was like sorry :( the corral is scary :(

Pampy was so calm and patient throughout <3 She's a very chill llama so I was expecting things to go well with her. I warned the shearer that Pampérigouste would be another story—that was the reason I wanted Pampy to go first, so Pampe could watch her mother calmly being shorn and see that nothing bad was happening.

The only issue we encountered is that Pampelune likes to wear her ears low behind her head, as shown above, because it just seems to be the ear position she finds most comfortable (and it's the reason she ranked last in last year's ear contest), so we had to grab her ears and move them this way and that in order to shear the back of her head, and she very much resented it. Still, she was very good and was awarded a banana peel and half a carrot.

(Important bit of arcane knowledge: underneath her wool, a llama has the texture of very old and scratchy wall-to-wall carpeting)

At first I hesitated to keep Pampe in the corral while her mum was being shorn, explaining that she might freak out about being trapped in a small fenced place with a stranger wielding a very noisy unknown device. Straight away she started debunking my claims by being very calmly and politely curious about what was happening.

The shearer had been previously told on the phone that she might only be able to shear 1 llama, because the second one is a bit of a pain in general. Pampe's never been shorn in her life and she's Pampe. A free llama. She doesn't like being controlled or immobilised or forced to wear a halter and she's not particularly trusting with strangers. It seemed safe to assume shearing her would be challenging, and the shearer was abundantly warned that she would be dealing with one Good Llama and one Bad Llama.

So, of course, Pampe proceeded to be The Best Llama This Shearer Had Ever Met. Just so she could complain about being unfairly slandered, I suppose. She didn't even dance around or lift her feet when her legs were being shorn, which is apparently something every llama does as a defensive reflex. She just stood there like "?? I'm a model llama. Everyone knows that. A pleasure to have in class. What lies has my owner been feeding you?"

Pampe: "I haven't had an experience this boring since giving birth."

Baby Poldine: side eye

(Poldine was pretty intrigued by the whole thing. You can hear her quizzical hums in the video, and when her mum was freed she immediately went to sniff her and touch her all over with her nose, while holding her tail up very high, which seems to be the baby llama equivalent of cartoon characters going around with a question mark above their head. )

Pandolf spent the morning locked in the barn because he tends to express his support a bit too exuberantly (I bet he would have volunteered to be shorn in solidarity), and when he was finally freed, he also had a lot of questions.

Pampe's wool turned out to be a lot thicker than Pampelune's, and Pampoldine's father is also very fluffy, so I think my next shearing appointment will be just for Pampe & Poldine. The shearer was so happy with my llamas—at one point I was telling Pampy "That's a good llama" and she said "That's an excellent llama!!" and then she called them exceptional, which I've already mentioned, but I'm so proud.

She said she often needs to use a hobble or ropes and force the llamas to lie down on their side, like they do with alpacas, which tends to be more stressful for everyone involved when it comes to llamas, since they're bigger and struggle more forcefully. She'd also told me to have old towels at the ready, to wipe off all the spit we would receive from stressed or angry llamas—and no one was spat on even once.

(I asked her how she came to be a travelling llama shearer, and she said she had two alpacas on her farm, and her shearer offered to train her since there are few camelid shearers in the country; so she's now his successor. She spent the night on my land in her camper van and we did the shearing in the early morning, then had a coffee and she was off to shear 25 alpacas further South.)

After letting everyone out of the corral I went to get a large bag to gather up all the wool, and meanwhile the llamas were rolling and rolling in the still-dewy grass, it must have been quite an intriguing and refreshing sensation! As close to skinny-dipping as a llama can ever get.

Conclusion:

#crawling along #is this a dated reference #probably #okay i just looked up how old the bouncing pixar sheep is and this short is nearly 20yo oh my god

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intimidating-fettuccine · 4 months

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Christmas at the Mansion (+ the castle)

I'm posting this now because I leave for a trip for the holidays tomorrow (and I don't know how my schedule will be), although I also have an old holiday scenario queued up for Christmas day :) If you celebrate anything, Happy Holidays, and if not, have a nice end of the year! I'll still be around to answer questions and post quotes and stuff at the very least.

Like with Thanksgiving, first and foremost, Slender is cooking and baking a fuck ton of food. But, he's got a lot more company in the kitchen this time as LJ, Candy, and Jason are all making a whole bunch of candy and cakes and other desserts as it's their time to shine. LJ actually has his own candy-pulling hook, and he makes homemade candy canes for everyone in whatever flavors they might want that year (they usually vote on them and he'll make a few batches), and everyone snacks on them while waiting for dinner to be ready.

I think they probably do Secret Santa in the mansion because there are just so many of them, and if they want to get an extra gift for specific people they're allowed to do that too, although those gifs are usually exchanged privately, although Slender gets at least one gift for every resident. They all get up early in the morning, and Slender will make a big yummy breakfast with pancakes, homemade cinnamon rolls, and hot chocolate for everyone, and they'll sit around the giant tree and exchange all the Secret Santa gifts. Some years they might do themes, but most of the time they just all try and get something that they think their person will enjoy. After they exchange those gifts, if anyone got an extra gift for specific people they usually pair off and exchange those.

After the gift exchange, it's Christmas movie time. They'll go into the big living room and they take turns picking Christmas movies to pass the time while Slender is making Christmas dinner. Everyone snuggles up with their hot chocolate and just relaxes, telling jokes and funny stories while they watch Christmas movies they grew up on, and it's fun for the creeps that were/are human to show movies to the demonic residents who haven't seen them yet. For lunch, Slender will usually have Tim prepare some food for everyone, and by that time the candy canes are usually ready so everyone snacks on those as well.

By the time dinner is ready everyone's excited and rushing into the dining room to have Slender's famous Christmas feast. Slender usually has his brothers and his mom over for Christmas dinner, Toby invites his mom over, and Natalie invites her younger brother. Everyone is happy to be surrounded by the family they love, especially since Mrs. Rogers and Slender's mom always bring extra dishes that taste so fucking good. It's one of the most lively dinners in the mansion because everyone's bantering and sharing stories about each other, and the room always fills with laughter and smiles. I think Slender's mom would probably also get gifts for all of the residents (and the extra guests) too, and she'd share them after dinner was over. After dinner, everyone normally just hangs out and plays video games or board games, especially if someone got a new one for Christmas, and they'll just spend time together laughing and having fun until everyone gets too tired to stay awake anymore.

On the other side of the Underworld, Zalgo also tries to have a Christmas for his employees as well. He and the best cooks of his employees will prepare a gigantic, lavish feast for all of the workers that reside in the castle, and they'll all eat together in the large dining room in the castle meant to fit all of them. Zalgo also takes care to provide a gift for all of his employees, and while he has well close to 100 including his castle and the employees of his assassination company, he makes sure to get them a gift they'll honestly enjoy. Of course, they always get him gifts as well, even if he tells them that he doesn't need them, but the blush and shy smile on his face at their generosity makes it worth it for them to do so. Zalgo will have to return to some work eventually, but he does his best to provide a good holiday to his workers, as he feels they deserve it for all of the hard work that they do.

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 5 months

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The Gumshoe Is a Girl's Best Friend | Neil Lewis x Reader

Summary | Things have recently changed between them and the tension continues to grow after Neil's relationship with his current girlfriend, Megan, begins to sour. Opening night of Gumshoe Video's first commercial sets the stage for new romance.

Warnings | Arguing, Unhealthy domestic relationships, Cheating, and brief sexual language.

A World Without Love- Peter And Gordon 🎶

Silhouette- Pastel Ghost 🎵

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?- Tyler, The Creator 🎶

word count: 3510k

Citation for quotes taken from original movie:

Watching the Detectives. Directed by Paul Soter, performances by Cillian Murphy and Lucy Liu, 2007.

Not proofread, sorry!

.................................................................................

We were standing in his office in the back of Gumshoe Video, and like usual, we were arguing.

“There is no way that I’m wearing that!” He pointed menacingly at the blue suit I had bought from the downtown consignment shop.

“But it goes so well with your eyes!” I argued and thrusted the matching baby blue shirt back into his hands.

“Listen, listen- hey wait, listen to me!” He backed himself up into the corner of his office and I followed him, holding the pressed suit between my arms.

“It has ruffles! I’m not wearing ruffles on opening night, Y/N. This is a serious event!” He held out his hands in an effort to stop me but I wrapped the silk bow tie around his neck and poked a finger harshly into his chest. He pressed his back against the wall, his arms crossed protectively around himself.

“Wear. the. suit. Neil.” I threatened darkly and he gulped, his blue eyes jumping comically from the suit to my face.

“Fine, damn it! But I am NOT wearing the bowtie.” He snatched the contrasting dark blue suit jacket with its velvet lapel and sighed.

“Good boy,” I teased with the best doll eyes I could muster and swiped the silk bow tie from around his neck and into my pocket.

“Yeah, yeah alright.” He waved me off and started to unbutton his shirt, showing the white t-shirt beneath his light green button-down. He paused and looked at me expectantly.

“Aren’t you gonna leave? I need to change into this ridiculous suit!” He pointed to the door to his office, plated with textured glass. I backed away and shrugged.

“I wanted to make sure you actually put it on… and besides, it's nothing I haven’t seen before.” I said the latter part of the sentence beneath my breath but somehow Neil still heard it and whipped around.

“How many times are you going to bring that up before I live it down?” He covered his face and groaned dramatically.

“As long as I want.” I hurried out of his office and closed the door behind me. I could hear the satisfying sound of clothes as they moved off and on his body. It’s just a joke, I reminded myself, nothing more. It had been a little over two months since he’d called me so late it was almost early morning, to ask me to help him. I was still awake by some stroke of luck and followed his directions: Bring a towel or a blanket, anything, and Drive to Megan’s (400 Caste Ave). Have the headlights off and stop outside the side door. I’ll meet you there. From the tone of his voice, I knew something was wrong.

Is everything ok, Neil? I whispered into the receiver.

Yeah, yeah. I just had a fight with Megan. Everything’s ok, I just couldn’t get a hold of Jonathan or Lucien. I’m sorry…�� He sighed against the phone and I nodded, knowing that he couldn’t see me.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.” I hung up.

When I got to 400 Caste Ave, I did as he said. I pulled up to the side of the house without my headlights on and opened the door. A grabbed the robe I had thrown into the passenger seat and jumped out, looking around in the dark for him. I was surprised how easy it was to see him, sitting on the side steps, completely naked. His pale skin stood out like an eerie glow in the dark.

“Could you throw me that?” He gestured to the robe with one arm, the other lying across his lap to cover himself. I stopped a few feet from him and tossed the robe into his arms. I turned away to give him some privacy until he cleared his throat and followed me back to the car.

I was 5”3 so the robe was too short on him and ended on his lower thigh. He fiddled with the hem self-consciously as he climbed into the passenger seat. I sat behind the wheel and looked over at him in the dim light of the automatic car light.

“Did she lock you out of the house? What the hell happened, Neil.” I asked finally and he closed his eyes, nearly smiling from discomfort and embarrassment.

“It’s not important.” He mumbled, his face bright pink.

“Not important? You were butt-ass naked! We have to leave your car here and everything.” I laughed in frustration, slapping the worn leather binding of the steering wheel.

“I’ll deal with everything tomorrow, I promise. I just want to go home. Could you drive me, Y/N?” He laid his head back against the headrest and stared at the ceiling.

“Ok, Neil.” I cut my eyes away from his face and put the car in reverse, pulling out of the driveway and onto the road. We drove home listening to Billie Holiday, singing the lyrics to Lover Man quietly beneath our breath. When I pulled up to his house, he sighed and pushed the door open, leaning down to speak through the window.

“I’m sorry again, Y/N. I didn’t want to involve you but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It's ok, Neil.” I smiled softly and chuckled as he looked down at himself in the small red robe with white piping along the lapels.

“This robe is ridiculous by the way. You need a new one.” He picked limply at the short hem, laughing.

“I’ll consult you on my next purchase.” I rolled my eyes and waved goodbye as he turned back to his house. He retrieved a key from a plastic goose, laying in the front yard and opened the front door. I drove home in light-headed fury. I didn’t like Megan and Neil knew it. She was strange, and though we were all strange in our own ways, she was almost psychopathic. She pulled these stunts on Neil all the time to see he would react and judge how far she could push him the next time. He’d stayed with her through it all because he thought he loved her but she had only ever caused him emotional and physical distress in the moments they spent alone. He refused to leave her, and despite his own flaws, it made him a good man.

She still poked fun at Neil for that night, mainly for her own amusement, and because that night signified a shift in her. She’d never thought of Neil as anything more than a friend, someone she saw a few times a week and talked to occasionally but hadn’t even known his favorite color (green) or remembered his birthday (May 25). Until that night, they had barely been friends. And since then, they had grown closer with me never being able to get him out of my mind the night I saw him on the steps, his back hunched over his chest and his dark brown hair fluttering in the small gusts of wind. The freckles that dotted his shoulders like shadows from eyelet curtains stuck with me, I’d never been able to let it go.

But things returned to normal a week or so afterwards. Megan apologized, returning his clothes, keys, and car; and he stayed with her, laughing off whatever deeply-rooted hurt he’d felt from the whole experience. And though we never really talked about that night, we’d grown unspokenly closer in the weeks that followed.

The shop’s front doors were propped open with milk crates weighed down with old VHS. The air smelled heavy and sour with cheap weed that flooded in dense clouds around the inside of the store. I weaved through the small cliques of people arranged throughout the aisles, holding plastic red cups of liquor and bad wine. I found Megan by the front doors, sitting alone and sipping from her drink.

“Hi, Megan.” I waved briefly and continued on to Jonathan and Lucien who were perched together on the store’s window seat, entertaining guests. Megan shifted in her plastic seat, her heavy black eyeliner cast a shadow over her eyes, saying nothing.

“Ah, here she is! Y/N, stylist to the stars.” Jonathan opened his arms, nearly knocking Lucien’s glasses off his face. The circle cheered as I sat down amongst them.

“Speaking of stylist, I love your outfit!” One friend, Lauren, smiled kindly.

I looked down at what I was wearing: A black velvet mini dress and a tweed blazer. I had my short hair tied back with a black ribbon and heeled sandals that made me two inches taller at 5”5.

“Thank you.” I blushed and tucked my hands beneath my knees as the wave of conversation continued. I watched the office door for Neil to emerge, preparing myself for a boy dressed in baby blue, however, I wasn’t prepared when he made his grand entrance.

“Here he comes now.” Lucien sighed and turned to a woman who was sitting beside him to start another story.

“Oh my god, THAT is blue.” Jonathan laughed into his palm, his face turning red as he rocked back and forth on the window seat. Neil approached confidently, his hands stretched out to welcome appreciation and applause. I giggled to myself, taken aback by how good he looked even in the outdated prom costume. Megan rolled her eyes and slurped loudly from her drink.

“What do we think, huh?” Neil did a twirl and flicked the jacket back to show off his shirt.

“I can’t tell if I'm turned on or if I just really need to sneeze. It probably had decades of dust on that thing.” Lucien grumbled into a handkerchief and everyone laughed.

“Well, Lucien may be allergic to me but other than that, the reviews seem good.” He raised an eyebrow at me and I started to laugh again.

“Alright everyone! Thank you so much for being here tonight to see the premier of Gumshoe’s first ever commercial,” he paused for the applause, “I want to thank my closest friends and film crew Lucien, Jonathan, and Y/N for helping me make this wonderful film-er- commercial. Thank you to all of our loyal customers that are here tonight, keeping Gumshoe open. Um,” His voice quivered and he faked emotion, pitching the place between his eyebrows as if he was overcome with emotion, “‘I told myself that I wouldn’t cry. Um,’” he wiped an invisible tear from his eye before turning back to the audience, ‘“no seriously,’” he regained his composure, ‘“I know I can’t compete with the big guys, but as long as I have you guys, my small and loyal following of geeks and weirdos, I know I’ll be alright.’”

We all cooed and applauded, laughing at his performance.

“And of course, I need to thank my wonderful girlfriend, Megan, for being my rock through all of this. No one is more… stable and supportive than her.” He smiled awkwardly and cleared his throat after the scattering of applause from the people who knew Megan well. Luciene glanced at me and I returned his suggestive gaze. Megan responded with a small, annoyed smile and checked her flip-phone.

“Y/N?” He turned quickly with finger guns trained at my chest.

“Oh right!” I jumped up and retrieved the VHS from behind the counter. Neil switched on the large box tv and inserted the tape into the player. The VHS loaded into the dock and clicked into place, the tape beginning to wind forwards. I returned to my seat and joined in the rest of the room’s applause as the screen blinked. Neil hurried across the couches to Megan and dropped down into the plastic seat beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against the crook of his shoulder, smiling sweetly. I tore my eyes away and watched the screen as the image appeared.

It was a film noir and Neil was the disgruntled gangster, fixing his revolver at a man’s chest. His face was dark in the shadows but you could still see the slender cigarette wedged between his teeth like a toothpick. The man, holding a Gumshoe Video tape, ran away comically from Neil and received a clear shot to the back, taking a good few seconds to fall to the dark pavement. Neil restored the gun to the inside of his trench coat and walked around to the front of a dark storefront where I, playing the gangster’s lover, stood expectantly. I was turned away from the camera when he approached. When I turned around, my dark black sequined gown glittered across the screen. The dress was inspired by Marylin Monroe’s Ladies of the Chorus gown, hugging my curves and showing off my whitish-blonde hair. A few whistles escaped from the crowd and I laughed, blushing. Neil stubbed out his cigarette.

“‘Nice shot, lover. What was that for?’” I asked breathily in my best Monroe voice.

“‘This was due back last Thursday, and besides, he forgot to rewind.” Neil answered in a silly mock-mafia accent, holding the overdue tape in his hand.The storefront lit up, and the stacks of VHS stood far back in the picture, glowing in black and white. ‘Gumshoe Video’ was visible in large letters across the store’s window, gray instead of bubblegum pink.

“Say, what’s Gumshoe got for a girl like me?” I strutted over and fixed the popped collar on Neil’s trench coat and he chucked dramatically (the audience laughed).

“Why darling, Gumshoe’s a girl’s best friend!” He pulled out one more tap from his jacket pocket and gave it to me. Jonathan (the cameraman) zoomed in on the tape’s label Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. The camera zoomed out and I squealed and took the tape, clutching it to my chest.

“‘Gumshoe Video,’” the picture changed into color, “‘if we don’t have it, we’ll hit the pavement looking for it.’” Neil winked at the camera with a thumb’s up. I kissed him on the cheek with my Monroe-red lips and it was caught in the freezeframe at the end of the ad. Everyone applauded, some whistled as Neil jumped back up and acknowledged the crowd once again.

“Another round-of-applause to my camera man, Jonathan, and my lovely costar, Y/N!” He pointed us out and Jonathan and I took our bows.

“Thank you everyone for coming out tonight. Have some cheap wine and beer and hang around because we have a very special midnight showing of the 1944 Arsenic and Old Lace.” He waggled his fingers and laughed awkwardly as people started to stand. I watched Megan start to frown deeper on her plastic chair, her arms tightly crossed against her chest. Neil noticed her reaction and started to go over but she bolted from the seat, heading into the back office. He followed her without a word.

“Do you think it was the kiss?” I asked Lucien and he shrugged.

“It was a pretty lousy kiss, I doubt it was that.” He fixed his thick glasses. Jonathan leaned over, smiling.

“I think she’s upset that he cast you at all.”

“Gee thanks, Jonathan.” I huffed, “it's not fair that she’s upset. He asked her first but she didn’t want to be in the ad. I was the second choice.” I hardened my voice and Jonathan nodded.

“And thank god she said no.” Lucien laughed dryly, watching as Neil tried to get into his own office in the back room.

“Filming would have been hell.” Jonathan added below his breath and I held in my laugh.

They were in Neil’s office for the better part of an hour, Megan yelling and throwing this around the entire time. Their shadows behind the door played out for everyone to see in the store like a puppet show. When midnight neared, Jonathan switched the tapes in the player and I handed out popcorn in large paper bags. Most of the guests stayed, going back to their seats around the tv for the movie. Lucien talked for what felt like fifteen minutes about the film while also smoking on his pipe. Jonathan and I rolled our eyes at most of what he had to say, asserting himself as the real film-expert at Gumshoe Video.

I heard the office door slam and looked up in time to see Megan leave out the back door. I didn’t see Neil leave his office though his door was wide open. I slipped away from the movie and made my way to Neil’s office with the smoky, textured glass, and knocked lightly on the doorframe. I heard a drawn out sigh before a quiet, “come in.”

He was sitting at his desk with his head cradled between his arms. I stood by the door, leaning against the inside of the doorframe and waited for him to look up. When he did, his blue eyes found mine, bloodshot and tired.

“The movie’s starting. Do you want a drink?” I asked.

“Yeah… yeah.” He nodded. I went to the drink cooler and took out two beers. I set them down on the desk in front of him and beckoned with my free hand.

“Come on.” I whispered below the movie’s dialogue in the front of the store.

We went out the backdoor and sat on the cinderblock wall beside the old basketball net. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his ruffled dress shirt and sighed, taking a long drink from his beer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked hesitantly.

“Nah. It doesn’t matter anyway.” He looked over and smiled tiredly.

“She’s not mad?” I asked, shocked.

“No, no she’s mad but it's over something stupid.” He looked down at his beer.

“Is it me?”

He looked at me again and smiled. He chuckled softly before raising the beer to his lips, looking up at the distant sky.

“Yeah.” Was all he said and I didn’t ask further.

“The commercial was a big hit, Neil.” I smiled and recounted the compliments I had received from guests. “They think we should make more.”

“I don’t know if Jonathan would like that.” He laughed.

“Maybe, but we were good. That’s all that matters.” I smiled over at him and he smiled back, silence falling between us. He looked down at my lips and I exhaled a cloud of crystalized air. He kissed me quickly, catching me off guard. He pulled me closer with his lips and took my jaw with his fingers. I put my hand on his knee, pushing myself into him and taking in his tongue. He pulled away just as quickly as he had started and blushed deeply.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head. “I’m drunk.” He stood and stepped away from me, running a head through his hair.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” He took another step back and rubbed his forehead.

“It’s ok.” I whispered.

“No, no. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s OK, Neil.” I stood too and held out my hands like I was calming an animal. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wet from overwhelmed tears. Then he did it again. He rushed to me, dropping his beer bottle and taking my face in his hands. He kissed me deeply and I kissed him back, taking him in. He had the lovely warm scent of manhood that lingered in every corner of his skin. I sighed against his lips and he kissed me slower, more passionately.

He walked me backwards and held me gently against the cinder block wall. He put his hands around my hips and pushed his pelvis against mine, releasing his lips to rest his forehead against mine. I trailed my hands up his chest, helping them find their way through the patterns in the ruffles.

“Are you sorry now?” I asked against his lips and I felt him smile against mine.

“No.” He kissed me again, sucking gently on my tongue. He held my face and turned it as he kissed me, searching for every place of my lips that he hadn’t yet kissed. He picked me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, putting most of my weight against the wall behind me. He rutted his hips against me again and I gasped softly, squirming against his body.

“Wait,” I whispered, “what about Megan?” He opened his eyes and looked down into mine. “What about Megan?” I repeated.

“We’re done.” His smile was strained as he remembered his last interaction with Megan. “I ended things. I should have done it before and I’m sorry.” He rubbed his nose against mine, breathing softly on my lips. “I-I think I love you, Y/N. I’ve been so confused lately but all I know is that things changed after that night when you saved me. I should have done something then but I didn’t. I think I’ve loved you this whole time.” He shook his head. I took his face in my hands and kissed him softly before pulling away.

“I think I love you too.” I whispered back.

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #neil lewis #neil lewis x y/n #fluff #fanfic #cillian murphy #watching the detectives

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