#like I think she’s excellent at putting on a show but when actual feelings get involved she gets all flustered about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkworkcourier · 2 years

Note

Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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followerofmercy · 5 months

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I think Freminet has some of the most interesting dissonance in his self perception of any Genshin character.

Like, of the Hearthlings we know, he's one of the most emotionally mature and intelligent. Lynette might still have him beat, but after playing her hangout... I dunno. I think they're tied. Lyney is Crumbling, Alrecchino is. Well. Arlecchino. Everyone else is a deeply traumatized child or adult and Freminet seems to pretty regularly be people's emotional support. His character stories talk about getting his vision by saving a bunch of other kids on a dive that went bad. The Selkie event literally had him being a therapist for a grownass woman, citing his past experiences with all the other Hearthlings that have died or killed themselves. And he handled that situation WELL. Yeah, he seems to live in a fantasy, but goddamn he's alive and a lot of people in his position aren't so clearly something is working.

Either his or Lyney's character story talks about the time Freminet had reached out to Lyney to try to ease his burdens, which resulted in Lyney blowing up at him. That probably contributed to Freminet thinking he's not good at it, but I think the reason Lyney reacted so badly was BECAUSE Freminet is actually a good support. He can't allow himself that from the little brother he's supposed to protect.

Freminet seems to both cry and dissociate often, but like... Kiddo you are in fact the only person in this family actually processing your emotions. Lynette dissociates 24/7. Arlecchino. Lyney lies and tells everyone he's fine and would literally rather die than admit otherwise. In comparison, Freminet is doing FANTASTIC

Freminet also gets a lot out of helping people! Like anyone, he needs to feel useful and needed. He seems to be an excellent mentor to the younger Hearthlings and perfectly competent on his own, but when you put him in a room with Lyney and Lynette who baby him and insist that THEY take care of HIM, he withdraws into himself.

Like, Freminet by himself feels like a young man and Freminet with the magician twins feels like a teenager. I have no idea how old he actually is. Logically, he would be OLDER than them! He's been with the House much, much longer and his experience shows. I think it's fascinating that they love him SO MUCH and yet, they just Cannot let him help them. Which is hurting him.

(Lynette is much better about not babying him and that is probably why their relationship is so much better than Freminet and Lyney's. Also why she keeps having to mediate between them. Because Lyney charges off trying to Fix Everything and that just makes Freminet feel useless and he doesn't want to get in the way and- you get the point)

Idk. It's hard to tell what things the previous director said to him vs what Arlecchino has said to him. I'm inclined to think our Arlecchino was the one that said he cries too much, but in a "crying in front of your enemies will get you killed" way and she herself is too fucked up to realize how "you cry too much" could be damaging.

Also I try not to consider gameplay stuff when it comes to story, but Freminet also has some of the most BRUTAL animations. He SMASHES HIS EMOTIONAL SUPPORT METAL PENGUIN INTO HIS ENEMY'S FACE. He doesn't think he's the most amazing fighter, and by Fatui standards he probably isn't, but he is winning fights against most grown men.

Tldr Freminet thinks he cries too much and is a burden and isn't good at helping people when he's actually the most mentally stable Hearthling send tweet

#freminet #genshin #house of hearth #character analysis #this is all over the lplace bc I'm on my phone #many freminet thoughts today #I don't wanna talk about trailer spoilers but also #this young man is a physical MONSTER #he's so similar but so different to Kaveh #where a lot of people Do perceive Freminet as a little... off #and he is #but he is a beacon of hope for all the other fucked up kids that are lost and alone #and I just think that's neat #kiddo benefits a lot from helping others #you can see how he lights up #even the hydro dragon hydro dragon don't cry #I'm sorry #this kid is comforting GOD #i think that says something

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rad-batson · 2 years

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The Robins as RA’s Because I Said So

Credentials: I’m an RA, trust me.

Dick Grayson: The “Cool” RA

His friends told him he’d be great at it so he applied

Holds your hair back when you’re throwing up in the bathroom

Gives life lessons at every opportunity even when you don’t want them

Sees his residents in the hallway and proceeds to talk their ear off

Knocks on your door if he hasn’t seen you in a few days to make sure you’re doing alright

Has the “I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed” face on point

You actually feel bad when he catches you drinking in the halls :(

Jason Todd: The Cool RA

Wanted something to pad his resume so he applied

Will help you hide a body. “Just ask.” You didn’t, but you can’t remember how it came up either

Doesn’t care about the Rules, per se, but he will judge you for lacking common sense

“You know what, Derek? I’m writing you up just for being stupid. You could have at least put it in a paper bag.”

Organizes all of his events last minute, best attendance in the building

One day, he lets it slip that he has a 4.3 GPA

No one believes him until he actually shows them with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face

Tim Drake: The Invisible RA

Didn’t want to go apartment hunting so he applied for the free housing

Do you even have an RA? Does he even live here?

Apparently, he’s like triple-majoring or something, but like…no one knows what for. Or how. (He's really Undecided)

Does the bare minimum, but somehow still excels at his job

Everyone who sees him has a completely different description of what he looks like

One person starts the rumor that he’s a vampire, which is only made worse when someone sees him looking ghostly pale while chugging some weird red drink (Ultra Red Monster) in the middle of the night

Stephanie Brown: The Best Friend RA

One of those people who actually likes living in student housing so she applied

Gossips with everyone

“You didn’t hear this from me but-“ and “What am I, your mother?” are her most common phrases

Will probably get fired just because of how many university secrets she’s spilled

Keeps her door open at all times, her room is super cute too

One of her residents walks in and says, “You won’t believe what my boyfriend did this time!” Stephanie is already popping popcorn.

Will let you get away with shit if you make a good case for yourself

Damian Wayne: The Try-Hard RA

It’s a tradition in his family now, and he takes those very seriously, so he applied

A troublemaker’s worst nightmare

He will catch you drinking. No one knows how. Even his boss thinks it’s suspicious.

Seconds from a mental breakdown at all times of the day

Absolutely livid when the event he spent the least amount of effort on gets the best attendance (He just brought all of his art supplies to the lounge and taught people how to draw)

Writes incident reports like they’re addressed to the Pentagon

A resident comes to his door crying because her grandmother passed away, and Damian completely blanks on what to do so he lets her into his room and gives her a really long hug while she calms down, then he sits her down and lets her vent for an hour. A week later, she comes back and thanks him for being there when she needed it. It sticks with him for years.

#batfamily #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne #batfam #robin #batfamily headcanons #dc robin #dc #tw death

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be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

Let Yourself Go

Overstimulated Reader! Request.

my darling, what a dream request - thank you anon! for both your very kind words + excellent request!!! this has consumed my brain for the past week; I originally intended it to be short like 2.5-3k, and then it turned into 4k and then I realised that in all of those words elvis had only been treated once so it turned into 6k. so this is 6.7k of pure, absolute, filthy smut just for you that i really hope lives up your expectations!

summary: slightly innocent!reader is convinced girls can't really orgasm - elvis sets out to teach her how wrong she is.

pairing: afab!reader/elvis (big daddy e)

warnings: 18+, 18+, 18+, tiny bit of daddy kink, implied age difference, oral (p+v receiving), p in v sex, fingering, mirror sex, overstimulation, very brief spanking. I think that's it? Reader does attempt to stop the proceedings a couple of times and elvis doesn't stop but it is all consensual.

wc: 6.7k

suggested listening: the end of such a night + of course, let yourself go.

You’ve not been together very long and you were still learning about each other in many ways. It confused you a little that he, who you knew had girls throwing themselves at him, would take the time to bother to get to know you better. He’d picked you out of the crowd and put you on his lap in his dressing room before he’d even learnt your name. When you’d told him, earnestly, that you didn’t expect to be married or anything but you were a good girl, who wouldn’t sleep around, you’d expected him to tell you that he wasn’t going to see you again. But no, he’d put in the effort and here you were, a few weeks later, at Graceland of all places. You’d been brought back with him after his engagement at the International ended for this year, allowing him a short break before he resumed touring.

He’d taken you out on his bike earlier, showing you the sights of Memphis and you’d loved the rush, so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Despite the fact that you dreaded the call from your parents at the photos that would inevitably be published of the two of you - you hadn’t really been dressed to go out (the outing unexpected), nor had you been able to help snuggling into his back, your hand resting on his solid thigh at the lights. When you’d gotten back to the estate you’d expected a party - a celebration of his homecoming, and you’d been bracing to have to deal with losing him for the evening, but you’d been pleasantly shocked when he’d kicked everyone out after dinner, announcing that he wanted a night just the two of you.

You wanted to tell him that his expectations were a bit forward, to not get his hopes and that you still weren’t sure you were quite ready to have actual sex with him but in all honesty, you were ready and only your (perhaps misguided) morals had prevented you thus far. You had been slightly surprised at how unbothered he had seemed at the concept of sex - he’d laughed you off when you’d told him you didn’t want to sleep with him on the first night; telling you that was all very well but would you sleep with him because he couldn’t “bear the long nights all on my lonesome”. He hadn’t pressured you at all, less than your last boyfriend for sure, and seemed to genuinely enjoy your makeout sessions as much as you do. To tell the truth, you weren’t really sure why anyone was that bothered by sex - it felt fine sure, but it didn’t blow your world apart, was mostly very awkward, and you couldn’t understand what the fuss was in general.

You’d followed him into the bedroom, into his room, and while part of you wanted to inspect every little detail of this hidden, protected space, the other part of you could feel his impatience from the bed and when he smiles at you - all cheeks and teeth, asking;

“Wanna have some fun tonight darlin’? Cleared the place out for ya, didn’t want you to go all shy on me…some girls get nervy at the number of people in the place. Get real quiet and the like, even though I tell ‘em I got the sound locked down.” You forget any desire to rifle through his drawers and instead stare at him, slightly confused - just hoping he’s not going to be disappointed;

“Uh, oh, well, I can’t say I’m that loud anyways, always, I always thought that was just a thing girls, uh, exaggerated?” You look down, embarrassed that you may be having to burst his bubble - you don’t want to be the first to tell him that from what you know there’s nothing to be shouting about. But he doesn’t react in the way you expect - blinking at you from under his glasses and patting the bed next to him.

“C’mere doll, tell daddy what you mean.” You sit where he tells you to, tiny shorts hiking even further, and you curl your legs up underneath yourself.

“I don’t, sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking? I’m just, just, saying that I never understood what those girls on the … on the … the stuff you like to watch, what they’re shouting about is all. Never seemed like anything worth carrying on like that is all.” He’s a little shocked but not altogether surprised - you’re young and a little sheltered, perhaps more than he thought at your reluctance to even said the word ‘pornography’ and he knows your only other relationships have been serious with boys from home, less about fun and more about futures, and he knows that they don’t always put the effort in they should. Still, he needs clarification - his eyes burning with curiosity;

“You mean you ain’t ever .. got your rocks off? Never creamed those lil’ shorts of yours?” His thick hand finds its way onto your thigh and he flicks the hem of your shorts, practically between your legs. You giggle, pushing his hand off.

“Elvis. Don’t be silly, unless you’ve been with some funny sorta people - girls can’t do that! That’s… I might not know much but I do know that.” He looks back at you, utterly stunned, before smiling like all his Christmases have come at once, a full cheshire cat grin.

“You - you ain’t never?” He’s shocked, but desperate to know your answer, taking his glasses off, leaning closer and waiting with practically bated breath in excitement, clenching his hands on his thighs.

“I just told you E, that’s not something girls can actually do. Don’t you think I’d know! If you’re just gonna tease me I swear I’m gonna walk right out of here!” He laughs again at your indignation, shaking his head,

“Naw little one, don’t do that, don’t do that - I just uh, I think I might be able to teach you a few things tonight is all. Just, ah, need to re-evaluate some things’all.” He frowns, “You know the other day, baby, when I stroked your little pussy and you pushed me off - told me you were all done?”

You remember the incident he was talking about, He’d had his fingers up you, rubbing you exactly how you needed and you’d crunched with an involuntary shudder, couldn’t quite catch your breath properly and had told him to stop. You’d pushed him away in a panic that you didn’t know what was coming, but that that was certainly enough. He’d been a little worried then, worried that he’d pushed you into something you hadn’t wanted to do. But, he’d relaxed when you’d relaxed on the bed - he wasn’t happy with leaving you like that, on the edge, but he’d figured you were just shy, nervous that his entourage was a mere wall away. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him that you genuinely believed that was you finished.

“Yeah, but what about it? We were done - I was done, it was starting to make me feel weird. I actually think we went too far.” He lets out a pure incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

“Oh baby, baby. I’m gonna, I’ll teach you baby, it’ll be ok.” You nod, but you’re honestly a bit confused about what he’s even planning on teaching you, but you don’t want to tell him he’s wrong again. You suppose he does have quite the reputation, so maybe he does have some things to show you, you doubt it somewhat but keep that to yourself.

“Right, yittle, need these all off of ya,” He tugs at your shirt, starting to unbutton it. “and these, these slutty little shorts need to come off, lemme see what I’m working with.” He’s practically crooning at you, slipping your shirt off gently, divesting you off your shorts - undressing you as if you were a babe. He strips you of your bra, leaving you in little white panties, before pushing you back onto the bed to lie flat. He doesn’t give you time to worry about your nudity, cupping your cheek with one thick hand, leaning over you to kiss you.

His tongue slips in, it’s like he’s mapping your mouth and you don’t bother to fight for dominance, letting him in, submissively brushing your tongue against his. He pulls away slightly, grabbing a breath and you can’t help it, his pouty perfect lips too tempting, you surge forward to softly suck on his bottom lip, nibbling gently. He responds in kind, pulling your head back, baring your neck - he tugs your lip between his teeth pulling as he pulls away. You moan at the little sting, and he presses a soothing peck against it. Before trailing down and pressing little open-mouthed kisses at your cheek, mouthing at your neck - tiny little suctioning touches until his hand, which he’s not resting on, is trailing further down. His fingers spread across a breast, fingertips playing with your nipple. You can feel the heat coiling in your tummy - your throbbing heartbeat between your legs. He’s pressing little kisses down your soft stomach, and he grunts as he repositions himself - up on his knees slightly. It worries you briefly, he’s been using a cane as more than just an accessory more frequently lately - his youthful actions having been hard on his knees and legs, before your mind is wiped by his actions again.

His hand trails lower, even as he continues to press soft kisses on your stomach, and he swipes down in a languid stroke over your panties, feeling your pooling wetness through the forming damp spot. He pushes it into you, rubbing you over them - the fabric catching slightly, along with your breath. He moves his head back up, sucking you by your collarbone and on your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise. The noises coming out of your mouth are unlike how you’ve ever heard yourself before, and as he hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down and off - the dampness making them pretty much see through - you would normally cringe in embarrassment but as you watch him lift them to his mouth and suck on them you can’t do anything but stare in an absolute state of shock and arousal. He’s still fully dressed although his shirt is so lowly unbuttoned, his chest with its covering of hair, god even his nipples practically out, that it barely counts. You can feel his own arousal growing against your side, still confined in his tight, slightly flared, trousers the heat of it, and can’t help but wiggle against him. He folds your panties, scrunching them up, before shifting to push them into his trouser pocket. You gape at him,

“Good lord, you can’t - they’re so dirty Elvis - you can’t keep them. They need to be washed!” He smirks at you, smirk turning to a grin as he leans over you to whisper in your ear, moving his hand away from you as he does.

“Baby, when they taste that good, I’ll do what I damn well like.” He licks your cheek, and it's something that you would have found disgusting from anyone else, but somehow him doing it makes your heartbeat pulse in your core. He lets his hand come back down, lightly slapping against your pussy, you jolt forward, mouth falling open, and eyes rolling slightly at the sudden intense pleasure from it. He chuckles into your ear, tickling your neck, “Oh - you like that mama? Like that baby?” He does it again, and you’re horrified at the wet slapping noise - but also at the sudden surge of wetness, you can feel.

“Oh god, Elvis, you gotta - gotta do that again. Please.” He obliges, patting you once, twice, three times before letting his hand fly slightly harder, you can feel your heat rising - and you shiver slightly. You’ve reached the peak of where you’d been before. Your heartbeat fast, and a constant thrumming at your centre. He laughs, teasing you in a low tone,

“God, who’d have thought you’d be such a dirty fucking girl, letting me - begging me to spank that yittle cunt of yours.” He puts an inflection onto yittle, as if even when talking about your ‘cunt’ he’s unable to stop his penchant for baby talk.

He uses his fingers to spread you apart, middle finger sliding in your slick. The metal of his ring is cold against your burning skin, sending goosebumps down your flesh. You think he can’t make you feel any better when he slips two of his fingers inside you. His huge square ring catching on your entrance for a moment and you buck your hips as he slides it in. He pumps them, in and out, as you squirm on the bed. Your eyes fall closed for a moment and he whispers to you,

“You like that little? My fingers in you? Gonna show you how girls do it, teach ya how it goes.” You respond with a whine - his words causing a blush to travel from your chest. You’re simultaneously embarrassed at needing to be taught something about your own adult self and aggressively turned on by his narration.

You’re breathless and while he’s looking at you with a soft smile on his face - pure concentration in his burning eyes, you can’t help but wonder what he’s getting from all of this attention on you. But to be the centre of his focus, him looking at you like you’re the whole world - the only thing in the world, is another level of high. Behind him you can yourself reflected in the mirror above - you look fucking debauched, unlike yourself and seeing him from above, in all his iconic glory, reminding you this is Elvis fixated on you brings you even closer to the cliff edge.

He pushes into you, unnecessarily - his fingers were long enough he could reach with his thumb without having to strain at all - to reach your hooded clit. He finds it expertly, rubbing it just so. You shudder, and he keeps going just as he was, but kisses down your neck to your nipple again, swirling it in his mouth, pulling it with his teeth slightly and you can feel yourself about to fall. You panic at the unexpected and unknown feeling and try to throw him off,

“Elvis! Elvis stop - stop I can’t - I can’t do it, it’s too much - you gotta, you gotta st-“ You’re thrashing about the place, arms flailing as you try to push him away, but his fingers don’t stop and he hushes you as he’s suddenly stroking this little spot inside of you. You can feel it’s different but can’t quite tell how until he crooks his fingers and presses. You shudder, your mouth falling open, although you’re still far quieter than he’d like - he makes a mental note that his aim tonight is to make you scream. And then you’re shaking, convulsing on his hand - stomach and core muscles clenching of their own accord. He rubs and strokes you through it. Your mind is blank and all you can feel is your thighs shaking - your head rolling from side to side. He keeps going and you keep going for him, clutching the covers in tight fists, mouth open in a silent scream as one of your legs randomly seems to jump about. He can tell you’re at the end of what you can do for him at the moment. He softlypulls his fingers out, trying to bring you down gently. His fingers leaving feather-light touches across your mound and thighs.

“That good, baby?” He pats his sticky, wet hand on your tummy and you can’t speak, taking heaving breaths.

“W-was,” You’re slurring as you come back to, your ears ringing, “Is that, what I’ve been missing? Is that meant to happen?” He laughs at you, finger drawing little shapes on your stomach,

“Yeah, when you’re with someone who knows what they’re doing.” He puffs his chest out a little, clearly proud of himself, “A real man.” You laugh, and he kisses you again and again until your lips are swollen and bitten raw and you’re gasping for air. You lay back for a few more moments, looking up at him leaning over you. He moves his arm, and you’re not quite sure what comes over you, but the movement had spread his shirt even more and it’s not something you’d ever considered doing ever before, but he did do it to you earlier so you gain the courage to ask;

“El- can I, can I…please can I taste you?” He raises a brow at your polite request, but is not going to turn down such an offer,

“Sure baby, lemme get lil’ Elvie out now - “ You frown, interrupting him.

“No, no… can I just… like you did earlier?” He looks slightly confused, his brow furrowed, but he agrees nonchalantly - clearly used to letting whoever do whatever they like with his body.

“Sure - “ He starts to say something else, but you’re too distracted by the permission, rushing forward to kiss his chest, moving down to capture his nipple. He jerks,

“Christ - Oh lord,” You’re practically suckling him, one hand threading through his chest hair, feeling his stomach, the hard line where he’s definitely still muscular somewhere underneath but is soft and cushy above, grasping at his pillowy sides. His hips are bucking, circling with the effort not to throw you off accidentally, “Oh gods, baby, christ little one, lord, oh lord.” He’s unable to be silent, constantly babbling a stream of curses and praise. You pull off, and suddenly, you’re mortified.

“Oh my goodness, Oh, Elvis, I - uh, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” You’re shocked at yourself but he’s panting, and you can feel him straining against his pants.

“Oh darlin’, lord, darlin’ it’sss ok, it’s so good, so good baby. Love your lil’ mouth on me.” You smile a little bashfully as he pats at you as if praising a dog. “Think now little Elvis would too baby, get him out - show him how much you ‘preciate him too?” You pant back at him nodding your agreement. He’s resting further up on the bed than he was before, you’d both travelled around the last few minutes and he sits to take his shirt fully off, before unbuttoning his trousers finally and wriggling out of them. He shuffles further back and you get yourself situated between his legs, bracketed by his thick thighs on either side of you, their covering of downy hair tickling your sides. You lean down, gently stroking his hardening cock - but then pause,

“Elvis, I ain’t ever - you gotta tell me how to do it.” He groans, his head falling back,

“Goddamn, like you were made for me, fucking made for me honey,” he peers down at you, over the slight swell of his stomach, tucking his chin in - one of his meaty fingers stroked the side of your face before gently grasping your head, lowering it to his cock. “You gotta, gotta say hello little one, give ‘im a little hello kiss now - “ You do as he says, brushing your lips against the very tip. You’d seen it briefly before, so although not this close, and you had given him a … helping hand over the past few weeks so you’re not surprised to see he’s uncut nor at the size of him - generous in length and girth, but it’s still fascinating to you up close. You can't help but study it briefly - assessing how his foreskin is starting to retract back slightly and you absentmindedly reach for it, gently rolling it forward and back a little bit, unsure how far it should go. His hips jerk,

“Christ, baby, you gotta warn a man first.” You smile, meeting his blazing blue eyes and amused expression.

“Sorry - I thought me being here was warning enough.” He laughs and pats your cheek.

“Right little one, back to work. Kiss down little Elvis, let him know how much you wanted to see him - ‘ You obey his orders, pressing little kisses all the way down his shaft. “Ok, now doll you're gonna take him in that hot little mouth of yours - gonna be re-eal careful of your sharp little teeth, got it?” You obediently bob up and down in a nod, making sure not to scrape him.

Instinct seems to kick in and you take a moment to suck down on him, flattening your tongue against his underside. His other hand finds its way into your hair accompanying the one still resting on your cheek and neck, hand spanning across the distance. His hip jerks forward and it causes his dick to knock further back than you were expecting and you pull back with a little cough.

“S’ok baby, sorry, felt so good, couldn't help myself, not gonna make you take all of him tonight, you can use your hand go on, show the rest of him how much you love him.” He pats you again and it’s enough encouragement for you to go back down on him. You do as he suggested, stroking and pulling him with your hand where your mouth can't comfortably reach, growing bold enough to reach down and delicately hold and stroke his balls. His hands are insistent on your head, not forcing you but certainly moving you exactly how he wants you. You can taste the thin salty trickle of precum starting to dribble out of him.

“That’s it, baby, I was already so close, just from touchin’ ya honey, just gotta suck me just like that, that’s it like a damn popsicle.” His hands grow a little rougher, tugging on your hair slightly, as his hips circle and his thighs clench around you. “Gonna, you gonna stroke me now, yittle, you just gonna stroke me, I’ll let you have a taste, give you a treat but that’s enough for now - ’s about you tonight, about you honey.” He's babbling now, and you're not paying much attention to his words coming out of his mouth except when his request filters through to your brain, and you pull off with a little wet pop, stroking him to completion. He squirts over your hand - ribbons of white hitting you on the chin and chest, moaning as he does and his eyes falling closed.

He leans back, breathing heavily as his cock finishes jumping about, slowly softening before your eyes and you glance around, before grabbing his discarded shirt to wipe your hand on. Before you can raise it to your chin to wipe it off of there he sits up and moves his hand from your face to swipe a finger through it. “C’mon baby, gonna have you swallow it next time,” You're uncertain about this, but don’t bother to say anything right now as he rubs his fingers on your lips, “Go on, open up honey, have a taste for me. Lick it clean.” You do as he commands, tasting the salty tang of a man’s cum for the first time. It's not wholly unpleasant, although you're not sure about the texture, but you can’t say you'd be jumping for joy at the prospect of swallowing his full load. He watches as you suck his fingers, licking them completely clean looking up at him under your lashes as you do.

He leans forward to kiss you but then suddenly grimaces, frowning. Twisting slightly in an attempt to relieve some of the tension from his hips and back.

“I’m sorry, honey, but I gotta- I gotta lie down again.” You frown, worried.

“Of course! don’t - you’re meant to be relaxing!” He’s proven himself to you - taught you that there was something on the other side of the cliff edge and it was good. But you weren’t worried - didn’t see any reason to continue, you’d both been taken care of and you were now perfectly happy to be tucked up in bed for the night.

“Oh no, I don’t mean I’m done. Get over here, little girl…” He manhandles you, ringed fingers digging into your thighs as he arranges you over the top of him. He then lies down, sliding between your legs, before huffing a tiny bit as he heaves you up from his chest and down onto him. “That’s it, mama, right over my face. Lemme get to that poor little kitty of yours.” You’re confused as to what he’s going to be able to achieve from this angle - he can’t possibly just want such a closer look, can he? But then, without warning, he pushes his head up licking down your labia before pulling you off balance to literally sit on his face.

“Woah - Oh, Elvis I’m gonna hurt you like this, I can’t just - I’m too heavy!” You try to move away but you can’t escape from his tight grip.

“Ain’t gonna hurt a fly baby - lemme just.” And he pushes his tongue into you, spearing into your hole. You’re sopping wet already, his fingers having seen to that, and the noises are obscene - the wet smacking and sucking.

“Elv-oh my god, Elvis you can’t-“ You try to get off but his hands don’t let you move at all - pinning you onto him. But as you struggle your thighs touch and you can feel the wetness and the stickiness that’s spread throughout - tangling your curls, sticking your thighs. “It’s- it’s - it’s dirty, you can’t, you shouldn’t - that shouldn’t, you’re not meant to do that.” You can feel him chuckle, the vibration making you gasp, but he doesn’t even respond, simply holds you down and goes harder.

You’re supporting most of your weight on your own legs but every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in - sure you’ll have bruises where his rings and fingertips have been. You can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth. It’s outrageous and you can’t believe this is something people do, but now it’s happening you wonder how you’ve lived this long without it, without knowing how this feels. His tongue is flicking between lapping at your hole and your inner folds. Your hips circle and one of his hands comes around your thigh - curling around to join his mouth. He moves his mouth up to suck on your clit, and the warm wet pressure, the suction, the everything - it’s too much. You’re losing control again, fighting the panic for a second time that evening - but this time, the pressure is growing even stronger and though you recognise the feeling now it feels different.

“Oh my god, Elvis, god, Elvis, Elvis please, please, you gotta stop! I’m gonna-” You grind your hips again, but he must be able to hear the sudden change in your tone - the sudden, very real, panic. And despite his instinct telling him not to he worries it’ll make you lose your relaxed state and he pulls away, kissing your inner thigh,

“Relax baby, dontcha worry, oh my poor baby’s little neglected pussy - you’ve got no idea, just been waiting for a real man, for daddy, to show you what you’ve been missin’ all this time.” He croons into you, hands stroking your thighs, soothing you into compliance. As soon as you relax into his hold again he surges forward once more. Your folds are swollen and slick, feeling like they’re burning, you feel so hot. And your entire focus is on your cunt and Elvis. Unable to even think about your thigh cramping or your foot falling asleep. He kisses up you, capturing your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard. You think you might be about to pass out - it feels so overwhelming, but suddenly the pressure changes - and as he slips a finger back inside you it starts to feel a little too similar to something else.

Your panicked noises come back out, and you once again are begging Elvis to stop warning him; “I think I’m gonna pee, Elvis, seriously! I can’t - I can’t hold it! Elvis - daddy, fuck, I can’t, I seriously think I’m gonna - gonna pee.” But he doesn’t stop this time, not even to reassure you, just continuing his steady ministrations, speeding up, and the pressure is steadily mounting again, reaching the peak. Your orgasm rips through you and you have to throw your hands out to support yourself on the headboard to simply stay upright but you’re barely able to think about it, moving on instinct alone. You’re shuddering and he’s continuing, won’t leave you be. And then, the pressure seems to burst - slowly yet somehow quicker than anything you’re ever felt. It’s like your vagina is simultaneously your whole body and also entirely separate from your body as it clenches before you’re gushing, liquid shooting out of you. It drenches his face, it’s in his hair, in his sideburns, and he sits up, as you fall off of him to one side, and he’s glistening.

You’re in a daze but a little embarrassed, both at him covered in your juices and that he was right and you were wrong about your abilities. But his reaction makes you second guess your immediate response - he’s grinning, licking his goddamn lips like he’s just eaten the best-tasting dessert of his life. He uses one of your discarded shirts to wipe his face off, smiling at the damp patches it causes.

“There we are baby, Daddy got’cha there, got you to that special place - that’s what it’s meant to be like darling. Told you didn’t I, told you, you just gotta listen to me, let yourself go.”

You lay back panting - you’re a little sore and a lot tired and you’re sure you’re done. You can feel his cock hardening against you again in a gentle coaxing sort of way, and you reach over a hand. You can do this, but you’ve just not got the energy for anything else - and your pussy is still pulsing, soft and swollen and puffy. He bats your hand away though,

“Right, mama, gonna show you how it’s really done, you’re gonna reach your little o on my cock, and you’re gonna know that’s how it should be every time.” He kneels up on the bed, pulling you up onto your knees too, and he’s putting you exactly where he wants you. You want to refuse, but he’s so convincing, and you are a little curious at how he might be able to make even this so spectacular for you, an act that you’d been ambivalent about, mostly put up with; knowing it was something women just did to keep their partners happy. He manhandles you into the perfect position for him, your back slightly arched, hands clutching the top of the headboard and he brushes your sweaty hair off of your neck, kissing where it lay before.

You stay where he puts you, slightly shell-shocked at your easy compliance, and at what he’s suggesting. You glance up from under your lashes and notice the huge mirror above the bed - you’d seen the one above yourself in the bed but not the glass above the headboard - and can see how you look. You watch your face contort slightly as he presses a few of his fingers into you again, testing if you’re ready. But you’re loose, in a novel sort of way - so aroused that it’s easy in a way it’s never been before. You’re studying your fucked out face, shocked at how wide your pupils are, the redness of your lips and cheeks, before you turn your attention to Elvis watching his rosy reflection - his hair sticking down, body and chest shimmering with sweat, clinging to his chest hair, his plush lips bitten red and his face still with a hint of damp, blue eyes sparkling. You’re about to utter something completely embarrassing like, “Oh my god, you’re so pretty,” or “I love you.” But you’re (somewhat thankfully) distracted by him rubbing himself on you a couple of times before fucking into you. You jolt forward, mouth falling open as he simply pushes his whole length in, immediately pulling back out to shutter his hips forward again - gripping your waist and pulling you back onto him too. You’re shouting, finally, garbled noises and moans as he gives you no time to adjust and instead slams you back and forth to him, his balls slapping against your wet skin.

He spanks your ass and you shudder, the tinge of pain mixed with the pleasure of him hitting that spot in you, getting in so deep you feel like he’s in your soul and not just your body. You can feel yourself starting to go again, starting to ride the crest of that wave when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again and you can barely breathe, noises catching in your throat at the sight.

“That’s it sweet, that’s it sugar, look at yourself,” He wraps an arm over your chest and grips your chin, pointing it straight at the mirror, “Look at us honey.” You can see him behind you, behind your flushed body - himself pink and damp with sweat from the exertion, its practically dripping down his forehead and onto his chest - he lets go of your chin and moves one hand to fondle your breasts, pinching your nipples, the other to slip between your legs. You jerk when he strokes where the two of you are joined. It’s filthy. You’ve never been this visible like this before, having very much been under the covers with previous lovers, and your knowledge of positions was limited to on your back, on your front and your side. Very much lying down. The image of his cock sliding into your folds, the pink fuzzy base barely visible through your own fuzz and his hand splayed over your stomach as if supporting where he sits internally is filthy in the best possible way.

You feel utterly surrounded by him, you can’t think of anything but how he feels, how he looks, you can’t sense anything else. You can’t see anything but him, it’s all him as you look around - the mirrors on the back wall and above you reflect back the image of the two of you, but your eyes skip over yourself only seeing him. His thick form. He’s muscular in a solid way, an accidental way, and the layer of softness that covers all of him, but especially over his tummy, only makes him more attractive to you, more real. When you close your eyes the vision of him is imprinted on your eyelids, and all you can smell is him. He’s got a slight sweaty musk to him from the exertion and activity, but under it you can still smell the hint of his cologne. His sheets smell aggressively like him, like the Vegas him and the home him - he must use the same products (or his laundry service must) wherever he is. The room too - there’s his unique blend of homely smells but also the heavy scent of the blend of his favourite specific brands of cigarettes and cigars. The smoke, despite him claiming he only smoked very irregularly, clings to his thick curtains and the drapes that surround the room. The room which screams, as much as the rest of his house does, of him - of solely him, of his outrageous, outlandish, tacky, wonderful, style.

You aren’t able to have any of these thoughts though, as his fingers stroke himself before once again finding your clit. He captures it between his fingers, rolling it, before brushing his finger over it and before you know it you’re quivering - shaking as your orgasm overcomes you again. It’s too much, your body has barely had a chance to recover and while you’re not passed out you’re also not…all there. Your body slack as Elvis holds you up, just a rag doll for him to take what he needs for his own orgasm - chasing his completion. He does, barely a few strokes later, a litany of praises spilling out of his mouth, pulling out as quickly as he could, seemingly caught a little by surprise. And you can feel the last few sprays from him as he splatters over your already sticky and trembling body. You slump down without him holding you up by the waist and hips, and he catches you - laying you out on the bed. He lays next to you, panting, chest heaving for a few moments before propping himself up on an elbow next to you.

You’re sore, internally and externally and worse - sticky, but he doesn’t let you sleep yet, running his cum-covered fingers through your soft pubic hair, before tracing shapes on your lower tummy, gently brushing lower and lower until his fingers are stroking through your sticky soft folds. You squirm, sleepy, and he hushes you,

“C’mon baby doll, give me one more, gotta make up for lost time darling. Give em all to you tonight. One more baby, c’mon do it for daddy, give daddy one more.” He’s speaking lowly, so as not to disturb your sleepy state, but what he’s asking you to do is bringing you back to awareness. He’s barely touching you, nudging your little stretched hole with his wet fingers, barely pressing the outer rim before delicately stroking your sore, puffy, clitoris again. You feel your legs shaking, seemingly of their own accord, and can’t focus on anything he says, resorting to begging over top of his continued whispers;

“I can’t, I can’t, Elvis please, daddy, please, it’s too much, I can’t,” but you’re already so close to the edge that you gasp, mouth open, as he inserts his fingers again, and it only takes him crooking them just so for you to shudder and scream. It’s borderline painful, and your legs are shaking, “Lord, daddy! Oh my god, Elvis, daddy, oh my lord. Oh - “ and as he continues to stroke that little place inside of you, as you ride the waves that wash over you, your words trail off to just noises. You're practically yowling as you slump over, still shuddering and stomach still convulsing when he slows his ministrations and pulls his fingers away. Your vision is white and black and you can't focus on anything he's saying through your ringing ears although you're aware he's talking. It takes a few minutes for your body to calm down, Elvis’ large hands gently rubbing you down like a horse after a race, and it's not until your heart rate slows again that you’re able to open your eyes and try to focus on what he's saying.

“Told you didn’t I, you gonna learn to believe your daddy now? Believe what he tells you?” He’s unbelievably smug and you can hear it in his voice, and in the way his eyes crinkle looking down at you.

“Course, Daddy,” You blush, “Elvis. Of course, I just - I just didn’t know! I didn’t know what that was…inside me.” He laughs,

“Well, not everyone can find it doll, it keeps itself real hidden like, less you’re just the right fit.” He squeezes your cheek as he says it before he pats you again and heaves himself up into standing. “Right honey, gonna have to get you all cleaned up - you’ll be drippin’ all night else.” You wince as he wipes at you with a little towel, even his expensive cotton too much abrasion on your still throbbing centre. You roll into the bed, far too exhausted to even stand up, and your eyes are closing as he comes back over with a glass of water, he makes you drink half and you do so, sleepily, while he maintains his grip on the glass. “We’ll have to shower in the morning honey, think you’re fixin’ for a snooze now.” He pulls the top comforter off, throwing it on the floor, and you can just see through your hazy tired gaze that there’s a large wet spot on it. “Least we ain’t gotta change the bed.” He mumbles as he climbs into it. You squirm as he pulls you close against your chest and his hands find their customary positions - one just a little too close to between your thighs but he pets and shushes you, humming a tiny lullaby that makes you fall deep asleep almost immediately.

#elvis smut #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #fic request!!#be-my-ally #big daddy elvis

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 3 months

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Hello! I read your "Third Enoshima" works, and I've gotta say that I absolutely loved them! If it isn't much trouble, would you mind writing something with a Third Enoshima!Reader who is constantly comparing themselves with their sisters?

They're still going agaisnt their plain of causing despair of course, but they can't help but feel a bit insecure of not having such a fit and strong figure like Mukuro or how they don't even get close to having such a nice and clear skin like Junko as they wash their face with a bar of handsoap. They refuse to join dinners and constantly push themselves to the extreme to try and please the other student, it goes from simple, yet harmful, things like wearing clothes they are clearly uncomfortable wearing to doing some heavy physical training without having eating anything since they woke up. Is it detrimental to their health? Yes! Will they stop? ...probably not...definitely not.

I wonder how their classmates or even their sisters would react or what comments they'd make towards Reader's behavior! (If they don't already have their ears ringing by the end of Ishimaru's lecture, lol.

(Sorry if this is written badly, English is not my first language!)

Comparison | Yandere Danganronpa with Third Enoshima Reader

It’s a phase that usually comes when you’re a preteen

But it’s not hard if it stretches further

They both are so amazing – despair aside

They’re able to excel in their alternative ultimates just fine

Using their skills to further their agenda

All while still having the time to dote on you

It’s easy to compare

Is it because they are insane that they’re so talented

Or is it just the genes you happened to miss out on

Whatever it is it haunts you and it’ll eventually slip out

Whether with a snide comment or a nervous questioning

They notice awfully quick

“Dawww Baby-bird wants to be just like us! Then quit yer whining and follow me!”

Junko sees it as a compliment and an invitation to put you in despairing situations

Of course, you may not know your life isn’t in danger with her but she’ll let you believe it

Constantly goading you to be like her

She’ll dress you like her, get a wig if she has to

Before Mukuro pulls you away seeing that this isn’t working

“(Y/n) you are perfect in your special way! If you’d like to do what I do I’d be happy to teach you!”

Taking you to shooting ranges and destroying you in paintball or airsoft

Just shows the distance between you two even better

She’ll try and get you to try wielding more simple weapons

Dazzling you with her speedy knife skills

Unfortunately though, instead of cheering you on she ends up just gushing over you

“Aaa~you look so cute with your little bulletproof vest. M-maybe I should have you wear my helmet~!”

“Mukuro I don’t think this is–”

“J-j-just a few more pictures! Aaa~ I can’t wait to wear this after you.”

They aren’t much help in the end

Both just letting you slink off

Your sisters aren’t exactly emotionally available enough to coach you through it

But there are…some intentions

If it lasts all the way until you get your ‘tailored’ classes at Hope’s Peak

there are very few who actually notice what you mean when you vaguely comment about what you’re missing

“(Y/n) you seem to be especially hurt about your features, why is that?”

Celestia won’t beat around the bush

She wants to know who put this silly notion in your head

She needs to know if she needs to kill them

Knowing it’s your sisters makes her hesitate

You’d be upset about it right

But she’s going to bluntly tell you what your strengths because clearly your too dumb to see it

“I’m going to list all your admirable traits clearly. So listen closely.”

Nekomaru oddly enough pays enough attention to you and works his hardest to understand what those comments you make are all about

“IF YOU WANT TO GET THOSE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE WE’RE GOING TO GET THOSE THINGS YOU HEAR ME!”

“What are you talking about!”

His goal is to coach you on the areas you feel like you are lacking

Even if he doesn’t know about that particular area

So he takes the extra time he’s forced+ into spend with you to praise you for the little things.

“YEAH!!!!THAT SEEMED LIKE A SUCCESSFUL NUMBER 2 ONLY YOU COULD PULL OFF!”

“Nekomaru! I went number 1 and it’s not that big a deal!”

“YEAH IT IS! IT’S BECAUSE YOU DID IT! BECAUSE YOUR THE BEST HUMAN IN THE WOOOORLD!”

He honestly has no other idea how to get across his affection

Not without ruining his image as the ultimate team manager

He also invites you to train with him and Akane if only to see you use your cute muscles in person

And to find your weaknesses so he can be your savior

Despite his boisterous persona his encouragement and praise is honestly kind of helpful

Someone else who’s really helpful is someone who relates

“(Y/n)...for a long time I’ve pretended to be someone I’m not. Settling to just compare myself to the people I wish I could be. But now I’ve changed and I’ve decided to work on making myself more like them in my own way! I-if you want w-w-we can do it together? The….training I mean….yeah.”

Chihiro knows the feeling and if you take him up on his offer he’s thrilled

More time to plant new tracking devices

Even better with the preplaced cameras

Taking your insecurities and turning them into things you’re working on helps a lot with self-esteem

Giving you a lot more pride when you do compare and notice changes

It’s not perfect but it’s helping you

And it’s surely going to bring you and Chihiro closer

Maybe even close enough that you’ll come into his room

Your sisters will be happy…in their own way that you’re happy

But if you notice they start putting more urgency into their plan for despair

It may have something to do with the amount of time and smiling you’ve done with others in Hope’s Peak

“I can’t wait to show those neets the truest extent of despair! It’s going to be euphoric!”

“KillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthe-.”

“Patience, despair is coming Piggie! You know what just to give them a taste maybe we’ll make sure (Y/n)’s got to take a couple of sick days! I can’t wait to watch it eat at them when they don’t respond to their messages!”

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alexiethymia · 6 months

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Yor Briar, Yor, and Yor-san

I was reading an excellent post about the nuance in the original japanese and now I thought I’d take a crack at what this means for Loid (although other people have already made an excellent analysis on this).

Loid has only called her Yor Briar in the beginning and when he was suspecting her of playing him. But Fiona’s insistence on her full name, Yor Briar, and her notice of Loid’s seemingly stubborn refusal to use it seems to me that Loid had always previously referred to assets by their full name. It could also be pragmatic in that he knows Fiona wants the ‘role’ of his wife hence her stubborn insistence of using Yor’s maiden name, so he uses Yor-san to counter Fiona’s way of delegitimizing Yor’s role. But I don’t think Loid can sense the real reason for Fiona’s insistence, so while in his view Fiona may be acting unprofessionally, generally speaking, I think Loid would be the one acting unprofessionally in constantly using ‘Yor-san’ to refer to his ‘wife’ to his WISE colleagues especially if he didn’t use to do that before (which yeah it’s hard to imagine him addressing his other marks that way).

Although the audience knows that Fiona is acting far from being professional, with Loid’s limited knowledge of her feelings, wouldn’t she actually have a point in referring to Yor as YOR BRIAR in a working setting? Because isn’t that all she was supposed to be? An asset or a tool? And yet Loid seems annoyed by that and insists on humanizing her by calling her, Yor-san.

Now someone might say, that’s nothing to make a big deal about. It would have been a big deal had he referred to her as ‘just’ Yor without the honorific. Because using someone’s name without honorifics is supposed to connote a deeper sort of intimacy. But that’s the thing. It would have been a forced intimacy for show. ‘Yor’ is his mode of address when he’s putting on a show of being a loving husband, complete with that <fake> Loid Forger voice. Yor is what he calls her around her colleagues or his colleagues (Nightfall undercover as Fiona at the hospital) to present how they’re a completely ordinary, close and loving family. In a way, it’s a subtle cue to Yor as well that they’re in ‘family’ mode now or ‘husband-and-wife’ mode. Yor denotes her as being a mask.

Which is actually why Yor-san is perfect. If Yor Briar is her as an asset, Yor is her as a mask, then Yor-san is her as a partner. He’s used women to get to his goal before. The only thing different now is Anya and the fact that on some level he is also working together with Yor. Had he actually succeeded in his first honeytrap attempt with Yor when he thought she had fallen in love with him, I imagine that he might have started treating Yor the same way he did his other assets before. But thank goodness it didn’t succeed, and in my view, he ended up falling into the trap instead.

Yor-san is perfect because it parallels the way Yor calls him. It’s perfect because it conveys the perfect level of intimacy. They’re not actually a lovey-dovey couple as ‘Yor’ would imply, but unfortunately for Nightfall, she’s also not just ‘YOR BRIAR’ another tool to him. It’s perfect because it conveys respect which Loid has a healthy amount of for Yor. If he can help it, he doesn’t like using her. And Nightfall is right to be worried that this comfortable mode of address of Loid’s is bleeding over to Twilight as if to blur the two. Loid is supposed to be an entirely different person or character so what does it mean that Twilight also calls his wife the same way Loid does? ‘Yor-san’ and ‘Loid-san’ are partners in a lot of ways. Yor-san is whom he can let down his guard down around, and someone this perfectionist spy can ask help from and rely on.

So what about Yuri Briar? He doesn’t know the true nature of Yor and Loid’s arrangement. Shouldn’t he be calling her Yor in front of him to keep up the ruse? Again, I think part of it is pragmatic. He doesn’t want to further aggravate the siscon. But especially in light of Chapter 86 and Volume 10’s inner cover, I think (at least unconsciously) it’s because Yuri is family. I notice that Twilight hasn’t even kept up the Loid persona as much in front of Yuri anymore (which tbf can’t blame him cause how do you even react to Yuri) but it’s not as if Yuri is someone to be underestimated. Some way or the other, even if he doesn’t fully realize it, I think Twilight is starting to treat Yuri like how Yor treats him or at the very least he can’t treat him like any other enemy or bystander because he’s someone important to Yor. Which again as CH 86 would show, Fiona has already noticed, and Twilight himself is angry at himself about. I don’t think Twilight has realized any sort of feelings for Yor yet, but I guess to Fiona, his mode of address for her is and has always been telling.

It’s actually interesting to think that perhaps it’s when he’s calling her ‘Yor-san’ that he’s most like himself - like Loid, Twilight and the boy before there was Twilight all at once - with her.

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maluceh · 2 months

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Top Lily variants? I've seen so many "[random hp character #10] variants" online, with various degrees of accuracy, but I don't remember ever seeing one for lily. Your Jily ones were so accurate (the only pair I'm not super familiar with was peraltiago, and I know enough about them to know they fit), so I was curious if you had any just for her as a character. You basically wrote the Lily (& Jily) gospel so I trust your takes <3

*cracks knuckles*

I'm about to give you a full detailed dive into Lily's character and personality that you absolutely did not ask for. I’d have to say the ones I had already picked for Jily variants (since I always look for couples where they both have James/Lily’s personalities). I’ll try and make it to ten but there’s only so many characters that truly fit Lily for me. Mostly the characters that I see as Lily, are sarcastic, witty, overachievers, intelligent, charismatic, and snarky…

Amy Santiago (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)

I know you said you haven’t seen it, but TRUST ME. Amy is a control freak know it all, she finds comfort in order and structure. Although she’s a bit more uptight than I imagine Lily to be. Her constant need for reassurance and approval from figures of authority is something I can definitely see in Lily. Her relationship with Holt is kinda what I imagine Lily to be like with Minerva/Alastor. Also, the fact that she is deeply loyal (as most characters in this list).

Over the course of the show she loses up a bit, and learns to have more fun and I think this could be applied to Lily in her Hogwarts years. Lily being a muggleborn is a very VERY important part of her character, as well as her morals and political standing with blood purity.

We can draw certain parallels between her and Hermione (overachievers, Head Girls, prefects), you don’t get those badges by simply passing by through school. So from this we can deduce that Lily was an excellent student that focused on exceeding at school, because there’s an extra need to prove herself among not just her teachers but her peers as well. To make them see that she’s just as much magic as they are.

So, like Amy, she's constantly trying to prove that she is smart and qualified (Amy in a field mostly male, Lily in a world mostly pureblood).

Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson)

Annabeth too is a smart character that wants approval —in this case, from her mother—. She is more arrogant and snarky, a little sharper around the edges, which is so Lily!!

Her upbringing has made her become more guarded with her feelings and who she puts her trust in, also her reluctance to accept Luke’s betrayal. These are things that I see in Lily’s canon descriptions and appearances. From growing up with a sister that does not accept her and being betrayed by her best friend. In canon, after SWM (Snape’s Worst Memory), when Snape camps outside her common room waiting for her to ask her for her forgiveness she says that she has been making excuses on his behalf for a while. A lot of people call Lily a hypocrite for only ending her friendship with Snape after she was personally affected by his views, but personally I think that’s part of what makes her such an interesting character.

She’s at war with herself, not really there or here, having to be in the middle of two worlds that do not fully accept her (Annabeth with her father and Camp Half Blood/ Lily with the muggle and wizarding world). And after losing one of the people connecting her to a place of security (Thalia/Petunia), she refuses to see that the last person connecting her to that safe place is also going to leave her to join a side of the war opposite to hers (Luke/Snape).

Kate Sharma/Sheffield (Bridgerton TV/Books)

Kate is funny, closed off and witty. She rushes to judge people and decide for herself whether they are worthy of her time or not, sometimes without even bothering to actually know them. Sometimes (specifically in the books), she’s so ridiculous and funny, not really forcing herself to fit in societal norms, which is something I can definitely see in Lily.

Also, her on the show with Anthony in S3, is just how I imagine married Jily, just perfect.

Dana Scully (The X Files)

In Dana I see Lily’s fierce loyalty and sense of right and wrong. The hiding of her emotions, and also how determined she is, that even though she wants to believe she doesn’t, not even after seeing hundreds of crazy things happen in front of her, she still clings to her own truth.

Tiana (The Princess and the Frog)/Cinderella (1950)

Tiana and Cinderella remind me of Lily in the sense of a hardworking woman, also really headstrong and married to her own way of thinking. A shell hard to break, because of all the walls she’s put up in order to survive. Like Lily, Tiana doesn’t take kindly to outsiders and people who come off as standoffish (Naveen/James and Sirius), but eventually ends up getting to know them and treasuring them as life companions. And you might think me crazy for adding Cinderella, but her unwavering kindness and optimism in the face of hardship is undoubtedly Lily, she’s not all sunshine and rainbows tho —yes the 1950’s version—, she hates the situation that she’s in and wastes no time (alone with her friends) to complain about it, she bites back and only “behaves” out of survival, she’s nice and warm but also angry and headstrong.

Yoon Jin-myung (Hello, My Twenties)

Here is another hard worker female character that I can’t help but see a little bit of Lily in. Although Jin-myung is much MUCH more shy and introverted than Lily, still, she has a complicated relationship with her family and tries really hard to do a million things at the time, forgetting to care for herself and diving into routines of work/school that are almost self destructive.

Honourable mentions.

Chili (Bluey) Morticia Addams (The Addams Family Values)

Mostly how I imagine Lily as a mom/ her married life (along with Kate too). Morticia might seem like a stretch but aside from her dark interests and aesthetic, she's a loving mom and partner and she puts her family first, she’s also a bit of a freak, like Lily.

Sloane (Ferris Buller’s Day Off) Pam Beesley (The Office)

Only on the prankster side of Lily, more chill and easy going, losing up a bit to have fun with Sirius and James.

#lily josephine evans #lily evans #lily evans headcanons #lily evans variants #the marauders era #the marauders girls

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amostimprobabledream · 30 days

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Bleach Characters Who Are Into Choking

Loosen your grip before I choke~ (Warning for some mild dubcon in the last one.)

Yumichika Ayasegawa

This may be surprising, but Yumichika finds something terribly aesthetic about choking. The eroticism of it, the glassy sheen in your eyes, the way his delicate hands look wrapped around your neck…

Unlike other examples on this list, there's no danger of passing out or Yumichika getting overexcited and forgetting his own strength. He's a passionate lover but he doesn't like to cause too much pain or discomfort, even if you're enthusiastically egging him on - a little neck squeezing is mostly all you're going to get.

He likes being choked too, he makes sure to do it prettily, throwing his head back to present the graceful arch of his throat to you, gasping thetrically and making a show of himself. Plus if you bruise him up, it gives him an excellent excuse to wear one of his many cute scarves! <3

Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez

This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone - Grimmjow is rough, aggressive and dominant and that's only refocused and enchanced in the bedroom. He doesn't think kinks are something that needs to be hidden or danced around - if he feels like squeezing that pretty little neck, he'll do it. It's actually one of his go-to moves he likes to do, so you can expect choking to be a regular occurrence unless you make it crystal clear to him it's off the table.

He fucking loves it, loves the fluttering of your pulse against his fingers, the little gasps, the way your body writhes helplessly beneath him…

It sends his predator instincts into overdrive. He normally has excellent control over his strength but he really has to remind himself not to put too much pressure on your delicate little windpipe. He likes to tease you with it too - like a cat will bat around a mouse and then watch it while it's stunned, he'll pin you down by the neck and tighten and loosen his grip over and over, watching you splutter for air whenever he gives you a reprieve.

Cirucci Sanderwicci

Just look at her, you know this girl is into BDSM and kinks that fall under that umbrella. She differs a little in how she likes to choke you though - she puts that whip of her to good use. Especially if you're bigger than her, she doesn't want to worry about her smaller hands not being up to the job. Also she likely just got her nails done!

She's got very good command of her whip and using it like a leash just feeds into her ego. Seeing any marks on your throat afterwards gives her an extra arousal boost and you might notice her fidgeting in place as she observes you.

Though she's got a sadistic streak a mile wide, Cirucci is also up for being dominated. She won't ask that you choke her, but if you surprise her with it then she'll gasp and arch her back. It's a little difficult for her to let her guard down and be submissive but once she does it's quite a rush. She looks good with a hand around her neck too, her lips parted as she struggles for breath. Don't go easy on her or she'll get offended you think she can't take it.

Gin Ichimaru

Of course this bastard-coated bastard likes to choke you out. Those long fingers of his practically beg to grip your neck - they fit so naturally well you'd think he was created with that very intention in mind. He likes to take his time with it too, slowly increasing the pressure over time until you've got black spots dancing in your vision.

He likes to bring you just to the edge of unconsciousness before he equally slowly relinquishes his grip, likes watching the lucidity return to your eyes like you're waking up from a dream. His favourite move is choking you just as you're about to come, watching you gasp in his hold as your orgasm crashes into you as you adjust to the lack of oxygen. When he first did it you thought you were going to implode.

Don't bother trying to cover up the marks on your neck either - Gin takes pride in the proof of the act. If you're wearing a scarf he'll kiss your neck and tug it off while you're distracted, or lick away concealer. He's such a shit.

Kenpachi Zaraki

Kenpachi's whole hand can wrap around the entirety of your neck, it's inevitable that he can't resist giving a little squeeze. He prefers to do it in little sharp bursts - prolonged choking can get a little boring, since holding you still with just his hand is child's play. Instead he'll simply press down without telling you when, and for a brief second it's like all the air has vanished, before it's abruptly back again. He especially likes to do this when you're riding him.

He knows how strong he is, though, so he's slightly more inclined to be careful. Snapping your neck mid-fuck would be a bit of a buzzkill. He'll massage your throat afterwards with his long, powerful fingers.

If you want to choke him, he'll laugh at you and tell you to go ahead! You have to wrap two hands around his throat and act like you're throttling him to get your money back for him to feel much of anything. He loves it, the look of concentration on your face, the feel of your nails digging into his skin. He'll egg you on, too. "Yeah? You wanna choke me out? That the best you got, baby?"

Nnoitra Gilga

You are a brave, possibly stupid, soul if you want the praying mantis to choke you. Nnoitra's hands are just as spindly as the rest of him, but he's got some freakish strength that belies his frame. He will slam you against the wall and crush your windpipe until you black out.

Another one who does it instinctively and he'll laugh at you if you beg him to stop or slow down. He doesn't really do gentle, so he doesn't know why you think this would be any different. He especially likes fucking you while you're semi or outright unconscious - you waking up to his cock rutting in and out of you gives him a thrill, like even oblivion won't spare you from his lust.

Likes to trace his fingerprints on your neck and smirks at your bloodshot eyes. Choking him back is very difficult to do with his hierro, but you could still repay the favour by trying to smother him while he's sleeping. He'll make you pay, but it will be worth it. Hollow Ichigo

Now, Ichigo doesn't really go in for choking. He prefers to be sweet to you during the nasty, even if he will get rougher as he gets more excited, so he'd be very hesitant to choke you.

But THIS motherfucker right here? He LOVES it. Lives for it. He could get himself off solely by pinning you down by the throat and watching your hands scrabbling at him, eyes widening and your feet kicking. He loves it. Loves making you so helpless and cute beneath your king~

He likes to press the pad of his thumb against a certain dip in your throat, leaving a little circular bruise right in the centre where it's hard to cover up. He loves the thought of you washing your face and catching a glimpse of it in the mirror, knowing it's a seal, a promise of a repeat performance.

#yumichika ayasegawa #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #Cirucci Sanderwicci #gin ichimaru #Kenpachi Zaraki #Nnoitra Gilga #Bleach headcanons #tw choking #somnophillia #Bleach #Hollow Ichigo

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 16 days

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I’ve always wondered why I’m so harsh on Zoe outside of just her character being used to it’s simplest degree (ie just being a replacement for Chloe) and I think I get it now.

Zoe is a perfect example of the “good/perfect victim”. The writers literally used her to downplay Chloe’s own abuse experiences by saying “See? Here’s a teen who was also abused at school and she turned out to be a sweetheart who’s so much better than Chloe in every way” blatantly ignoring She and Chloe possibly different home lives because Zoe had a different father.

As someone with experiences of toxic home lives I don’t appreciate it when abuse gets undermined especially parental and Zoe being used as a mouthpiece for what I guess can be summed up as abuse apologia made me think so lowly of her as a character.

Thoughts?

I actually just got another ask about my thoughts on Zoe, so I'll schedule this to post the same day since it's topical. In that post, I talked about why she bugs me and it's because she reads like the main character in an escapist self-insert power-fantasy fanfic. Once again, to be extra clear, those types of fanfic are FINE! Power fantasies and escapism are extremely valid things that are popular in professional works, too. For example, they basically dominate isekai and romance stories, but Zoe showcases exactly why characters like this only work as main characters in escapist fantasies. If you try to make them work as a normal side character, they just feel weird. Make them the main character or don't write them. Since she's not the lead, why is she even here?

I didn't consider the perfect victim angle in that other post, but now that you've brought it up, I'm wondering if that was indeed why she was introduced. Is she here to show that someone could have Chloe's mom and still come out to be a good person? The writers do seem really obsessed with that idea as we see from this moment in Derision:

Marinette: (as she goes down the stairs) I just got three more hours of detention on Saturday, and it's all because of Chloé. Rose: Don’t be mad at her. She's this way because her mother left her when she was young. Mylène: So did mine! And you don't see me having fun bullying Marinette. We've got to do something about your pants. I'm afraid they might be ruined for good.

This isn't even why people think that Chloe is the way she is? It's not just because her mother left. It's her father's terrible parenting, her absurd wealth, and the fact that her mother didn't actually leave. Audrey is still very much around, she just ignores Chloe most of the time and insults her on the rare occasions when they're in the same place. That's a recipe for disaster.

Sure, some people are lucky enough to come out being a good person in spite of their messed up home life and those who come out as jerks don't get a free pass to be jerks, but it's not like it's a total shock when bad home lives lead to people being jerks. The bully with a bad home life is a stereotype for a reason.

I'll once again point to The Good Place as an excellent show to watch if you want to see a realistic journey for a Chloe-like character. A journey that acknowledges the struggles that come from a messed up home life without giving the characters a free pass to use that home life as an excuse for their actions. Part of their journey is accepting that they have to stop blaming their parents and take charge of their lives.

Miraculous could have done something similar if it wasn't a formula show. The potential was there. But it is a formula show and the writers apparently don't think that Chloes are capable of change. I get that childhood bullies suck, I had one! I am very happy that she's no longer in my life, but I also don't think that she was incapable of change. She just needed to be put in the right situation where she accepted that change was needed and that never happened when we were kids. Has it happened since then? I don't know! Some people never change, but that doesn't mean that they can't change. Most of us are capable of changing. It just takes the right catalyst and a lot of hard work. People rarely start changing out of nowhere. It almost always has an inciting incident.

That's actually part of why Zoe's story feels so shallow. We're never really told why she was the way she supposedly was pre-canon or what caused her to change into her canon self. This is the backstory we get in Sole Crusher:

Zoé: I'm... really sorry about today. I thought that if I did everything Chloé wanted me to, she'd accept me. I just wanted to meet my family's expectations. Which is why I left New York in the first place. At the boarding school, I was playing a part; being someone else, hoping they'd accept me. But finally, I just couldn't anymore. That's when everyone turned against me, and one day, I found roaches in my locker. They all said I was a loser. Maybe they were right. I get that I'm different, and... I'd understand if you guys didn't want me as a friend.

So Zoe lied about everything and, when she revealed that she was a massive liar, everyone turned against her? Shocking. Why wouldn't they welcome a confirmed liar with open arms? That's so weird! (That was sarcasm.)

Seriously, why are we acting like Zoe was the wronged party here? This is literally Lila's story save for the motivation behind the actions (as far as we know). There are times when motivation matters, but this is not one of them. If you've spent weeks (months? years?) lying to people, then they're not going to trust you when the lies are revealed. Maybe you'll get lucky and someone will be willing to hear you out and give you a second chance, but that's an act of kindness. It's not an act of basic human decency.

This speed run story probably wants us to believe that everyone at Zoe's school was evil and that Zoe had to fake a personality to fit in, but I don't believe that. Writers, if you want me to believe it, then actually show us her story! You had a full New York special to do it! Why didn't you make Zoe the lead there since the specials love to introduce new characters to hog the screen? Have Zoe's school be the American school they go to and have her personality change be caused by Marinette and Co. so that Marinette and Co. trusting Zoe in Sole Crusher actually makes sense instead of feeling like something the plot forced on them! This is the scene I'm talking about, btw:

Marinette: (confused) I don't understand. When I met her this morning, she was so nice. Alya: That's crazy. Chloe's influence is so toxic that she's managed to corrupt her sister in a few hours. Alix: We gotta get her out of there.

Why are you all so sure that Marinette's two-minute-long interaction was the "real" Zoe and that her new personality is all Chloe's fault? Why are you acting like it's impossible to fake being nice but faking being evil is totally reasonable?

It really feels like this show is trying to say that people are either inherently good or inherently evil. Zoe was inherently good and just played at evil, so she's fine, but Chloe is just evil so she's doomed. That is really not how the world works, but now that I think about it, it does match the way the miraculous are often used. There are "evil" and "good" versions of some of the powers instead of just powers that can be used for good or evil. I've never liked that because it makes no sense. Why do akumas need a good form? Why is there an evil transformation phrase? Why do the miraculous even have an evil mode? Who programed that in???

While were on the topic of things that were possibly done just to show that Chloe is evil: is this why they made Jagged Stone an absentee parent to Luka and Juleka and then made the "twins" totally cool with it? Is the show trying to say, "Look! Luka and Juleka are nice! Therefore this is a Chloe problem. Stop blaming her parents!"

Who knows, but your idea certainly has merit. I wouldn't go so far as to claim that this must be what's going on, we don't know and I don't like to treat educated guesses as fact because they're not, but the text certainly has evidence to back this read.

#red-balloon12 #ml writing critical #ml writing salt #Zoe salt

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queenofapeacefuldawn · 9 months

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SPY × Family: Chapter 93 analysis

this is my first time doing something like this, and I'm no expert so please take my analysis with a grain of salt! all of this is my own theories, so you might disagree with me. please don't be mean, though (also, long post incoming!)

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 93 UNDER THE CUT

The chapter opens with the Eden kids getting the results of their marks, with Anya's...

overall rank shooting up, from 213th to 168th. Showing how she's slowly adjusting to the school and its pace of learning, despite being younger than everyone else (and, also, presumably doing extremely advanced things.... I remember seeing the pythagorean theorem on the board once in the anime)

Damian got highest in History (good job, buddy!), and Anya got second-highest in Classical Language (the one exam she genuinely studied hard for). But what I want to focus on is her expression:

Shock. She'd put up that front (that fake-face, if you will) in front of Becky, Damian, Emile and Ewen, pretending to be all cool and suave but when she sees her results, she's genuinely surprised to get good marks in Classical Language. And even her excited reaction. She was scared of disappointing Twilight (and maybe even Sigmund and Barbara) because she'd genuinely worked hard for this exam, tried to understand, and gave it her best attempt.

But, then, it all comes crashing down with her 24 points in math: but a win is a win!

Maybe this is Twilight's turning point in the fact that acquiring knowledge can be interesting, exciting, and not just a tool of survival? Twilight himself doesn't have a great relationship with studying, (see: his father scolding him as a child for not studying, later: his friends dying because he didn't know enough about the campaign they were going on... but Twilight's relationship with knowledge and its pursuit is a whole other post in itself).

Honestly, him realising that Anya is actually thriving in the setup where education is fun for her, opens up two new avenues:

Twilight himself trying to make learning fun for Anya (unlikely, he tried that before... it didn't work.)

Him leaning on Sigmund and Barbara to tutor Anya (this seems more likely- Endo is probably going to cement the Authens as recurring characters, so them being Anya's surrogate grandparents/neighbors/tutors would seem like a great way to do so!

And then...

My main focus is on the fact that he mumbles this (also his face. But that's irrelevant). Twilight may claim, "I don't understand children", but he's an extremely perceptive man. As much as I love to clown on him, he's highly skilled at picking up on cues of people's feelings. The few times he's failed are mostly due to Anya's shenanigans trying to hide her telepathy, mixed with his usual flavour of overthinking.

But the couple of things he knows about Anya are this:

She was probably raised in an environment where Classical Language was used.

She's not fond of talking about or remembering her past.

Which is why he didn't have the heart to fully sound out the question. In the case of Anya, this is an extremely delicate matter, and he doesn't want to upset her (or, in his words, "ruin Operation Strix.") The way he asked the question and it's portrayed made it feel like he'd been pondering on it for quite a while (which he has; since the beginning of the Cruise Arc), but more so usually. Most likely due to her high marks in the Classical Language tests (aka a dead language), and the fact that she got excellent marks in it, despite formally studying it for less than a year (at least, as far as he (and we) know.) He's been thinking of the possibility, and also thinking of a way to ask her. In the end, when he does ask her—

she lies.

and he lets her. (at least, that's my interpretation)

Obviously, he knows she's not ready to speak about it yet (though we know it's probably connected to her telepathy, so she's not ready to divulge that info).

Look, as much as I love talking about how clueless he is with his own feelings, in this scene, he was just... perceptive? I don't know if that's the right word. But he was trying to keep Anya happy, and bringing up this complex topic without ensuring proper care for her wouldn't be fair to her. And he knows that. So, he leaves it at, "Just forget about it, okay?"

This entire scene felt so... tense, and in itself felt like a fucking gut punch, so I don't know how I'll react to the reveal.)

And now, onto the main focus of the chapter:

him.

If I'm being honest, I thought Demetrius was, like, 16-19 (judging by his voice in the anime), and not... fucking twelve.

Honestly, that just makes his character all the more tragic: he's barely a teenager, and yet... he's going through this. From his awards ceremony, we can see that he got, what, 6 stellas? In addition to the eight he's gotten to be an Imperial Scholar, and if he performs this well in every exam... bro is literally hoarding the Stella supply of the school (sorry, bad joke).

But...

this panel comes up. It's definitely not Anya's telepathy malfunctioning, (heck, it works on Bond and even penguins). Honestly, I think, again, it could be one of two things:

He was experimented on, like Anya

He was trained, (most likely by Donovan), to keep his mind blank.

We're told that he and Donovan had an extremely close relationship:

This could be in support of both the theories: it could be Donovan checking up on his "experiment's" progress (a crude term to refer to him), or, it could have been him subconsciously training Demetrius to hide his thoughts, keep them safe. Anya's project is connected to Desmond's administration, and at the time she was "made", Demetrius would have been around 7 or 8. Old enough for him to figure out what he wanted to have been in life (ofc, that's different for everyone! It takes time, and 8 is an extremely young age to figure out what one wants to do). But, like, how Damian wants to be a politician, it's most likely that Demetrius, the prodigal, studious, first child, would have to follow the path of politics laid before him.

So it could have been Donovan teaching Demetrius to protect his sensitive thoughts from the "weapons" he himself was making: the test subject(s) of Anya's project (again, a crude term to refer to them). Donovan was putting a lot of faith into creating telepaths (most likely for covert work), and them having unwavering loyalty to his administration was not very likely.

And, even if Anya's project was the work of another administration or even country, there's no doubt that Donovan would want to keep his thoughts hidden from these kinds of spies: ones than can see into your very mind, especially if the world is at war: a physical battle or a war for information.

The first theory of Demetrius himself being a test subject is probably Not What Happened; so I think it's probably just Demetrius being trained to keep his thoughts hidden.

But then, we get some of his thoughts:

Which is a lot reminiscent of:

So, it's probable that Demetrius imbibed this from his dad.

It's honestly a bit scary to see how Donovan's "parenting" has affected him: for him, age 12, to be like this.

After this, the chapter ends lightheartedly: Anya trying to emulate Demetrius, and Loid Being Tired™️.

I'm mostly curious about Demetrius: I was so excited when he was finally revealed! But I hope we get to see more of his thoughts, soon. Especially more about his relationship with Damian. But, this chapter was fantastic!

(This was super fun to do- if i do posts like this for chapters as they come out, would you all like it? Again, I'm not an expert in psychology (or even analysis). It's just me and my silly lil thoughts. I hope you liked it!)

#spy x family #spy x family manga #spy x family manga spoilers #spy x family chapter 93 #loid forger #spy x family chapter 93 spoilers #agent twilight #twilight #anya forger #subject 007 #sigmund authen #barbara authen #donovan desmond #demetrius desmond #damian desmond

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whoreseason · 17 days

Text

RANDOM JAMES MARCH HEADCANONS

CW for murder, drug use mentions, and discussions of trauma/implied child abuse

I think he excels at doing cocaine. I don’t know how to explain what I mean though

He's done quite a lot of it in his life but no longer does, not only because his ass is dead and he can't get high but because such crass indulgences remind him of his younger days

He’d wear women’s perfume if it were more socially acceptable but his ideas around masculinity refuse to let him do this

His hair is naturally a bit curly and he has spent years gelling it into submission

Is 5'8 and rather small build-wise

Despite his size, he can really, really hold his own in a fight, though he fights very dirty. Hand to hand fighting triggers something in him and he does it with pure rage. His opponent will be on the ground before they know it and he'll probably have killed them before he realizes what he's doing

Is a bit resentful of his babyface, as well as his height, and wishes he were both taller and more mature looking

Growing out a mustache was influenced by this

Also deeply resentful of the phrase “prettyboy”, which he’s heard a fair amount

Either puts lifts in his shoes or wears slightly heeled ones. Do NOT bring this up

Has been smoking since he was 12 or so

His eye twitches just slightly when he’s annoyed. It’s often his only outward tell

His only two modes of expressing irritation/anger are “irritated but not showing it” or “literally screaming”

I feel like we as a fandom don’t talk about his canonical temper enough. This individual has probably thrown a fork into a maid’s eye because she got the placement of a napkin wrong

His original accent is lower class Boston, and while this may not be a headcanon, I feel the need to bring this up. His actual voice may sound more like Kit's than anything

Speaks a bit of French and Latin, largely in an attempt to fit in with the old money upper class

Started drinking pretty hard very young, maybe when he was around 12 or 13? And was basically an alcoholic throughout his teenage years

Barely went to school growing up and was more or less able to charm his way into university

Is embarrassed of his Irish heritage. He's a product of his time

Killed his first victim in a rage episode in an alley behind a bar somewhere when he was 16

His first victims were impulsive kills along these lines, but his motives switched from triggered anger to relying on it as he went on, and by the time he was in university he'd get tightly wound and restless if he'd gone a week without it

Took various traits from his first victims-- ways of lighting a cigarette, vocal quirks, body language tics, that sort of thing. As the number racked up and his designed personality become more fleshed out he stopped doing this, but he carries his first kills with him through certain mannerisms, though it's now subconscious

Also took various traits from movie stars and book characters. Spent a lot of time at the cinema as a young man finding things on screen to make a part of himself

Is so very, very fake. Has constructed basically every aspect of his presentation and outward personality

He hates being reminded of who he was before, who he truly was-- he’ll reference parts of his childhood in the context of who he is now and what he's had to overcome, but it’s more like he’s using pieces of his past to construct a story about himself. Anything vulnerable or authentic to that part of his life he won’t bring up, he doesn’t even let it cross his mind

Has worked very, very carefully to suppress his flinching instinct at sudden noise or movement, but sometimes it still comes out when he’s snuck up on

Used to wake up screaming sometimes when he was alive

Would just as often wake up crying, which he quite hated. He never remembered what those dreams were about

He’s glad that he doesn’t sleep anymore and can thus avoid all that. Which is what he loves to do with his memories or any sign of emotional vulnerability, avoid it. Good luck trying to get him to open up about anything

Love you grandpa

#james patrick march #jpm #james march #american horror story #ahs #ahs hotel #headcanons #imakestuff #drug use //#murder //#child abuse //

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writerblue275 · 8 months

Text

How the Heartsteel members would take care of a sick/injured S/O.

Inspiration: Extremely self-serving, but I don’t care. I’m currently in the midst of a chronic illness episode. For me that involves an ungodly headache that can last for straight days, if not weeks, and other bs. All because my body can’t handle sodium 😭. If I don’t do something to distract myself, I’m going to cry, and I’d rather not do that, so here we gooooo.

Genre: Headcanon

Type: Fluff (very very slight angst in the concept [if you squint] just because you don’t feel good).

Gender: Gender Neutral Reader

Tw: None! This is pure fluff. 🥰

Aphelios

Aphelios would actually be a great caretaker.

I think a lot of this comes from an excellent example. We know Alune took care of Aphelios when he was injured/after his surgeries. Since he was the recipient of her wonderful care, he knows what to do.

Extremely prepared. He’ll work from your place as much as possible so he can be close by (he has that little mobile keyboard set up shown in his “what’s in my bag” pic). Excellent at running out to grab supplies/medication (I feel like he has an excellent memory so you just need to tell/show him something once). Also phenomenal at making sure you take your meds on schedule and changing any dressings/wraps.

If for some reason an extra set of hands is needed or Phel needs further advice on how to best care for you, you know who he’s texting? Alune! She is happy to help however she can because you’re her friend too and she hates knowing you’re sick/in pain.

I feel like Phel’s immune system is pretty strong so even if you were contagious, he’d cuddle you. If he was really worried, there’s always his mask. (Makes my public health heart sing.) He has many extras so you can snag one too in order to be doubly safe. You get those healing cuddles!

Ezreal

This is where Ezreal’s typical golden retriever energy is extra useful!!

Like genuinely I think Ez is a really really sweet “nurse” and will do an excellent job of taking care of you. Or at the very least, he’s great at distracting you and making you smile so you don’t feel as shitty/in pain.

I can’t see Ez cooking tbh (mood), but he is more than happy to order delivery/run to grab whatever carry out whenever you want it. If he can’t do it because he needs to stay with you for some reason, he’s texting Alune and the boys and practically begging them to help him out. (One of them always does. They love you and want you to heal.)

Also happy to run out to grab whatever supplies you need. This sweet green bean is so eager to help you heal that not only will he grab what you ask for, he’ll also grab other things that you might not need. He’s of the mindset it’s better to be overprepared rather than underprepared.

I can’t see Ezreal wanting to cuddle if you’re contagious, tbh, which is fair, but he’ll definitely make sure you have all the blankets and pillows you need. He will sit near-ish to you though and hold your hand. And if you’re not contagious? Oh he’s clinging to you as much as you want him to.

Kayn

Ok…so…this isn’t Kayn’s specialty as a partner, let’s be honest here.

Kayn is an amazing partner in so many other ways, but he’s not exactly...naturally nurturing? BUT that doesn’t mean he’s not going to try. He knows you need him, so he’s really going to put in a lot of effort to try and take care of you as best he can. (This secretly sweet rockstar!)

Kayn might fake grumble about it, but he will definitely go out and get whatever supplies you need. You may need to take a picture of a label/find one on the internet but he’s got you! (“Baby, there are so many CHOICES. How do I know which is the right one? I don’t want to get something you don’t need!”)

The first time you were sick/injured and he was with you, he texted the HS group chat for advice on how to take care of you and shocked everyone. (That was the moment the rest of HS knew Kayn was really head over heels for you. 🥹 <- Their faces as they read the texts.)

One thing I cannot see him doing is cuddling you when you’re sick (unless you’re not contagious). He doesn’t want to get sick himself. He will tuck you in and give you surprisingly soft forehead kisses though. He says they’re to check your temp but you know they’re to show he cares.

K’Sante

K’Sante is another member who just gives off such excellent and caring vibes. He has to come from a big, close-knit family, because he gives eldest brother vibes through and through.

Because of this, he’s perfect at taking care of you when you’re sick or injured. He’s done the same thing for his siblings/cousins many times.

Even though Sett is officially the best cook, I still fully believe K’Sante can throw down in the kitchen. Whenever possible, he’s making everything from scratch for you. You deserve it, after all. His meals alone will have you starting to feel way better.

He is fully stocked on OTC meds, ice packs, bandages, whatever you need. As a gym bro, K’Sante can get pretty sore, so he’s already got that stuff around for himself. Also, anything you need picked up, he’s got that taken care of.

As the eldest who took care of his younger family members, K’Sante’s immune system is PREPARED. Unless it is before a really big event, he would be fine cuddling you, even if you’re contagious. If it is close to a big event then he’s understandably a little more hesitant (he does have obligations to HS) but he’ll still be nearish to you and hold your hand so you know he’s there.

Sett

Ooooooh baby this is Sett’s time to fucking SHINE.

He was raised by his incredible Ma! Like of course Sett’s going to be really fucking good at taking care of you. (He already does an excellent job of doing that when you’re not sick/injured.)

We know he’s the best cook in the group so homemade soup/whatever comfort food you want/need you will have and it will be delicious. Really good about reminding you to take any meds you need to (he sets a reminder in his phone). Also fully stocked on OTC meds, medical wraps, ice packs, etc. Like he is PREPARED. (Perks of loving a gym bro.)

Happy to give you cuddles if that will help. I feel like Sett is another member that has an immune system of steel, so even if you’re sick, he’s still cuddling you if you want him to. (You definitely do like 95% of the time because how could you not?? Sett cuddles sound fucking elite!)

Worst-case scenario and you get sick while he’s traveling? He makes sure you are in the very best hands possible and sends in the big guns. That’s right, he has Ma come over to check on you/stay with you if need be (which she is happy to do because she adores you and loves how happy you make her son).

Yone

I think Yone would be a phenomenal “nurse!”

He might come across as cold/intimidating to those who don’t know him, but you always bring the soft side of him out. That’s totally applicable when you’re sick. Sweet Yone incoming!!

He cared for his younger brother Yasuo when he was sick or injured, so he is well versed in what supplies are useful for a multitude of ailments. Is well stocked on all of it too. If for some reason you need something and he doesn’t have it, he’s remedying that ASAP.

I’ve been thinking about whether or not Yone cooks. My gut says not really besides breakfast food. While he’s not going to make you homemade soup/your comfort food, you bet he’s asking Sett or K’Sante to make some for you. (They’re happy to do so. You keep your their producer sane. Helping you is self-preservation 😂.)

While he’s likely been injured many times, I feel like this beautiful motherfucker (affectionate!!) has never been ill a day in his life. His immune system is just that strong. Whatever the issue, he is down to give you whatever cuddles you desire. (I’m bringing back my headcanon of cuddly Yone and NO ONE CAN STOP ME 😋.) Enjoy the forehead kisses and sweet little verbal check-ins.

#heartsteel #heartsteel headcanons #heartsteel x reader #reader insert #headcanon #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel kayn #heartsteel k'sante #heartsteel sett #heartsteel yone #heartsteel fluff

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zombieunicorngamerzu · 1 year

Text

Jackie Taylor x fem reader

(Jackie Taylor x fem reader - reader with body dysmorphia)

[Warnings - Talk of eating disorders and body dysmorphia, closeted lesbians, love confession, first times, body worship, praise, gentle soft-top Jackie, fingering, oral, vibrator, thigh riding]

You were checking yourself in the locker room mirror for the fifth time, frowning with focus as you pulled down on your shirt, sucking in. You had always been a curvier girl, always comparing yourself to every other girl you saw and thinking in your mind, “That’s what a normal body looks like, skinny, toned, pretty, while you were just curvy, thick, chubby as every single guy you spoke to would say. That’s one of the reasons you were now a closeted lesbian, I mean, it was 1996, lesbians weren’t really excepted and the only open lesbian you knew was Van, she was a really good friend to you and she had close to the same body type as you, but she had confidence and you just didn’t, you wished you could be as non-caring as her.

Jackie frowned from the corner as she did Shauna’s paint for the field, she always kept an eye on you, as the leader of the team and one of your friends she had to, but also it may be because she feels a little something more… But anyways, she kept seeing you tug at your uniform. Jackie kinda knew you always had problems with body confidence and eating, you always denied snacks or food when offered and only ever ate an apple or a granola bar for lunch. She tried multiple times to offer you food but you always said you liked eating the same thing every day, that it gave you routine and structure. The way you said it made Jackie worry, she always worried about you because she knows of your family life. Your parents, whom she met on occasions were super overprotective, Christian, conservative, republican people who sheltered you way too much, you were actually homeschooled only until this year when you finally got your parents to let you go to school just so you could play soccer.

At first your parents didn’t agree, saying how they didn’t want you to wear the uniforms that were too short, but you were able to get a custom uniform online with sleeves that went down to your elbows and shorts that went down to your knees and you promised them that you would excel and you’d get amazing grades. It put a extreme amount of pressure on you to be perfect all the time, sometimes you forgot to eat, or you’d skip lunch and go to study hall instead. Everybody on the team really worried about you because of this, especially Jackie, Lottie, and Van. Luckily this year at school you had kept up with the perfect image, getting straight A’s, behaving good at home and school, and doing your absolute grueling best at soccer and practice so you could show your parents that you were the best, even your coach told you that you needed to relax at some point, but you always just said you liked to work and move, it keeps you distracted.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay? Jackie spoke with concern as she walked over to you, pulling you out of your thoughts, giving her a quick smile which she saw straight through as you spoke, “Yeah, I’m fine, just fixing my shirt.” She only nodded and crossed her arms, giving you a gentle look, “That’s the sixth time you’ve fixed your shirt Y/N, look, you look gorgeous, okay?” She smiled brighter as she turned you to face yourself in the mirror, making you blush simply from her hands on your shoulders as she looked at you through the mirror, “Even with this baggy conservative ass uniform, your one of the very few that can pull it off and make it look sexy.” She finished, making your heart speed up, (Did Jackie really think you were sexy?) “I’m not really going for sexy, I don’t like when people notice me like that.” You mumbled out, you really liked to just be invisible. You loved to be the best at things, but you never wanted to be noticed for your efforts.

“Well then, sorry toots but you are, your pretty and so sexy that even with this uniform that covers up all your good bits, you have the boys always drooling after you like dogs with a bone.” She complimented you, Jackie was tying to hype you up, to be the team leader and give you a pep talk, but really all it did was make you embarrassed and shy, blushing, you didn’t really believe her, every time you got compliments you thought they were out of pity, of coarse Jackie would give you compliments, she’s perfect. “Isn’t that right girls, Y/N is absolutely beautiful?” She yelled out with a smile, getting rounds of playful wolf-whistled, noises, “Damn straight!” Van called out with a smile while whipping Taissa with a towel, making her jump and nod. “Yeah, Y/N, you have no idea how pretty you are, I wish I had your curves honestly.” Lottie just smiled and walked up to you with that little head tilt she does, her eyes soft as she reached for your hands, looking you in the eyes, “Y/N, you shouldn’t even waste time worrying about your looks, your absolutely adorable and one of our best players, we all see how hard you work yourself, your beautiful and you shouldn’t ever think otherwise.” You smiled tenderly at Lottie’s little pep talk, but Jackie, Jackie honestly felt a wave of jealousy watching Lottie with you, a quick frown crossing her face, (Why did Lotties pep talk comfort you but hers didn’t, what’s so special about Lottie?” She thought, unconsciously dropping her hands from your shoulders to your waist to hug you from behind and nuzzle your shoulder with a smile, pretending to playfully pull you back against her in a “friendly” hug and totally not just doing that to get you away from Lottie.

You just laughed a little with a pink blush from all the attention, compliments, and Jackie’s hug, your heart was pattering so fast you were terrified Jackie would feel it or somehow see how you had this overwhelming crush on her. Jackie finally pulled back from the hug, calling the girls so you could head out onto the field and start practice, “Alright, let’s go Yellowjackets!” She cheered with a jump before you were all jogging out onto the field for another day of grueling practice. You worked your ass off like usual, only today you were driven by anger, or self-hatred, you were running and sweating, trying to mentally burn off as many calories as possible, really pushing yourself today, and it didn’t help that the softball boys were practicing right on the open field beside the team, shouting wolf-whistles and gross compliments. It only spurred you on more, which the team seemed to notice your attitude, getting some worried glances from the girls and coach, but Jackie was paying the most attention, coming over to you after practice as you were sitting on the grass, panting heavily while tying your shoes, sitting down next to you, “Hey, Y/N, nice footwork out there, what’s got you so pumped?” She tried to seem like she was teasing, her smile as she nudged your shoulder with hers, nodding over towards the boys, “You trying to make a good show for the boys?”

She just teased lightheartedly, Jackie really hoped that you didn’t like any of the boys, but she just wanted to use that as an excuse. She didn’t know if you were interested in her the way she was into you, and really, Jackie herself was severely confused about her sexuality but after so many nights fantasizing about what it would be like to be with a girl, only being able to masterbate and cum to the thought of girls, she assumed she was definitely lesbian. Even when she was dating Jeff she had to fake so many orgasms, she was only with him to try to convince herself to be straight, but eventually she just knew it would never work so she broke it off. You frowned at her question, you always got so worked up when Jackie would tease you about being interested In boys, that’s one of the reasons why Jackie did it, she thought you were adorable when you got flustered, your scoff as you looked up at her, “What? Of coarse not, they disgust me just from their stares.” You grumbled out, that was the truth, men just disgusted you, even from a young age while girls were fawning and gushing over boys you never got that attraction, you forced yourself to “date” like three boys in your lifetime and every single time all they ever said was, (They liked that you were thicker than other girls.) It just made you feel disgusted by your own body, knowing that was all you were seen for was… heartbreaking for you, and you grew a hated towards men instead. “You were just really working yourself out there, even Lottie couldn’t keep up with you.” Jackie chuckled with a worried look, but you were too busy looking down at your shoes, sighing, ��Look Jackie, I’m fine, I just wanted to do my best.”

“Oh that was definitely your best, I’m proud of you.” Jackie smiled, putting her hand on your back in soothing rubs, making you soften a little bit and blush, looking up at her with a more sullen look of defeat, you were really tired and it was hard to keep hiding your feelings, Jackie’s expression softened too at your look, silently giving you a look of understanding as she spoke gently, “Hey, it’s Friday, how about you text your parents and ask if you can spend the night for a sleepover at my place?” You immediately smiled a little at the idea, your parents met Jackie already and they got the best impression from her and met her parents, they thought Jackie was the perfect little princess, (due to Jackie’s amazing acting skills) she won your parents trust and favor. So when you texted your parents while getting dressed in the locker room after practice, you got a yes as long as you were home by Sunday for church. Smiling at your phone before shutting your locker, you looked over at Jackie with excitement and relief, “They said I could-“ Jackie cut you off with a teasing smile and tone with her hands on her hips, “As long as your home by Sunday, yeah, yeah.” You giggled at Jackie which made her only smile more, she loved it when she got to make you smile or laugh, you rarely ever did due to your constant state of stress, so she treasured those moments.

“Come on, let’s go.” Jackie smiled as she jingled her keys, giving you a playful look as she wiggled her brows, you just smiled gently with a nod, grabbing your duffel bag before heading out with her to the parking lot. You got stopped by Jeff and some of his boys in a truck next to Jackie’s car, you could practically predict some sexual remarks as soon as you saw their smiles and stares, like predators with their prey, Jackie grabbed your hand immediately with a confident look on her face, leaning closer to you to speak gently, “Hey, don’t worry, their just assholes, ignore them.” She gave you a gentle squeeze with your hand in hers, you always felt so protected by Jackie, it made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, your heart was pounding as she led you to her car, one of the boys shouting out from the trunk of the truck, “Hey, church mouse, show us your tits!” Jackie glared burning holes into the guys, that was your name at school, church mouse, it was derogatory because you were quiet, more private, and just a good girl overall. “Fuck off pervs, you wish!” Jackie spat back at them with a roll of her eyes, guiding you into her car before she got in on the other side, slamming the door and putting a tape in to turn on some music and drown out the guys before pulling out of the parking lot. “Hey, I’m sorry about those assholes, men only think one thing, sex, my mom always told me that.” Jackie gives you a gentle smile which you were grateful for. “It’s fine, thanks for standing up for me.” Jackie just nodded, her expression was so caring, reaching her hand over to place on your knee with a gentle squeeze, “Always.”

You got to Jackie’s house in about 30 minutes, she didn’t live too far, getting out of the car with your bag as she led you inside her house. Jackie’s parents were on vacation, which you didn’t know about, having the huge house all to yourselves which Jackie was practically jumping with excitement about as she led you up to her bedroom to settle in. “Are you hungry?” Jackie asked as soon as you both settled in, sitting down on her bed beside you, “I can order pizza or something while you take a shower.” She spoke with a hopeful tone that you’d say yes, she hadn’t seen you eat for the past couple of days and she noticed you’d lost some weight, your uniform shorts getting baggier than usual. You frowned at her words, you didn’t wanna say no and have her be suspicious, but also you didn’t wanna eat pizza, terrified of gaining weight. Jackie must have seen the worry and stress on your face, sitting up more in her bed to sit on her knees and take your hands, smiling reassuringly as she shook her head, “Or I can go downstairs and make us both fruit salads, Dad just got some fruit at the market the other day.” She tried to find to find someway to get you to relax and eat, “Because I’m starving, how does that sound.” You felt a wave of relief at her alternative suggestion, fruit wouldn’t hurt you as long as you didn’t overdue it, nodding with a small smile, “Yeah, sure, if it’s not too much trouble for you, I’m sorry to make you do that for me.” You apologized before she shook her head, “No, no, Y/N, i love doing things for you, go take a shower and I’ll come back up with a bowl for us and we can watch movies and just relax.” She smiled affectionately, getting out of bed swiftly.

You just nodded and headed to Jackie’s bathroom, she had one attached to her bedroom. You decided to take a quick hot shower, getting out once you were done before realizing you forgot to grab a change of clothes from your bag, cursing as you walked back into Jackie’s room, she wasn’t back yet so you just thought to drop your towel and get dressed, but unlucky or lucky for you Jackie was literally right at the door, holding two bowls, stopped with a burning blush and her mouth open as she caught a glimpse of your beautiful body through a wide crack in the door, since it was just you two, neither of you thought to close doors really. Jackie blinked a couple of times just in shock, you were so gorgeous, she just wanted to walk in and do unholy things to you, but she had to keep her secret until she was sure you weren’t straight. She decided to do a alternative, pretending to walk in with a loud. “OH! Sorry, Y/N, I thought you’d be done already.” She spoke quickly as she turned around quickly, you jumped with a burning blush on your cheeks at her having seen you naked, quickly pulling your shirt and shorts on, “God, I’m sorry Jackie- I didn’t even think.” She cut you off with a shake of her head before turning around once you were dressed with a blush, “No, hey- it’s okay, we’re both girls.” She chuckled out nervously, trying to hide the fact that she is blushing so hard not from embarrassment but from attraction to you, handing you a bowl of fruit which you took before sitting back in a beanbag chair in her room, there was a couple moments of awkward silence as you took a few hesitant bites while Jackie met your eyes a few times, “Y/N, you know your beautiful, right?” Her sudden words caught you off guard, rolling your eyes with a sigh which Jackie caught, “Hey, I’m serious Y/N, you are.” You just shook your head, speaking out mid-chew,

“Of coarse you’d say that, your literally perfect Jackie.” Your words made her blush with a soft smile as she stared over at you with a affectionate look. “I’m not perfect, but thank you.” She spoke shyer, shrugging before speaking again as she sat down her bowl, watching you eat while biting her lip, she was trying to be careful with what she said. “Y/N, can I tell you something?” You looked up at the hesitancy In her tone, nodding as you gave her your full attention as she stood up to sit closer to you in her bed, “I have a crush, on this person… and I’m not sure they feel the same way I do.” You felt your heart shatter at her words, at seeing your brief expression because she felt her heart flutter with hope, just a friend wouldn’t look so devastated at her best friends confession, you didn’t really know what to say except, “Oh, um, well- why don’t you just tell them, be blunt, the worst they can do is say no.” You shrugged, you were always a no none sense, blunt kinda person, you hated wasting time and beating around the bush. Jackie just smiled and chuckled at your advice, she always admired your advice, looking down as she spoke, “It’s not that easy, their a friend of mine and I don’t wanna ruin our friendship.” You shifted in your spot with empathy for her, it felt super awkward to give her relationship advice while your heart was breaking at the thought of Jackie being with anyone, “If they make you happy and it’s torture not being with them, isn’t it worth the risk instead of suffering?” You spoke from your heart, realizing how close you and Jackie were when you saw her nod, her eyes briefly flickering down to your lips, god- you were such a hypocrite, and fuck- why is she so pretty?

“She’s too important for me to loose.” Jackie spoke out softly before her eyes widened, realizing what she just confessed when she saw your expression change, it wasn’t hard to click the pieces together just the, she meant you, Jackie liked you? You knew it was you as soon as she said, she. Jackie quickly just took in your shocked expression before catching you copy her, your eyes flickering down to her lips, making her swallow and slowly lean in closer, her heart racing when you didn’t pull away, her hand reaching up to your cheek before she pressed her lips against yours in a slow, passionate, deep kiss, sighing out against your lips in pure relief when you started to kiss her back. You were so happy you couldn’t help but smile against her lips, making her smile too, pulling away with such a bright smile it made your heart flutter, the both of you catching your breath as you stared into each others eyes, her voice was a little raspier than normal, making you flush, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Her words shocked you, you were so sure Jackie was straight, you’d trained yourself to be heartbroken and miserable your whole friendship with Jackie while watching her with Jeff, but now she was confessing she liked you? It felt like a dream. You just stared at her with this look in your eyes that made Jackie heat up, you looked so adorable to her, leaning back closer as she sat up on her knees, cupping your cheek with a soft tone,

“Your so beautiful… please, let me show you how beautiful I think you are.” Jackie husked out while slowly pushing you down on her bed, carefully straddling your lap with a shutter when she felt how hot you were against her core through the thin fabric of both of yours sleep shorts, god she was embarrassingly wet already, sighing out as her eyes fluttered, looking down at you as she gently slid her hands under your shirt to your hips, rasping out, “Is this okay, Y/N?” She asked you gently, watching your expression for any signs of discomfort. You just nodded with a breathy, “Yes, Jackie…” She smiled down at you so sexy, rolling her tongue against her teeth before leaning down to kiss you slow and deep, nibbling on your bottom lip a few times as she rolled her hips for the first time, the noise you made against Jackie’s lips made her groan, pulling back with a nuzzle to your nose, tugging your shirt off over your head, “Your so fucking perfect, Y/N, I swear to god…” she spoke with such passion and adoration as she squirmed in your lap to sit back and kiss down your neck to your chest, her hand sliding behind your back for your bra clasp, making you shutter as she spoke again for consent, her breath against your ear as she pushed down against you, “Can I?” You were hesitant this time which she noticed immediately, skipping your bra to rub your back and pepper more kisses across your gave this time which made you giggle, “Jackie…”

She smiled at your giggles, “What? I’m just appreciating the beautiful baby girl I have under me.” Her words made you blush, rolling your eyes before Jackie cupped your chin and guided your eyes back to hers with a more sensual tone, “I mean it, Y/N, I mean it when I say your beautiful and perfect and sweet and gorgeous…” The more she spoke the more embarrassed you got, so you decided to change the roles, pushing up your hips before grabbing Jackie’s waist to flip the two of you, getting a surprised squeal from her as her head hit the pillows, the bed squeaking as you threw your leg over her waist to straddle her instead, you had a tendency to get defensive or controlling when embarrassed or vulnerable, leaning down to husk against her hips with a lustful look,

“I think the beautiful one here is you, why don’t I show you instead?” Jackie just blushed, biting her lip, she wanted to worship you, to show you that you were gorgeous and that she wanted to take care of you, but also she didn’t wanna deny you the pleasure of getting to take control either if that’s what you needed, she’d be happy to receive.

“H-hey um- I have a vibrator in my dresser if-“ You were already reaching for her nightstand before she finished, making Jackie smile as she sat up on her elbows, laughing as you almost fell out of bed, you were just too eager and excited to see how Jackie would respond to pleasure, I mean you thought about, fantasized about it, but to get the real thing? Oh god… You were quick to crawl back to her side, and oh god, the smile on Jackie’s face was so adorable, like she only had eyes for you, leaning down to kiss her delicately before clicking on the tiny pink vibrator, deepening the kiss as you spread her thighs open more, making her sigh out against your lips, her eyes fluttering as you pressed the vibrator to her clit, moaning into your mouth with a shaky gasp, “Y-Y/N, O-Oh fuck- baby…” she was already panting against your lips, laying back in a arch as you circled the vibrator around her clit.

You bit your lip with a soft moan at watching her, making Jackie get louder. Jackie was panting, trembling, and squirming as she gripped at her sheets. When she heard your soft breathes and moans it only spurred her on, her voice getting higher and shakier before screaming slightly as you turned the vibe on a higher pace with a smile, “Y/N!” You only giggled out innocently, sliding your free hand up her torso to her cheek, caressing it while pressing the vibe harder against her clit, wiggling it as you leant down to nuzzle her cheek with a kiss, husking out the words that sent her over the edge, “Cum for me, Jackie…”

As soon as Jackie heard those words and locked eyes with you, she was gasping quickly and tensing, her face twisting into a pained-pleasurable expression while her mouth dropped open in a breathy-whiney moan while trying to maintain eye contact, she came harder than she ever had, screaming out at the intensity of her orgasm and the stimulation on her clit, crying as she lurched up, kissing you roughly so you could swallow her whimpers, slowly calming down into breathy pants, you watched as she slowly started to slump back down in a flushed mess, taking the vibrator off her clit before laying next to her, kissing her cheek, “Your so beautiful Jackie…” she chuckled out breathlessly before whining, her face scrunching up, “I was supposed to make you feel cared for, not the other way around…” You just giggled, you feel alot more comfortable at Jackie’s side after making her cum.

Suddenly after a couple minutes of snuggling and silence, Jackie sat up with a soft look before reaching for your shorts with a experimental tug while locking eyes with you, asking for permission, “A-Are you okay with me- you know… using my mouth on you?” Jackie spoke out so softly, a timid look on her face as she bit her lip with such a pouty look like a puppy, “Please? I wanna taste you, Y/N…” she practically whined out, making you whine at her cuteness, feeling a little embarrassed and self conscious about what she’s going to think about seeing you but Jackie just tapped your thigh, she saw you overthinking so she kissed your inner thigh, “Baby? Hey, i mean it when i say your beautiful. Every. Single. Fucking. Part. Of. You.” She spoke out between kisses as she slowly pulled off your shorts and panties, she looked completely in awe at the sight of your soaked pussy, her breath quickening as you saw her pupils dilate, her lips twitching into a smile, she looked disheveled, wild, primal, she looked like she wanted to devour you.

And devour you, she did.

Jackie immediately got to work at the first nod of permission, she didn’t use her vibrator, she didn’t need it, she was determined to pleasure you and she damn well was gonna show you how much she meant she cared about you, crawling up into her knees as she bent down into a arch, spreading your thighs open while rubbing her hands up and down your inner thighs soothingly, she thought your thighs were so soft and squishy, mumbling out to you, “I can’t wait to have you squeeze your thighs around my head baby.” Her words made your jaw drop, blushing so red as you let out a noise you didn’t know you could make, Jackie just smiled wildly, pushing your thighs up to your chest and holding them there before burying her face between your thighs. She went wild, pushing her tongue straight through your folds like she was starved, sucking on your clit before darting her tongue inside you, making you gasp out a moan, jerking with such surprise at the intensity of her actions. (Fuck, you really didn’t know Jackie was so good at this) Jackie ate you out like a starved woman, moaning and sighing out against your clit, every roll of her tongue and suck made you make noises you didn’t even know existed and Jackie was so fucking proud of herself, when Jackie pushed a finger inside you, you were surprised at how different hers felt from your own, it was different, but Jackie’s fingers were almost as experienced as yours, she knew exactly where to curl and pump, suckling on your clit while she flicked her tongue over your bud all while pumping her fingers at a quicker pace, it wasn’t long before you were trembling and tensing with a loud cry, clamping down on Jackie’s fingers so tight it made her moan as you came, covering her fingers in cum which she licked up every drop, her voice was so husky and hot when she spoke, you were recovering from your earth shattering orgasm, vision still back with muffled hearing as you heard her,

“Good girl, baby.”

You just smiled lazily, panting heavily as Jackie squirmed to lay down beside you, wrapping her arms around your waist to spoon you and kiss your shoulder, “Im so proud of you baby, your so fucking pretty when you cum.” You just rolled your eyes, making Jackie frown a little, tightening her arms around your waist, “Y/N, do I need to fuck you in front of my mirror and make you watch yourself until you believe it?” You choked on nothing at her words, eyes widening with your mouth open in shock at her words.

You had no idea how serious she was to do it either.

(Worked all fucking day on this masterpiece, nobody can convince me Jackie was straight, sorry not sorry)

#yellowjackets x reader #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #yellowjackets #yellowjackets showtime

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