#you can never seem to replicate it

[makoodles]

ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, inexperienced!reader, first time blow jobs, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, riding, jealous ghost, some communication issues!

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The problem with sleeping with a man like Ghost, you’re coming to realise, is that now that you’ve experienced the reality of sex (and good sex) you can’t stop thinking about it.

In the week following the night you’d spent together, you swear you can feel his phantom touch on your hips, your thighs, your back. It feels like he’s carved a space for himself inside of you, something you’ll never get back – not that you want it back in the first place. 

Realistically, you know that the whole ‘loss of virginity’ thing doesn’t have as much to do with how you’re feeling as the fact that it was Ghost who had taken it. You had long bullied your hymen out of the way with your collection of silly dildos, but nothing could have prepared you for the scorching hot heat of Ghost’s massive cock splitting you open, or his clever tongue licking at you, or his thick calloused fingers rubbing torturous circles into your clit and fraying your nerves apart.

The worst part is, you don’t know if anything is ever going to live up to the way he made you feel again. You’ve tried to replicate his touches, his rhythm, the way he had split you open, but your fingers are too small and none of your dildos can imitate the way he had worked you stupid. To your immense dissatisfaction, you don’t even come close to coming again.

It feels like something inside of you has cracked open, and you don’t know how to stop all of this new yearning, how to stuff it all back inside and pretend that nothing has changed.

The problem is that while you feel as though you’ve been changed from the inside out, you don’t think Ghost feels the same way. Maybe the most infuriating thing is that Ghost seems entirely unaffected. Other than a couple of lingering glances and knowing stares, there’s no indication that he had done anything more intimate with you than grappling at training. 

All you can do is attempt to follow his lead, to be as casual as possible.

It’s harder than it sounds.

You find your whole body straining towards him when he’s close to you, though you try to keep cool. You fail miserably. You can’t even look in Ghost’s direction without thinking of his big fingers hooked inside you, rubbing at your clit, squeezing at your tits. You can hardly look him in the eye without thinking of the way he looked when he was squeezed between your thighs with his mouth on your cunt, the way those big brown eyes watched as you writhed on his tongue.

And yet, you can hardly tear your eyes away from him. You look at him in a completely different light now. He’s the first man to take you, the first one to touch you so intimately, the first one to make you come. He’s still your lieutenant, but it’s like all of a sudden your eyes have been opened to a new aspect of him. He’s no longer just your untouchable superior, the man who’s always so cold and distant behind that death mask – now he’s the man who was gentle with you, the man who kissed you sweetly when he took your virginity, the man who gave you the first, second, third orgasm of your life.

But despite the way you had been offered that new little glimpse into Ghost, he still remains an enigma to you. 

You can feel his eyes on you throughout the week, though it’s never at the same time as when you’re looking at him. And maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems as though he’s gotten freer with his touches, too. A big palm on the small of your back as he steps past you, a quick squeeze to the shoulder. It’s subtle, and you can’t be sure that he’s actually touching you anymore than usual.

But other than the subtle glances and the light touches, Ghost doesn’t make any genuine effort to approach you again. He still treats you like just another member of the squad, no different to Soap or Gaz. 

If anything, he gives them more attention than he gives you, delivering his deadpan jokes and exchanging quips during training. You end up standing to the side, sending infrequent glances their way in the hopes that he’ll give you something.

You’ve never been the fittest or the strongest, but your level of distraction in those few days following your night with Ghost is absolutely mortifying. You’re slow, you’re clumsy, you mess up everything. 

You don’t think you can be blamed when you’re working in the same space as Ghost. You can hardly bring yourself to look his way when he’s lifting weights, unable to handle looking at the flex and curl of his muscles under his long-sleeve black workout shirt. It clings to him, letting you see every little shift of muscle and tendon beneath that stupid top as he works, and your mind very unhelpfully provides a slideshow of memories of him between your spread thighs. 

You know it’s obvious. You glance at him, then glance away, then back again. Your eyes linger, bright and too interested, before you’re able to hide it. You wonder sometimes if your yearning is obvious on your face; you hope not.

But if Ghost sees it – any of it – he gives no indication. 

If you have to be honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you’re disappointed. You had hoped that– well. You’re not sure you can bear to admit what you’d hoped, even just to yourself. It feels silly to admit that maybe you had hoped that Ghost wouldn’t be content with just being your first, that maybe he’d want to be your second, your third. Silly. Almost blasphemous.

You don’t technically have to show up to training, so after only two days of your awkward and uncertain pining in the gym, you stop showing up. The role you fulfil as part of the 141 is a non-combat one, so you know you won’t be missed in their ongoing training. You’ve mostly been working in communications; maintaining secure communication channels and ensuring that information is transmitted accurately and securely. The boys rely on you in the field, and you feel like you owe them a certain level of physical fitness just in case things go frighteningly wrong when you’re out there with them. 

There’s just something so mortifying about the whole situation. It feels as though Ghost had peeled back the layers of you and taken a peek at your soft unprotected insides. You’d been vulnerable in front of him in a way you’d never been in front of anyone before, in a way that you can hardly stand. You had thought that you’d been okay with it being a one time thing, but you weren’t exactly doing a whole lot of thinking at the time.

So yeah, every time he glances away from you, or when he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction at all, it feels like you’re being rejected anew. It’s…. It’s not ideal. But you’re a big girl, and you’ve dealt with repressed desire and stifled yearning for years now. At least now you have a real experience to add to your reserve of imagination the next time you try to get yourself off.

It’s fine. You convince yourself that you were being ridiculous in the first place. He’s Ghost, after all. You feel a little foolish for even having the brief hope that something more might happen between the two of you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You manage to keep to yourself for most of the week, and the rest of the squad is kind enough not to say anything about it. But when Thursday comes around, you realise it’s not going to be possible to avoid Soap and his persistent insistence that you join them all in the moderately-sized cantina for drinks that night.

Truthfully, it doesn’t take too much persuading to convince you to go. Avoiding training with the squad had resulted in a week of isolation that had left you lonely and wishing for some social interaction. Besides, you’ve never quite been able to say no to Soap, and so you’re dragged to the little cantina for the second Thursday in a row.

To your absolute bewilderment, you find yourself in the exact same position as you had been in the last time you shared drinks with the squad, exactly one week ago. 

Despite hardly speaking to you all week, Ghost had so confidently taken a seat next to you on the same fucking squishy little couch that you had shared last week. You end up partially squashed into the arm of the sofa, with Ghost’s massive hulking body brushing against you with every slight movement. 

It’s galling to admit it, but you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t say much other than a soft murmur of a greeting when he first settles down beside you, but then he throws his arm around the back of the couch in a move that’s unexpectedly intimate. 

You try not to read too much into it. While Ghost may be fairly aloof and menacing to those that don’t know him well, to you and the squad he’s always been subtly territorial. His eyes flick around the room semi-regularly, never at ease even in the middle of base. When Gaz goes to get drinks, Ghost’s eyes follow him until he gets back as though he’s expecting something to happen in the few minutes and couple of feet that he’s gone. He does the same when Price steps out for a smoke, and when Soap steps out to the toilet.

So the arm behind you (technically resting on the back of the couch rather than your shoulders) doesn’t actually mean anything. The curious look that Soap sends you doesn’t mean anything either, and you studiously ignore it as you force yourself to relax at Ghost’s side.

You drink the vodka soda Gaz hands you a little quicker than you mean to – maybe it’s because your nerves are already set on edge, but the alcohol goes to your head. Quickly. 

It’s a pleasant floaty feeling, and it eases some of the anxiety that’s been bubbling thanks to the heat that sinks into your skin from his side pressed up against you. By the time you drain your glass, you’re leaning against his side. He doesn’t react, for better or worse; you wish he would give you some indication of where you stand, whether he likes you bundled up by his side or if he’s just tolerating it.

When Ghost’s eyes finally slide over to you from behind the dark pits of his mask, you nearly jolt. His gaze is lazy and half-lidded, but he reaches out to take the glass from you. His gloved fingers brush over yours, and you can’t stifle the embarrassing little judder that runs down your spine.

“Slow down.” He murmurs, setting the glass aside. “It’s still early.”

You had been hoping all damn evening that he would just look at you, but now that you finally have his eyes on you it feels as though you’re pinned down by them. You try not to squirm, once again remembering the way those dark eyes had watched you so darkly as he had hunched over you, rutting into you until the tears were streaming down your cheeks.

Your mind goes blank under his attention and his closeness, the ambient noise of glasses clinking and loud voices laughing and joking and muffled old eighties tunes fading to nothing until the sound of Soap’s loud voice brings you back to yourself.

“Let the lass drink, LT.” He crows, grinning, and you realise that he already has another couple of drinks in his hands. You hadn’t even noticed him leaving for the bar. “She deserves to have fun tonight. Don’t you, bonnie?”

“Sure.” You agree easily, relieved by the distraction and already reaching for the new drink. You’re still all fidgety and distracted, eager to drown yourself in it. “I deserve fun.”

It feels as though Ghost’s gaze is burning right into the side of your head, but you fixedly ignore him. He’s so intense, you’re pretty sure that you look like a dazed idiot under the weight of his attention. It’s the most he’s looked at you all week, and you attempt to hide your face behind your glass as you take a sip of your fresh drink.

He’s drinking too, though he’s foregone his usual whiskey in favour of a dark lager that he’s barely touched. The glass is sweating with condensation, and he swipes a thick gloved thumb over the fog on it absent-mindedly as he watches you.

You watch Gaz and Soap as they joke with each other, trading jibes and jabs and stories that you hardly even hear. It feels a little as though your ears have been filled with cotton wool, as though everything around you is just distinctly muffled. You feel like you’re on another planet, awareness tethered only by the hot, hard line of Ghost’s muscular body pressed against your side. 

Over the last week, you’ve tried very hard not to be a stereotype.

You’ve heard men laughing about girls they’ve slept with who’ve become too clingy, who’ve wanted too much, and wasted their time searching for something that those guys aren’t willing to give. Maybe it’s because you’re so conscious that Ghost has taken several of your firsts, but you’re so determined to not be that person. 

Ghost isn’t exactly a big talker anyway, unless it’s the odd sarcastic comment or ribbing with Soap, so it’s not like you’ve talked about the situation. You had just awoken the morning after with a deep ache in your core and a sore back, though the pain was soothed by the warm embrace you were all wrapped up in. You had been nervous, but you needn’t have been. Ghost had given you nothing. He just rubbed your back with one shovel-sized hand and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder (through the mask, so you don’t know what to make of that) before he rolled out of your bed to pull his trousers back on, grunting that he’d see you later.

So, you don’t talk about it. Not with him, and not with anybody. It feels like so much has changed, yet everything stays the same. The deja vu you’re experiencing from sitting on the couch drinking with him like this is overwhelming, and experiencing him staring at you like this after a full week of distance is making you feel hot and fuzzy and stupid.

While Soap is in the midst of a loud and enthusiastic retelling of a story from his basic training days, you build up the courage to glance up at Ghost. He’s already looking at you, as though anticipating your attention. 

“You’re staring at me.” You mumble, your fingers clenching compulsively around your chilled glass.

Ghost shifts, and you feel the thick muscle of his bicep roll behind your head. He grunts in quiet agreement. 

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything else, uninterested in justifying or explaining himself. It’s like he thinks that he doesn’t need to; he just keeps watching you, his light blond eyelashes drawing low over his eyes as his head tilts.

Self-conscious under his intensity, you glance away again. Soap is still talking, but you can’t focus. Despite the fact that Ghost is big and warm and so frustratingly attractive beside you, it’s hard to ignore the subtle prickle of irritation that’s growing under your skin. 

After all, he had taken your virginity and then proceeded to act as though nothing at all had changed between you for the rest of the week, and now he’s sat next to you with his gaze that heated? What the fuck?

The second drink goes down even easier than the first thanks to your awkwardness. You’re not sure what to make of his attention – you’ve spent the whole week keeping a sense of distance, determined to stay cool and casual. The last thing you want to do is freak him out by seeming like an over-eager idiot that’s gone and fallen in too deep with him, unwilling to lose whatever meagre respect Ghost has developed for you since you started working with the 141.

“I’ll get the next round.” You blurt suddenly, pushing yourself up off the couch.

It’s too abrupt to be casual, and you pointedly don’t look at the half-full glasses in your squad mates’ hands as you hurry away. You probably could have played that off better, but you need a moment to collect yourself away from Ghost’s relentless stare.

You take the opportunity to breathe at the bar, rubbing at your eyes and sighing. The bartender is busy, so you just stand there for a long moment, mentally chastising yourself.

God, this is just embarrassing. You’re a grown fucking woman, and here you are getting so ridiculously flustered over your lieutenant. You never thought that you’d be the type to turn into a silly little mess over the first man you ever sleep with, but maybe it was inevitable. The little embers of that crush you had been harbouring on Ghost since you joined the team have been fanned into a full on flame and you hardly know how to handle yourself.

It takes a significant effort to keep your attention away from the table; you can’t help but want to look, to see if Ghost is still looking your way, but you keep your eyes to yourself. 

When another body appears at your side, you jolt in surprise. You hadn’t expected to be followed, and your first thought is that it must be Soap. But when you glance to your side, you find a stranger standing closer to you than you expected.

Well, he’s not a total stranger. You know him to see around the base, sandy-haired with a too wide smile. You think he might be a second lieutenant, but you’ve never actually had any dealings with him and you can’t think of a name… Daniels, maybe?

“Hello there,” He says, and even with those two words his intentions are unmistakable. His tone is suggestive, as is the way his eyes scan over your body. “How you doing?”

It’s far from the first time you’ve been hit on by men; it comes with the territory of being a woman in a male-dominated environment. They look at you like they want to eat you sometimes, in a way that sets your teeth on edge. You’ve always danced around the subject of intimacy, embarrassed about your lack of experience and too anxious to actually seek out anyone to change that. What happened with Ghost was unexpected, and just about changed your entire outlook on sex and physical pleasure for life. 

Your first reaction, as always, is to shut him down or ignore him. But something makes you pause, and glance back at him. 

He’s sort of cute. A charming smile, at least. When he sees you looking back, he only smiles wider and steps closer.

“Let me get this next one for you,” He says, gesturing at the bartender to catch his attention. “What’re you having?”

“Uh..” You hesitate a moment, biting your lip. “Vodka soda.”

He orders, then leans against the bar and turns to face you fully. His gaze is appreciative, and for once you don’t shy away from it. You so rarely return male attention that you hardly know what to do, but you manage to muster up an awkward smile.

When the bartender returns with your drink, you feel a momentary pang of guilt. You had almost forgotten that you were meant to order drinks for the table, and you send a swift glance over your shoulder. 

The boys are still engrossed in their conversation, hardly even noticing your absence. All but Ghost.

The lieutenant has half-turned, his arm still slung over the couch where you had been sitting as he stares. The realisation that his eyes are still on you has your spine straightening, self-conscious now about your posture and your body language. 

You look away swiftly, and try not to feel guilty. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. He hasn’t spoken to you all week despite the fact that he’d nearly done your back in fucking you.

Your experience with Ghost may have been a one-time thing, no matter what you might have been hoping for, but there’s no reason that it has to be a one-time thing for you with anyone else. Even with your stupid vibrators and dildos, you haven’t been able to come close to coming in the week following your night with your lieutenant. You’re starting to wonder if maybe you’re not capable of coming without someone else’s hands on you.

“I’ve seen you around, been meaning to talk to you,” Daniels is saying, and in your distraction you almost miss it. “But it’s, uh… it’s a little difficult to catch you alone.”

You almost scoff, but you manage to swallow it back down. You know exactly what he means; the 141 sticks together and looks out for each other, but it also sometimes feels like you have a couple of overprotective guard dogs. They take watching you seriously, probably due to your non-combat role on the team, and you’ve never discouraged it because you like the way they make you feel safe. 

“Yeah, the guys can be a little protective.” You laugh a little weakly. “But don’t mind them.”

Even now, you can feel Ghost’s dark eyes burning into you from across the room. You wonder how on earth Daniels remains so unaware of it.

“Mm,” Daniels leans in, his white teeth glinting. “Can’t blame them, I suppose. Why don’t you come and join me and some of the lads at our table for a bit? Spend some time with some new people.”

You shift on the balls of your feet, thinking. Admittedly, you’ve never been big on socialising when on base, other than the usual minor exchange of pleasantries. You hardly even know what to do in the face of a man’s interest in you now.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” You demur, reaching up to scratch absently behind your ear. “I don’t think the boys would appreciate me abandoning them for the night.”

Daniels’ smile widens, and you feel your cheeks heat. You feel clumsy with your socialising, as though you’re stretching muscles you’re not used to using. Since you had joined the 141, you hadn’t done too much mingling outside of the squad; they’ve been your only friends and confidantes, ribbing and supporting you in equal measure. In the face of a stranger in the on-base cantina, you find yourself floundering.

“I think they get enough of your time,” He murmurs, leaning against the bar in such a way that his body is angled towards you. “C’mon, I’ll buy you another few drinks and we can get to know each other, huh?”

Maybe the vodka was a bad idea. It’s lowering your inhibitions, making you actually consider his offer. You’re pent up from a week of unsuccessful touching yourself, and you crave physical intimacy. 

If you can’t get a repeat performance from Ghost, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if you looked elsewhere, with someone who might be interested in more than a one time thing.

You glance down at Daniel’s hands where they’re wrapped around his beer glass. They’re big, with strong slender fingers and calloused knuckles. Nice hands, you think, but you can’t help but compare to the enormous thick paws of your lieutenant. Still, you think they’d do the job.

“Well–” You start to say, your tone wavering and uncertain as you consider his officer.

But you don’t get to give him an answer before a massive hand settles on your shoulder. It makes you jolt, startled, recognising Ghost by touch alone. It feels as though it sears straight through your clothes, and your eyes widen.

For a moment, Ghost says nothing at all. He just stands at your shoulder, so close that you feel the muscle of his chest and stomach brush against your back, and stares at Daniels from over the top of your head. The glare isn’t even directed your way, and yet you find yourself wilting from it.

“On your way, Sergeant.” Ghost drawls, lifting his chin and gesturing at him dismissively.

Despite Ghost’s obvious intimidation factor, Daniels doesn’t immediately do as he’s told. He huffs out a short breathless laugh instead, as though he can hardly believe what he’s hearing.

“We’re only talking, Lieutenant–”

Ghost doesn’t even respond. His glower just intensifies, until Daniels trails off and his mouth snaps shut. You get the impression that if anyone else tried to intimidate him just by staring and posturing, Daniels might actually square up and fight. He seems like the type to make poor decisions while drinking – maybe you were going to be one of them. 

But as it is, Ghost has an intimidation factor unmatched by anyone else you’ve ever known. It goes beyond his giant hulking physique and skull mask and low gravelly voice that can sound like a clap of thunder when he’s angry. It’s like he has an aura, something that radiates off him in dark waves saying ‘Don’t fuck with me’. Any sensible person would back the fuck off when faced with his full, unwelcoming attention.

And sure enough, Daniels is no exception. He raises his arms to his shoulders and gives Ghost a mocking sort of smile before retreating backwards. To your mortification, he doesn’t so much as glance your way even as he turns his back on you.

Irritation settles over you like a blanket. It makes your skin itch and your teeth grind, and you turn to scowl at Ghost.

“What the hell was that?” You demand, and your voice comes out sharper than you had technically intended.

Ghost’s head tilts, and those sharp dark eyes find you from behind the mask. The eyeblack is beginning to fade in patches around the inner corners of his eyes – bizarrely, it serves as a reminder that Ghost is just a man, not just a massive wall of muscle with a terrifying glower.

“What was what?” He says. His voice has dropped a notch, deep and rumbling into you even as you step away and turn so that you’re facing him head on.

“You– I was just–” You flounder for a moment, searching for words as you gesture uselessly with your hands. 

You’re indignant over his interruption, and your frustration grows as you find yourself unable to articulate yourself. Where the hell does he get off interrupting you talking to another man? He hadn’t spoken to you all week, and now he feels confident enough to cockblock you?

“Mm.” Ghost grunts. “What were you doing?”

Your jaw clenches. “I was talking. Is that a crime now?”

Jesus, you sound like a brat. You don’t even know where this insubordination is coming from; he’s your lieutenant, regardless of that one night you had spent with him. You’re being too bold talking like this, but it’s like you just can’t help yourself.

His eyes darken, lashes blocking out his irises as his gaze narrows at you. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, to keep your spine straight and shoulders back despite your impulse to crumble.

“Watch that mouth, doll.” He warns, his voice low, and you feel your stomach tighten at both his words and his tone. 

But your self-preservation instincts are still missing.

“You can’t ignore me all week and then get annoyed at me when I–”

He cuts you off as though he’s not even listening to you. “Not here. Come on.”

And with that, he wraps one big hand around your upper arm and begins leading you out of the cantina. He’s not harsh, and he doesn’t drag you or anything, but judging by the tense set of his shoulders arguing with him would be a really bad idea right now. 

You’ve pissed him off, and you don’t want to make his mood worse so you allow your feet to move automatically as he leads you out of the room.

You can feel eyes on your back as you leave, and you feel yourself grow squirmy with embarrassment. No doubt the rest of the squad is watching you get hauled off by Ghost right now. 

Oh god, the Captain is watching you get hauled off — how mortifying. You pray they didn’t catch your little exchange with Ghost at the bar, but you have a feeling that hope is in vain. The 141 are close-knit and protective over each other, but they’re also terrible gossips.

“Let me– Sir, let me go–” You start to complain, testing his grip. His hold on you is iron-clad, and yet still somehow gentle enough to avoid bruising.

When you realise where he’s leading you to, you stop complaining very quickly. You had figured that he was just going to drag you into the corridor outside and give you a talking to, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until you realise that he’s leading you all the way back to your own damn room

“What are you doing?” You demand in a hiss. You’re so incensed that you swear your hair is standing on end. 

After all that, is Ghost seriously hauling you back to your room like you’re a bold child? Is he angry because of your insubordination at the bar? 

A cold trickle of anxiety enters your stomach, and you steal a worried glance at his face. The hard-shell mask he uses on missions has been traded for the softer black woven balaclava that he usually wears when he’s not in the field, but it doesn’t make him any easier to read.

He doesn’t answer until the two of you have crossed the threshold of your room, the door shutting behind you with a firm click.

Now that it’s the two of you, alone once again in your tiny shitty room, you find your indignant confidence waning rapidly. He’s just so big, the huge masculine frame of him making you feel more ridiculous than ever for your momentary flash of brattiness. Even worse, having him in your space like this is only making your brain go into overdrive, as though your body remembers what happened the last time he was here like this.

You decide that the best defence mechanism to prevent yourself from looking like a fool is to cling onto those last little dregs of anger.

“You’re unbelievable.” You snap, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me all week! And then as soon as another guy speaks to me, you’re over to me like a light. I mean, what the fuck?” And then, remembering the chain of command, you add a very sullen, “Sir.” 

Throughout your mini little rant, Ghost has just watched you. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t know how to read, unable to get a feel for what he’s thinking through that inscrutable mask.

“‘S not true.” He grunts after a moment, and you realise that his eyes have creased in a way that suggests he’s frowning.

You feel like you’re going to explode. “Yes, it is! Daniels was barely speaking to me for two minutes before you scared him off–”

Bizarrely, your words make Ghost snort. You hadn’t even realised how tense his shoulders were until he relaxes, and you stare at him in confusion as he steps past you towards your bed. Your anger fizzles out, leaving behind self-conscious confusion as you watch your lieutenant settle down so that he’s sitting at the edge of your bed with his legs spread wide. 

“His name is Davidson.” He says, and his voice is missing the somewhat dangerous edge it had only moments earlier. “And that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

Embarrassment flares, though you try to stifle it. So you didn’t know the guy’s name – whatever. You would have learned it by the end of the night, you’re certain. You open your mouth, defensive and prickly, but Ghost speaks again before you get the chance to.

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” He says, watching you like he’s trying to figure you out. When you just blink at him, he sighs. “Jesus, sweetheart, just sit down for a second. Tell me what I did wrong, yeah?”

You’re left feeling a little wrong-footed, hesitating in the middle of the room. You had expected him to be a little angrier than this, to chide you for your behaviour. Or maybe you had expected him to be cold, or dismissive.

Slowly, you take a few steps towards the bed. He watches you approach, those dark eyes watchful and sharp, but says nothing as you nervously perch on the bed beside him. 

Despite the fact that this is your room, you’re stiff when you sit next to him. Your brain is in overdrive, providing you with very unhelpful memories of the last time Ghost was on your bed and flooding your body with mortifying heat.

“You’ve barely spoken to me since we–” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, averting your gaze and staring at some point past his shoulder. “Since last week. If you wanted to keep it professional, that’s– that’s fine–”

Ghost’s spine straightens, but he doesn’t speak yet. He just watches you, and lets you flounder awkwardly as you struggle to articulate yourself.

“I don’t want to make things awkward, I just–” You’re tripping over your words, wincing when they come out all clumsy. “I’ve never done this before, so I’ll follow your lead, but I don’t understand the point of sending Dan– Davidson, whatever, away like that if you’re clearly trying to keep things between us professional–”

Finally, Ghost speaks, though it seems like he’s suddenly developed incredibly selective hearing.

“He’s a wanker. Chases around any woman that stands still for too long in that damn cantina every time we’re in there.” His voice is a low earnest rumble, but you’re too agitated to properly hear him. “He didn’t have anything to offer that you’d be interested in.”

“That’s not–”

“Besides,” He cuts clean across you, but so gently, so much so that it surprises you. “I think we long surpassed professionalism when you asked if you could use my cock like a dildo.”

Blood rushes to your head so fast you feel a little light-headed. Right, so he’s decided to cut straight to the chase then. You swallow, and your dry throat clicks audibly.

“Right.” You say. “Yeah, that– um… that’s made things awkward, I suppose.” A brief pause, and then you sheepishly add, “Sorry, LT.”

Ghost just watches you, his brown eyes inscrutable beneath the fan of his pale eyelashes. Under the dark fabric of the mask you see his jaw flex, as though he’s considering his next words carefully.

“C’mere.” He says.

You had been expecting him to say more, and you hesitate a moment before reluctantly shuffling over a few inches. Though he had invited you to move closer to him, you’re suddenly so conscious of crossing any possible boundaries. 

You had never slept with anyone before, and you don’t understand what’s expected of you now. How are you supposed to act, now that you’ve had a one-night stand with your lieutenant? 

“Haven’t been ignoring you,” Ghost says, and he reaches out to place a hand on your knee. The touch makes your eyes widen, gaze darting down to stare at his thick fingers where they wrap around the underside of your knee. “You jokin’? Been watching you all week. Thinkin’ about you all the time.”

That’s a bold enough statement that all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You can’t deny that he’s been watching you – you had felt his eyes on you regularly, but always from a distance. But… 

“You never–” You start to say, before swallowing again so you don’t say something stupid. “You haven’t spoken to me.”

“Spoke to you during training, before you stopped showing up.”

That’s a little galling, and all you can do is scowl. 

“Stop that. You know what I mean.” You snap defensively. 

Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think Ghost might be confused behind that stupid mask. His head has tilted just slightly to the side in the same way as it usually does when he’s trying to figure something out.

“I was trying to give you space, doll.” He murmurs. “It was your first– I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Wanted you to make your own choices.”

The uncertainty in his voice is unexpectedly endearing, but you’re not ready to let go of your irritation with him just yet. Admittedly you’re losing steam, but you struggle to straighten your back and affect a scowl nonetheless.

“I didn’t want space.” You say, and it comes out a little more childish than you had intended it to. You try not to cringe at yourself. “You just– we never talked about anything, you just woke up the next morning and left and then all week you hardly spoke to me.”

You curse your inexperience even as you speak, feeling like a total idiot. You just wish you knew what was expected of you, what Ghost wants. Was he put off by the fact that he had to guide you, fumbling and clumsy, through an experience that was absolutely mind-blowing for you but probably sub-standard for him?

And oh, that thought makes dread curl in your belly. What if Ghost wasn’t impressed with your… performance? You had no idea what you were doing, only that the way Ghost had touched you felt so good, so much better than you’ve ever managed to make yourself feel with your fingers or toys. And when he had brought you to orgasm, you had lost yourself completely. You hadn’t made any attempt to return his attention, too lost in all the new pleasure you were experiencing.

There’s a pause, the silence between you stretching taut. Ghost doesn’t rush to reply, instead apparently thinking hard before he speaks. 

“I go for a run in the mornings.” He says at last, his voice low and rumbly. 

It takes you a moment to process that. 

“You– what?”

Ghost shifts, and the cheap standard issue mattress beneath the two of you squeaks. “That morning, I… went for a run.”

He must realise how that sounds – maybe the expression on your face tips him off – because he hurries to add on to it. “Creature of habit, love. I didn’t– I don’t do this often either. I stayed the night, we cuddled. I thought–”

He stops rather abruptly, and doesn’t finish so you don’t quite know what he thought. Your confusion has gotten the best of you, and you’re staring at him in agitated confusion. God, he’s bad at communicating.

“Should have stayed.” He says gruffly, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds a little chagrined. “Thought we were fine, until you started avoiding me. And then I thought you just needed time to yourself.” He gives a jerky shrug, clearly out of his comfort zone. “‘Cause it was your first time. Dunno.”

Oh. Well.

Now you’re the one blinking at him. That’s… not what you had been expecting. 

While you thought Ghost had been giving you the cold shoulder, he had thought that he was being considerate. Jesus. You’re not sure how to even begin processing that.

“I didn’t need time to myself.” You say, and you sound pathetic.

There’s a beat of silence during which you feel thoroughly examined. Ghost hardly even blinks as he watches you, his scrutiny making you sweat.

“No,” He rumbles after a moment. “Apparently you didn’t.”

You roll your eyes, honestly a little irritated with him. Even after it’s been made clear that your miscommunication has caused issues this whole week, he’s still so hesitant to just fucking talk to you. 

“Right, well–” You start to say, a little sharp. 

He grabs at you before you can retreat, his enormous hand comically large around your wrist. He’s not holding you harshly, his grip just loose enough that you could break out of it if you tried. But instead of pulling away, you allow him to tug you closer. His free hand reaches for your hip, and quicker than your tired mind is able to follow he’s tugged you up into his lap.

“Jesus–” You blurt, grabbing at his shoulders for balance.

Ghost is built like a brick house, all thick and sturdy with all that solid muscle. He’s broad too, and your legs are forced wide as he encourages you to settle in his lap. You try not to let your reaction show on your face, but Ghost is watching you so carefully that you’re certain he can read every micro-twitch anyway.

“Last week wasn’t enough?” He asks, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds hungry. Maybe you could even delude yourself into thinking there’s an undertone of hope, too.

But maybe that’s a step too far. This is the Ghost, after all. He’s veritably a human weapon, every inch of him battle-scarred and solid beneath the heavy clothes and thick mask. You’re pretty sure that any kind of yearning you hear has been prescribed by your own imagination. But you can’t help yourself.

You shake your head, your breath catching in your chest. No, last week wasn’t enough.

“Then why bother with that idiot at the bar?” Ghost asks, his big hands folding around your hips. “If you wanted to be fucked, you could have just asked me.”

You swallow thickly, your throat clicking audibly. For some reason, you hadn’t expected him to speak so bluntly, but it’s typical of Ghost to get straight to the point without beating around the bush. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to do that with me again.” You say, your voice edged with insecurity. 

There’s a long moment of silence during which Ghost just stares at you. It’s borderline uncomfortable, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Even with the mask acting as a barrier, he’s still so intense.

“What made you think that?” He asks, his voice low.

You find yourself quite abruptly aware of the position you’re in. You’re sitting perched in your lieutenant’s lap with your legs spread wide, after a week of pining after him like an embarrassing little puppy. You’ve been craving physical contact, yearning desperately for that same kind of pleasure he had introduced to you ever since your night together. 

“You’re difficult to read.” You whisper awkwardly, shifting. You’re hyper-aware of your weight in his lap; even though you know he’s strong, the thought of being too heavy for him is a little mortifying.

But his hands tighten around your hips, keeping you securely in place across his thighs.

“You think so?” His voice is low, a little rough, and the gravel of it causes a little frisson of heat to trickle down your spine. “You been trying to read me? Can’t have been doin’ a very good job, darling, since you’ve been avoiding me all fuckin’ week.”

Your breath comes out tremulously, and you pray he can’t hear the shake in your voice when you speak. Judging by his darkening gaze, he hears it loud and clear. 

“I just– Didn’t know if you would want me again.” You whisper, feeling foolish and inexperienced and clumsy.

Ghost watches you, his dark eyes flickering over your face, before he finally hums. Then his grip tightens around your hips and he pulls you so that your clothed crotch grinds against him. You gasp, your eyes widening when you feel the thick ridge of his cock in his tac trousers, unmistakably hard as your clothed cunt slides over him.

“Feel that?” He asks, his voice dropping into that deep, hungry register that you’ve been hearing in your dreams all fucking week.

“Yeah.” You choke, fighting the urge to grind on him like a fucking slut. If your hips twitch, just a little, you think you could be excused.

You are already intimately familiar with his cock, considering how eagerly he had fucked you open on it a week ago (several times, too), but the way it fills his trousers makes it seem ridiculously big and you wonder, a little wildly, how the fuck it ever fit in you in the first place. It presses against the seam of his trousers, right between your legs, and then Ghost grinds up into you and you swear your vision sparks out for a moment.

“Oh!” You blurt out in a wavering whisper, clutching at his shoulders. “Oh, god.”

“Still think I don’t want you?” He grunts. His hands are like fucking shovels, and he takes a grip of your ass and squeezes until you squeak.

Your head is swimming. Your trousers are too tight, the crotch of them pressing into your clit, and you feel like you can't get enough air in your lungs. 

“I don’t know.” You say stupidly. 

It’s like your cunt knows that Ghost is near, because you’re fucking drenched. You can feel your underwear stick uncomfortably to you beneath your clothes, slick and wet as you feel the shape of Ghost’s cock press into you.

He sighs beneath you, his big palm stroking over your ass affectionately. 

“You think too much, doll.” He mutters, his finder squeezing into the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a stress toy. “Way too fuckin’ much.”

He’s probably right. God, you want to stop thinking. Want to return to that stupid, dazed, fucked-out state of mind he had sent you to when he had stuffed you full.

Hesitantly, you grind yourself down onto the thick bulge beneath you. It feels good, that familiar pleasant little spark jolting up your spine as you hump yourself against him.

“Yeah,” Ghost grunts, his voice thick with unmistakable want. “That’s it. You’ve been wanting this, havent’cha?”

“Yeah.” You admit, so quietly that it’s almost inaudible. “Yeah, I want it.”

But Ghost hears. Of course he does. He lets out a low sound that has your thighs squishing closed around his hips, overwhelmed and running far too hot. 

He has you on your back so quickly that your head spins, and you end up staring at the ceiling for a moment in bewilderment, trying to figure out how you’d gotten there. Ghost is already leaning over you, his dark eyes intent on your face as he settles between your thighs.

You think you should probably be embarrassed about the ease with which you spread your legs, eager to feel his bulky body between your thighs. But you’re already running hot, your chest tightening with want, and you find yourself mercifully relieved that he’s here. The miscommunication between the two of you is going to be solved, Ghost wants you, and you’re about to get what you’ve been craving all week.

He pulls your own pants off effortlessly, leaving you in the underwear that you’ve fucking ruined. You try to shut your legs, face burning hot with embarrassment as you try to hide the sight, but Ghost doesn’t have any intention of letting you hide yourself.

He pushes your legs back open, then presses his masked face to the inside of your thigh. You’re not sure what he’s doing; you remember, with a little thrill, the feeling of his red hot mouth against your pussy, but you don’t think that’s what’s happening here because he’s still got his stupid fucking balaclava on.

“Did she miss me?” He asks, his words muffled by both the mask and the pudge of your thigh.

“What?” You ask breathlessly, thinking for a moment that Ghost is talking about you in the third person.

But then he nuzzles his masked face against the sodden seat of your knickers, and you realise that he’s talking about your fucking pussy.

“Oh my god, you weirdo–” You choke out, but you don’t get any further than that before Ghost is tugging impatiently at your underwear, trying to reveal your cunt. 

He hushes you, almost absent-mindedly, and you hear him take a breath when he finally manages to get your knickers off. He tosses them aside, his dark eyes focused intently on your bare cunt now that it’s been revealed. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to try and hide again. He’s touching you so reverently and looking at you so hungrily that you’re not brave enough to try to deprive him of the sight.

“My fussy girl,” He mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear him. “Have you been touching yourself? Using your toys this week?”

You shiver, a little embarrassed. You have been using your stupid toys, but they haven’t been working. No matter what you do, you can’t replicate the feelings that Ghost had managed to elicit in you with such ease, and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that.

But the mention of your toys reminds you of something else, too. A recurring thought that’s been practically haunting you, that’s had you imagining Ghost up above you and around you as you’d sucked experimentally on your dildo, sliding it into your mouth just to see how much of it you could take.

“Wait–” You say, and though your voice wavers, Ghost sits back immediately, eyes on your face. It’s like he’s just waiting for your word, an order, a direction. Something in your belly warms, and you take a breath.

“I want to try something.” You tell him before you can lose your nerve. “Sit back down.”

He sits at the edge of your bed, his bulky frame moving far more gracefully than you’d expect for his size if you hadn’t already seen him in action. He’s almost patient, until you catch the way the fingers of his right hand drum against his thigh as he waits for you to do something.

Since you’re already stripped from the waist down, you see no point in remaining clothed on top too. When you pull your top and bra off, Ghost makes a low appreciative rumble deep in his chest that you swear you can feel run down your spine. 

“Promising start.” He says, and you want to smack him.

You shoot him a little scowl, before deciding to just ignore him. You’ve fancied him for an embarrassingly long time, probably since the very first time you had laid eyes on him upon joining the task force, and now he’s sitting on your bed, willing and hard and admitting that he wants you. It takes your breath away a little, especially the way that he doesn’t seem put off by your inexperience at all.

Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him and watch his eyes widen beneath the balaclava. It’s somewhat gratifying to see his surprise; like you’ve finally got one over on your big bad lieutenant. 

“Very promising start.” He says, and this time he sounds a little husky. “D’you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”

The answer is, very obviously, no. You have no idea what you’re doing, you’re learning as you go along. But Ghost hasn’t judged you yet for your clumsy fumbling exploration, so you can only hope that he’s willing to put up with this too.

“Sort of.” You say evasively. “I’ve seen it in porn, and I’ve… I’ve been practicing.”

Ghost’s groan sounds like it’s been punched out of him, and it’s rough enough to have you glancing up in surprise from where you’re trying to get his stupid trousers unbuttoned. Your hands are unsteady and unsure, and it’s slow-going.

“Yeah?” He asks, sounding a little out of breath himself. “Which one?” “What?” You’re a little distracted, not paying full attention to his question as you tug at his trousers. You’ve finally got them unbuttoned, and you pull impatiently in an effort to get them off. Ghost lifts his hips to help, though your eager impatience seems to amuse him.

“Which one of your toys’ve you been practicing on?” He asks, the barest undertone of a groan in his voice. “The pretty little pink one?”

You feel embarrassed heat prickle in your face because yes, it had in fact been that one you had been practising with. You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that you’re apparently so predictable that Ghost can guess which dildo you’ve been sucking at, imagining it was him.

“Maybe.” You mutter evasively.

Ghost lets out a low chuckle right as you manage to wrangle his cock out of his briefs, and then you have to pause for a moment because oh. You had known, of course, that he was big. You had felt him for days after that first time, like a fucking internal bruise that ached at you every time you moved. He was bigger than any toy that you owned, you know that, you’ve felt it, and yet now that it’s in front of your face it seems so much bigger than you remember.

You’ve watched porn with so-called ‘monster cocks’ and it isn’t like that. It’s just… bigger. Than average, that is. At least, as far as you can tell, because it’s not like you have enough experience with dicks in real life to have any idea of what average really is.

Ghost must recognise the momentary flash of panic that crosses your face, because he reaches out and strokes a gloved thumb over your cheek. The fabric is rough against your skin, but you relax at the feeling anyway.

“You don’t have to.” He says quietly.

“I want to.” You insist, swallowing that swell of nerves. 

Now that his cock is bobbing in front of your face, you have to fight the sinking feeling that you’re in over your head. But you’re not willing to back down; not when you’ve been thinking about this all damn week, and especially not when you’ve got the man that stars in all of your fantasies sitting on your bed with his legs spread.

You shuffle forward a little, and try not to feel intimidated at the fact that Ghost’s thick thighs twitch when you reach to take hold of his cock. He’s so big that it feels like he’s dwarfing you beneath him, his bulky form enveloping you in shadow when he leans forward to make sure he has a good view of what you’re doing.

You stroke experimentally over his cock, your fist a little clumsy. Despite your frenzied and very pleasurable tumble with him before, you had never actually gotten the chance to touch him in return. You had been too overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of sensation he had delivered upon you to even think about returning any favours, and the fact that you’re getting the opportunity now to reciprocate and explore fills your tummy with butterflies.

“Grip it harder, love.” He grunts, shifting his hips so that he can fuck his cock into your fist. “It ain’t gonna break.”

“Shh,” You admonish him, glancing up with a frown. “Let me do it myself.”

Ghost snorts quietly, probably finding your determination silly, but he still his hips and lets you go at your own pace. His dick is big, and you stare at it with some level of wonder as you stroke your fist over him. You can’t help but compare the feel of him to your dildos, only because they’re your only real point of reference; his skin is velvety soft and hot to the touch, yielding despite how hard he is, and you admire the slide of his foreskin pulling down over the crown. 

It’s not the size that really catches your attention though. No, what you really notice is how fucking perfect it is. Pretty and pink, flushed more red towards the tip, the head shiny with just a hint of smeared pre-come. It curves, slightly, to the left, and it feels nice in your hand. You feel a little light headed as your eyes dart over the pale blond downy hair that covers his thighs and the base of his cock. 

You gather your courage, then lean in and lick tentatively at the rosy pink crown of his cock. You had been a little worried about the taste, having no idea what to expect, but you needn’t have been. He‘s a little salty, but nothing inoffensive; he just tastes like skin, and you relax a little in relief.

He groans, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. You pause, hoping for some sort of direction, and as the moment stretches out he looks back to you and tilts his head.

“Thought you wanted to do it yourself?”

Bastard, you grumble in your head, before steeling yourself. You know that your grip on him is clumsy, that your stroking is unpracticed, and you can only pray that he doesn’t mind.

You take his cock into your mouth, jaw hinged wide as you try to avoid using your teeth, and attempt to suck with no finesse. You go too fast, try to take too much too quickly, because all of a sudden the head is tickling the back of your throat and you’re coughing, choking, and sputtering. 

You pull back, blinking rapidly as your eyes sting with tears and drool drips unattractively down your chin. You go to wipe your face, but Ghost catches your wrist before you can.

“Slow down,” He murmurs, pulling your hands away from your face so he can look at you. “You in a rush?”

“No.” You grumble, and your voice comes out a little hoarse from the choking. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Even though you’re quite certain that Ghost already knows that, it’s a little humiliating to admit.

Ghost just hums, his eyes tracking over your petulant expression and the stringy spit that’s trickling down your chin, falling in thick globs above your tits.

“Don’t matter, love.” He rumbles, reaching out to thumb at your chin. You think for a moment that he’s wiping you clean, but then he just ends up smearing your spit all around your mouth. “Play with it as much as you want to. Don’t think too much.”

You swallow, the sound a little too loud in the quiet of your room, before nodding. This is what you wanted – the chance to touch him, to explore his mouth with your hands and mouth just like he had done with you before.

You readjust your grip on his cock; it looks so stupidly big in your hand. You can tell that he notices too, because he lets out a gruff sort of groan before he reaches out, one hand winding around the back of your neck to cup at the base of your skull.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He breathes, his eyes locked onto you.

His eyes are dark, almost completely blacked out by the thickness of his pupil, and he stares down at you with an air of such anticipation that you couldn't dream of keeping him waiting. Gripping him in your hand, you give an exploratory sort of stroke — the skin is velvety soft and smooth, and he lets out a short groan of appreciation when your fingers caress the head of his cock.

You start moving your hand again, adjusting your grip and stroking him off. You wish you were better at it, or at least more confident, but Ghost doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He just grunts quietly, flexing his hips once before apparently remembering what you had said and going still.

It takes a moment before you work up the confidence to bring it anywhere near your mouth again, but finally you lean forward and press a gentle little kiss to the head of his cock. You’re rewarded with a quiet puff of laughter, and his thumb strokes a soothing circle into the back of your neck.

Encouraged, you dip your head and lick the tip of him properly. He tastes salty on your tongue as you take him carefully into your mouth. This time you just suckle at the head, not wanting to push yourself too fast. His taste isn’t nearly as strong as you had been expecting; you hardly notice, really, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue and the feeling of being encircled by his big thighs.

It sounds stupid and maybe a little paradoxical, but you feel safe like this; Ghost towers over you even sitting down, and when you’re on your knees for him like this with his thick thighs bracketing you and his clean musky smell in your nose, you swear you never want to leave this moment.

You let out the most pathetic little whisper ever when you suckle at his cock, your tongue licking insistently at the underside of his glans. Ghost is always fairly stoic beneath that mask (other than his occasional bursts of humour and arrogance), so managing to pull out the soft but heavy breaths from his mouth when you suck at him makes pride swell in your chest, warm and syrupy sweet. It also makes something else twist in your belly, tight and hot enough to have your thighs squeezing tight together.

You used to have so many stupid, virginal plans for what you’d do the day you got your hands on some real, non-plastic cock, but everything you’ve ever heard about dicks and oral sex immediately flies right out of your head. You have no technique, and all you do is suck, gracelessly, trying to get as much of Ghost in your mouth as you can. You’re making loud, embarrassing slurping noises, and you’re certain that you’re drooling.

Judging by the grunts above you, Ghost has got no complaints about your technique (or lack thereof). One of his big hands reaches down to cup your face, fingers probing, testing at your jawline as it works.

“Fuck,” He snarls, tilting your chin up so he can see the way your lips are wrapped around the tip of his massive cock, “Knew you’d be good at this. Look at you, messy little thing. Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

That makes you shiver, an electric jolt that shoots right to your clit. You’re not sure what feels better; whether it’s his fat cock in your mouth or the hot wanting intensity in his eyes or the low filthy praises he’s growling.

God, you want to be good at this. You’re definitely no natural, but you fight so hard to push past your uncertainty to make this feel good for Ghost. 

You’re pretty sure he’s lying about you looking gorgeous, though. You’ve never felt less sexy than you do in this moment. Your eyes are streaming over-stimulated tears, your brow is scrunched in concentration, you’re gripping onto Ghost’s thick thighs for both balance and emotional support, and it’s taking everything you have not to choke on him again.

Who the fuck gave him the right to have a cock like this? Complaining about it feels borderline blasphemous, especially when you have first hand experience of just how good he is at using it. You’re making a mess of yourself, slobbering all over him in a way that’s definitely a little gross, but you’re surprised by just how much you’re enjoying this. 

You get a little too eager, because you take him a little too far down your throat and gag. You pull off quickly, choking lightly and still gasping for breath. Maybe your brain is a little oxygen-deprived, because you feel stupidly hazy. 

You take a moment to recover, nuzzling dazedly into the curls of his pubic hair. Blond, of course. God, that shouldn’t be cute but it is.

The thick length of his dick might be intimidating (as proven by the ache in your throat right now), but the velvety balls nestled below seem almost paradoxically vulnerable. You’re fascinated by the sight of them; you might have been amateurishly familiar with cocks from your dildos alone, but his balls are entirely new to you.

You spend some time lavishing them with tiny licks and kisses. Ghost hums in surprised pleasure, the sound swelling to a rumbling purr when you start caressing his thighs and hips with a tender, shy touch. 

Encouraged by his reaction, you return to his cock. It’s jutting proudly up, flushed a lovely pink colour, as though it’s just waiting for your attention once more. It’s already covered in a lather of foamy spit from your attention before, and when you sink your mouth down on him once again you do so with a bit more confidence.

“Like a pro, baby.” Ghost grunts appreciatively. A calloused thumb rolls over your cheek, under the fan of your lashes, and wipes away the moisture that’s gathered there. 

You most certainly are not sucking his cock like a pro, but you appreciate the encouragement all the same. It’s nice to know that you’re not doing a horrific job, at least.

You spare a glance up, half-expecting Ghost’s eyes to be closed. Instead his gaze is avid, sharp, practically electric through that thin window of his balaclava. He’s watching you closely, taking in every detail like it all might be snatched away from him. It’s too intense, and you look back down, focusing on his dick again.

An outraged, possessive noise escapes you when Ghost forcibly tugs your head back, pulling his cock out of your mouth. It twitches a little once it’s been removed from the wet heat of your mouth, all shiny wet and pink, and you lick your lips. God, you want to get back on that, and you don’t understand why he’s taken it away from you.

Ghost lets out a low, breathy chuckle, reaching out to thumb at your spit-slick lower lip before reaching for your elbows and bodily hauling you back up onto the bed.

You practically bounce, falling back on the mattress and squirming to try and get your bearings again.

“No,” You say, and to your bewilderment it comes out on a sob. “I wanted you to come on my face–”

You can tell that Ghost’s expression does something strange beneath his mask because his eye twitches and he takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t put his cock back in your mouth. Instead he reaches back and pulls his shirt off, and you take a broken little inhale because last time he had fucked you, he’d hardly gotten undressed at all. But now you’re being blessed with the sight of scarred pale skin pulled taut over the thick swell of muscles that turn to a softer belly, that pale trail of curls starting just below his belly button. 

“Next time.” He says, and it comes out on the ghost of a groan. “Fuck, love, next time.”

He’s quick to hook his hands under your thighs and haul them apart. You just about have time to spread your legs before he’s muscling his way between them. He tugs impatiently at his balaclava, tugging it askew to reveal his mouth, then he presses his nose into your humiliatingly slick pussy and starts sucking at your clit like it’s a hard candy.

You shriek, your thighs clamping shut around his ears as you writhe, but he clearly has no intention of stopping. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt vibrate in the best way, and he’s so brazen about it that it just about takes your breath away. You don’t even know if he can see anything, considering his mask is completely lopsided and his eyes aren’t lined up with the holes anymore, but he’s working with such enthusiasm that it doesn’t even matter.

And honestly, his enthusiastic pussy-eating combined with the sheer visual stimulation he’s providing is really doing it for you. 

You’re probably going to get a crick in your neck from the way you’re craning your head just to watch him hunch over you, that tongue of his peeking out from beneath the edge of his mask just to lick you. He’s built like a fucking god; thick muscles, soft tummy, and cushiony pecs. It might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh god, fuck–!” You choke out, your cunt clenching down hard as Ghost slides a finger into you.

Of course, Ghost’s fingers are also thicker than average. A single one of them feels like what would have been two of your own and you gasp a bit at the sudden stretch. You open up easily, your body welcoming him greedily and bearing down hard around his digits. Maybe it’s because you’re used to controlling the depth, speed and angle of penetration completely when you’re playing with your toys, but relying on Ghost for pleasure feels so damn exotic and exciting. Now you can only tilt your hips and go with Ghost’s pattern of movement; a bit harder, a bit deeper than what you would have done on your own.

He pushes another finger inside and it’s snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. It makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep, and then he sucks at your clit again, hard.

You’re honestly taken aback when your stomach tightens up and a wave of white-hot pleasure washes over you. Your back bows off the bed, you cover your mouth with a balled-up fist, your chest heaves. 

It’s exactly as good as you remember it being the first time, maybe even better, and the noises you make are broken and pathetic as you whine and cry.

Ghost licks you through it, big long laves of his tongue punctuated by sweet little suckles on your clit that feel almost fond. All you can do is lay there and take it, your head spinning a little as you catch your breath and try to figure out how the fuck he managed to make you come so damn quickly when you’ve been failing so spectacularly for a week.

You’ve barely finished coming, still shaking with the aftershocks, when he climbs up your body. At some point he’s shucked his trousers off, and the fact that he’s naked sends a little zing of excitement through your tired body. Or at least, as naked as Ghost tends to get. He’s still got the damn mask on.

He’s breathing heavily; his mouth is slightly ajar, mask tucked up around his crooked nose as he settles on his haunches between your thighs. He’s still staring hard at your cunt, his eyes glued to the way your clit is still twitching. He’s still so damn quiet, and you have no idea what he’s thinking.

When he reaches out to thumb at your clit again you whine. You’re sensitive, and his thumb is calloused and rough. You wiggle, lift up your leg and press your foot to his broad chest to stop him. You may as well be pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did.

Ghost just exhales a quiet laugh, capturing your ankle in his massive fist. He turns his head and kisses your ankle; the gesture is unexpectedly tender, and makes something in your chest tremble dangerously.

He uses his hold on your ankle as leverage to raise your leg, spreading your thighs out wide until your hips ache. You feel so exposed, the lips of your cunt parted ever so slightly, and he’s quick to press his cock against your still-twitching clit.

“Oh, look at her,” He breathes, low enough that you have to strain to hear. “Shite, she missed me, didn’t she?”

His hand is steady as he strokes his cock, dragging it through your sticky folds. The pretty pink head catches on your clit each time, and you let out a quiet whimper. Ghost doesn’t even notice; his eyes are zeroed in on your spread pussy, watching how you flutter around nothing.

“Fuck, she’s been waitin’ for me all week,” He coos, his cock notching at the entrance of your cunt and pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch as his thumb rolls against your clit. “I know, baby, been waitin’ for you too.”

Jesus, you feel like you’re gonna die. You’re taking all these big deep shivering breaths, still trembling a little from your orgasm and eager for him to just fuck you already, but his filthy talk in your ear is sending you spiralling. You’re so wet it feels like you’ve sprung a leak; you can feel moisture running down your ass and under your thighs, and you burn with both mortification and desire.

Ghost presses his cock in a little further, and your back arches as you groan. Despite the orgasm and the fingering and the fact that you are so fucking aroused right now, the stretch is intense.

“Yeah, she’s beggin’ for me.” Ghost is still talking – at this point you think his words are meant just for himself, because they’re low and a little slurred, his eyes glassy as he stares at the way his cock spears through the slick folds of you. “Listen; it’s like she’s talking to me.”

For a second, you have no goddamn idea what he’s talking about. But then, in the silence, you hear the squelch of your drippy cunt as he squishes his cock against it in shallow little thrusts, barely even pressing the tip inside.

“Oh god,” You whine, high and needy. “Just– stop teasing.”

The bastard laughs, all low and gritty and a little breathless.

“It’s not teasing, lovie.” He says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your jawline. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week straight. I’m just reacquainting myself.”

Then he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a move so sweet that it honestly takes you aback. Every complaint in your head flies out the window, and you turn eagerly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so hot, his lips plush and hungry and a little salty. It occurs to you that you’re tasting yourself in his mouth, and your body draws up tight and tense in response. 

“Simon,” You breathe, intending to tell him to get a move on and just fuck you already, but you don’t even get as far as finishing the order.

He groans as though the sound of his given name is a signal, and before you know it you’ve got a huge wall of muscle hunched over you and around you as Ghost holds himself up by his elbows on either side of your head. You feel his cock prodding at the entrance of your cunt and your legs fall even further open, until your hip joints ache.

When he starts to push in, the stretch burns in a way that makes your mouth fall open as you choke on the air in your lungs. You’re wet and pliable and eager, your pussy sucking hungrily at Ghost’s dick in an effort to take him deep quickly, but you had almost forgotten what this felt like. You can’t stop the way your cunt tightens eagerly as he rocks in an inch.

He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, “C’mon, stop pushing me out, darling.”

“Wait,” You gasp, reaching down to place your hand over his belly. “Wait, oh my god, you’re too big–”

His stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he's putting in to keep from rocking into you all in one go, and you spare a moment to admire his patience and his sheer resolve to make things good for you. But even though he’s obediently paused to let you catch your breath, he chuckles quietly at your reaction.

“It’s only the tip, baby.” He murmurs, cooing softly to you like you’re something easily spooked. “You’ve taken it before. This pretty little cunt of yours is so hungry, gotta let her have it.”

You nod, hesitantly. He’s right; he may be big, but you’d taken him before. Only last week. And you had been a virgin then. Well, technically. Not physically, maybe, since you’d long stretched out your hymen on your dildos, but mentally. Though at least last week you had stretched yourself out on your vibrator, and then Ghost had spent so long opening you up with his mouth and fingers.

Ghost rocks forward another inch, and the stretch makes you squeal like a fucking stuck pig. It’s mortifying. How the hell did he ever manage to fit that fat cock inside you?

You slap at his belly hard, writhing away. 

“No, nope, not gonna fit.” You wheeze.

Ghost pulls back, and you can read the disappointed slant of his mouth and he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. Now that you get another look at it, you take a deep breath. It’s still well-lubed with your spit and the pink cockhead is shiny with your slick. 

It’s big, but you know you can take it. You just… you need better leverage.

Your jaw clenches in determination. “I need to be on top.”

There’s a moment of silence as those words settle between you, as though Ghost’s brain is buffering. Then his lips start curving up into that semi-familiar smug smile, and he rolls the two of you over so that he’s laying on his back in your bed with you perched clumsily atop his thighs.

His cock juts up proudly, practically bobbing as it leaks prespend down his length. He settles back, folding his arms behind his head as he watches you – the position makes his biceps bulge in a way that is very appealing and also most likely unintentional.

“Go on.” He encourages, as hungry and wanting as you’ve ever heard him. “All yours, gorgeous.”

All yours, your brain repeats, the words echoing around your skull until you’re certain that your head is empty but for that. You want him so much it makes you feel dizzy.

You shuffle forward until your pussy is hovering over the blood-flushed head of his cock. The cute pink blush has started to darken into a red that looks painful, and you take a little breath at the idea of helping him out with his little problem.

You lower yourself down so that the tip of Ghost’s cock is lined up with your entrance and begins pressing in, stretching you wide and slipping in inch by inch. You gasp desperately as you’re speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open.

Though you’re the one controlling the pace, it still seems overwhelming, all-encompassing. You can feel your cunt stretching wide and taut around the width of him, fluttering as Ghost groans in dazed appreciation.

You glance up at him, to see that his eyes are a little unfocused, missing the intensity that they’ve had all night. His gaze is flickering from the way your cunt is sliding down on his cock to your breasts to your face, so fast as if he’s trying to take it all in before it disappears.

His oversized hands come to rest on your hips, and you half expect him to pull you down impatiently on his cock. But he doesn’t, they just rest there as though he needs to ground himself. His stomach is tensed so tight you know that his abs will be sore in the morning, and to your delight you can see a lovely pink flush climbing across his lightly-haired chest.

You keep your eyes on his half-masked face as you slowly rock your way down onto the length of him, your breath occasionally hitching. Though he doesn’t rush you, you can feel the way his fingers twitch on your hips and the way his jaw grinds, and all those little tells only increase your excitement.

You’re so full you feel like you’re about to break in half, and Ghost’s gaze on you feels like a physical weight, but you don’t stop. You wiggle clumsily, trying to take him deeper and unintentionally pulling gruff groans out of him every time your body tightens.

Then, finally, you take him to the hilt. He groans, his eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your body sits perched on his lap, little tremors rocking through you as you adjust to his size inside. 

“That’s my girl.” Ghost says, and the praise comes out on the edge of a growl. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me.”

Tingling heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over him as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system – you’ve never heard Ghost sound so soft and wanting.

One of his hands reaches between you, one big thumb settling right over your swollen clit. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.

“Would you have gone back to his quarters?” He asks, and the seemingly non-sequitur is too much for your dazed, cock-stupid mind to keep with.

“Huh?” You breathe, tentatively rocking your hips and moaning softly as his cock hits just right inside.

“The guy at the bar.” Ghost clarifies, his voice deep and a little irritated. “The one who was all over you. Would you have gone back with him?”

Oh, you think a little wryly. You should have known that he’d be a big possessive bastard.

“I don’t know.” You say, but you’re barely paying attention. You’ve started to rock for real now, and it feels good. Your rhythm is barely more than a slow grind – you think, distantly, that you should be lifting yourself up and down and fucking yourself properly, but grinding so that he hits deep and your clit rubs up against his pubic bone just feels so fucking intense.

“Waste of your time.” He grunts, his grip tight on your hips as he watches you hump lazily. “Jesus, look at the way you’re sucking me in. Cunt’s so fussy, she was just waiting for me.”

The worst part is, you think he might be right. You had been touching yourself every night this week, trying and failing to recreate the high he had brought you to. The touch just wasn’t the same, and no matter how close you got you just couldn’t fall over that damn ledge.

“Yeah,” You whine, hardly even aware of what you’re agreeing to. The sweet ache of the stretch has almost disappeared now, and you hump back onto his cock with abandon. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. 

You tip forward, grabbing clumsily at his shoulders for balance as your face smushes against the cushiony softness of his pecs. God, he’s so strong, it’s like your body weight is nothing to him – he just accepts your whole body leaning into him, humming in satisfaction.

Tentatively, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock. 

“Simon,” You gasp, and it comes out in a whimper that’s far more pathetic than you had intended. “Am I– am I doing good?”

He’s gritting his teeth – you can see the tense line of his jaw as he tilts his head back, watching your face as you bounce stumblingly on his cock.

“Like I said, lovie, you’re a natural.” He says, exhaling harshly through his nose. “Gimme a kiss.”

When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, but you whine desperately.

“There.” You moan into Ghost’s mouth, the two of you sharing air as you pant against each other’s lips. “Oh god, please–”

The muscles in his thighs ripple as he lifts his hips to meet yours as you bounce down, and then all of a sudden he’s fucking into you from below. The strength in his hips almost bodily lifts you every time he fucks up, though you almost thwart his every thrust as you try to grind on him again, trying to get his cock to hit just right again.

Fuck, your legs are tired and your knees are aching, but you can feel that glorious build up in your tummy again. Ghost has taken over most of the heavy lifting now too; instead of relying on you to bounce up and down, he’s drilling into that one spot inside you that sends liquid heat shooting up your spine.

Your mouth is hanging open and you’re pretty sure that you’re drooling all over his lovely, soft chest, but it just feels so good. You don’t understand how he does this, how he makes it feel so good for you. You think, a little wildly, that maybe your cunt was made for him.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight,” Ghost grunts, and his chest rumbles beneath your smushed cheek. “Gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Go on, cream on me.”

You didn’t actually think you were that close to another orgasm, despite how good it feels, but maybe Ghost knows you and your pussy better than you know yourself because you feel yourself go tight and gushy, nonsensical gasping and babbling spilling from your lips. The soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock fucks up into you is obscene, enough to make your nipples go tight and tingly.

Then his thumb rolls hard against the swollen bud of your clit and you’re gone. You think you might actually scream, but it’s muffled against the now drool-covered expanse of his thick, bulging pecs. 

You let out a choked out wail as your orgasm rips through you like an electric shock, leaving you trembling madly in its wake. You swear you come apart completely, unravelling at the edges as you writhe in his lap, grinding wildly even as he continues to fuck you through it. 

You don’t get even a moment of reprieve, because Ghost keeps going through the waves of your orgasm. He pulls you up to kiss you, sloppy and dirty, and then starts thrusting for all he’s worth. You’re put in mind of bull-riding, and your thighs clench hard as you try to stay seated as he bucks against you.

It's the most unravelled you’ve ever seen him. Ghost is always cool and in control, always meeting everything with smug, arrogant confidence. To see him glowing with sweat, his mouth lolled open under his rumpled balaclava as he snarls and grunts and fucks into you like an animal feels like a drug so heady you know you’re already addicted.

This is not the lazy rhythm of before; he’s uncoordinated and frantic, kissing you hard and messy as he shoves his cock up into you so hard that you’re sure it’s going to leave a permanent impression inside you. Maybe that’s what he’s aiming for. You take it easily, split open and pliant and soft and wet.

You’re oversensitive and shivery, breathing hard and whimpering on every other thrust, but you don’t complain. It only takes a handful of thrusts before Ghost finishes with a bitten off snarl, his jaw clenching and head tipping back as he pulls you off him just in time for his cock to spurt several thick ropes of creamy cum between you. Most of it lands on your belly, dripping down onto your pussy like icing on a cake, but some of it spurts onto Ghost’s own soft belly too.

It makes a mess, but you don’t care. You feel so dreamy-floaty happy right now, your limbs floppy and rubbery as you slump down onto his chest. He catches you easily, and lays you down gently onto the bed. 

You grumble when he moves, but you remember this part from last time. You don’t bother opening your eyes; you know he’ll come back.

Sure enough, he returns within moments, and you feel a warm, wet cloth wiping at your belly and inner thighs. You part your legs, pleased with the feeling of being looked after. When you blink your eyes open again, you see that he’s pulled the mask back down to cover his lovely, talented mouth. You try not to be too disappointed over that. His eyeblack is smeared too; it gives the impression of total debauchery. 

“You alright, love?” He asks, and you realise that you’ve just been staring blankly at him.

“Yeah.” You mumble, stretching your body out like a cat. Now that you’ve been given a moment, you can feel all those little aches flare to life between your legs, around your hips, and up the base of your spine. You wince, but don’t complain.

To your delight, Ghost climbs back into bed with you. He’s a little too big for the standard issue frame, but you’re more than happy to roll on top of him and cuddle close to conserve space. He seems similarly happy to have you all laid out on his chest, because he presses his masked face to the top of your head and inhales slowly.

“Are you staying, this time?” You ask quietly. You think you know the answer after your conversation earlier, but you can’t quite help the little pulse of insecurity.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says, low in the quiet of the room. His tone is thick with significance, like he’s talking about more than just staying the night, and his fingers are sure and steady as he traces absent-minded little patterns down the length of your spine.

You swallow, heart racing, and rest your cheek against his chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of his own heart soothes you, and you bite your lip. He’s so solid, reliable. You’d trust him with your life, with anything. 

You glance down, your eyes curiously seeking out his now softening cock. It’s laying in a bed of his blond curls at his crotch, and it looks so unthreatening when it’s flaccid. You admire the shape of it absently, feeling a little thrill of excitement at the sight of it. You can’t lie to yourself and say you don’t feel a little possessive, either.

“Are we dating now?” You ask quietly. You’re not able to look him in the eye when you ask it, so you keep your face turned down. You don’t think you could handle seeing his expression if his answer is no.

There’s a pause. His hand halts the sweet patterns he’d been drawing on your back.

“Was that a question for me, or my cock?” He asks. He seems to be aiming for his usual sort of dry humour, but his tone comes out a little guarded, as though he’s actually not sure.

You raise your head, stifling your insecurity, and make eye contact with him. Those pretty brown eyes, so warm when they’re looking at you like this.

“You,” You say.

There’s another pause, and then his hand starts tracing its way over your bare back again.

“Yeah,” Ghost says, and the corners of eyes crinkle. “Stuck with me now, lovie.”

#okayyyy here we go! #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod smut

[dragonanon]

Okay I know there’s a lot of controversy surrounding the use of AI to create things. But if I hadn’t known this was made using AI, I deadass would’ve believed that Rodger Bumpass decided to make a god tier shitpost that ironically came out really good.

#i honestly believed rodger bumpass had sang this before reading that this was actually made using an AI #it’s high key incredible and terrifying that technology has progressed to a point where a voice can be so accurately replicated #to the point that you can make it say and sing things that the original voice never did #i can think of several ways this could be used in a VERY sinister way #but i’m happy that people seem more interested in using it to make squidward sing fnaf songs than commit crimes…for now #everything aside this lowkey slaps #Youtube

[verstarppen]

I SAW SMTH ABOUT YOU NEEDING LOGAN SMAU IDEAS AND OH BOY DO I HAVE ONE!! So basically, reader is logans childhood best friend. Always loved gymnastics, and logan always went to all of her recitals and big competitions, and she went to all of his karting practices and races. Now they are grown up and reader is a professional gymnast competing in the Olympics for America, and logan is a professional f1 driver. They are still so close, and they have been dating since they were like 16, but none of the f1 world knows that, they just believe they are friends. Reader manages to get gold at the Olympics so logan does a whole ass simp appreciation post hardlaunching their relationship and giving all of their fans whiplash.

summary; logan has a very special helmet reveal on instagram to celebrate your olympics gold metal and a scavenger hunt seems like the appropriate way to reveal it to you

pairing; logan sargeant x fem! olympic gymnast! reader [ no faceclaim ]

a/n; girl who starts breathing like darth vader after three flights of stairs: yeah i can write from an olympic gymnast's pov that's fine; i've also never been in japan so pinterest was my best friend here

liked by olympics, logansargeant, olliebearman and 3,801,506 others

ynusername the feminine urge to walk around tokyo aimlessly

view all 100,844 comments

vertiddieenjoyer your pfp is such a jumpscare please change it

ynusername never. logansargeant Please? ynusername over my dead body

osc_pastry WILLIAMS MISSING IN THE LIKES 💀

olliebearman Congrats on both wins :)

armstrongslayer NAHHHH setbackhamilttel "call an ambulance, call an ambulance- but not for me" julyestie guys stop giggling...we're on a crime scene

liked by ynusername, liamlawson30, oscarpiastri and 1,400,789 others

logansargeant Thinking of you. Always.

view all 479,007 comments

oscarpiastri How kind of you

logansargeant 😐

roboclaren WHAT WAS THAT....OKAY....JAMES

haas_shaker i too, think of james vowels always forzapluto NOT AFTER WHAT HE PULLED IN AUSTRALIA

bbglewis do you hear that? the sounds of hundreds of f1 wag accounts STOMPING in your direction

mcmango y/n is punching the floor rn

albon_goated oscar too

pierrette girlfriend reveal when

typicallyleclerc It's gotta be that model Caryl Zarubin? Weren't they spotted together at a restaurant recently? lionkingseb no i think he was there with his best friend and she happened to see them and asked for a picture, they don't follow each other on social media or anything like that so it's unlikely typicallyleclerc Ohh, I didn't know that. Thank you.

liked by ynusername, alex_albon, jv.f1 and 2,870,475 others

logansargeant I contemplated how to word this for a long time, but I finally feel ready. For as long as I have known you, you've been a pillar of hope. Someone I can count on. Someone who tells the bullies off when I couldn’t. The first person I ran to after getting my first win.

To see you achieve something as great as an olympic gold metal has made me eternally grateful to be called yours. I can’t promise a win anytime soon, let alone a championship, but I can promise to commemorate you while there's still a stage light above me.

Your shine is brighter than any star, but I’ve tried to replicate it. Congratulations on your achievement, love. I hope you like the surprise 😉

view all 870,140 comments

ynusername YOU ABSOLUTE SAP

logansargeant For you? Always 😌

alex_albon @ ynusername Am I forgiven? I helped with the design

ynusername some sins cannot be forgiven so easily, alexander ynusername im joking ofc you're forgiven, it's not humanly possible for anyone to stay mad at you for long

feeltheorange oh so they're...oh

albogeant this is so sweet i think i feel cavities forming

redbullpapaya STOPPPPP

mcmango nevermind, it's just oscar punching the floor rn

albon_goated A WIN IS A WIN

liked by logansargeant, frederikvestiofficial, arthur_leclerc and 3,151,889 others

ynusername more priceless than any medal

view all 1,988,475 comments

oscarpiastri Okay then, give it to me

ynusername fuck off you can pull it away from my cold dead hands

logansargeant Time to announce the best date competition winner

ynusername you have no competition frederikvestiofficial This couldn't have been more fun than the Ghibli museum :( olliebearman you have to be squidding me oscarpiastri Woomp Woomp arthur_leclerc I would've won olliebearman yeah right olliebearman tuna in next time

ynusername absolutely not, im not doing any more side quests

pic credits; instagram and pinterest

fic-specific taglist; @spilled-coffee-cup @onecojg @cixrosie @sheridamn @namgification @thehufflepuffavenger1 @sxrcxsm26 @mehrmonga @mellowarcadefun

blog taglist; @wtfisakilometer2 @aexitizen-ln4 @localwhoore @onecojg @sheridamn @cixrosie @gulabjamooon @melozyxo @spilled-coffee-cup @biitch-with-wifi @coffeehurricanes @iifloweringnightsii @jsjcue @lanando4 @fastcarsandshit @christianpulisic10 @allygatcr @marshmummy @lavenderhazeeworld @ravisinghs-wife @namgification @sheridamn @whatislifebutlemons @demvnsriot @stinkyjax @sxrcxsm26 @beskardroids @tbsloneely @yourmumsdirtysock @elliegrey2803 @mael1pastry @mehrmonga @marymustdie @mellowarcadefun @geniusalpaca

(uni is draining me save me pookies)

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant au #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 social media au #f1 smau #instagram au

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 6

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

Early morning. Almost time for Francis’ delivery route to begin.

“Good morning.” You look at the doppelgänger. His face is pressed into the living room pillow he’d borrowed from the couch, offering you the solitary one on the bed. A sleepy smile of greeting.

“Good morning, love.” His hand cups your cheek and you trap his fingers, turning your face to kiss the inside of his wrist. “I’m glad you stayed last night.”

“Me too.” Its earlier than you’d normally rise, but you kind of like it. That sense that the rest of the world is slumbering and the two of you have this time reserved just for you.

“Tell me to go get ready. I don’t want to leave this bed.”

“Go get ready. I’ll press your clothes for you while you take a shower. Get coffee going.”

“M’kay.” He sighs, sitting upright. Stretching his arms, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. A dog barks outside and someone hisses for it to be quiet. The replicant freezes, his arms dropping down sharply.

“Francis? What is it?”

“It’s not a dog.” He stands and goes to the window, edging the curtain back. “I don’t recognize them. Not from my squadron.”

“A doppel?”

“Yes.”

You sit up, the languid, cozy feeling evaporating instantly. Bringing you right back to reality. “Does the owner know?”

“No. They’re human.”

“Are they trying to come in?”

“No. But they sense something. That’s why they barked. They’re already halfway down the street. You’re safe.” He lets the curtain drop back into place.

“Didn’t you say no doppels would try to enter the building anymore?”

“Yes.”

You worry your lower lip. “That’s going to look suspicious to the DDD.”

“The DDD.” He says the name of the organization contemptuously. “I wish you’d leave.”

“It’s not just a job. It’s my career. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to help people. I promised I would.”

“You could do something else and still help people,” he mumbles. “Fine. If it’s going to draw more unwanted attention here, I can make certain some doppels do come in when you’re working.”

So much for the relieved idea that you and the residents would finally be safe and secure. “You can do that?”

“Of course.”

“And not let them harm anyone?”

“That is more than I can promise.”

So you’d still be putting the residents at risk. Encouraging it, even. You’d have to make absolutely certain never to let one inside.

“You’d be condemning your own kind. I’d have to call the cleaners if they threatened violence.”

“I’m aware. I have to keep you safe. If that means risking some other doppels, so be it.”

You leave the bed, walking over to the closet. Francis didn’t have many clothes aside from his work attire. He’d had few personal possessions in general from what you’ve seen so far in the apartment. Living so humbly.

The imposter rests a hand on your spine on the way past you to the bathroom, pausing to kiss your cheek. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes.” You select a shirt and pair of pants, folding the items still on the hangers over your arm. “I’ll be fine. Go get ready.”

The sound of the shower starting fills the background as you collect the folded ironing board from inside the closet and plug in the iron. You pad barefoot into the kitchen to get the coffee pot on, wearing one of Francis’ undershirts and your panties. You’re a little sore from the previous evening’s events. Internally. The times he had pounded into you deeply. The new bite on your shoulder. The swelling and redness seem to have dissipated. The mirror above the dresser doesn’t reveal anything too drastic looking. The puncture marks are almost invisible.

You’ve got the milkman’s pants ready when he emerges naked from the other room, still slightly damp from the shower. The brazenness still makes you blush. You know what he looks like nude by now, of course, but it feels different when it isn’t during intimacy. You watch the imitator rummaging through the dresser drawers to retrieve underwear and socks and a bow tie, secretly admiring the way his muscles shift in the warm yellow glow of the lamp, the curtains still shielding the window. You can smell the coffee brewing in the other room, easily pervading the entirety of the tiny apartment, and you inhale that enticing aroma deeply.

“So you mentioned earlier you’re in a squadron. Like a military sort?”

“Not precisely as you know it, but I suppose there are a few vague similarities.”

“What rank are you?”

“The equivalent of a lieutenant colonel, if you had to label it.”

You inch the work shirt further over the side of the ironing board to continue the pressing, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Where is the rest of your squadron?”

He shrugs. “Around,” he replies vaguely. You think he knows exactly where they are and he’s not willing to give them up. Still somewhat loyal, in spite of what’s happened between you.

“They don’t wonder where you are? Or vice versa? You don’t have some kind of a leader you have to report to?”

He pauses midway through pulling on a sock. “It doesn’t quite work like that. We are…autonomous, I suppose you would say. Working independently, but striving for the same goal.”

You hand him the shirt and he slides it over his shoulders after finishing with the socks. “So why have ranks at all then, if you’re all equals?”

“Because we’re not. Not everyone can do what I did. It’s still rare. There’s no way to instruct how to do it. It just…happens. Or doesn’t.” He finishes buttoning the front of his shirt. You help him with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Why did you choose Francis?”

“Opportunity. Nothing more. Sheer random encounter.” You step back as he pulls each pants leg on and stands, zipping and buttoning the fly. The belt is coiled on the dresser beside the black tie. “The best decision of my existence,” he says softly, his forehead bending to touch yours.

You’re so conflicted. He’d killed the man you’d loved. But in some ways was still the man you loved. Only not. An enemy you’re supposed to be guarding against, except he no longer seems to bear any malice towards your kind. Coexisting peacefully. But the cost of that. Oh, the cost.

“I can’t say I’m grateful for what you did. But I am glad it was you, and not someone else.”

His hand cradles your head and he draws you against him. You can smell soap and shampoo. Aftershave. Your arms tighten around him.

“What did happen? During that random encounter?” You ask against his chest.

“Why do you want to know the details? It won’t change anything.”

You draw back to see his face. “Consider it a weakness of humans. There is a car accident on the interstate. The vehicles wrecked, the passengers gravely injured. We slow down or stop to look, even after emergency services have been called, even though there is nothing left to be done. We can’t look away. We have to face it. Confront our fears head on. Grieve our losses. Knowing the truth of what happened is the only way to do that.”

“If I tell you, you’re admitting he’s gone.”

You chew your lower lip, hesitating. “I suppose that would be true.”

“If that happens, you won’t have any reason to be with me anymore.” He strokes a thumb over one cheek. “Is that really what you want?”

“I…no.” Your heart is beating madly in your chest. It would be like losing Francis twice, somehow. You can’t fathom it. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s best I don’t know. I won’t mention it again.”

After a time the replicant finishes dressing. The black bow knotted neatly. Belt secured. Wallet tucked into his pocket, followed by his keys. You’ve hastily gotten dressed in yesterday’s clothing. You’ll return home and get properly washed and changed before returning for your shift afterwards.

The imposter pours you both a cup of the freshly brewed coffee. Strong. The way you both like it. A little cream and sugar to kill some of the bitterness stirred in.

You’re standing by the front door now. The doppelgänger holds the milkman’s cap in his hands. He doesn’t like wearing it. You can tell. You pull it from his fingers and set it on his head. Tugging the brim down a little. Smoothing some of his hair back underneath. He really did need a trim soon. You’d never seen it get this long.

“Be safe today,” he says.

“You too.”

“Do you think I could get away with coming over tonight? Is your organization going to stalk me?”

“I’m hoping they’ll calm down after a bit. They are still watching you. Me. Us. So maybe wait a couple of days, make it not so obvious.”

“I don’t think I can manage a couple of days.”

“You’ll still see me in the booth.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I know, Francis. If circumstances were different…I’m trying keep you safe.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Alright. A couple of days, then. Surely the weekend as well?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

He smiles. “Things looking up already. Alright, sweetheart.” He bends to kiss your mouth. “I’ll see you later.”

You exit the apartment and he locks the door. Still no one else stirring in the building yet. He ignores the elevator and begins descending the staircase. You follow him. He’s faster than you, his longer limbs making short work of the steps. Already nearly an entire flight down from you.

He pauses on the landing, looking back at you as you halt, fingers curled over the railing.

“Francis.” You rush down the stairs, throwing yourself at him when you reach the bottom, the momentum pushing him back against the wall. Planting kisses along the freshly shaved cheeks and jaw. “I miss you already.”

“Me too, love.” His arms envelop you and you bury your face against his shirt. Suddenly you find yourself wanting to cling to him desperately. So afraid for him. More than you were even for yourself.

It’s a relief when you see him return safely later that day; it’s all you can do not to open the booth and fling yourself back into his arms. But the camera mounted on the wall over your shoulder is a constant reminder. You’re being watched.

You’re not safe at all.

***

Saturday morning finds you standing in what was once an impressive garden beside your house. Now chock full of wildflowers and overgrown with weeds. Francis’ copy is beside you, kneeling down, his fingers raking the earth, pushing impatiently at the intruding vegetation. “The soil is still good. You could plant here again easily.”

“My grandfather would have been happy to see that. It just got to be too much for him to maintain. He had a hard time finding help for the farm. People lured into moving to the city. Better paying jobs. Fancier homes. A variety of exciting new stores to shop in. My parents both had that itch.”

“You’re somewhere in the middle.” He stands, dusting his hands off.

You nod. “I guess I am. I can appreciate the value of being in the city. The benefits. But I recognize the drawbacks, too. I love being here. It always feels right. I wish I could restore things to the way they were.”

“Maybe you could. Not to the extreme of running a business with employees, but to build it back up, little by little.”

“It would be a full time process.”

“You could do it. We could do it,” he adds softly.

“Is that really what you’d want?”

“I want you,” he says, his hands now seated on your waist, drawing you closer. He kisses you and you sigh contentedly.

“When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the world goes away. There is no DDD or invasion. It’s just us.”

“It could really be like that.”

“No one ever leaves the DDD voluntarily. And you’d be labeled a deserter, wouldn’t you? We’d be chased. Hunted down. There’s only one punishment for someone who’s a coconspirator.” It didn’t happen often, but occasionally there were stories of humans accepting bribes. Working together with the doppels. It did not end well for the humans making those bargains; did not end well for the invaders, either.

“We’ll keep running so they can’t catch us. To the ends of the earth.” He tugs on your hand and you allow him to, following him. Navigating through the overgrowth, threading through it to find your path. Moving faster and faster, a full jog now. Still anchored to the doppelgänger’s hand.

He halts abruptly and you collide with him. Both breathing heavily. He descends and you tumble down with him. You’re in a patch of wildflowers, their perfumed scent heavy in the air.

You lie together like that with your head pillowed on his chest, one arm tucked around you. “Did you ever have anything like this before? Was there someone else?”

“Never.”

You burrow a little deeper, satisfied with the answer. Would you have been jealous if he’d said yes? Strange to think that way. But yes, you would be, you realize. The concept of sharing, the idea of affection for someone other than yourself bothers you.

“Do you think you could ever find yourself caring for me? Not for the face I wear. What’s behind it, I mean. My true self.” Your head lifts, your eyes searching his features. “I want you to love me as much as you love the man. More than that.”

“You said…you don’t even have words for human emotions. They don’t exist for your kind.”

“They don’t. They didn’t. A change now. Evolution. Something unanticipated. That’s what the ache is, isn’t it? How terrible this feeling is. How wonderful. Paradox.” He pulls your face towards his, kissing you. “I need you, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.”

You kiss him back. You can’t speak with words. It’s too overwhelming. Too confusing trying to separate the man and the invader. You’d been telling yourself all along it was your feelings for the former that had driven all your actions. That had been true enough in the beginning. But now. Now there were doubts creeping in. Wondering it wasn’t the other that you had feelings for. Could you really love a monster?

“Need to feel you, love, please.” The sound of his belt being undone. Dark slacks today now that he wasn’t working. Your fingers join him there, finding his cock already hard, leaking in anticipation. So hungry, so fast. Your body responding in kind, drooling for him.

You straddle his hips, the hem of your skirt bunched around your waist. Struggling to hold the crotch of your panties aside, to guide him inside of you. Gasping when you succeed. You lower yourself down onto him. The sun is warm on your back. You lift up slightly and sit back down. Impaling yourself again. Your hips roll back and forth as you lean down to kiss him. Rocking, sliding that prick in and out of your pussy. He slips completely free and you hurriedly snake a hand between your bodies, realigning him. The drag against your clit sending sparks through you. You keep the hand there, touching yourself, touching him. Feeling the heightened friction of the panties digging against your hand, against your lover’s dick. The nails of your other hand raking his chest through his shirt.

You kiss him, tasting the salt of the perspiration that has begun. It’s so hot. Outside. Inside of you. His fingers touch your cheek, seed your hair, hold your mouth against his as his hips lift to meet you. Driving him deeper inside. You look down at the man whose face you’d seen behind glass for all those months. Those dark, tired eyes on yours. Lick his mouth back open, enjoying the mash of the hand still between your bodies, grinding against the bundle of nerve endings. His lips at your jaw and throat and beside your ear. “I love you,” he whispers, and you shatter around him, your walls spasming, your body jerking through release.

It’s easy to say the phrase back to him when you’re in the height of bliss, just three simple little words that escape above his face, panted between noises of pleasure.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His hips snap up and you feel the jet of seed inside you. Your forehead drops to his, your arms and legs suddenly shaking. You dismount and drop down beside him, your face burrowing again.

“I meant it,” he says softly. “What I said.”

“I know. So did I.” It’s the truth, you realize. Somehow, the impossible had happened.

You’d fallen in love with a doppelgänger.

***

The weekend flies by.

You are back in the security booth once again the following Monday. Straightening out the desk once more. You really could not understand why your coworkers were so disorganized. You’ve nearly finished the task when you realize through your peripheral vision that someone has entered the apartment building.

Your head lifts to see Izaack Gauss.

Or what looked like him; your instincts kicking in once again. It’s most certainly a doppel.

The face has been perfectly replicated, the second floor resident’s exaggerated features all ones you recognize: the large cleft chin and wide nose, the thick dark eyebrows set above glacier blue eyes, that wide stretch of teeth just a little too large for comfort, becoming almost a rictus grin. One that doesn’t touch the imposter’s eyes.

“Good morning,” he greets you, sliding his ID card and entry request through the stainless steel slot at the bottom of the window.

You look over the identification first. Expiration date checks out, the image and name both correct. Your eyes flick up before you study the other document. On the day’s list. DDD logo present. Occupation of reporter correct. Address verified.

“May I come in? As you can see everything is in order.”

The ID card is still clutched in your hands. You tap it against the desk absently. You know it’s not really him. You just don’t have any evidence to support your suspicion yet.

“Let me just make a quick phone call to your residence.”

You lift the receiver off the hook, dialing the first number.

“I can smell him on you.”

Your hand freezes. “I’m sorry?”

The large nostrils flare and the suited figure inhales deeply. “All over you. Inside of you. He’s been there, hasn’t he? You’ve let him in.” Little burst capillaries spidering across his eyes now. A thin trail of spit glistening on his lower lip. “You could let me inside, too.”

You flip the plastic shielding covering the alarm down and slap the red button, the steel shutters instantly dropping down to cover the glass. Hanging up hurriedly and dialing a new number, the DDD operator answering you in the same calm manor they always adopt, assuring you the cleaners will be on their way shortly.

Time seems to slow to a crawl. You hear the sounds of the disposal team making their way inside. Yelling. Gunfire. Then silence. The alarm stops sounding. The steel shutter retracts. On the other side of the window, you can see a member of the DDD wearing a yellow hazmat suit. “The doppelgänger has been taken care of. You can return to work now.”

You nod, willing your shaking hands to be still.

***

“There was a doppel today.”

The piece of cake you’re chewing tastes like ash. It’s from your favorite bakery, a treat from your replicant beau. Washed down with an ice cold sample of the milk he delivers. You wish you could enjoy it. But your taste buds won’t cooperate. You’re still shaken from what had happened earlier.

“Yes. There were to be several. What’s wrong?”

“He knew about us, Francis.”

He sets his fork down slowly. “Tell me what happened.”

“He looked just like Mr. Gauss. The reporter that lives alone on the second floor. Paperwork checked out. But I could tell something was off right away. And he said he could smell you on me. In me. He knew what we’ve done together.”

You see the copycat milkman’s Adam’s apple move above his shirt collar as he swallows loudly. “And then you called the cleaners?”

“Yes.”

“Did he get a chance to say anything to them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“And the surveillance cameras?”

“Video feed only, no audio.”

A heavy sigh. “Alright. I’m sorry that happened to you. That was not a member of my squadron, I assure you.”

“You said they wouldn’t come near the building, because of the marks. Other than the ones you sent as decoys to fool the DDD.”

“I didn’t think they would. Honestly, I didn’t. I would never deliberately put you in harm’s way. You know that.” His hand reaches for yours across the tiny kitchen table in the third floor apartment. “Had to just be an anomaly. Had to be,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s trying to reassure himself as well as you.

“What if it’s not?”

He pushes back from the table, kneeling beside you, reaching for one of your hands and pressing his lips to it, holding it against his cheek. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear to you. I love you,” he says, and your heart flutters. The palm of his free hand rests somewhere along your ankle. Sliding up, bringing the hem of your skirt with it. He kisses your knee. The top of the joint. The inside. Stands and pulls you with him. Lifting you and sitting you on the counter, your skirt gathered in messy folds around your hips. His fingers dig into the sides of the underwear clinging to them, dragging them roughly down. He’s impatient, possessive. Scared, you think.

“I want to make a baby with you.”

“Francis…” Your sex throbs at the suggestion. Such a dangerous idea.

“I want them to know you’re mine. Fuck the DDD and fuck the other doppels.” His face moves against your throat, one hand on your hip as he thrusts into you, the other braced on the overhead cabinet behind you.

“I am yours.”

He huffs a moan. “You’re so perfect for me.”

You gasp when he reaches deeper inside of you, clutching the back of his shirt collar, your other hand at his waist, knees digging into his hips as he ruts against you. Your fingers travel to his hair, those cocoa locks that are growing curlier the more they lengthen. You have to cut them for him, or send him to a barber, or…

“Say it. Please, please say it. Do you want me to beg? I’ll do it. Please…”

You know what he wants. What he needs to hear. “I love you.” The wood behind you groans with the tension his hand places on it as he fucks you harder, faster. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” uttered each time he’s sheathed inside you.

Touching his cheek now, watching his mouth fall open, the kind of wonder in those dark eyes, as if he’s discovering you all over again for the first time, coming apart, waiting to be rebuilt. You both shatter and then there is silence save for the ticking of the clock mounted on the kitchen wall and the breaths you trade, a warm exchange of air in the scant space that divides you.

#thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #milkman x you

[rongzhi]

do you have any idea when people in china stopped bowing to each other as a greeting? it seems like the most common forms of greeting now is to shake hands or wave both which were introduced from the west. it's the same in taiwan too.

Tldr: It never stopped because Chinese people never had the practice of bowing in greeting the way that Japanese people did/do.

-

(Note: there are types of greetings that involve a sort of bowing (ketou), but this is reserved for special occasions)

Back in the day, the greetings were made by clasping one's hands in front of them in the direction of the person being greeted. There might be some head lowering/slight bowing involved but it's done in conjunction with the hand greeting. You can see various forms of this in historical dramas and even hanfu shows and shortform videos. The exact way one held their hands changed in some years but the general idea is the same.

Women's and men's hand greetings differed back in the day. A women's greeting was called 万福礼 wànfùlǐ and consisted of holding the hands in front of oneself and bending the legs, or holding hands at the hip, etc. The exact way to hold the hands also changes through the years. Women also do what is called 肃拜 sù bài, which is an earlier form of a women's greeting and includes getting on one's knees (thus the 拜).

Some examples of greetings:

Men's vs women's hand positions

拱手礼 gōngshǒu lǐ ("cupped hands greeting"). The most common greeting. Top photo shows the gendered difference for proper etiquette for nowadays if you ware going to do it, for example, as a new year's greeting. Bottom photos: I think if you look carefully in modern society, you can still see examples of this greeting in China. It is a gesture that can also be used to expresses one's gratitude. It is still there, it's just fell out of vogue in favor for waving and hand shaking.

This can also be seen in The video above shows Ming era 万福礼 as well as men's 揖礼. 作揖礼 zuòyī lǐ ("bow with clasped hand greeting") is kind of the same thing as 拱手礼, but 作揖 specifically includes a slight bow whereas 拱手礼 is merely the raising of the hands.

叉手礼 chāshǒu lǐ ("crossed hands greeting") popularised during the Western Jin - Song dynasties, seen in the drama "The Longest Day in Chang'an", which takes place in the Tang Dynasty. This particular greeting started out as one used by Buddhists in the Eastern Han dynasty. https://zhuanlan.zhihu.com/p/489897518

抱拳礼 bàoquán lǐ ("cupped fist greeting"). This one is something done more so by martial artists. For men, you use your left hand to cover your right hand. For women, the opposite is true. It is also called 吉拜 jíbài when showing respect. If you flip your hand (keep in mind men/women do this the opposite way), it is called 凶拜 xiōngbài and it used to show respect to the dead. So one has to pay attention to this.

There's kind of a lot more etiquette rules you could get into but this answer has already sort of gone beyond the scope of your question lol. Chinese people wrote rites books over the many dynasties so actually there are descriptions of how these greetings were done and over time and that's how they are replicated in dramas and movies.

#text #answered ask #chinese culture #chinese history

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him. 

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it. 

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

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

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing. 

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject. 

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!" 

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back. 

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment. 

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it. 

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you. 

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

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

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her. 

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it. 

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt. 

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw 

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email. 

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

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind. 

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him. 

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions. 

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight. 

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now. 

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now. 

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

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

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfiction #rooster imagine #rooster x reader #rooster x you #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #yours truly bradley bradshaw

[itgirl-111]

OFFENSIVELY ATTRACTIVE VAUNT

Why do I have to be so offensively attractive? Everything about me from top to toe is perfection. You've never seen a face as pretty and flawless as mine. No cause why do I have to look this hot? I'm fr the hottest girl on the planet. Everything about me from top to toe is pure perfection, my individual features are perfect and flawless but when they come together they are so harmonious? Like everything just fits my face so fucking perfectly like it's meant to be there. Every inch of my face and body is gorgeous and flawless. I am a walking masterpiece, I'm a work of art. Everyone is obsessed with me the first time they see me, I am so drop dead gorgeous that people literally double take and gasp once they lay their eyes on me. I mean, I'm always the center of attention because why wouldn't I be? I high key give off real main character vibes, it's like I straight up walked out of an anime. It's near impossible for someone to look this humanely beautiful but I do because I'm just too damn stunning. I literally take everyone's breath away. I am so offensively attractive, people find it difficult to not look at me, I swear all eyes turn only to me because I'm literally the most beautiful ever. It's only once in a blue moon that you'd get a chance to see a person as attractive as I am, Im once in a lifetime afterall. I get complimented every single day, I hear everyone call me beautiful more than my own name. I am too painfully attractive, it's indescribable. I'm the typa girl who you see once and never forget. I literally got everyone feeling some type of way they never felt before. I am literally so utterly mesmerizing. I got everyone simping for me fr. I'd be literally breathing and everyone would be down bad for me, Literally down bad. I got universal sex appeal, meaning everyone regardless of sexuality is down bad for me . I am so sexy people genuinely cannot get over it and everyday I just get 100x trillion times hotter. I am just sooo damn fine like I've got too pretty of a face and even more powerful vibe. I believe in my supremacy fr. Sometimes it's just so hard to grasp the fact that a person as attractive as I, is living on the same planet as everyone else, everyone is damn lucky to be born in the same generation as I am. It's ridiculous how many simps I have, like damn I really got everyone down bad for me huh. I am the pinnacle of God tier beauty and charisma.

There's something about my vibe which is just so uniquely mine, like my vibe and energy is so one of a kind, everyone can feel my vibe even before I walk into the room. I give off an expensive, powerful, hot girl vibe who straight up walked out of an anime I swear lol. My energy is way too magnetic and irresistible, it speaks volumes. My presence is literally out of this world. The way I carry myself, the way I talk, the way I do things, the way I think, the way I look, my energy, my mannerisms, my habits, all of it is way too unique to be replicated. Everyone wanna study me like their favourite subject. It's impossible to mistake me for another one, I stand out and outshine literally everyone with my beauty, charisma, and interesting personality. The fact that it comes to me so naturally and effortlessly? Even better. I've got such amazing wit and humour, I'm so personable that people genuinely love to be around me even though I may seem intimidating at first. I always know how to spark interesting and amazing conversations, I know when to speak and be quiet, I got that perfect balance between loud and quiet confidence. My intelligence and the way I keep learning new things so easily? Even hotter!. I am an ICON. My energy is actually so magnetic, I have that little something, that is just so insanely attractive and captivating that it cannot be described in words, only felt. I truly believe in my own supremacy.

#vaunt #vaunting #vaunts & affirmations #manifestation #manifesting #loassumption #affirmations #affirm #affirmyourlife #affirmdaily #manifestingreality #manifestyourreality #master manifestor #self concept #self concept affirmations #law of assumption #neville goddard

[astraystayyh]

Say yes to me

after your seven minutes in heaven, hyunjin wants to plan out how he'll finally confess to you. except you come knocking on the door of his rented cabin unannounced. at 10:53 pm. the perfect time for love, he comes to learn.

pt. 2 of say yes to heaven. highly recommend reading it first (it's short i promise and it sets the mood ajsjd)

a.n: and if i told y'all i wrote this in one go... when i say hyune possesses me i MEAN it... these two pics sit at the same table for me, and three people asked for a second part and i can't say no to you guys!! ENJOY, feedback is highly appreciated as always <33

There are a lot of things that Hyunjin wishes he could say to you.

How he loves you is first.

Hyunjin never planned on keeping secrets from you. Ones he carefully tucked away at the corner of his mouth, ready to spill each time your gaze met his.

He still remembers when it all started vividly- how the friendship blossomed into something more for him, the way petals shyly unfurl on the first days of spring.

You were sitting next to him on the bench of your favorite park, ice cream in your hands. Hyunjin intently watched as you rambled about your latest essay, and the world seemed to fall into a tranquil silence, save for the sound of your voice.

Hyunjin suddenly found himself enthralled by the way the sunlight gently grazed your cheeks, painting them with the softest golden hue. One he tried to replicate many times in his paintings, but to no avail, as they could never live up to you.

How the light breeze danced upon your hair, swaying it gently from left to right. How your lips moved with each word, pulling him into an unyielding trance. Those very lips that graced his skin with kisses, months later, scorching themselves into his memory.

Sometimes it still felt surreal, almost too good to be true, that you left traces of yourself on him. That he had you graze his jaw and collarbones, tentatively, as if you were afraid to dive in fully. "I'd catch you", he wanted to say, "even if it meant I'd drown in the process."

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he took a picture of the lipstick stains you left on him. He didn't even realize they were there at first, that is until he went to Changbin's bathroom. There, under the dim lighting, he found that the blush creeping up his neck matched the shade of your lipstick. His body seamlessly entwined itself with everything that made you.

He felt like a shaky tree branch at your hands- dainty leaves falling at your feet, each one scribbled with love notes for you. And he could no longer contain this feeling within him. He was tired of this five month old secret. He wanted to be an open book, one you could read or toss around, as long as you'd touch it.

But he needed to gather his thoughts and plan how he'd say it. How he'd free this scary confession from the confines of his heart. He told you that you'd talk about it later, and it's already been twelve days since he's last seen you. He had to do it soon.

So he went to his cabin, the one he rents on the weekends when he needs to get away from the world. It's small, nestled away in a remote part of the town, with a golden chandelier dangling in its living room- it's where Hyunjin feels most like himself.

Hyunjin doesn't hear your car pulling up into the driveway. Or your hurried steps to the door. But he hears your urgent knocks, and he's confused as he pushes the doorknob down. Then he's worried when he notices that it's you, with puffy eyes and a slightly runny nose.

For a moment, he stood there, too stunned to articulate a proper question. You don't give him the time to properly organize his thoughts, anyways, as you take timid steps towards him, before wrapping your arms around his waist. Your cheek rests against his chest, right above his heart, and you're crying. Hyunjin can tell from the slight tremors coursing through your body; the very one he's hugging right now, tightly, securely, until you're pressed to him, like two pages of the same book.

His large hands are rubbing soothing circles on your back, and a myriad of questions swirls in his mind. But they can wait, until you stop crying- the one sight that can bleed his heart dry.

"You- you said we'd talk later," you say through hiccups, as Hyunjin's hand moves to the back of your head, gently smoothing down your hair.

"I did," he hums, slightly rocking you from left to right.

"Then why didn't you? You just... stayed silent. For two weeks."

"Twelve days."

"Hyune," you whine and he giggles slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto your temple.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were waiting for me."

"Of course, I was," you lean back, the sides of his black shirt scrunched up in your hands. "I was tipsy but I... I remember."

"What do you remember?" he asks, as his thumb gently brushes away your trailing tears. He knows what happened that night, he replayed those seven minutes in his head so much that he could recite them by heart. Every breath you took, every shaky exhale you let out. He remembers it all too well.

"What you said to me."

His eyes soften at the quiver in your tone. "Why are you crying then, hm?"

"Because you didn't talk to me and I thought you didn't mean it. And I- I can't handle anyone else lying to me. Especially you."

Hyunjin shakes his head, as the strings of his heart dance to the erratic rhythm of his pulse.

"I could never lie to you. Not when it comes to this," he says with the utmost sincerity he can muster. He pauses, a gentle smile etched on his lips. "I have tea."

"Tea sounds good," you respond quietly.

"Come in, then."

He let goes of you, but you remain close, your shadows merging together on the wooden floor. Hyunjin smiles softly at the sight- he too wishes he could become one with you.

His hands are shaking slightly as he brings the water to a boil. You're wandering around, admiring the cozy interior, and the questions in Hyunjin's head can't seem to stop. What does this mean? he wants to ask. Do you want me like I want you? But he bites his tongue. Not until you've fully calmed down.

One minute.

"Here," he says, handing you a steaming cup of Jasmine tea. He leans his head against the wooden wall, as the steam fogs up his glasses.

"Thank you," you smile, settling into the seat opposite of him. "I like your ponytail."

"Oh," his hands reach up instinctively to his hair, tugging slightly at the ends of it. "It kept getting in my eyes so I tied it up."

"It suits you," you smile softly, and Hyunjin finds that the galaxy's stars are all shimmering in your eyes. He imagines the milky way weeping for the loss of its twinkling lights; but they look prettier in you, he thinks.

"How did you know I was here?" he asks, bringing the sweet drink to his mouth.

"Changbin told me," you reply.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes holding yours over the rim of his cup. He's nervous, a shaky mess from within, and he's unfolding right in front of you.

Two minutes.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

His question seems to take you off guard. Your eyes slightly widen, before softening around the edges.

"It seems too unrealistic. But I'd like to think it exists. And you?"

"Despite being a hopeless romantic..." Your chuckle interrupts his words, and he finds that the sound of your laugh is much warmer than the drink in his hand. "I never believed in it. Because love is much deeper than a superficial level. It could be infatuation or a crush. But not love," he pauses, idly circling the rim of his cup with his finger. "But then I realized I was wrong."

His eyes captivate yours as he leans back, his sole attention on you. "They don't call it love at the first look, but rather love at first sight... You know, the first time you truly see someone. And I saw you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Three minutes.

"I saw you. I see you. how kind, gentle, and full of life you are. How you turn the most mundane sceneries into extraordinary ones, because your eyes are filled with colors we cannot see. But I saw them through you."

He smiles softly, his hand reaching out to the middle of the table, right where yours rested. His thumb gently grazes your palm, as he starts to speak again.

"It hurt me to see you with someone else. But he made you smile, at least at first. And I love your smile, so I was happy for you despite it. Because you deserve joy in your life, even if I'm not the one behind it. But then he hurt you," he pauses, his eyes tightly shut as if it physically pained him to utter these words. "And it hurts me to see you in pain. Because you deserve a love as gentle as you."

Four minutes.

"Hyune..." you trail off, and he shakes his head, a reassuring smile on his face.

"You don't have to say anything. You're confused and still hurt but I just needed you to know that."

"Know what?" you ask breathlessly, your hand now on top of his. You're hanging desperately onto his every word, you needed to hear it.

"That I love you."

Your fingers intertwine with his, and Hyunjin believes he has never truly breathed before this moment.

"I want to love you too, I do," you're quick to say. "You make me feel safe like I could hand you my heart and you wouldn't hurt it. But you also make me feel alive and I regret not seeing you first. Not when my love was still whole and not bruised."

"So you could love me?" he asks, a beaming smile brightening his face.

"I came crying to you because I thought you left me, and I couldn't bear it. You have your answer," you giggle sheepishly.

Five minutes.

"And you want to love me?"

"I do. I want to see you and notice a new detail about you every day. But I'm so scared, Hyunjin."

"It's okay to be scared. I don't want to rush you. I can wait."

"What if you get bored? Or if someone else catches your eye. I can't ask that of you."

Hyunjin squeezes your hand and the thoughts in your head go silent.

"I've waited for months for you. If it's you I get at the end then I can wait for an eternity."

"So you'll do it?" you smile incredulously. "You'll wait by my side?"

"Mm. I will."

Six minutes.

You're both quiet for a while, and he's too lost in you to count down the seconds. But then you clear your throat.

"Can we start waiting tomorrow?" you suddenly ask, walking up to him.

"What do you mean?" Hyunjin questions, the butterflies in him fluttering so intensely he's close to flying away.

"We're both here now," you whisper, as you sit beside him, his thigh brushing against yours. He licks his lips nervously.

"Can I try something?" you ask again, but this time you aren't drunk. You are less heartbroken and more sure of your feelings for him. You want this.

"I'm yours."

Your fingers reach up to cup his face, thumb grazing his cheeks gently. His hands hold your waist, beckoning you closer.

"I see you," you whisper, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry it took me so long to see you."

"Love at first sight," he responds breathlessly as your lips graze his, and his heart threatens to burst out of his chest- they'll find your name carved in his veins.

"I believe in it now, Hyune," you grin, before crashing your lips onto his.

Seven minutes.

There are a lot of things Hyunjin wished he could say to you. Sappy things, like how he believes you invented colors, that it drips down from your fingertips grazing his skin- explaining the red and yellow dots dancing before his closed eyes.

How everything seems to be heightened with you- the taste of the Jasmine tea imprinted on your lips, or the breaths escaping his body, eager to be released and to finally mingle with yours.

Or that he wishes that you were wearing your red lipstick so that your mark on him would last longer. A physical token of what you do to his heart.

But there was also much simpler words he wanted to say, ones that he managed to whisper in between tender kisses- "thank you for seeing me."

One year.

Your arms encircle Hyunjin's broad back, as you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade. "You know it's criminal for you to look this good in a simple white tee," you sigh wistfully, Hyunjin's perfume enveloping you both in an intimate cocoon.

"Good thing I'm yours then," he chuckles and you beam in reply, although he can't see you. Hyunjin is yours- he waited just like he promised he would. And now you're back in his cabin, where it all began, and he's making you Jasmine tea.

"And I am yours," you plant a kiss on his back and he turns around, a wide smile on his face.

There is still a sense of relief you find sometimes in Hyunjin's features when you tell him that you love him. As if he can't still quite believe it, even after a year of dating. It is the look traced on his face right now- a slight awe as he looks down at you.

"You said yes to me," he says so faintly, as if speaking to no one but himself, and you nod, placing a gentle kiss on his wrist.

"I'll always say yes to you."

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin fluff #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fanfic #skz reactions

[lovelettersfromluna]

Supercut

Summary: “In my head, I play a supercut of us.”

an: halfway through writing this I decided that this isn't technically the finale hehe, more of cam girl!Ellie come, this is just the end of them being stupid. mwah mwah love you all more than you know.

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+, MDNI, angst, cam girl!ellie, Ellie is a real idiot in this one tbh, arguing, hurt/eventual comfort, toxic!Ellie, tribbing, making out, pet names, this one is a little short im sorry, lmk if I missed anything!!!

Read part 1 here, and part 2 here!

You know that gross feeling you get whenever you look back at old pictures or videos? You know, the one that you feel at the pit of your stomach, and it makes you really happy but also really sad? What's that called again?

Oh, right. Its melancholy

It's that feeling where you have a specific memory, and you know that no matter what, that time is gone. You can't replicate it, and the only place that it will live is in the confides of your own mind

And it sucks, because you don't even know when those moments are going to be made. There's no warning in your brain that the day you have planned is going to be so impactful to your life, that you will constantly chase that feeling, trying to replicate what it was that made that time so blissful so that you can feel that same warmth again.

You don't even get the chance to savor it while it lasts.

It almost makes you feel like you never wanted those times to happen to begin with, because you would have been fine without them. Sacrifice one of the times of your life so that you wouldn't have to spend countless nights laying in bed, only hoping that you will experience something that can even come close to how it all felt in the past.

Most of the time, it's easy to simply look back at those memories, feel that disgusting mixture of happiness and sadness, and then move on.

But for some god awful reason, you can't seem to do that this time.

This time, it lingers. It sits there, knocking at your chest, demanding to be acknowledged, to have all of your undivided attention, giving you no choice but to think about how fucked up this all is, how all of this was a complete and utter mistake, and how you have no way in taking it back.

It makes you wish time travel was real, yearning for some mad scientist to come out and say 'look everyone! you can reverse the mistakes you've made in the past!'.

But that doesn't happen, and you have no choice but to live with the icky feeling that settles at the pit of your stomach, and refuses to go away.

You weren't entirely sure what would happen after that night with Ellie, the night that she laid her weight on top of you, fucking you into her mattress over and over again, whispering the sweetest words into the nape of your neck, holding you the entire night through once you were finished, silence overcoming the space as you both fell into a blissful sleep.

It was hard to really tell where you both stood, but you weren't an idiot.

You knew, that you and Ellie had made love that night.

It was truly like nothing you had ever experienced. It was like you were constantly in that delicious state before sleep, where the world is soft, and everything is so comfortable right before you reach the point of unconsciousness, and everything feels so utterly perfect.

That's what it felt like, and you knew that from the moment Ellie had pulled you against her chest, and pressed a soft kiss to your head before you both fell asleep.

It happened, but God....you really wished it hadn't.

Because now? Things were so much fucking worse.

The feeling Ellie gave you scared you, and it made the ugliest thoughts fill your head when you woke up. You felt wrong, the skin on your body feeling filthy for doing something so intimate with her, with your roommate. You felt like you were taking something that wasn't yours, something that was never meant for you in that way.

So you ran.

Not far, of course. You were lucky enough to wake up before Ellie, gently peeling yourself from her body, your stomach sinking whenever she mumbled something gently in her sleep, her hands mindlessly reaching for your body before she fell back into her deep slumber.

You stood over her for a moment, watching as her eyes flickered in her sleep, lips parted as she snored gently. The feeling you had when you watched her sleep scared you, because you felt...like you wanted to stay with her, protect her, hold her in your arms and ignore the reality of how much this was fucking with your head, ignore the fact that she had simply wanted help with her work.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

You inhaled deeply before you left her room, closing her door gently before you quickly went to your bedroom, tugged on a t shirt and jeans before you grabbed your jacket and left the apartment.

You stayed out in the city all day, that day. You were like a ghost, trying to sort out the feelings that were settling in your chest, opting to simply ignore them instead. You made sure to leave your phone at home, knowing any texts from Ellie wouldn't do you any good with how you were feeling.

You didn't return home until later that afternoon, the sun setting, slowly casting the familiar darkness of night onto the city that you had come to know. You wished you could stay out longer, avoid the situation more, but it was only gettin colder, and you knew you had to go back to your apartment sooner or later.

When you got there, you were greeted by silence. You don't even hear Ellie's usual music playing from inside her room. You frowned softly, looking around a bit for any signs of the girl there. You looked down, finding that her leather jacket and helmet weren't where they usually were.

Ellie had left too.

You should've been happy at that, giving you even more time away from the girl than planned, yet you can't ignore the ugly tinge of sadness and annoyance that lingers at the back of your throat at the thought of here simply...leaving.

When you got to your room, you quickly grabbed your phone, wishfully thinking that there would be a string of messages from your roommate, asking you where you've gone, and if everything is okay between you both.

But when you unlock your phone, there's nothing there.

Not a single call, or a single text.

And you suddenly realized, that great minds think alike.

So, that's how things go with you and Ellie after that. There isn't a grand scene of love, where you both confess that you had both felt that way from the moment you set eyes on each other, there isn't a happily ever after where you become her girl, and she becomes yours. There isn't any of that, you two simply go from being friends, to barely being roommates.

You guys never speak about it. There's never a conversation that happens to even clear the air, pretending as though that night in her bedroom never happened.

There's a sense of hostility that follows after all of it happens, because Ellie won't even fucking look at you now, let alone stand in the same room as you. If you're in the living room, she's in her bedroom, and if you're in the kitchen, she leaves the apartment to go eat somewhere else.

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, because you can practically feel the hatred she has for you radiating off of her body whenever she's around, and it's a shock to you that you two are still even living together. The Ellie that would once sit in the living room with you, practically tugging your body to sit on her lap, has succumb to someone who barely even exists to you anymore.

And it doesn't even end there.

Ellie never really had girls in and out of the apartment before, even before you and her started filming and having sex. She was pretty strict about letting others into her space, only ever bringing around girls she was dating long term, or her designated filming partner. You never had a problem with it, letting Ellie know time and time again that the place was half hers, and she could bring whoever she wanted.

But that seemingly changed after you and her happened.

Because suddenly, there's a different girl at your apartment every night, and Ellie is fucking them ten different ways into the next month.

And it always happens to be on the nights before you have to wake up early to go in and open the record store.

She becomes relentless.

You first noticed it happening when she breezed past you on a Friday night, clearly dressed up for a night out. You couldn't really ignore the way your core tightened at how fucking good she looked, the feeling quickly overshadowed by the way she yet again left the house as if you weren't sitting right there.

After getting yourself to bed for some much needed shut eye, you were rudely awakened by the sound of your front door slamming open, followed by the sound of tumbling and soft giggles..

Which then slowly turned into the sounds of Ellie fucking a girl in her bedroom that was directly across from yours.

And it kept going, night after night, the sound of Ellie pleasuring another woman was all that you were left with. Not even your headphones on full volume could drown out the banging of Ellies headboard against the wall.

You have never been a jealous person, especially when it came to Ellie and her sex life. However, after what happened between the both of you, and the very clear fact that Ellie was indeed doing it out of spite..

You really couldn't ignore the fire you felt at the pit of your stomach whenever you heard some random girl moaning out Ellie's name to the top of her fucking lungs.

It was then that you came to terms with the fact that enough was enough.

And you had to move out.

It wasn't long until you wouldn't leave your room.

You seriously couldn't stomach the way it felt, being ignored by Ellie, her constant avoidance a reminder of how much of a bad idea it was to agree to filming with her in the first place. If that wasn't enough, constantly seeing her leave the apartment to go meet up with another girl started to hurt even more.

And you really didn't want to face the truth behind that.

There was something unsettling that came with the feeling it gave you, because how could you go from not even batting an eyelash at Ellie walking out of her bedroom with Julia, to feeling tears prickle at the edge of your eyes every time you heard her fucking someone else across from your room.

Because it's cruel, and you know you were wrong to leave her the way you did, but she left too. You knew that what you did was wrong, but surely you didn't deserve all of this? And why would she even want to hurt you like this in the first place? Surely you were the only one that felt this ridiculous conflicting feeling that only brought you stress.

And yet, you only found new ways to torture yourself.

It happens one night after work, you're tired and all you want to do is peel off your clothes and hop into bed.

Opting to grab your laptop, wanting to watch some mindless video on the internet to lull you to sleep, you are suddenly faced with something that had been waiting to haunt you.

A link to one of your videos with Ellie was still on your browser.

She had sent it to you a while ago, wanting to show you how well it was doing, and all the positive feedback that it was receiving, you meant to watch it at the time, but never got around to it. Now, it was sitting there, collecting dust until you decided to open it.

And you knew you shouldn't have, because that chapter of your life has closed, and you intended to keep it fully closed.

But curiosity did kill the cat, didn't it?

You didn't think twice before opening it, the link quickly flashing across your screen and taking you to Ellie's page. The thumbnail is of the two of you, the last video you guys had filmed. Its you, straddling Ellie on her bed, her strong hands gripping your hips, probably forcing you to grind down on her lap.

You feel your core tighten at the sight of it.

You don't look at it much longer, or read the comments either, because you know they will all be asking where you've gone, and whether or not you were coming back.

Instead of closing your laptop and going to sleep like you should have, you kept scrolling through Ellies page. You come to find the usual, seeing that she had been live the past few nights, as well as posted a few videos for her viewers to catch up on, none of it out of the ordinary.

Something does catch your eye however.

Its a video that was posted a few nights ago, and you can barely make it out, but you can see a thumbnail of Ellies tattooed hand pushed between a girls thighs, doing what you can only assume to be fingering her.

And that girl is definitely not you.

She had found herself a new partner.

It’s no shock that she did. She’d been actively fucking other girls, someone in and out of your apartment almost every night, something that she had made sure to make very clear to you…

But there was just something about actually seeing it that hurt like hell

You slammed your laptop shut, a bit too hard, but you were suddenly filled with something foreign to you, something that you hardly felt for anyone.

Quickly grabbing you blankets and tugging them over your body, you squeezed your eyes shut to try and erase the image of Ellie with another girl from your brain, the image slowly tainting the deepest corners of your mind so that you won't ever be able to do just that.

You couldn't do this anymore.

Ellie was just as bad at talking about her feelings as you were.

Because the morning after you and her had sex, she wanted nothing more than to wake up with you, kiss you, hold you, move on from this agonizingly slow phase that you two were in, where she was allowed to do the things that she always wanted to do, just conditionally.

She wanted to wake up, and move forward whatever the fuck you and her were stuck in.

But you didn’t. You simply woke up before her, and left, leaving Ellie to feel like a fucking idiot.

Because maybe she read into the entire thing wrong, maybe you didn’t feel anything for her, maybe you really did only see her as your roommate and nothing more than that….

Maybe that look in your eye that she was sure she saw when she was fucking you, was all in her head.

So when you ran, she did too.

And soon, Ellie’s sadness turned into anger, and all she wanted to do, was hurt you the same way that you hurt her.

She wanted you to hear her with other girls, she wanted you to see her with other women on her streams, she wanted you to see what it was that you’d lost, what you’d stupidly lost when you decided to run away from her the morning after it all.

But maybe she’d taken it too far.

Because Ellie’s anger turned into something that she didn’t want, because no matter how much noise she made, how good she tried to look whenever she was getting ready to go out with some random girl, no matter what she did to make you jealous, you never batted an eyelash her way, you never once reacted to anything that she did that was directed at you for the sole purpose of getting your attention.

And not only did it further prove to Ellie that you didn’t give a fuck about her, but it also made her so much more frustrated with you.

Did you seriously not have a fucking soul? Could you not even acknowledge her? Hurt for her? Feel hurt by her? Why wasn’t it working? Why weren’t you…..why couldn’t you just…..

Why couldn’t you just fucking want her.

Ellie was truly at her last straw, because being with other women was something she already didn’t like doing, but it was slowly eating away at her, picking away at her insides and making her feel hollow inside, a shell of who she used to be when she was with you.

And when she didn’t think things could get any worse, she found you doing something she only saw in her nightmares.

She hadn’t really noticed it at first, but slowly, your belongings began to disappear from the apartment. Particularly in the living room.

Your stack of blankets would get smaller and smaller as the week went by, the dorky little figures you had littered around different shelves and the tv stand started to disappear too, little parts of you started leaving, one by one, and Ellie was too far up her own ass to even notice.

Maybe if she had, she could’ve convinced you to stay.

In all honesty? Ellie probably wouldn’t even have realized you were leaving until it was too late, the girl far too consumed in her little revenge streak to notice the slow but sure disappearance of you, the way the remnants of you slowly began to leave one by one.

It just so happened that on a day that you were packing up some of your boxes, you had left your door cracked open, thinking that Ellie wasn’t home.

She was passing by your room when she heard a soft huff, the sound quickly catching her attention as she slowly walked towards your door, catching sight of the various opened boxes scattered around your room that was already looking sparse due to packing it all the way.

That. That was the straw the broke the camels fucking back.

Because suddenly, Ellie is pushing your door open, the force from her hand making it slam against your wall, the loud sound making you flinch to look over in her direction with wide eyes.

“Ellie?” You question softly.

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue makes a shiver run down her spine, because god….had she missed the way you said it.

Her eyes are angry, eyebrows furrows together as her eyes scan your room, looking at the boxes, your half empty closet, your empty book shelf.

“What the fuck is going on here?” She spits out, her tone making you wince slightly. It’s the first time you’ve heard her speak to you in almost an entire month and it’s so fucking hostile, so pointed.

This really wasn’t how you wanted this to go.

You let out a soft sigh, bringing your palm up to ran along your face as you look down at the boxes as well, heart sinking at the thought of going.

“Look…Ellie…I was planning on telling you…I just-“ she’s quick to cut you off, walking further into your bedroom as her eyes scan the walls, watching as they began to grow emptier and emptier the further in she looked. She scoffs, her green eyes finally landing on yours, her smoldering grip enough to take your breath away.

“Bull-fucking-shit. You weren’t going to tell me anything, and you know that” she argues, nostrils flared as she stares at you with eyes filled with that same glare of hate that you saw every time she’d glaze over you within recent weeks.

And she was right. You had no intention of telling her anything. She would learn that you were gone once you were gone, because that’s what you did.

You always ran.

You let out a sigh of defeat before you step away from her, fully intending on continuing packing. You didn’t want this to stop you, or put anymore obstacles in your way of leaving. This was what you had to do, and you knew that.

“I can’t stay here anymore, Ellie…things are fucked up between us and I just…I won’t deal with it anymore” you mumble out, your voice tired, weak. A clear indication of how you felt towards the entire situation. It was draining you, and you knew that for your own well being, you had to get out.

The sight of you packing as if she wasn’t in your room, trying to figure out why you were leaving, makes her even more upset. It blinds her from your words, from the weakness in your voice, in your appearance. She ignores it because the anger she feels is much easier to indulge in.

"So that's it? You're just gonna leave? Without saying anything to me?" she barks out, her tone making you feel worse than you already do.

And then it all stops, because why the hell are you feeling bad when this isn't even your fault.

You slowly turn to Ellie, your eyebrows furrowed as you stare at her in disbelief, cocking your head to the side slowly before you start to speak.

"Are you listening to yourself right now, Ellie? Do you ever stop to think for one second that not everything is about you?" The tone of your voice is so calm, words so slow and articulated, it barely even sounds like you're mad.

And it scares you, and it scares her.

You don't stop there, you couldn't even if you wanted to.

"This wasn't my idea, none of it was. I agreed to help you because you asked it of me, and I clearly have no fucking sense of boundaries. I get that what I did was wrong, and I shouldn't have left you that morning, but no one is fucking perfect" You defend, your own breath become more shallow the more you speak, your anger and frustration finally rising to the surface.

"This isn't good for me. You aren't good for me, you've been fucking different girls every goddamn night just to hurt me, and you're a fucking liar if you deny it." you spit out, making Ellie wince slightly, yet her eyebrows never unravel from how furrowed they are, and the frown on her lips is still there.

When you said it out loud though, she realized just how bad it was.

"I did it to get your fucking attention...not to hurt you" She barely whispers, staring down at you. You can't help but laugh softly, scoffing at her words before you give her a gentle sigh.

"Oh it got my attention, Ellie. It got it so much, that I can't bare for you to have it anymore..." you mumble out softly before you turn away from her, unable to stare into her eyes for any longer.

"I don't know what happened between us that morning...but I want nothing more than to just..forget about it all" You let out meekly, feeling yourself reduce to that small ball of insecurities once again.

And Ellie finally softens when she sees it, because you never let your guard down this much.

She inhales deeply, taking a step towards you, trying to get closer to you. You don't step back, or flinch, you simply ignore her, carrying on to pack your things as if she wasn't there, standing above you.

"You hurt me too...you know" she mumbled out, her voice finally dropping that hostile tone that she had when she first walked in. You're quick to turn towards her, spinning around to set your eyes that were quickly growing redder by the second.

"And Im sorry!" you shout, your voice going the loudest it had yet, it makes Ellie flinch.

You sigh out tiredly before you bring your hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "If I could go back and do it differently..I would..but too much has happened, Ellie...I don't..." you trail off, struggling to find the proper words before you sigh softly, finally speaking again.

"I don't see you the same way, anymore" you mumble out.

This makes Ellies heart seize up, because what do you mean by that? What are you trying to tell her?

You move to sit on your knees, you bare legs coming in contact with the cold, wooden floor as you begin packing more things in a different box. There's no more fighting, there isn't anymore arguing, or anger, it's just silent, the occasional sound of your clothes hitting each other when they hit you settle them in the box. You don't even bother to turn around and yell at Ellie, or even tell her to get out.

And maybe thats what's hurting her the most. You never yelled, you didn't cry or beg, you didn't do anything when she knew you heard her, saw her with those other girls. All of them were nothing to her, sorry attempts at trying to grab hold of your attention again, get you to show just a little bit of fucking anger, so that she knew you still felt something for her, so that she knew she still had you.

But it was clear to her with the way that you disregarded her after it all, as if she didn't even matter, that she didn't have you anymore.

Did she ever? Did she ever have a chance with you? Was she all in her head? Were you simply just a good friend? A decent roommate who promised to help her out when she needed help? Was all of it just....

Pretend?

She feels like she's running out of options, because she assumed that if anything, you two would fight and end up in a heated, passionate love making session where you two would admit what you had felt all along.

But Ellie was slowly coming to the conclusion that she was being fucking delusional.

Her decisions didn't let up thought, because soon, she's on her knees next to you, grabbing your wrists gently in her hands and pulling you to face her. She feels her heart break when you refuse, trying to pull away from her grasp, mumbling soft complaints of how you needed to finish packing.

When she finally tugs you a bit harder, forcing you to look at her, she feels the weight of her mistakes finally settle on her chest, because you're crying. Your eyes are puffy and your cheeks are stained, and it's all her fucking fault.

She bites back a whimper, tugging her bottom lip into her mouth as she feel her own throat burn with tears.

"Hey...look at me...come on...where's my pretty girl...come on.." She tries over and over again, voice breaking, making you whimper as you try tugging your arms from her grasp.

"Don't you see how fucked up this is, Ellie? We were just screaming at each other and now...now you're calling me your girl" you plead with her, the words bubbling past your lips as the mere sight of here forces more tears from your eyes, making it harder and harder to talk.

Ellie can't talk her way out of this one, not with you. She knows there isn't much she can do, or say, and she feels like she's all out of options, because you're right. All of this is so fucked up, and it makes her insides burn because she's hurt, and you're hurt, and it feels like there's nothing she can do to fix it.

She does the only thing she feels will work. She kisses you.

It's filled with everything. Passion, longing, happiness, sadness, anger, everything that had been pent up between the both of you is poured into the kiss, and it's enough to make you feel dizzy.

But you don't pull away, you melt into her, just like you always do. She feels it too, feels the way you let you defenses down, taking it as a chance to tug your wrists up and around her neck, her own arms resting on your hips as she pulls you closer, her lips working against yours.

"Im....fuck...im so sorry, baby....never meant to hurt you" She mumbles against you, her words coming out as a breathy sigh against your lips, making you moan softly against her. She pushes her tongue into your mouth, giving your waist a soft squeeze.

"M'sorry too..Ellie....shouldn't have left..." You whine against her, and she's quickly shaking her head, gently tugging you up to stand with her before she's pulling you too your bed.

"Just...lemme take care of you..alright" She hums against your lips before she gently pushes you back to lay on your bed, her own body crawling over yours, resting her weight on your body as she goes back to kissing you.

It's so slow, and sensual, and it feels like the entire world is quiet, like you're fading into her, and she's fading into you, and you both are becoming one. It feels so fucking right, and the hole that had been growing in your chest is finally filling up, the essence that is Ellie slowly acting as the medicine that you needed all along.

Ellie rolls over, gripping your hips and tugging you to straddle her waist as she lays back against your bed. Her green eyes eat you up, strong hands already running along your hips and thighs, giving you a squeeze before her hand creeps up your t shirt, pushing it up a bit before it slips under, grasping your boob and massaging it in her hands.

"Fuck...look at you...missed you so much, pretty girl....you can't even imagine.." She sighs softly under her breath, eager hands roaming your body hungrily, as if they've deprived of you for so long, missing the way your skin spilled out from under her hands, always so responsive for her.

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch her practically worshiping your body with her hands, a soft whine leaving your lips as you rest your hands on her hips, pushing up her t shirt a bit as your thumbs rub small circle into her pale hips.

Her hands rest on your hips, forcing you to grind down onto her lap, making you whine softly, the feeling her her sweats bunching up right at your core, your cotton pajama shorts leaving much too room to be exposed by her touch.

She sits up, grabbing the hem of your shirt before she tugs it off your body, groaning softly as her lips immediately latch onto your nipple, biting and sucking. You moan softly, arching your back a bit and forcing more of you to her mouth, hands wrapped around her neck, toying with the hair at the nape of her neck.

Ellie pushes you back, resting you to lay down before she tugs your pajama shorts and panties off in one go. You promptly spread your legs for her, letting her settle between them, the small gesture making her groan, her strong hands gripping your thighs, grinding against your bare pussy.

"Fuck...such a good girl for me..." she sighs softly against your lips.

You whine, reaching down and tugging at her own pants, fumbling with the waistband of her shorts that hung oh so fucking low.

"Off..wanna feel you.." You moan softly against her, resulting in a soft chuckle from her. She presses one last kiss to your lips before she nods.

"Whatever you want baby...fuck" she mumbles softly under her breath when she pulls back to start tugging her own clothes off, catching a glimpse of your soaking wet pussy and naked body in the dim light of your room.

She looks so fucking desperate, nearly tripping over her sweats as she tugs them off, tossing them somewhere else in your room. It's like she can't get the clothes off quick enough, immediately settling between your legs again once she's naked, groaning softly a the feeling of your pussy against her body.

Her eagerness makes you giggle, and Ellie feels like she's on cloud fucking nine when she hears it, so soft and gentle. She pouts softly, staring down at you while she's already moving to position her pussy over yours, tossing your leg over her shoulder.

"What are you laughing at...hm?" She questions softly, her hips slowly moving against yours as she lets out a soft moan, eyes never leaving yours.

You can barely get the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel her slick pussy against yours, clits bumping together in a way that has you nearly salivating.

She chuckles above you, a soft groan following the noise as her lips graze along your calf.

"Thats what I thought...fuck....your pussy is too fuckin good, princess' She moans out softly, her hips moving slowly against yours.

You moan loudly, your hand coming to grip her thigh as you move your hips in tow with hers.

"F-fuck, Ellie....you...that feels so good" you babble out, your other hand gripping the sheets beneath you as she fucks her pussy down onto yours.

Ellie smirks softly as she watches you, watches the way you fall apart beneath her.

"Thats my fuckin girl....you're the only fucking one I need...fuck...." She groans, turning her head a bit to kiss your calf again before her teeth sink into you, biting and sucking your skin, making you moan loudly.

You feel her speed up, hips growing desperate as she chases both hers and your orgasm, making your head spin as your nails dig into her thigh, sure to leave marks in the morning.

"Im....god...Im close Ellie.....fuuuckkkk....dont stop" you gasp out, low, lust filled eyes staring up at her as she continues bullying your pussy with hers, both of your arousal squelching together, making the most explicit noise you've ever fucking heard.

"Come on baby...want you to cum for me...can you do that? Fuck...I feel it too....that's it, pretty girl.." Ellie is babbling too, her lust clouded braun barely uttering words that are comprehensible.

You see her eyes squeeze shut, her moans getting louder and more high pithed, sounding so fucking pretty above you.

You feel like you'll explode, your back arching as the familiar feeling settles in your core, your pussy getting wetter and wetter as you feel your orgasm grow closer.

"A-ah! Ellie!" You scream out as you come undone beneath her.

And she isn't far behind, leaning down and crashing her lips against yours, forcing you to swallow her moans as she cums hard against your pussy, the both of you breathing hard as her hips sputter, pussy sliding around sloppily against yours as she becomes so fucked out, that she loses her rhythm completely.

And just like before, she lays there, on top of you, trying to catch her breath, face tucked against your neck, hands keeping you close, as if you'll disappear in thin air at any given moment.

There's so much going through your head, trying to figure out what it is that happens from here, where you and here go, what steps to take after, all of which come up with blank answers whenever you try to figure out what to do.

You assume she will fall asleep on you as she did before, knock out immediately and leave you to lay there with your plaguing thoughts.

She doesn't, though. You hear a soft hum from her lips, her hands squeeze your waist gently, before she speaks against your neck.

"I love you...so much.." she sighs out, her voice breaking a bit as if shed break down at any given moment.

You aren't sure what you'll do from this point on, but you do know one thing.

You won't run away from Ellie, ever again.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie x you

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 2)

I have a terrible case of the big bad sads so enjoy part 2 earlier than I planned

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much

Part 2 Liar

You not-stalk Alastor for weeks but don’t find anything blackmail worthy to grab ahold of. But luckily (?) for you, a chance encounter pulls you deeper into his hobbies and therefore his scope of fascination. Most importantly, do murderers go on dates?

「Warnings/Promises: Smut, HumanAlastor x FemBurlesquerReader, Alastor eats pussy like beignets (MESSY), dancing, shoe stress, murder, dead body, food metaphors, stalking, masturbation, Tommy is a bad dude, allusion to coerced prostitution, praise kink?, public sex acts, stage name is a fucking pun GOTCHU BITCHES, Gluttony」

minors dni please

The nights you didn’t work were spent casually looking for Alastor. Not stalking, just …. pursuing. 

You found over the course of several weeks what places he never attended, and a few that he did like clockwork. As much as you wanted to approach him, you knew you’d end up checkmated again. You just wanted to observe the man, surely you’d see something you could use against him, something tangible.

What was he doing? Knife carrying smooth talker who fingers ladies in the park? There was more to him than you anticipated. That addictive adrenaline rush was calling you to chase him. You’d catch him in the act of whatever men like him did, and—- well, you’d figure it out then. Was he a mugger, maybe? The knife would make sense. But he disposed of bodies so well, a month and no mention of a corpse anywhere. You didn’t want to even touch the thought bubbling up in the back of your skull. It was getting louder and louder, heavier than the other thoughts.

A repeat killer.

You decided, somewhat foolishly, if he was a killer it would be best to know that information. So you needed to continue even if the cards all read death. Right? 

Right.

For all his efforts, he hadn’t actually noticed you. While he tended to stay at the back of the room, you were always further back, on the balcony, at the bar. He went about enjoying his nightlife wholly unaware someone was watching. Because of this, he did things that were considered quite dangerous for a woman.

Many nights you found yourself alone in wooded areas. Well, “alone”. 

During your casual stalking you found him to be quite pretty, in a sense. He walked smoothly, always had pressed and tailored suits. Slender fingers, wide shoulders, small waist. Fingers.

Many more nights you buried your face into your pillow and thought about his hands on you, his breath at your ear. His “Shhh.” You couldn’t replicate the feeling. No matter how you tried.

If all else failed, no juicy blackmail available, maybe just endear yourself to him. Bed him. Get the conquest done and let him go on with his little crime spree or whatever it was he was doing when you weren’t watching. Because so far all you’ve seen is a man who loves to dance and enjoys whiskey. 

After another show done, body sore, you did your tour of the theatre. Tommy was snapping his fingers at you from the bar, his attempt to tell you to come over. Every day he seemed to become more and more brutish.

“What can I do for ya?” You tried to keep a bounce in your step, arches aching. 

“I want you to meet someone.” Tommy turned to a small man at the bar, hair thinning and combed forward. You guessed in his sixties. “Give Mr. Wilson a warm welcome. He’s one of your most generous benefactors.”

You nodded, smile slipping as you mind started to consider what was happening. You had heard some girls were taking dates, offering private shows, but you had been under the impression that was entirely of their own free will and desire. Had Tommy turned pimp? Your gaze flashed to Tommy, his stare cold, and then back to the man. “Well, thank you very much doll! Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wilson.” Tommy saw someone walk by and followed, leaving you with the older man. 

“Your dance was something else, sweetheart.” You nodded, his hand coming to rest on your hip. “I bet those hips do more than dancing.”

Leaning in, you rested your hand on the hand he set on your hip and whispered into his ear, “Touch me again without my permission,” you lifted his tie, a flirtatious move to anyone watching, “And the next time you see this tacky tie, you’ll be shitting it out.” You patted his chest. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

You pushed through the crowd and out of the front doors of the theatre. The air chillier tonight than past weeks. Looking around, you balled your fists. You wanted to hit something, break something.

Without any destination you tore off down the street, angrily huffing to yourself. You looked both ways to cross the intersection when you saw a familiar silhouette. A car honked, your hands coming up in apology as you finished crossing the street to follow Alastor.

Was your luck miraculous? Or malignant? You made it several blocks before a man stepped in front of you. You weren’t listening, trying to look past him to see where Smiles was headed.

“Will you fuck off?!” You pushed him out the way only to have him pull you back by the arm. Before you could let out your frustration, a stranger walked up to you both. 

“Hands off, move along.” The stranger flashed his identification papers, making the offender leave quickly with his head down. “Miss you need to be careful out here. There’s been people missing from this ward. Pretty thing like you should be home.” 

Your mouth formed various shapes, no words fitting.

“Detective Brady.” He handed you a card.

I don’t want this.

“Sure, thanks.” You snatched it with two fingers and practically jogged away. No sign of him, no indication where Alastor went. Were there any forested areas? He often took strolls in shady parks but you couldn’t remember any nearby. Turning around you realized how far you’d wandered from the fanfare and lights. The area was dark and deserted, not just Alastor but no one was around anymore. You stashed the card in your bra and rushed past an alley, giving up and deciding to just go home, when your ears caught the sound of dragging fabric on pavement.

Ice. Your blood chilled. Taking a few steps backwards, you turned to look into the darkened side street. You saw nothing, but heard a familiar wet sound.

Would it matter? Death?

You lifted your heels, walking on the balls of your feet to not make any sound as you approached the black shadow blanketing the majority of the side street.

A glimpse of brown leather shoes peeked into the light, soon your eyes adjusted as you too entered the inky darkness.

“I don’t care for liars.” Alastor was in front of you before you could even shout from shock. You looked around him to see a crumpled body on the ground and a black car.

“Is there a problem?” His eyes scanned your face, his usual smile no longer so inviting but instead manic and wide. You don’t know what possessed you, the adrenaline was flowing again and drowning out your more sensible thoughts. 

Your eyes were locked on his golden brown stare, “Only… if you’re quite attached to his wallet.”

He burst into laughter, wiping tears with the back of his bloodied glove. A small smear of blood was left behind on his cheek.

“I have no need for it.” He reached down and fished it out of the man’s pocket, “And neither does he!”

You caught it with both hands, “Well doesn’t that make me the lucky lady of the evening.”

“Don’t speak too soon. I’m quite cross with you.” He gestured at you with the knife, “We had a deal.”

In what could best be described as an out of body experience you watched yourself rush to his side and lift the man’s legs, “In the trunk?”

Alastor stared at you, teeth showing as his smile grew, “I’ve seen films less entertaining than you.” A stifled laugh as he lifted the man from under his arms and you both carried him to the car. You dropped the legs with a loud thud, Alastor gently setting the man down and opening the trunk.

A waxed canvas was lining the inside, “Clever.” You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He hummed happily at the compliment and you sank your teeth into the reaction. Everyone wants something; power, money, sex, praise. Find the right combination and even the toughest hearts would swing open. 

After he tossed the man, the knife, and the gloves into the back, you reached for his hand. “Your wife is going to be miffed. Blood is so difficult to get out of cotton.” You scratched at the bit of blood that had stained his cuff. “Spit works really well. But lemon juice and baking soda before any store bought cleaners will help.”

Alastor took his hand back, adjusting his sleeve to hide the red spot, “Oh she has much bigger issues to deal with.”

Your mind raced. A chauvinist? Abuser? A weight settled into your stomach; disappointment. “Is that so?”

Giggling, he leaned against the bumper, one leg crossing in front of the other, “Considering she doesn’t exist, she’s quite terrible at laundry. And I haven’t eaten a meal in years.” A giggle devolving into a full chest laugh. 

A terrible joke, you smacked his chest, “Cruel! Unfunny!” 

“Perhaps I should eat you?” He leaned close. 

“I hear I’m quite sweet.” You smirked, heart pounding in your chest with such force you were rocking slightly with each pulse.

Alastor felt his blood pressure rising. He should kill you. Just to be safe. But—- oh, this was so fun. You hid any fear you were feeling perfectly. He could be forgiven to think he was staring into a mirror. If he met himself in an alley, well, he would feel quite safe. Perhaps you we’re of a similar inclination?

He watched your throat as you gulped. You licked your thumb and wiped at his cheek, “You always make a mess, hun.”

Alastor felt the world spin as you then dragged your blood stained thumb over your lips, red lipstick smearing with it. “Sweet eno-,” he swallowed your words, hand coming to your neck and pulling you into the kiss. No patience, his tongue swiped over your mouth and plunged in at the smallest parting. 

Your mind was screaming, finally, yes. 

His tongue as soft as his hands rolled over your own, every time your mouths pulled away and drew back together was thinning your frontal cortex. Alastor could taste the faint metallic tinge of the man’s blood on your mouth, and he found his sleeping libido shiver awake. Always a fan of kissing, he now found his mind wandering to other parts of your body, other acts of affection, as he felt you’d call them.

No time. He pulled away, “Against the wall.”

You practically threw yourself into the bricks. Alastor pulled a gas tin from the trunk and began dousing the street. You frowned, body relaxing.

“You’re taking the food metaphor too far. Fire? Really?” You took a second to realize there was no odor.

A laugh in threes, “Water, dear.” You watched the blood thin and begin snaking down to the gutter. He set the can in the trunk and closed the hatch. After opening the drivers door he turned to you, “Do you trust me to drive you home?”

“Honestly, no.”

“That’s why I like you,” a wink. “Wear comfortable shoes tomorrow.” He flashed a smile, pushing his glasses up. Before you could question him he  hopped into the car and drove off out of the back of the side street.

Alastor found himself singing a little louder as he drove home. A thrilling evening becoming somehow more exciting. He realized that always seemed to happen when you stumbled into his plans. Still annoyed you had followed him, his thoughts shifted to possibilities. A kindred spirit could make things easier. More fun. Safer. But who were you? Much like himself you wore a mask. He could see it clearly as it always began to slip in his presence. 

He pulled his car behind his home, backed up against a large greenhouse. Still in the idling vehicle, his fingers came to his lips. What a peculiar creature you were. Killing the lights and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, he considered what to do. The possibilities kept coming in waves. But he stopped himself, never one to live in fantasy. Helping toss a dead man into a car wasn’t the same as killing. Yes, you showed no outward concerns, but he couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t turn tail the second things got more intense. 

He always took his time, sensing out those who were good candidates. The abhorrent, the abusers, the cruel. There was something so satisfying, deep in his gut, to watch a person with power over others cower in fear. The same eyes that relished in the pain they gave to those under their thumb shaking in realization the were now the prey. Begging for mercy they didn’t afford others. Alastor sighed. He remembered your pained sob in the park, frustration and disappointment at his lack of reaction. Eyes fluttering closed, if you had gotten in the car you’d not be disappointed in him now. 

A deeper sigh. But you didn’t. Which was wise. He thought better of you for it. Opening his eyes and leaving the car, he went to the trunk to begin his work.

You couldn’t sleep. Not because of the dead man, you were getting used to that. It was the lack of information. Comfortable shoes? For what? He didn’t give you a time or place to meet.

Tomorrow was Sunday, you realized. Ah, the bar. That was the only place that would make sense. 

Sundays were big nights for your theatre, but you weren’t needed unless a girl was sick. You simply weren’t at that level of fame for your little company and this was fine for you suddenly. You spent your Sunday pacing your small one room apartment and changing shoes.

What did Alastor have planned? With the little you knew about him it a could be a capital crime or a walk in the park. You genuinely couldn’t imagine and it was exciting. A normal man asking you—- was this a date? Was it presumptive to call it a date? You couldn’t quite see Alastor dating. You let the question go. Most men would take you for a movie and perhaps a chaste kiss at the door of a cab. With Alastor it could be literally anything. How do you dress for anything? 

Your friend teased you, arriving early to her bar and chewing on your lip. 

“So, either you suddenly wanna look nice for my dive, or you’re expecting someone.” She was wiping down the counter.

“I adore your customers, Betty.” You hopped from the seat, needing to reapply your lipstick.

Your singing voice was strained, nerves keeping you tense. Looking into the modest crowd you couldn’t find him. A cornflower yellow dress, a little too tight around your waist but you didn’t let that stop you. The collar a loose and folding slit from shoulder to shoulder, you were positively cute, he decided. Leaning at the bar he couldn’t see your face, but under the small lights you were glowing nonetheless. A little ball of pride rose in his gut, noticing you clearly had put more care into your appearance tonight than most Sundays. 

Truth was he had enjoyed a whiskey and your songs for several months now, always at the seat closest to the door, out of sight and out of mind. His favorite of your casual dive bar digs were the trousers you occasionally wore. You looked so sharp.

When your set was done, you tried to be gracious as you left the piano’s side. Alastor watched you from his seat, letting your face light up once again when you recognized him. He gave a noticeable look to your shoes. 

“Those will do.” 

“Do what?” 

“You,” he leaned against the bar, “owe me a drink. And alcohol always pairs well with dance.”

Maybe a date, you thought. You offered him your arm, “Lead the way.”

As you walked, arm in arm, you found yourself not needing to speak much. His arm was so solid in yours. You felt like everyone was looking, the handsome man and the pretty young thing. Did you two look sweet? Like the cleanest cut kids in the neighborhood? Did you look like the kind of people who sat in pews once a week and clasped hands over dinner?

Did you look like the sort to toss bodies in cars? No, decidedly not. And it made you feel powerful. What a perfect act. The feeling of looking nothing like what you were was akin to the addicting rush of your cat and mouse game with most men. 

“Do you like those group dances? Like the Big Apple?” Alastor asked as he opened the doors for you. 

“Not particularly…”

“Perfect, neither do I.” He laughed. 

A small table in a small nook of a booth lining the small dance floor. You clinked your glasses together, no toast necessary, and watched the couples swing around the room. As the 20’s were fading from the rear view, you all hoped dance would be less stigmatized. But part of the fun was how scandalous it was. 

“How was your day? Made it home safe and sound?” Alastor crossed his legs and leaned into the plush booth seat. 

Oh, this was going to be… normal? You choked a little on your drink, surprised. “Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I sat in my apartment changing my shoes repeatedly.”

Alastor’s laugh was loud and sharp, but you didn’t find it obnoxious. You liked it.

“That wasn’t my intention. I just didn’t want to risk you being unable to dance.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a slow sip with your gaze on the dancers, “Ya know how to avoid that? Tell me to wear shoes for dancing.”

A snicker, “Perhaps I’m not quite as skilled with talking to women as I like to think.”

“Then talk to me like a man.” Your glass made a thud as it hit the table. Alastor’s eyes widened as they always did when you said something wildly amusing to him.

“Hmm, I don’t talk much to men.” He thought, “Not for long conversations, that is.” Your mind conjured up the two dead men. “I never asked your name. Is it too late now?”

“You saw it on the posters. Autumn.”

Alastor smirked, “Autumn Hind is not your real name. That is clearly a stage name.”

Swirling your drink in its crystal, you smiled, “It’s a good one though, you have to admit.” His brow cocked, not understanding. “Hind, a doe. And what do does do in the fall?” Your own brows rose suggestively. 

Alastor hit the table, “A deer pun?! Oh darling, we’re going to be fast friends.” He offered you his glass for another wordless toast.

“I thought it was pretty funny, for a burlesque dancer no less. A horny little deer prancing on stage. Better than Allie Way and Frosti Winters.” You grinned into the glass, proud of yourself.

You could see Alastor physically relax beside you, dancers moving about in front of you both. 

“And yours? Your day, that is.”

He hummed, “I slept late, stayed up late. Took care of our newly penniless friend.” 

You wanted to ask more, what did you do with him? Can I come next time? Is there a pool of gators somewhere eating well today?

He leaned in to you, “May I have this dance?”

Your smile was uncontained, all desire to control your outward appearance was lost in the fun of dancing with your newest partner. Was there anyone else in the room with you anymore? Who knows. The music kept playing and that was all you needed. 

Alastor was a marvelous dancer,  you noticed other women glancing his way, eye lashes fluttering but ignored as he focused on the movements. This was how you managed to not-stalk him so well, he was completely unaware of the interested gazes of those around him.

While he didn’t notice the individual stares, Alastor could feel the attention on him and it made his chest puff. He loved it, how he could feed an image to the masses and be seen as he saw fit. It was something you both had in common, even if neither of you had strong enough egos to vocalize it yet.

When the music wound down, a slow number for the lovers, you hadn’t expected Alastor to stay on the dance floor. A slow dance, one arm on your hip, hand in hand. 

Now close, you felt you could speak without risk of others eavesdropping. 

“Why did you invite me out? I have a distinct memory of you saying you had very little affection or time.” You were shorter than him, your shoes not very tall, so you had to speak up and at his neck.

“A man who says he has no time is a man unwilling to make any.” Alastor led you in a small sway along the floor.

“Oh so you just didn’t see me worth the effort before.” You said it half teasingly, half seriously.

He looked down now, eyes meeting yours again, “That was before I knew how entertaining you could be.”

You pouted, entertaining was not the word you wanted to hear. Enthralling, Enchanting, Endearing. 

“There’s that face again. What ever could it mean.” Alastor’s head cocked to the side.

“I’m entertaining at work. You don’t need to take me out to enjoy my entertainment value.” 

He laughed again, making you glare, “Darling, being entertaining is high praise. And you’re not entertaining at work. You’re bewitching.” He pulled you a little closer, “The way you make those men act a fool. Truly a sight. You wield a power many women just dabble in.”

You shimmied a little against his chest, “Well if we’re giving out compliments…” you remembered the satisfying hum from last night, “The canvas was clever, but the water in the cans was brilliant. Nothing suspicious about a little petrol in the trunk.”

His grin widened. “And your precision. One cut and that brute was down. It was remarkable.” The hand holding your waist began to tighten. It egged you on, whether he intended it to or not, “I can appreciate the way you carry yourself.” Your freehand ran across his vest, suit jacket left at the table, “I wish I could see more.”

Your chest pressed against his, trapping your hand. “Ooh, you are observant, little one. Why did you agree to come out? Still chasing my,” his hips pressed against yours, hand sliding down slightly to hold you close, “affection?”

Fingers playing with his buttons, “Hmm, debilitating fascination and your affection. Do you have any to spare?” You smiled sweetly up at him.

Your mouths were on each other before the bathroom door closed behind you. Alastor locking it without looking, one hand staying on your neck. The small room was just a single toilet and a bathroom cabinet with a built in sink. Little tulip shaped light sconces above the mirror made the room brighter than the dance hall. Your nails lightly grazed his scalp, him humming in return. His body was pressing yours against the wall, despite his thin frame he had a power to him. Hands on your hips, holding you firmly in place. Your hips tried to roll against his anyway.

“Is it praise? I’ll sing your song until I’m blue in the face, until my lungs give out just tell me what you need.” You whined. 

His head shook softly, thumb pulling down on your chin to open your mouth. “It isn’t that simple. It’s not something you can say.” 

His tongue swiped over your own, neither in your mouths. He tasted like whiskey, bitter and fragrant. Your eyes fluttered shut, feeling his body against yours. You were vibrating; the way you always did when he was near you.

Kissing, tongues, body presses.  You were tangled together.

“This isn't… doing anything?” You asked, his lips coming to your neck. Sighing, your hand gripped his hair weakly. “That feels good.”

He shook his head into your skin, “I don’t see any desire to carry it further. But I enjoy it for what it is. And you seem to enjoy it. Is that enough for you?”

You wanted to scream, to argue, but as he pulled away and you stared up into his sharp honey brown eyes, you felt helpless to deny him anything. Did you need sex? Really? It’d been three months now without it and you were only recently clawing at the sheets with thoughts of Alastor. Being in his mouth was better than being strangers. Sliding fingers back into his hair and drawing him closer, your leg came up and hooked on his hip.

Alastor pulled you both from the wall and turned you, pressing your body into the sink. You were staring at your reflection, Alastor’s eyes meeting yours in the mirror, “I’m happy to do many things for you… just not exactly what you’re asking for; not right now. Not in this tiny dance hall bathroom.” 

His hand snaked up your chest and lightly held your neck, you fought back a moan.

“Well, if it’s good enough for your wife….” 

He laughed into your skin, other hand slipping down the front of your dress and cupping your crotch. “I’ve heard no complaints.” The way he anchored you, arms twisted and firm around such vital parts of you, made your whole body relax into his arms. A parachute safely secured around you as you fell. Mouth to your ear, hot and warm breath, “Turn around.”

Head spinning, you turned in his arms. Alastor lifted you up and onto the countertop of the sink, lips crashing back into yours.

The sound of music shook the thin walls of the room, heart erratic in your chest. His fingers slid up both thighs slowly, a familiar feeling for you now. His hands your favorite dance partner. 

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he dropped to his knees, your legs closing in embarrassment before he slid his hands between them. 

“Did you ask for more affection, dear?” He pushed your dress up around your waist, two fingers pulling the fabric of your panties to the side. You wanted to rip them off, damning your garters. You felt feverish as you watched him bury his face into your pussy. Your wetness was evident by how easily he glided through your folds. One hand gripped the counter, the other combing through his chestnut hair. Alastor kept his eyes on you, reading your face as he moved his tongue over your heat.

Mind racing for something clever to say, you opened your mouth but just gasped out his name as he sucked gently at your clit. One of your short heeled shoes you stressed over fell off as your knees came up around his head.

You were confident you made the right answer. With the music thumping along you didn’t feel any need to keep yourself quiet.

Your breathy moans and little hip rolls into his mouth made Alastor smile against your skin. He had learned many ways to keep people satiated. 

With a struggle, you opened your legs again allowing his tongue to drop down and into you. Nose rutting against your sensitive clit with every movement of his tongue in and out. 

A pounding on the door made you jump. 

“People are waiting!” Someone yelled.

Alastor pushed his tongue deeper, wriggling up and down against your twitching walls. Your head fell forward, “Alastor-,” you choked.

He buried his nose into your muff, eyes closing.

The door knob rattled, “Hello!”

“Alastor.”

So warm. Your body was so warm on his face. Your smell was making him feel feral. Gluttony. The way you were twitching and heaving under his tongue, groaning his name. Had he ever felt so powerful while on his knees? Had he ever enjoyed someone else’s body in such a bloodless way? No. Decidedly not.

“We’re gonna get the key!” The man at the door said.

“Okay, okay, affection received.” You patted his head, pushing him away by his forehead. “Don’t need to end the night in a paddy wagon.”

Alastor’s tongue was still out, eyes glossy as he looked up at you.

For the briefest second you considered wrapping your thighs back around his head and waiting for the key.

You hopped off, grabbing your shoe and leaning to get it back on. Crouching down you kissed Alastor’s nose and wiped his chin clean with your handkerchief before pushing it into his shirt pocket. “Up, up!” Hand in hand you barreled out of the door before the staff could see you and rushed to the furthest corner of the hall.

When you stopped and looked back you saw a staff member looking around annoyed, a man putting his hands up and entering the bathroom with a huff.

Before you could say anything, compliment or scolding, a woman was in front of Alastor. Your hand slid from his naturally. 

“I am so sorry. Are you the host of that jazz show?” The woman had her hands in front of her, nervously twisting the handle of her purse, “Sorry if you’re not! You just look like the description, tall… handsome… cute glasses.”

You turned around, partly acting like you didn’t know him at all and partly hiding the way your face twisted. Unsure what exactly you two were doing, you didn’t want to create hassle for either of you.  Alastor laughed, “The very same! Alastor, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” With your back turned you couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she made a barely audible squeak. 

While you were eavesdropping, a man offered you his arm. Your hand slipped to Alastor’s back, giving him a touch as you slid into the strangers arms for a dance.

He turned around to see you hit the floor and smiled, returning to the fan before him. After a few more compliments about his voice and his appearance, the woman shrunk a little, “Are you free tonight? I don’t have an escort home…”

A hum, soft smile, “Ah, I would love to see a fan safely home. But, alas, I am here with someone.”

What an easy excuse. It was nice to not need to lie.

“I see…. Oh, uh, your glasses… here, they’re a little smudged,” she offered him her handkerchief but he declined, pulling yours from his pocket.

“Danced too hard?” She chuckled, trying to elongate the conversation.

Alastor hummed, fogging the glasses before wiping them clear. “Eating, actually.”

“Oh you’re a messy eater, huh?”

“So I’ve been told.” He folded the square into a triangle and returned it to his pocket.

“What a… delicate handkerchief.” She looked at the soft yellow fabric and saw your yellow dress twirling behind him. “Ah. Well….It was a pleasure to meet you.” The woman sheepishly excused herself, letting him watch you dance around the floor with the stranger.

He’d never so explicitly told anyone his proclivities as he had done with you. Growing up he learned quickly his interests misaligned with other young men, but he didn’t really understand it well enough until he entered his early 20s and had to learn skills his peers didn’t. A man can only turn down so many offers for sex before people begin to question him. Certain rumors could be downright dangerous. 

Your eyes kept returning to him, your smile meeting you eyes as you twirled. 

While he had bed a number of partners, it was more often than not the result of physical reactions and what felt like necessity. The few times he genuinely felt he could enjoy in indulging in carnal pleasures he found himself utterly alone. He enjoyed dating, necking, kissing, but he could only keep some people so happy for so long. Quite a few women assumed marriage would solve the issue, and pushed him. Which made the inevitable break up easier. 

His reputation was that of a rake now. The popular host who rarely dates but often canoodles.

He laughed to himself, if rumors spread of his recent antics with you he’d be practically blacklisted from certain clubs. Alastor watched you graciously leave your dance partner and hop up to him. If he were any other man, you’d throw your arms around him and make him swoon for you. But he was Alastor. Your confusingly respectful killer. So you stopped yourself, instead offering him a smile.

“I wasn’t aware you were a radio host.”

“You never did ask my job.” You both walked back to the table where his jacket was lying in the booth seat.

“Honestly did not care. Which is unusual for me. Normally my first question to men is what they do for work.” You tried to avoid looking at the bathroom before settling back into your seat beside him.

He lifted his hand and gestured for another round, “Should I be flattered or insulted?”

“Oh definitely flattered. There were much more interesting aspects to you.” There was a little space between you, a foot or so of emptiness. 

You scooted closer, Alastor glancing to you before shifting his legs and closing the last few inches of distance. Thigh touching thigh, you sat silently while your drinks were poured and brought to your table. 

“To sinning,” you offered a real toast, Alastor laughing his signature laugh and raising his glass.

“To sinning!”

His hand came to rest on yours, both settled on your lap under the table. Your cheeks were hurting, desperately trying to keep your smile looking demure and not stupid-school-girl-in-love. His fingers folded into yours, and you entirely lost the plot, face melting into a lovesick grin.

Alastor leaned into you, “Are you alright? Liquor already gone to your head?”

You squeezed his hand, “Different kind of intoxication, doll.”

The evening was, in a word, divine. You danced with reckless abandon and enjoyed various degrees of affection. You were surprised to see Alastor so open, you had pegged him as less wanting to draw attention to himself. But no, he clearly relished in making heads turn.

He offered you a ride, and this time you took it. You didn’t live far, you just wanted a little more time. When he stopped the car, you jokingly turned around and looked into the trunk. 

“We’re very alone.” You mused. He hummed an agreement, getting out of the car and opening your door.  “Wow and a gentleman.”

“A testament to my mother. If you’re comfortable, give me a wave from the window when you get in.” He closed your door behind you. 

“I don’t mind if you know where I live, you’ll have easier opportunities to kill me, I’m sure of it.” Placing two hands on his chest, you leaned up, “Is a good night kiss too forward?”

Alastor stifled a laugh, “Quite! My image of you is shattered.” before leaning down to meet your lips.

When in the apartment you turned on a light and went straight to the window. Leaning against his car with both hands in his pockets, Alastor was smiling up at you. With a wave from you, he got back into his car and left.

To say you were on cloud nine would be an understatement. Clouds couldn’t carry the weight of your joy. You’d fall to the ground like lead, regardless of the cloud classification. And with that feeling you went to bed smiling, unaware of the dark catalyst barreling towards you.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows

ADIF @multifandomfanatic02 ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #human alastor #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #fanfiction #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin

[belovedcloud]

A Kiss Goodnight | Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Fluff for Leon since he's a cutie. I picture RE2 (after Racoon City) or RE4 Leon in this but you can choose which ever one you like more.

WC: 1.1K

CW: Leon being a sweetheart? Pet names, kisses (duh), angst/fluff. Mentions of Leon's struggles after RC.

➽───────────────────────❥

Working for the government was hard, especially after just getting dragged into it without a choice. Life was hard for Leon ever since that fateful night where he believed he shouldn't have lived. Luck was too kind to him, but the consequences of luck is always regret. Mission after mission, bioweapon after bioweapon Leon was tired. All he could think about was getting back to you. You were his saving grace, his only way to escape the pain. Even if it was only for a second, a minute, a hour, a day. You helped in a way where he was indebted to you for the rest of his life. Driving home, all he could think about was you. How you warmed him up after a hard time shooting and murdering anything that was diseased. He was yours, and you were his.

Leon shortly arrived home, sluggish in his movements as he took off his work boots and coat. His bag thrown into the corner of the doorway as he sighed heavily. Finally, his body could relax. Tense movements slowly turned into tired movements as he brought himself to the bathroom. Seeing a new cut on his face and blood and mud splatted on him. It never really was a nice sight. The house was silent, you were asleep. Something that wasn't unusual as the clock ticked to 3 AM. You never really knew if Leon would come back from his mission, that sense of worry hung low over you. Causing distress as every call you received could be Hunnigan's voice. Informing you of Leon's death, but you were lucky enough to not have that, not yet at least. As you slept peacefully, Leon showered and cleansed himself from his own sin. His murderous intent and sorrow washing down along with the dirt covering his body. The towel gently wrapping around his waist, he walked into your shared bedroom. Where you laid asleep, seeming to be cuddling a pillow in hopes of getting the same satisfaction of Leon having you in his arms.

Leon couldn't help but smile looking at you as he walked past the bed to his dresser, getting a pair of boxers and sweatpants. Quickly changing to soon sink himself to his side of the bed. Soft. Everything was soft around him. The pillow his head laid on, the new sheets and most importantly you. Getting under the covers he felt your bare skin touch his. Your shorts and t-shirt hugging you in a cozy way. Without thought, he wrapped his arms around your body. Nuzzling his face into your neck, there was no intention of waking you up... But it was bound to happen as he gripped you tightly. Giving you no chance to escape you whined as you woke up.

"Sorry baby... You just looked so warm." He mumbled into your neck as he gave a sweet kiss on your skin. Wriggling yourself to at least turn around to face him, you notice the fresh cut on his face. "What happened?" You whispered, still in a half sleepy state. It always worried you seeing him hurt, but Leon always reassured you he was okay. "Just a cut from the mission, nothing to worry about." He softly smiled, you couldn't help but replicate the smile. A gentle kiss on the nose is what Leon felt from your smooth lips. "You okay?" You asked as your hands wandered down his chest, carefully wrapping your arms around him. Ensuring you weren't going to hurt him in the process. "Everything is okay when I'm with you..." He murmured, slowly enveloping you in a sweet kiss. "God.. I missed you so much, you smell so good" He whispered to you in a gentle tone. Much different to the aggression towards the bioweapons he previously fought only hours before.

"I missed you too.. so much." You whispered back, a giggle following short afterwards as you felt him playing with your hair. "I love you." Was all Leon could say as he admired you in his arms, admiring his lover was his favourite thing to do in this situation. "I love you more." You poked at his cheek as you kissed him again. Soft kisses with him were heavenly, otherworldly. The clock ticked 3:30 AM, it really was time to sleep. Mellowed breathing was soon shared between you two as you held each other. Enjoying the comfort of one another as you were glad he returned home. He was glad for everything. Glad to live in a lifetime with you in it - he would protect you no matter the cost.

"Can't sleep?" You slowly opened your eyes, still feeling him stare at you. "No, kinda hard to." He muttered, relapsing the past mission in his mind. "Wanna talk about it?" Rubbing his arm always calmed him down, made him feel safe for once. Safe from the horrors of this world that he swore in his heart nobody else should face or see. That he would be the one to protect people, to save people. Even if that meant him deteriorating his own mental stability. At least others would be saved. But he didn't need to be the hero with you. He could just be Leon. A man who was lost in his own train of thought, still a young boy in his heart yearning for answers to why he was chosen to face dread at every moment of his life. Sadly, beggars can't be choosers. Although he had one choice in his life, and that was you. He would always choose you. Always. "Not right now.. Just wanna have you in my arms." You felt a peck on your forehead, a grin spreading across your face. "Okay. Well I'm always here for you Leon." Reassurance was vital for you and Leon. The slightest amount of praise to Leon was all he needed to crumble into your arms. He could be himself with you. "Thank you Y/N, I really appreciate you. So much." His voice cracked, tears slowly gathering in his eyes. What did he do in his last life to deserve you? Gentle hands caressed his face as he wept, your kisses taking away the pain.

Minutes passed, Leon's cries slowly disappeared as he cuddled you. Staring into each others eyes, you felt yourself slowly slip into a sleepy state. Same with Leon, he couldn't hold his eyes open much longer. Not when you gave him a warm like no-one else did. "I have one request." He hushed out as he rubbed your back with his calloused hands. "Mm?" You murmured out, melting into his touch.

"One more kiss goodnight?"

➽───────────────────────❥

Someone tell this man everything is gonna be okay.

#resident evil #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy angst

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

On The Right Foot (Betrayal series) - F1 Grid

MV1 focused - side reader x Lando (relationship)

Summary: Max grew up karting her and while it took her longer to find her way into F1. Now she's here and they're side by side. But who'd have thought y/n would be the one to bring it to him. And who'd have predicted the damage it would cause?

For context with the race calendar, I'm using 2024 but this is based in 2025. I do think the calendar is changing for Australia to go back to being the opening race (gonna miss Bahrain, having a night race to open the season as such a vibe) but for this we're pretending it's still Bahrain.

"Here is the talk of the paddock. Max Verstappen's new teammate, childhood karting rival and best friends to my knowledge. He has spoken in nothing but praise and admitted that in karting she would often beat him." Martin states as they watch y/n walk into the garage for her session of testing. "I personally know her career record is impressive and while she's had some bad luck. I think her being reserve and test driver last year for them. They've seen something that's worth putting to the real test on track directly against their star."

"Now, I want to see y/n really bring it to Max. But do you think, realistically, that she will?" Crofty asks making the former F1 driver puff out a breath.

"I think testing will give us an idea of how she is handling the car and how she confident she feels driving. I'm certainly looking forward to it."

-

Testing went better than people expected, changes needed on the car were minimal and as a team Max had never felt like he valued a teammate like this.

Max knew things would be good within the team. Better than ever.

But going into Bahrain for the race rather than just testing, y/n and Max are proving to be the strongest lineup on the grid.

"Y/n, how are you feeling being in the Red Bull team?" A reporter asks as they sit in the press conference.

"I feel great, Max was just telling me earlier that he hopes we stay teammates forever." Y/n smirks then being nudged by her teammate. "No but I think it goes without saying that the whole team has been incredibly welcoming and Max especially has given me all the advice and help I could ask for. It's also nice to think that we could be leading the way for another dominant Red Bull season. Being part of that is easily the best feeling that I could ever think of feeling-well aside from standing on top of podiums and accepting the world champion trophy at the end of the season."

"That's great to hear. And Max, to you, is having y/n as a teammate and hearing her confidence of possibly beating your winning streak helpful?"

"I think it's bold but I welcome the challenge. I know what I got into when the team decided to bring y/n and I know that we will push each other. Hopefully only to the limit and not beyond it."

"We'll see." Y/n shrugs jokingly with a grin.

-

"Qualifying is going to be a fun one, Max had the edge on y/n yesterday but in FP3 she had half a second on him. Which is huge for Max and it seemed to be her quali simulation that time came from. But Max can pull out miracle laps when he wants to. It would not be unusual for him to demolish the field again." Martin comments making Crofty agree before they hand over to Ted.

"I think y/n may have Max on this one. I don't know if you guys have noticed, but she is like a bullet around the corners and she takes different lines to most of the drivers which seems to save her on time. Max seemed to try and replicate her method but it was not paying off for him."

"Really?"

"Yeah, if you watch the onboard and I'm sure Ant will show a side by side later. But the line she takes, her hitting the throttle and brakes. Almost completely different to Max and most of the field. I do think there's a few who have somewhat managed to replicate it. But their cars aren't competitive with the Red Bulls so she has no reason to be threatened, does she?"

"Not unless Max perfects it." Martin chuckles making the two other men quickly make conflicting comments of if they think y/n can tale pole in her first race. "I do think the expectations on y/n as a rookie plucked from Red Bull's talent pool are high and we should remember she is a year younger than Max with a lot of experience but still less than most of the field."

The two commentators continue to debate over who will lead and with Max 0.008 sec faster than y/n in Q1. It's a hard call.

But in Q2, Max takes a corner wrong and y/n ends 2 tenths up on the whole field.

"I'm not saying Max is feeling the pressure, but do you think y/n could make him feel it as the season goes on?" Crofty questions making Martin immediately speak.

"I actually think she may be well on her way to doing that. Max has...never had a teammate push him the way we say the likes of Lewis and Sebastian be pushed by a teammate. I think Max has found his match. I just hope we don't see a repeat of Nico and Lewis."

The two childhood friends to despising rivals was a pipeline that no one wished not the Brit and German. But ultimately it happened and everyone wishes for it to never happen again.

"Max is on pole if y/n can't beat his time and she's down in the first sector, equal in the middle. She's got a lot to make up in that last sector."

There's actually a rising tension as they watch her take the second corner and the crowd rises cheering when she shoots to the top of the times with only 0.010 sec between them.

"Y/n y/l/n on her debut has pole position and I think I speak for everyone. She has blown me away managing that." Crofty comments his voice giving away his genuine disbelief of her abilities. "That's amazing. She has got to be so proud."

Her radio suddenly pops up and they find out exactly how she's feeling.

"That's pole! That's pole on your debut, beautiful stuff!" Ronnie, her race engineer exclaims before hearing back.

"Oh my good god! Fucking fuck! Pole position baby! This one is for you and the whole team. We're going to make this pole a win." Y/n squeals laughing in disbelief of it herself. "Where's Max? We're on the front row? A lock out?"

"Yeah, it's a row lock out for the Red Bulls. You and him got a race to the first corner." Ronnie chuckles while she laughs as she finally pulls into the pit lane for Parc ferme.

"Well that is a very happy young lady and so she should be. That is an amazing way to start her first race and kick off the season. I think we are certainly watching history in the making and the strongest team line up we've seen in years." Crofty comments making Martin immediately agree. "How do you think Max is going to feel about being out qualified by his rookie teammate?"

"I think he-well there you go he seems very happy for her." Martin states as they watch Max go directly to her in the cockpit, patting her helmet before helping her up and out, pulling her straight into a hug. "No surprise really, he seems to have a very big brother bond towards y/n and similarly she has a sisterly bond with him. But long term, I don't know if I'd be confident about him continuing to be happy if she is consistently just getting the edge on him."

"Given Max's past, I'd have to agree. But you never know."

-

The first 4 races seem to build a pattern. Y/n took the poles and wins in Bahrain and Jeddah. Max took the pole and a win in Australia and took pole in Japan.

The one issue?

Y/n is leading the standings after finishing P2 in both Australia and Japan. However, Max had damage from George in Japan and ended up P5. Something that earned a kind of rage y/n wasn't expecting from him.

Now they're in China and y/n is beginning to notice a change in Lando completely devoted to her.

"Y/n, how are you feeling being here in China?" A reporter asks as she stands in the media pen.

"Good. I'm leading the championship and I have every intention to continue get another win. But I know Max has the experience on the track that I lack. So we're going to see whether the rookie luck is still there or if it's truly already gone." Y/n smiles while the reporter nods.

"And how are things with Max and you?"

Y/n tries to not hesitate, the PR team told her to play off the mild rising tension.

"We're best friends. But we're also in a battle for a championship title, so of course we have our own goals to beat each other."

"But everything in the team feels good."

"Great. I'll always support Max in the same way I know he'll always support me."

Famous last words or what?

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #f1 grid #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 grid x y/n #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fic #f1 grid imagine #f1 grid angst #f1 grid x you #f1 x you #f1 angst #f1 x y/n #f1 grid fanfic #red bull #red bull racing #red bull f1 #oracle red bull racing #rbr #red bull formula 1 #max verstappen imagine #max f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen f1

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 8

Word Count ~ 4.6k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content, slight breeding kink, body horror, minor violence

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You always have to be extra careful when one of the Sverchzt sisters is asking to enter the building.

Twins, and both of them nearly identical, save for the location of the mole on the cheek: on the right for Selenne, the left for Elenois. Both employed as models, with the same hourglass figures, full, painted lips, long lashes, and breathy voices accented with something exotically European sounding. You always feel very plain and lacking around them; it was like being back in school again as the shy, unpopular girl, envying the pretty cheerleaders that seemed to have it all.

But you don’t feel inadequate today, still buoyed up from your feelings of being with Francis’ doppelgänger all weekend. You look over the identification card and entry request, finding everything in order. The elegant woman is on the day’s list of expected entrants, too. You’re nearly ready to hit the switch to grant her access into the apartments, still reminiscing about your fiancé, when something in you, some sixth sense kicking in, cautions you that you should probably call the apartment, just to be certain. There is nothing visually you can identify that is incorrect about the haughty woman on the opposite side of the glass, who is now folding her arms across her ample chest, the polished nail of an index finger tapping against the porcelain skin of one slender forearm. An impatient gesture you’ve seen Selenne make before, dozens of times. Nothing suspicious about the documents, either. But still, you feel it is better to be safe than sorry.

You already know all the residents’ phone numbers by heart now, the quick four digit extensions granting you rapid access.

“Hello. Elenois speaking. My sister and I are both at home today. We are not expecting any visitors.”

“Thank you.” You keep your expression calm, hurriedly flipping the plastic shield down and depressing the button to sound the alarm, catching one last glimpse of the doppelgänger, the crimson polished nails now scratching at the glass pane, the eyes with the lids shadowed in lavender streaked and bloodshot, the plush lips parting to expose yellow fangs dripping spittle before the shutters finish descending. You phone the disposal team, still maintaining your composure.

Close. That had been too close. You had to concentrate. Focus.

The day progresses and you find yourself getting back into the rhythm of things. Wondering how your pretender beau had decided which members of his squadron to sacrifice, sending them to the building to meet their doom to throw the DDD off the trail. What would happen when the numbers dwindled, when there were none left to send? Did the faded mark he’d left behind still shield you? Or did it only make you more desireable, like what had happened with the replicant who looked like Izaack Gauss?

You’re picking at the peeling varnish of the battered desk during the afternoon lull when someone walks into the building and your heart stops.

Francis.

Not the original, and not your doppel, either. This one is nearly a dead ringer, except for the nose that’s not quite right, the tip slightly larger, the nostrils a little more flared.

It had never occurred to you that there would still be other versions of the milkman walking around. Where has he been all this time?

“Mmm…hello.” The customary greeting the genuine version had always adopted. He slides an ID card through the slot.

“Entry request?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot. Here it is.” The smile breaks your heart. His smile. Only not.

You stare at the document for long moments. Everything looks correct: the document expiration date present and set for the future; the serial number identical to what you have on file; the logo of your organization in plain sight; the stated reason for the alleged milkman’s absence logical. All of the elements appear as they should, save for that slightly mismatched nose in the photograph and entry request.

“Is there a problem?”

Your eyes lift to meet his. Why are you drawing this out?

“Your appearance,” you answer distractedly.

“Yes? What about it? Doesn’t it match the picture?”

You shake your head, reaching for the alarm button. “I’m sorry.” It’s foolish, being this sentimental. No reason for it. You know the real Francis is gone. You know it’s not the invader you’ve fallen for.

Alarm blossoms on the fake milkman’s features. His hands clasp together. “Wait, please…I’ll leave. Just…I don’t want to die.”

You freeze. This was new. The doppels always reacted with anger when their cover was blown. You’ve never had one beg for their life before.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Was it true? Were there others that were willing to coexist peacefully? Had you incorrectly assumed they all sought the same goal, replacing humans and ruling over the planet, the one remarkable exception being your lover?

Or was this just a new tactic that they’d adopted, evolving, learning, adapting better to human weaknesses?

You had no way of knowing which it was.

“I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry.” You slam your fist against the alarm switch before the replicant tries to escape, that same soft, pleading look haunting you as the shutter descends. The cleaners arrive and you cover your ears with your hands. You don’t want to listen to it. You can’t.

There are tears in your eyes when the figure in the yellow hazmat suit declares you are now able to return to your job.

***

The replicant milkman—yours, you note with relief—arrives later that afternoon, hastily adjusting the cap on his head, offering a brief glimpse of the perspiration from the heat outdoors lining his brow, his tousled brown locks damp, plastered against his forehead. He’s already smiling before he’s even reached the window, hurriedly thrusting his document and ID card through the slot, and something else, something that sounds metallic against the shallow stainless opening at the bottom of the window.

You reach for it, realizing what it is the second your fingers close over the object: your engagement ring.

The DDD had ceased its surveillance of the security booth, the resources and manpower needed elsewhere, apparently, so their is no longer the camera or the person watching it to worry about. You stare at the solitaire diamond, at the pretty filigree decorating the band on either side of it, and the tears that had been threatening to spill earlier come pouring out of you, a messy amalgamation of guilt and fear and relief releasing in that sudden cascade.

“Sweetheart, you like it that much? I’m so glad, I wasn’t sure…” His voice trails off. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head, absently hitting the buzzer to let him in, then hitting its partner to shut the door behind him.

The door to the security booth opens. “Oh, Francis.” You throw your arms around his neck, burrowing along his shirt collar while he rubs soothing circles on your back.

“What is it, love?”

“I’ve had such a terrible day. I almost let in a doppel by mistake this morning, and just a little while ago there was a doppel that looked like Francis.”

“Sweet girl.” His arms tighten around you.

“He begged for his life, Francis. I’ve never seen that before. It was so difficult to call the team. But I had to. I had to do it. I didn’t know if he really meant he wouldn’t harm anyone, or if he was lying. I couldn’t risk him hurting the residents inside.”

“Of course you did, love.”

“How many copies of him are there? Just roaming around the city?”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t Francis and it wasn’t me. They were just trying to trick you, and you didn’t fall for it. You did the right thing. I know it was difficult for you. I know why, love. I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

You remain in his arms, letting the comfort he’s offering seep into you. He does understand, better than anyone else ever could. After a time you draw back, sniffling. The ring is still clutched tightly in your fist. You relax your palm, spreading your fingers so you can admire the piece of jewelry again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. It’s lovely, Francis. Perfect.”

The imposter smoothes the last of the tears away and kneels down, gently plucking the ring from your right hand, then reaches for your left one, sliding the diamond band onto your ring finger and kissing the back of your hand.

The sound of a throat being cleared at the window interrupts the moment. You jump, startled. It’s the pilot.

“Dropping off more paperwork, doll?” Steven Rudboys grins, sliding his card and request form towards you.

You blush, aware of your fiancé rising to his feet beside you, frowning. Of course he doesn’t understand the reference, from that day when you’d visited the doppel so early on, when he’d slipped you the invitation to come to the apartment.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” the man with the Mohawk says, his eyes lingering on the ring. “I always knew you two would end up together. Took you long enough, Mosses,” he adds, shooting the imposter milkman a sharp glance. “Don’t know what Afton and Stone are waiting for. I thought for sure they would’ve set a date by now. Bet you two don’t wait that long to tie the knot.”

Your cheeks are scarlet, your eyes focused on the documents, checking the day’s schedule. On the day’s list. A quick phone call just to confirm what you already know, allowing the man to enter the apartments once you’ve spoken to his father, heaving a sigh of relief when he’s finally gone from sight.

“I don’t like him,” the pretender says, his voice nearly a growl. “I don’t think Francis ever did, either. Too intrusive.” He turns his attention back to you. “Maybe not the best timing for the ring,” he observes ruefully.

“I’m sorry. I love it. Truly. It’s just been a very hectic, stressful day.”

“Don’t apologize. You have every right to be feeling that way. I think…I hope…I can help with that. Come see me as soon as you get off shift, okay? And be careful. If you need me, call.”

You nod, kissing him before he exits the booth and heads towards the elevator. You stretch your hand out, turning it slightly, watching how the light plays over the facets. It was official. You were engaged. You doubted it would take long for the rumor mill of the apartment building to circulate the news. Poor Francis. He’d be bombarded with well wishers and busybodies. Rudboys was probably going to keep at him mercilessly.

The rest of your shift passes by blessedly uneventfully. It is nearly time for your workday to end. Time to return to your lover waiting for you upstairs, the doppel you’re betrothed to.

***

You tap your knuckles on the door of apartment 3-02, greeted by the copy of the living space’s former owner.

He’s shed the troublesome cap, the ebony bow unknotted and draped around his neck, the first pair of buttons on his shirt undone. He smiles at you. “Hello, future Mrs. Mosses.”

“Hi. Can I come in?”

“Do you have proper identification?”

“I seem to have forgotten it.”

He clucks his tongue. “Then I can’t let you in, I’m afraid.”

“Do you accept bribes?”

His lips twitch. “Maybe.” The opening widens. “Come in here.”

You enter and the door closes behind you. “That was easy. I don’t think you’d make a good doorman,” you tease.

“No, but I make up for it elsewhere, don’t I?” He murmurs and you hum in agreement as he slides a hand around your waist, dragging you against him. “It’s torture being away from you. To go from having the weekend together to this long absence all day…” His lips touch yours, traveling to your neck.

“I know. I thought about you all day long.” Your hand rests on his chest. He covers it with his own, toying with the ring on your finger. A little room to move the band, but still secure around the digit. You didn’t wear jewelry often, but the size you’d told him had been the correct one. “I love it, Francis.”

“I’m glad.” Another kiss on your mouth. “I’m hungry for you, love.”

You feel it in his kisses. No longer gentle. Tongue stroking yours roughly. Teeth nipping. You cross the hallway to the bedroom with your fiancé. Unfastening clothing. Yours. His. Impatient to be naked. A button tears from your blouse. “I’ll mend it later,” you say distractedly.

Your back is tucked against his chest, the pair of you standing before the dresser mirror. Your breathing is loud, nearly as loud as his. You would have been mortified to be making so much noise even a month ago. But you have no reason to hide it now. You’re engaged. No one on this floor was going to pretend they didn’t know what goes on with young couples behind closed doors. You’ve heard Afton and Stone going at it before. Not nearly as often or as loud as you and your doppel, though.

You’re about to bend to slide your thigh high nylons off but the copycat halts you, his hand clasping yours above the scalloped lace edge that clings to your leg.

“Leave them on for me? I like them.” He snaps a garter belt playfully, dragging a hand over your lace panties. Something else that was new. You normally wore sensible undergarments beneath your work clothes. But now you had someone to admire what clung to your intimate places. He caresses the space between your legs through the delicate fabric, dragging his hand up to begin massaging your breasts encased in a matching brassiere. “Gorgeous. So beautiful, love.” His mouth worries along your shoulder.

“Are you going to mark me again?”

A pause, his hands and lips freezing. “Do you want me to?”

The low pitch of his voice drags across your core. You’re still frightened of it. But you want it, all the same. You want this creature to claim you. “Yes. Do you?”

The doppelgänger’s lips are by your ear. “Yes, love. But you shouldn’t watch…”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. “I want to. I want to see you…”

“Sweetheart…” Hesitant. Perhaps more afraid than you are. To be seen. Exposed. To let the monster off the leash, as it were. Allowing the demon within out to play.

“I trust you.”

He moans softly against your hair. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?”

“I love you.”

A whimper. The thing inside anxious to be let out, scratching and gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, that barrier of human flesh that had once belonged to Francis Mosses. Nails raking across your abdomen. Not enough to puncture the skin, still careful, the barest scrape of the unsheathed claws you can just see emerging now. Tearing at the fabric covering your sex, the material fraying, the embroidered threads coming loose. The crown of chocolate hair lifts and you see his eyes: the doppel’s eyes, peering at your from behind Francis’ sleepy dark ones. Red like blood, like the vessels that burst in surrender, like the lining of those shadowed lower lids. The white sclera of the orbs iridescent, shimmery, identical to the outline of the alien creature clutching you, an unsteady shift in the very particles and atoms that comprise him, things unseen, things not meant to be viewed by a mortal eye. The neat ivory teeth no longer tame incisors and molars, but transformed, sharp like the cuspids of a vampire, ravenous, the drool dripping from them onto your skin.

It is still not what he truly is; that monster well concealed, struggling to maintain control in this tenuous bridged state, not quite one or the other, partly human, partly doppel. What remains of your panties are shoved down, his leaking cock pressing against the curve of one cheek of your buttocks. He pushes against you and you grasp the edge of the dresser, the stained and varnished wood supporting you at a slight angle as he guides his erection inside of you.

Your body is already gushing arousal, welcoming him in. You catch sight of your heaving chest in the mirror, your lingerie encased breasts lifting and straining to burst free, much like the replicant thrusting into you.

He says your name, and it is not Francis’ voice at all. This a summons from deep within, heavy, full of gravel, dragging across your flesh like sandpaper. The wavering, mirage-like border of his pulsing frame feels hot, sticky. Your lashes flutter. The bottles of cologne lining the dresser’s surface tumble down. So deep. He’s so deep inside of you. Shoved in to the hilt each time. And still you want him even further. Impossible. But you crave it. That complete violation. Was this what it felt like to be taken over? You’d imagined it to be painful, terrifying. Instead it was sheer bliss. Your eyes link with his through the oval shaped looking glass once more.

“More, please, Francis…”

He jerks you away from the dresser, still impaled on his cock. Here is the pain you’d anticipated, that searing kiss of teeth piercing your shoulder, sucking the skin over the bone, a burst of stars in front of your eyes, fireworks ricocheting within you as you come undone, your insides splashed with something molten, soaked with your lover’s release. Wet skin, wet pussy, drenched prick, sweat and cum and that thin trail of blood seeping from the wound he’s created, laving rapturously at the taste of you, that very human taste in his very inhuman mouth.

His body shudders against yours. Aftershocks, not from orgasm but the shift back to how he appeared before, the glow dissipating, eyes cleared and gentling, the sharp hooks tipping each finger a replica of Francis’ blunt edged nails once more. Only a few red welts betray those nightmare claws’ existence, where he had become a little too lost in the passion, tattooing the soft flesh of your abdomen. The door to the invader’s cage is sealed shut once again. You hold him upright as much as he holds you steady, slipping free from your entrance, the hot spill of seed leaking down your thighs, seeping into the stockings. You can feel the tremors still spasming, your own nerves quivering with the remnants of pleasure, echoing against you as your lover’s body shares the same sensation. The panting breaths grow quieter. The sound of the Rudboys’ television next door disturbs the stillness. You’d completely missed the audio cue of the curfew horn.

“Sweet girl.” It’s all he can seem to manage, this whispered into your hair. It’s the milkman’s voice again, but it sounds raw, raspy. The vocal chords had been strained, never meant to produce the sounds they had earlier.

You rest your hand on the one clutching your abdomen, the glint of your engagement ring winking, a stubborn sparkle in the glow of the lamp, struggling against the growing darkness in the room as the day’s natural light fails beyond the curtained window.

***

The blackberry jam, pulled from the refrigerator several hours later, is perfect.

Perhaps one of the best batches you’ve ever tasted. You’ve snuck a sample from the unsealed mason jar, unable to wait. You’re already imagining how good that flavor will be when it’s smoothed over the biscuits you’re making with your doppelgänger, his fingers kneading the dough mixture you’ve just created. There is a stray bit of flour dusting his nose where he’d absently stroked an itch along the bridge and you wipe it clear, the touch becoming a lingering caress. He pauses, fingers still dug into the dough, looking at you with that same kind of wonder as he had earlier, after the incident in the bedroom.

As if he cannot believe what you’d asked for, accepted so willingly, eagerly; of the control over his true form he’d been able to maintain, keeping you safe.

Pats of butter melt quickly on the sliced biscuits pulled from the oven. You’re sweating. You need a shower after this for certain. You slather on a generous layer of the sweet fruit spread, offering a bite to your fiancé. He chews, nodding approvingly. There is a stray bit of jam on the corner of his mouth. You cannot resist lapping at it. Licking his mouth open. Tasting the sweetness there. Marveling at how quickly the desire is rekindled. Perhaps you would never be sated. Always this ache, this gnawing want in your center.

Drenched in the shower together. Back out again. Night sounds through the open window. The measured footsteps of a patrol. Soft chatter. A dog barking. You miss your farmhouse. The crickets and the scent of lilac blossoms and your lover in your bed, on cotton sheets that smell like the outdoors, hung on the line to dry in the clear air.

“Francis,” you murmur, your mouth tracing the outline of the crest of one hip, you hand curled around the other. Tasting the soap on his skin, the slight masculine musk as you wander along his groin, swiping your tongue across his cock.

Your shoulder throbs, pulsing in time with the neediness within. You want it again already. Not just the sex, but the other. A strange kind of addiction developing.

Your pussy aches to be filled again. You suck his erection and moan, hastily tucking your hair out of the way. Ravenous. An animalistic slobber. Lips loose. Shoving down as far as you can tolerate. Past it. Insistent, fucking your throat with his dick.

A little gasp of surprise from the doppel. “Easy, love. Don’t waste it. Want to…”

You release his spit soaked member, planting wet kisses back up his stomach, his chest. Crawling over his body until you reach his mouth. “What do you want, Francis?” Your voice a whisper, matching his.

“Oh love, you know what I want.” This huffed beside your cheek. You’re teasing kisses along his jaw, nipping at an ear lobe.

“Tell me. Tell me how you want to fill me up. With your cock. With your cum. Breed me, make a baby…”

You don’t know where the words come from. Another gasp. A growl. You want to impale yourself on him but it’s not the ideal position for getting pregnant. You allow him to shift, moving your body with his, pinning you beneath him.

“Is that what you want, sweet girl?” His hands press into the pillow beneath your head. There are a proper quartet of them now, piled plush cushions for you and your alien lover.

“Yes. Please, Francis…”

His knee parts your legs. Pressure. He’s inside you.

Your head lifts off the pillow and he captures your lips, pressing you back down. Working inside of you slow and steady, fucking you back open.

“There you go, love.” His mouth gentle on yours.

“I need…”

“What? What do you need?”

Your shoulder is on fire. “I want you to mark me again.”

“No, love. It’s too soon for that.” You feel him shake his head, the faint stir of air beside your cheek with the motion.

“It felt so good.”

“I know.”

“Put the light on, then? Let me see you. Let me see what’s inside…”

“No.” His voice loud now, his hips still against yours. “No, it’s too risky.”

“You can control it. I know you can. I trust you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because why?”

“Because I’m afraid,” he confesses against your neck. “You’ve no idea the strain. The desire to tear free. It would destroy Francis’ body. The urge to devour you…” He kisses your throat softly. “Let me love you like the man I appear to be.”

“I love you. You, what’s inside.” You touch his cheek.

“I know, love. And the way that makes me feel is indescribable. I don’t need to be out of this body to experience it. I adore you, sweet girl. Let me show you how much. Like this,” he says, his hips lifting and pressing, guiding his cock back into your hollow.

Your pelvis arches to receive him. It scares you how much you want him. Your body shakes with the intensity of that desire. Craving that violence, that feeling of teetering on the brink of destruction. His, yours. The human mouth on your shoulder. Sucking. Kneading with teeth that aren’t nearly sharp enough. But it stirs whatever he’s injected you with. A venom, a toxin, not poisonous, not lethal, but a chemical that you need more of. Bringing you closer to what you’re so desperate for. It doesn’t take you long to climax, the doppel’s own release close behind. He lifts your hips and legs, propping them against his chest, keeping his seed deep inside you, stroking along your stomach.

Willing there to be a spark of life there, the way all life has begun, according to the words in the holy book still sitting on the nightstand, a burst of light in the darkness.

***

Another day at the DDD security window.

The doppelgängers have been clumsy so far. Woefully inept at replication. You didn’t need specialized training to recognize the imposter for the shoemaker with a mustache as a fake, a single eye in the center of his forehead making Albertsky Peachman look like a cyclops. The clone of the mother of the student living on the second floor had correctly replicated the placement of the blue and green irises, but the phony Nacha Mikaelys’ jaw was strangely formed, the flesh pulpy and uneven, making it appear like oatmeal.

The best part of your workday arrives on schedule, slipping a new gift into the slot this time. “Tickets to the theater for this Sunday. I know it’s not the movie you mentioned, but…”

You grin. You can’t even remember the last time you’d gone to see a movie. And now you’d be seeing it with your fiancé. “Casablanca! Oh, it’s wonderful. I have something for you, too.” You exchange an open envelope with the doppelgänger.

He slides the contents free, unfolding the letter and scanning it quickly, a smile lighting his features. “They’ve invited us to see them.”

You nod, still beaming, watching the invader tuck the letter from your parents back into the envelope. “We’ll visit the following weekend.”

“I look forward to it. Still nervous, but looking forward to it. How was your day, love?”

“It went well. Yours?”

“Better now.” Another smile. “I’ve got another surprise, too. Left it in the truck because I was anxious to see you. I’m making dinner tonight. Well we’re probably making dinner. I’m not optimistic about Francis’ cooking skills,” he adds, lowering his voice.

You couldn’t blame him for doubting it. The man’s pantry and refrigerator had been nearly empty, and you had the feeling it wasn’t just because he’d been overdue for a trip to get groceries.

Thinking of the solitary, simple life of the milkman rinses the joy from your features. No real family to speak of, either, according to the doppelgänger, save for a cousin that he’d had little to no contact with. He really had been alone in the world. Isolated. You could have done something about that. You should have. But it was too late now. And you had your doppelgänger instead. The being your heart was so full for.

“Love?” The replicant sees the change in your expression, frowning now.

“I’m okay. Yes, I’ll help you cook. It sounds fun.” You’re not relishing the thought of working over a hot stove in that stuffy third floor living space, longing for the upcoming change in the weather. But you like the idea of working beside your partner. Preparing a meal. And what would come after.

The bite on your shoulder throbs, reminding you.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor #doppelganger #that’s not my neighbor #the milkman

[jiniret-writings]

Warm Blankets Pt. 3

Genre: angst, fluff

Pairing: Platonic!skz x 9th member!Reader

Warnings: strong language, self-doubt, arguing, feelings of unworthiness (If I missed any warnings, please let me know)

The actions of the members in this story do not represent how they are in real life. This is all fictional and should not be taken seriously.

Pt. 1 || Pt. 2 || Pt. 3

Earlier That Day

Tensions were high. With comeback so close and so many concerts and events to prepare for, Stray Kids barely had any time to rest. Your days were filled with practices, recordings, and even more practices. Four hours of sleep was your new standard, and even that seemed like a blessing sometimes. That morning was no different. You had woken up at 6am for an early vocal lesson, wanting to do something in your area of comfort before going for your practice with Chan.

You had been given a duo part with the Chan: something you had never done before. It wasn't that you weren't comfortable dancing with Chan. It's just that you never had a solo dance, always preferring to stay in the back for dance breaks. Vocals were your strong suit and you were more than happy being mostly heard and somewhat seen. When you were given the duo part, you were shocked. Seeing your expression, he just smiled at you and patted your head. "You can do it. I know you can," he said. You felt proud that he believed in you enough to give a part like that to you, so you practiced as much as you could, focusing on not just the moves, but making sure they were as perfect as they could be.

For the past few days, you had reached a place where you could be quite proud, but that morning something felt off. You went to your vocal lesson feeling nervous and tense. Your coach noticed and walked you through exercises to expel some of the tension, but you still harbored a feeling of unease. Still, you shook it off and walked to the dance studio. In the end, what mattered was how well you'd be able to dance and follow through on the moves. The choreo this comeback was more intense, but you were also more determined.

The choreo you had with Chan was short, but detailed. And that was where you were having trouble. You weren't a bad dancer, but it didn't come as easily to you as it did for others. It took time for you to really nail some parts. And that day, no one had the patience.

"No, you need to move them together, y/n. Together," Chan stressed, moving his arms and legs together in formation. You huffed in frustration, tired of running this same part over and over. Still, you listened and replicated what Chan did in what you thought was the right way, but he just sighed heavily in frustration, covering his face with his hands and shaking his head.

"I don't get it, okay? Maybe we just stop for today," you groaned, leaning against the wall. Chan just glared at you from where he was sitting on the couch.

"We can't just stop, y/n. You should've had this perfected two days ago."

"Well I don't, and clearly it's not happening now. Maybe if I take a break-"

"We don't HAVE time for breaks!" he yelled, suddenly getting loud. You gawked at him, surprised by the sudden outburst. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to yell back.

"Yes, we do. At least I do. Hyunjin has the practice room reserved after us. I can just ask him to--"

"He has his own practice! He can't babysit-"

"Babysit!?!" You couldn't hold it anymore. You got off your spot on the wall, going to stand closer to Chan. "I am not some CHILD that needs to be watched or whose hand needs to be held!"

"You're sure about that? You can barely extend a leg-"

"I'm trying to--"

"You're not trying hard enough."

"Bullshit! You're just looking for things to criticize about me!" you yelled, having had enough. You were tired and frustrated. You muscles hurt. Your brain hurt, and Chan nitpicking every muscles movement was not helping in any way.

"It's not like I have to look too hard, yeah? You're floundering around!"

"What's THAT supposed to mean?" you asked, taking a deep breathe and closing your eyes, calming yourself.

"YOU-"

"No"

"-IMPOSSIBLE TO-"

"Chan, we are-"

"-AND HOW CAN YOU-"

"THIS ISN'T GETTING US-"

"IF I KNEW YOU'D ACT LIKE THIS, I WOULDN'T HAVE FOUGHT FOR YOU TO BE IN THE GROUP!"

--a breathe--a hand on your arm--and silence

At the Studio with 3RACHA

Thanks to Hyunjin's text, Han and Changbin knew it was a no nonsense type of day. They both arrived at the studio early, having brought some snacks and drinks to get them through. They made sure to bring every essential they would need to make sure they had everything they would need and wouldn't need to take unnecessary pauses for anything. Han even brought heat packs and a blanket in case it got too cold.

The studio was tense. Chan was much more quiet during the session, only nodding or shaking his head for the most part. The track was complex. It was a ballad, but there were tons of small audio elements that helped it give off that "mala-taste genre" feel. Still, he wasn't satisfied.

Han and Changbin each took turns messing around with their soundboards and looking through their libraries, adding and taking away elements that were either too much or not enough. They even set up the mic so they could make more practical sounds, hitting couch cushions together or unlacing their shoelaces to get sounds that were unique and possibly get the sound-bites.

Chan was huffing more than usual, and as they separated to write lyrics, Han started texting Changbin:

Han: Channie-hyung sounds like a dragon Changbin: Don't you dare tell him that Han: I know! Just, do you know who he fought with? Changbin: I called Hyunjin and said it was y/n. Han: NO Changbin: Yeah, they're at the cuties dorm now Han: I wanna be at the cuties dorm Changbin: Han Jisung Han: yeah yeah I HEAR HIMJDBCJ Han: Nvm, false alarm ;)

When Chan walked into the hallway, he started pacing. Nothing was coming easy to him. Everything sounded wrong, looked wrong, felt wrong. His skin was itching and his hair felt so heavy he wanted to shave it off. He started pulling at his clothes lightly, trying to find a way to release this aching discomfort he felt in his abdomen.

And the fight

He didn't know why or how he could've said those words to you. With every step, he replayed that last moment over in his head: the words leaving his mouth, the way your face morphed to shock, Hyunjin pulling you away, your eyes filled with tears...

He had never seen that look on your face. It was betrayal. Pure, complete betrayal.

He remembers the first time he met you. You had entered the company just the day before, hope shining in your eyes. He had been a trainee for five years at that point. He knew the routine: new trainee's came in with hope, they practiced with all they had, and the with each passing month and each passing evaluation, the hoe drained. Each comment from staff or the teachers or even from the other trainee's left them tired. And in the end it either became too much and they left, or they debuted. And then the trials really began.

But you were a fighter. He met you on your second day at the company and you were filled wit so much excitement. You were in a group vocal lesson and your voice was far from mature. You needed work and the vocal coach did not hold back on their criticisms of you. But instead of letting it get to you, you pushed. You listened to the feedback nestled between their biting words and you implemented it. It had been a while since Chan saw that specific vocal coach nod their head in approval at someone they so brutally tore down only an hour ago.

You could've had a big head. Chan knew when he talked to you that you could have an ego the size Jupiter, but instead he was met with someone so incredibly sweet and such a joy to be around. You two had lunch together that day, and from then on, Chan knew he'd fight for you.

He couldn't have thought that he'd fight you like he did today. Sure, you've had your smaller arguments and your disagreements here and there, but it never got to the point where any of you said anything terribly hurtful. You loved each other, you were family. But the look in your eyes when he said the words that he knew would hurt you the most? His chest squeezed so tight he almost forgot how to breathe.

Chan shook his head, walking back to the studio with a bottle of cold water from the vending machine. He knew he needed to apologize, but he didn't know how. When he walked back in the studio, Han and Changbin looked at him with soft eyes. He could've cried.

He sat down and stared at his laptop. Next to him, Han and Changbin shared a look. They couldn't just sit and let this stew on any longer. Changbin had filled Han in on everything that happened, and they knew the sooner they addressed this, the better for everyone.

"Hyung," Han started, closing his laptop and leaning forward. Chan glanced up at him before looking back at his work.

"Yeah?" he answered, much softer then anyone expected. He was still looking down, but his hands had stilled.

"There's so much pressure on us to do well and there's so many deadlines to meet..." He paused, looking at Changbin, who got the hint.

"You snapped at y/n, and that was a dick move."

Chan's head snapped straight up at that. Changbin took that as a good sign and kept going.

"You need to apologize. And soon," he said, getting straight to the point. Chan just looked at him shocked, unable to get any words out. He knew he had to apologize, but did you even want to see him? Wasn't it too soon? Changbin and Han looked at him expectantly, wanting him to say something. Anything.

"I," he cleared his throat, rubbing a hand along his face. "I want to, but..." he stopped. But what? But they might not want to see me. But they might need some time alone. But they might want to take a break from everything but they might want to leave the group but they might want to disappear. Chan's thoughts fed him every scenario and conversation that might happen.

Finally, he looked down at his hands. "But they're with Hyunjin now, and probably with some others, and they might want time to cool off before seeing me," he said finally. He knew Hyunjin wouldn't leave you alone, so at least he knew you had someone with you.

"You don't have to talk to them now. Just apologize. And let them curse you out, it might make them feel better," Han said, giving Chan a small smile.

"Let them know you're here. And that you're sorry and didn't mean anything you said. You didn't mean it, right?"

"Of course I didn't mean it," Chan said. It was the one thing he was sure of all day. It didn't hit him immediately. But when he was watching you and Hyunjin walk away, it was like the words kept repeating in his head, mocking him.

If I knew you'd act like this, I wouldn't have fought for you to be in the group!

He shook his head, and he felt two hands on his back. Han and Changbin had moved right next to him and were looking at him with understanding and care. I don't deserve them, he thought. He laid his head on the table for a few seconds and took some deep breathes. He deserved to be punched and yelled at and told to go fuck himself, but instead he had two of his members comforting him.

"You can wait until tonight. The others are with y/n/n now. But you should apologize before they go to sleep," Changbin said softly. Chan nodded and smiled at the two. They patting his back and went to go sit down. He'd fix this. He had to.

At The Cuties Dorm

When you fell asleep on Felix's shoulder, he gently stroked your cheek with his finger, wiping away the faint tracks your tears left behind. You nuzzled into his finger and clutched onto his arm tighter. Cute he thought.

Minho and Hyunjin walked back to you all and, seeing your sleeping figure, lowered the volume of the TV and looked at your bedroom door. Looking at Felix, he just nodded and moved aside so Minho could pick you up and move you to your room. Felix went to your shared bathroom and took all of your skincare products to your room, setting on your bedside table.

"Besties don't let each other sleep with makeup on," he said quietly, balancing everything in his arms. It was something you would say whenever you all got back from a late-night schedule. You never let him go to bed with his makeup on. So if he was too tired to take it off, you'd finish your skincare routine before going to Felix and doing his. And so you two had a routine: if one was too tired to take their makeup off, the other would do it for them.

When Minho tried to lay you on your bed, you refused to let him go. Your arms stayed clutched around his neck, and your face nuzzled deeper into his chest.

"Okay," he whispered, crouching down to try and place you on the bed again. "I'll get in with you, okay? But I need to put you down first." He kept his voice low, not wanting to wake you any more than you already were. You groaned lightly but your grip loosened. As soon as you were on the bed, he got in next to you. He put arm around your head and you hummed in contentment.

As soon as Felix set everything down, he turned on the little bedside lamp and got to work, getting rid of any makeup still left. They thought you were still awake but that train of thought was interrupted by a small snore. Minho and Felix looked at each other and laughed quietly.

"Long day," Felix said. Minho nodded, just patting your hair and keeping it out of your face. Minho knew about the hate comments you were getting and how much they were actually bothering you. He walked in on you crying in a practice room and your phone had been open next to you. You put up a strong front in front of everyone, but it hurt.

Ever since, when things got bad, you would hand him your phone. It was a silent message: I need a break, I'll be practicing all day. And he'd just nod, give you a hug, and let you go. This time, a small hug wouldn't do. Comments from random strangers on the internet hurt, but comments from the inside burn.

He looked down at you now, peaceful expression on your face, and sighed. He knew Chan would come to apologize and that it would hurt again, but to heal a burn you have to let it sting first.

Almost like the very thought of him summoned him, the doorbell rang. Minho looked at you again, not wanting to let go. But he gently moved his arm from under your head, gave you a small kiss on your head, and went to the kitchen where he saw Chan standing in front of everyone.

Han and Changbin came with him. Minho couldn't see his face, but the grip Changbin had around Felix's shoulders seemed like he was trying to hold the younger member back. His suspicions were confirmed when he came closer and took one look at his face.

"y/n/n is asleep," Seungmin said, leaning against the counter. He didn't look mad, just tired. In fact, they all did (except Felix who was never able to hide his malice). It had been a long...this pressure had been building for too long.

Chan looked at your bedroom door, left slightly open by Minho. All the determination he had on the walk over had left him. All the anger and stress was gone and replaced with intense regret. "Can I?" he asked, nodding towards the door. Jeongin nodded at him, standing on the other side of Felix and putting a hand on his shoulder. He had dropped the glare but disapproval was coming off of him in waves. Chan understood the feeling.

Walking in, he took one look at you and took in a deep breathe. You were curled up on your side, clutching a pillow to your chest. Your breathing was even and every few seconds you'd let out a little snore that made him laugh. Chan put a hand on your cheek and you immediately nuzzled into it.

He teared up and took another breathe. "You are so talented," he started whispering. "You work so hard and try so hard in everything you do. Without you, we aren't Stray Kids. I am so so sorry I made you think something that wasn't true," he continued whispering, not wanting to wake you up but still wanting to get the words out.

But you were awake, having woken up but the sliver of light let in by the open door. You didn't open your eyes, afraid that you'd lose your courage the moment you looked at the person who was like your big brother.

"It hurt," you said quietly. Chan's voice caught in his throat and the pressure in his chest grew. "I know you were stressed and frustrated but it hurt. A lot."

"I know, y/n/n. I know, and I am so sorry. I never should have let my frustration hurt you like that," Chan choked out. He wanted to hug you but he held back. He leaned down, getting on his knees beside the bed so he could be at eye level with you. Your eyes were still closed but you could feel him looking at you, closer than before.

"I never meant to say it. I swear, fuck, I swear on everything that I am that I didn't mean those words for even a second." Chan was crying now, but he said every word as clear as he could. The thought that you thought of yourself as less-than deserving to be in the group and that you were hurting because of him made him feel like pulling his heart out. "This group wouldn't be compete without you. Every day I see you work I am so proud of the performer and the person you've become. I-" his voice caught again, and the tears came much harder. He turned his head away, wiping relentlessly under his eyes.

A few moments later he felt a hand on his arm. Looking over at you quickly, he saw you. Your eyes were open and tears were coming out at the same speed his was. Your lips were wobbling and when you opened your mouth to speak, the only thing that came out was a choked sob. Chan's own sob mirrored yours.

You jumped out of bed and crouched right next to Chan, hugging him tight. At your touch, Chan cried harder, pulling you close and holding a hand to your head.

"I didn't want to disappoint you but I-"

"There's no 'buts' y/n/n, you could never disappoint me. You did so well today and I was just too in my ass to see that," Chan said, holding you tighter.

"You really were an ass," you sobbed out, crying louder. "But I forgive you just please be patient with me."

"I will. I promise I will. I'll be patient and help you through whatever you need and we'll take breaks. And when it gets frustrating, we'll separate and come back after a few minutes and I promise to never, never, talk to you like that again."

The two of you stayed on the floor, crying and apologizing and making promises that you knew would be kept even when the sun rose.

Together

Felix had a real talent for baking. When the two of you emerged intact and together, they knew all was well. Felix was the first to break, giving you both a hug and punching Chan in the arm, holding back so it wouldn't hurt too much.

"We warmed up the cookies and brownies, and I added some sprinkle hearts on the cake," Felix said, walking back to the kitchen. You smiled, taking Chan's hand and following him.

"There's nothing late night sweets can't heal," Changbin said. Han just nodded along beside him, cheeks stuffed. You smiled, squishing one of his cheeks, unable to resist. He half-heartedly tried to bite your hand, making you laugh louder before sitting down next to him, putting a head on his shoulder. He responded in kind, putting his head on top of yours.

"Hey, is that a rat on the cake?" Han asked, trying to discern the shape Hyunjin drew. The artist in question gasped.

"Excuse you! A RAT?!? My cat is not a rat!"

"If you made Dori look like that I'd punch you," Minho added.

"Hyung!" Hyunjin whined.

You giggled and tried getting up to get some cookies but Han pulled you back. "Nuh-uh, you're not moving anywhere," Han said, putting a cookie to your mouth. You rolled your eyes, but chewed, sitting back contently. Chan put a plate of cake and brownies in front of you, ruffling Han's hair, earning him a bite too.

The next hour was filled with stories from the week, laughing until people started falling off chairs, and good food. When the night started catching up to you, you looked at the time and saw it was 4am. Everyone was laughing at a joke Changbin and Seungmin were telling and you smiled.

My members, you thought again, feeling warm inside.

You went off to your room, laying in your bed, letting the laughs lull you to wonderful dreams, but it wasn't long until suddenly Hyunjin yelled, "Where's y/n!" and suddenly you could hear eight pairs of feet running to your room. They rushed in, looking at you in bed, and you were smiling tiredly.

"I'm sorry, I was just tired," you said softly. Changbin cooed at you, coming over and flopping on top of you. You grunted, feeling squished, but it wasn't too bad.

Until the seven others followed, piling on top of you one by one. You sqeaked, surprised by the sudden added weight of eight guys. Everyone was moving around, trying to find a way to get comfortable until finally, they all settled down. Hums of contentment and happy sighs were heard all around.

Knowing it would be useless to fight it, you just relaxed and closed your eyes. And with your members wrapped around you like a warm blanket sleep and sweet dreams came easy.

Thank you so much to everyone who has read this little series and showed it love. Every comment was so sweet and I am genuinely so thankful for everyone who read this! I hope you liked the finale as well! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. And as always, have a great morning, afternoon, evening, and night!

-Jini

Taglist: @armystay89 @lauraliisa @changbinisabigboy @lusimpss @laylasbunbunny @neyangi @hibs8 @lovelmh @viagiraffe @briqnne @unfwairs @silentreadersthings @strawberry31 @emily505 @beomgyu-stan-present

Divider made by: @cafekitsune

#jiniret-writings #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagine #felix fluff #fluff #skz fluff #stray kids #angst #stray kids angst #stray kids 9th member au #stray kids au #skz imagine #stray kids x you #felix x you #felix imagines #felix x reader #felix stray kids #seungmin #jeongin #lee felix fluff #Seungmin fluff #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #jeongin fluff #jeongin x reader #jeongin x you

[steveharringtonat3am]

Imagine drummer!steve teaching you to play the drums?? He has you sit in his lap and guides your hands and totally does not get hard from feeling you shift around! He’s such a sweetie you know he gets excited whenever something you do sounds good!

allusions to smut at the end!

kinda a part two to this fic but this can be read on its' own!

You aren’t quite sure what Steve and you are. You’re pretty sure you’re not dating but you’re also pretty sure neither of you are interested in anyone else. The two of you have been having lots of fun, both in and outside the bedroom.

After your hookup, you honestly expected to never hear from Steve again. Sure, you had a mutual friend but he just seemed to be more of a one night stand kind of guy. He had mentioned a proper date but the more you thought about it, the more it seemed to be a formality offer. Something you say after fucking someone in a bar bathroom so they don’t feel cheap.

Of course, that wasn’t a very comforting thought.

But luckily for you, he did end up calling. He got your number from Robin, who was now filled in on what happened and consequently rewarded with copious amounts of candy in exchange for minimal teasing.

The proper date hadn’t happened just yet but you’d been having your fair share of fun.

‘You busy?’ Your screen lights up with the text. His name is saved as ‘Steve🥁’ which he had insisted upon when you added his contact to your phone.

It’s around 4 in the afternoon on a Saturday which isn’t an unusual time to receive a text from Steve but they’re not usually this vague.

‘Not at all. Why?’ You can already sense the invite, pulling yourself off the couch and heading to your room.

‘Wanna see you. Meet me at the bar? The door’s unlocked for you’. This is what catches your attention. You know that bars’ hours pretty well by now, having gone a few times to see Steve play but you’ve never gone at this time because it’s never been open this early. You know he’s not talking about a hookup since those always occur either in his apartment or yours.

You hop in the shower to wash the morning off, keeping your hair dry since you don’t need to wash it. You dress casual-ish, still unsure of the vibe but you can’t go wrong with jeans and a t-shirt. Doing a quick makeup routine, you throw on your shoes and drive over to the bar.

Sure enough, the door is unlocked. It’s completely empty, lights illuminating areas you’d never noticed.

“Hey!” Steve appears from backstage. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and sweatpants that you have to tear your eyes away from.

“Hi! You wanna tell me what we’re doing here?”

“Sure. You know how you told me you always wanted to learn how to play the drums? Ta-da” He gestures to the drum set next to him.

“…That was more of a compliment on how you play the drums because I wanted more kisses. Not a real want.” His grin doesn’t waver as he gestures you over.

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” Your feet carry you over as the nerves sink in. What if you’re horrible and he decides you aren’t a good match? You hadn’t admitted it yet but you did really like him and you didn’t want to lose him so soon.

“I’m gonna suck you know that right?”

“You can’t suck because I’m the one teaching you and I don’t suck.” He sits infront of the drums and tugs you into his lap.

“Now I get why you wanted to teach me.” You grin as you adjust yourself on his lap. His grip on your hips tighten and you suddenly remember being in a very similar position a few days ago.

“Behave.” He mumbles into your ear, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder when you stop moving.

He passes you the sticks, covering your hands with his to show you the proper grip. You try your hardest to listen but he’s quite distracting.

“How about I show you some simple stuff and you try to replicate it, yeah?” You nod in response. Steves hands cover yours as he starts a slow beat. It sounds just barely familiar, like something you’ve heard him practice.

He pauses after a minute, letting go of your hands. You have to bite back a complaint as you attempt to recreate what he did. It’s kind of like those memory games you used to play as a kid.

“You got it!” He kisses your cheek, arms wrapped around your waist. It’s such a sweet hug that you just melt into it. You turn in his lap, legs swinging over to straddle him.

“Thank you for teaching me.” You mumble, kissing him softly.

“Isn’t that what boyfriends are for?” The word is dropped so casually you almost don’t register it.

“You’re my boyfriend?”

“…Shit did I forget to ask? Oh I knew this would happen.” He smiles sheepishly at your shocked expression.

“You forgot?” You ask incredulously.

“I was going to ask you that day we went to the farmers market I swear!” He can’t contain his laughter, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Well, I would love to be your girlfriend.” You tug his face up, kissing him gently.

“Great!! Now let’s go to the dressing rooms!” He stands up, arms tight around you so you don’t fall as you’re forced to stand as well. He barely bothers to grab his stuff as he tugs you backstage.

”Why?” You hurry behind him, his urgency practically carrying you.

”You’re gonna sit on my lap again. But this time we won’t be wearing clothes.”

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #drummer!steve harrington x reader #drummer!steve #smut

[gothwineaunts]

I tried my best to replicate the post that Tumblr ate earlier.

It’s not as good but you'll get the jist I think. :’)  

---

Hi again! I wanted to follow up on my post from yesterday. I’ve been mostly offline since then, and I feel much better now, especially after seeing the thoughtful responses y’all left. Where did you all even come from!? I don’t think I’ve ever posted this account anywhere, haha. But thank you so much. I’m horrendous at taking a damn compliment but I read all the replies and reblogs and I’m just incredibly humbled. You all brought up my mood a lot and highkey made me feel sane again. I’ve been so confused at why everyone in the WEBTOON comments seems to be so mad all the time, it kind of does my head in if I’m being honest.

But please don’t worry about me or Flynn. Or about Nevermore! We’d never change the story to fit what we think the commenters want us to do, for a lot of reasons. The most important of which is. If we had to do that, I think we’d rather just stop making it. What they seem to want is a story we’re not really interested in telling.

Wholesome wlw is a wildly important thing to be able to find if you’re looking for it. That really cannot be overstated. Until very recently, queer characters have been subjected by popular media to a disproportionate amount of anguish and violence. So the concept of seeing two women just, living a safe and fulfilling life together? I get why people want to see that so badly. And there’s so much beautifully written aspirational content for queer audiences out there now, and I’m pleased to death over it. But the thing is, it’s just not what we’re making.

Nevermore was always intended to be a dark gothicky romance with horror elements. Like Wuthering Heights, or Phantom of the Opera. Because those were the stories that always inspired us when we were young. Bloodsoaked stories of melodrama, intrigue, grief, and passion. Those stories would captivate me and get me asking all kinds of questions. Why can’t the Phantom be a beautiful woman? Why does Christine have the agency of a desk lamp? Why can’t sapphics have something cool like this?

So we decided to make it. Nevermore is not a wholesome romance. It doesn’t try to be. The point was never to explore sapphics having a healthy and (heavy air quotes here) “normal” relationship, like heterosexual couples get to have in real life. We already have that, together, Flynn and I. We live it, everyday.  In Nevermore, what we wanted most was to explore a sweeping sapphic romance full of danger, like heterosexual couples get to have in fiction. That’s why we love those kinds of stories so much, because of how divorced they are from the mundanity of real life. They’re fantasies.

I know that I'm preaching to the choir, aha.

But my point is: if you go to a hardware store to order a cake, you’re probably going to be disappointed. If what you crave is aspirational wlw content, there are so many bakeries you can go to that will give you exactly what you’re hoping for, and more. I especially recommend Muted by Miranda Mundt. It’s also on Webtoon, it’s completed, and it’s free to read.

And please know that I’m not saying to stop reading Nevermore, just maybe to adjust your expectations a little bit. We don’t sell cakes here, but I am pretty sure I've got a few 12ft tall skeleton lawn ornaments in the back if you're interested.

#red post