#found this when i was looking for those other photos
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Dress
Jessie Fleming x Reader
Synopsis: inspired off the song Dress by Taylor Swift (normally not a big TS fan but this song gives off such gay/secret relationship vibes)
Warnings: suggestive, language
WC: 2.3k
A/N: pretend Jessie is still at Chelsea for the sake of this 🙃 also ignore Niamh in the photo, there’s like only 2 photos of Jessie in that button up outfit and I’ve used the other one already, despite the fact that yall want a Niamh x Jessie x Reader fic, this is not it.
Your eyes scanned the room filled with your teammates in search of the brown hair and brown eyed Canadian you were trying to find and yet trying to avoid coming into direct contact with.
In your second scan of the crowded room, you find her across the way, speaking with some of your other teammates.
You watch as Jessie’s eyes catch yours, before they widen and trail downward, taking in your whole body. As her eyes admire you, you watch her suck in a large breath, her eyebrows raised, cheeks puffed out as she slowly releases the air in her lungs. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. She gives you a small and slow nod when her eyes meet yours again.
You had succeeded.
You knew she wanted you to rush over to her, to say hello, give her a hug, whisper something for just the two of you in her ear, so you did the opposite.
You found Millie first, giving her a hug, she gushed over your dress. You chatted with her for a bit, glancing around the room occasionally, noticing Jessie’s eyes always meeting yours. She was watching you intensely, just what you had hoped.
You were quickly interrupted by Guro, Erin, and Sam all making their way over, drinks in their hands. The three greeted you, all making comments that they were shocked by your dress, in a good way of course. It felt weird having your teammates gush over your appearance, you had been dressed up around them before but usually opted for a blazer, pantsuit, never before a dress.
Wanting to tease Jessie more, you continue making your rounds, avoiding the area of the room where she and Niamh stood. You took the occasional glance in their direction, Jessie’s eyes always looking over Niamh's shoulder and at you. You felt like prey being hunted by her intense gaze. You talk with Aggie and Maika, a couple of the assistant coaches, dragging out the conversations, keeping Jessie waiting for you. When you had finally said hello to everyone that had already arrived except Jessie, you decided it was time to put the poor girl out of her misery.
You finally make your way over to Jessie. She’s staring you down as you approach her, her eyes locked on your body.
“Hi Jess.” You lean in giving her a hug and she gives you a peck on the cheek. It’s casual, quick, and boring to the outside world. But the way you slid your hand down to the small of her back and the way she let her lips linger on your cheek for an extra second, was not casual.
When you pulled away from her you kept your hand on the small of her back, turning so the two of you were shoulder to shoulder as if you were standing before a game for the anthems.
“You look,” she lets out a sigh that tells you everything you needed to know, “you look fantastic.”
“Thanks. Actually funny enough, I was told if I always dressed like this, maybe I wouldn’t be single.” You say it as a joke, Jessie doesn’t take it as one.
“You’re not single.” The Canadian leans in to grumble into your ear, clearly not a fan of the thought of you being available.
“Oh I’m not? I don’t recall anyone asking me to be in a relationship.” You pat her back softly, letting your fingers just barely dance into the waistband of her pants.
You and Jessie had been seeing each other as more than friends for a couple weeks now. It had started as innocent coffee trips, those trips quickly became more formal coffee dates, those dates turned into spending the afternoons and evenings at each others places, which led to just three weeks ago, you straddling the Canadian on her couch, your fingers in her hair and her hands around your waist as the two of you kissed for the first time. You hadn’t yet put any form of label on it, but you continued seeing each other, the romantic and sexual tension very much still alive between the two of you.
“I don’t like how they’re staring.” You can feel the jealousy radiating off of Jessie. She’s looking out across the room to all your teammates. It was weird, the new attention you were getting. You knew none of your teammates meant it in a way of making you uncomfortable and you knew that, it was just different seeing them surprised by your outfit.
“No need to be jealous, Fleming.” You say to her before leaning in close again to whisper in her ear as she takes a sip of the beer in her hand. “Just remember I bought this dress thinking about only you taking it off my body tonight.” That gets Jessie’s attention, her eyes widen and she’s sent into a coughing fit choking on her drink. Your comment is said half as an invitation, half as a statement. The two of you had made out plenty in your three week escapades, but not getting any further than you did only four days ago in her apartment after training.
You had been making out against the hallway of her apartment when Jessie had picked you up, your legs around her waist as she carried you into her bedroom. She had quickly discarded your training top, kissing down your neck before removing your bra and starting to harshly suck dark red marks across your chest. You had removed her shirt and just as she leaned down to trail kisses down your stomach her phone rang. A FaceTime call from her sister. She had apologized profusely as she threw your shirt back to you as she donned her own. You weren’t upset, you had been the one who insisted she answer the call. However the interaction left you incredibly sexually frustrated for the next few days, giving you the brilliant idea of the dress.
You were already in need of an outfit for the banquet, leading you to be wandering around the store. You had texted Fran, Niamh, and a few other teammates to see what they were wearing. You walked in circles looking at jackets and pants, shirts, nothing seemed to pull your interest until you found yourself in the gown and dress section. The black dress you had bought was on display, it caught your eye. It was a tight, yet tasteful black dress, more than appropriate for the occasion and yet perfect to make Jessie have the opposite of appropriate thought.
Sneaking around with her had been fun, the quick glances in the locker room, the extra second you two spent looking at each other after Jessie had ended up with her body pressed on top of you after you tackled her a little too hard at training, the way she’d give your hand an extra squeeze when you’d high-five after games, all the subtle moments of your relationship happening right in front of everyone’s eyes, without anyone knowing at all.
Those red marks she had made on your skin the other day were now golden bruises across your chest, an arousing reminder of your evening when you got dressed this afternoon. You were thankful they weren’t visible in the lower cut neckline of the dress. You took one last look in the mirror before you left to come to the banquet. You couldn’t help but smirk at yourself, you wanted to drive Jessie crazy, make her stare, make her blush, make her squirm in her seat while she tried to keep your teammates oblivious to your situationship, this dress was going to be perfect for that job.
“We should go mingle.” You say, dropping your hand from Jessie’s back, a few more members of the staff had arrived, you wanted to say hello. Jessie just lets out a dissatisfied grumble. “I’ll see you in a bit.” You say to her as you walk away. You only get a few steps before you turn back, delighted by the sight. Jessie’s eyes had been fixated on your ass, she only looked away when she noticed you turned around catching her behavior. Her face flushed slightly and you gave her a quick wink before turning and moving to the other side of the room.
The seating at dinner was beyond your control but whoever was in charge of it did you a huge favor, sitting you right next to Jessie. You wander around looking for your name, finding it on the little place card, you take a lap looking at the rest of the names on the table before you come back reading the final name on the table for the seat to your left. You almost let out a laugh as you read Jessie’s name. This would be fun.
Dinner starts innocently enough. Plenty of conversation to keep both you and Jessie thinking about other things than the tension between you. It’s only once everyone starts eating, conversation slows and it becomes increasingly obvious how close you’re sat to her.
As you finish up your meal and speeches begin to start, you feel a weight on your lap. Jessie’s hand, under the tablecloth, resting on your upper thigh. She gently squeezes and you’re thankful that no one is seated directly behind your table, meaning no one sees how you move your leg outward to encourage her touch.
You let her touch your thigh, rubbing your skin through the dress for a couple minutes before you promptly stand up, excusing yourself to the table, saying you had to use the restroom and you’d be back. As you walk away you can’t help but turn back giving a look at Jessie, whose eyes were again watching you walk away.
You head to the bathroom, half because you had to use it and half because you wanted to see if Jessie would follow. You get your answer when you open the door from the stall to go wash your hands and Jessie is standing, arms crossed leaning against the wall. You take a moment to take in her stature, you had been so focused on her reaction to your own dress that you didn’t fully appreciate her appearance yet. She looked good, her dark dress pants tight in all the right places, her blazer hugging her shoulders, even if she didn’t intend it, her outfit was having an effect on you.
“You’re a tease.” She says, watching you again like prey as you walk over to the sink.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You say, putting soap on your hands. “I’m not doing anything.” You give her an innocent smile through the mirror.
Sick of your behavior Jessie comes up behind you, her front flush to your back, pushing you slightly into the countertop. Her hands find your sides, just under your armpits. “You did this.” She lets her hands run down your sides and over the curve of your hips. “You chose this dress, you chose to tell me that you want me to take it off, you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“And it’s working?” You give her a cocky smile as you move away from her grasp to dry your hands and turn the water off.
“God, yes it’s working, you already get me worked up in regular clothes, but then this dress…” her voice trails off as she again takes the time to look over your body, head to toe, appreciating your dress. She bites her lip momentarily, walking up to you again. She leans into you, putting her lips quickly to your neck, giving you a soft kiss, then another just below your ear before she brings her lips to your ear and whispers. “You're driving me insane. I wish I had just ignored the call and fucked you instead the other day.”
You hum in agreement, you also wished she had just fucked you then and there. “But this is more fun.” You give her a raise of your eyebrows.
“You’re coming home with me.” She says as she leans back from you, still only inches from each other.
“I will, if you can be good the rest of the night.” You were going to give in and let her take you home no matter what, but you wanted to keep your evening of teasing and fun going for a little bit longer.
“I’ve been good!” She protests.
“I dunno Jessie, hand under the table isn’t what I would consider behaving.” You let your own hand drag on her thigh, mimicking her touch from earlier. You can feel her push her thigh into your hand desperately.
“I could’ve done worse.”
Returning her teasing from earlier you lean into her now, placing an open mouth kiss to her neck before whispering into her ear. “Behave for the rest of the night and I’ll let you do your worst to me later.”
You watch Jessie’s mouth fall open slightly as you pull back. Her stare intensifies on you, pupils wide. Knowing she was lost in her own dirty thoughts you take the opportunity to step away from her and open the bathroom door.
You turn back to look at Jessie, her mouth still agape, eyes locked on you. “Come on, only a few more hours of this banquet and then you can make those dirty thoughts you just had about me a reality.”
#jessie fleming#jflem#jessie fleming x reader#jessie fleming imagine#woso imagine#woso x reader#jessie fleming blurb
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yandere! diluc pt. 1
Content: dubcon/noncon, stalker behaviour, yandere, syringe, manhandling, kidnap, foul language.
Note: Yeah I know I have a pt. 2 left but i'm so so dry bc of exams and stress so I just wanted to post stuff I like without (trying) to think too much, as always, non-proof reader.
Credits to anitelenia for the lovely divider.
It had been a few days since you started to realize it.
You mostly noticed it when you were alone, walking quietly to your house after your night shift. You had just left the flower shop, trying to walk as fast as possible, just thinking about your warm and soft bed. You were far too deep in your fantasies when you finally stumbled upon someone. Your forehead bumped against something stiff, you could say that it was even hard. Just as you were about to apologize a deep voice talked:
"I'm sorry... I really wasn't looking, are you ok?" Deep blazing eyes encountered with yours, his eyes shining as wild flames despite the cold light of the moon. His hair was swaying, making his face look even more charming, how come you had never seen someone as beautiful as him around? You were dazzed for a moment, your lips almost forming a small circle, luckily, you were fast enough to realize it, finally being able to snap out of it.
"Oh, no, it's my fault, it's kinda dark today so yeah... I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings, I'm sorry..." As soon as you babbled your poor excuses, the man laughted softly, his eyes forming small crescent moons.
"Diluc, just call me by my name." You nodded, a bit stranged cause, who would simply give their name to some stranger found in the middle of the night?
"Oh, nice to meet you sir Diluc, I gotta go, see you around!" You left without losing more time, after all, your dear bed was waiting all alone for you. If only you had pay a bit more attention to whatever that man was saying before leaving...
"I'm sure we will meet much more often from now on, dear." Without saying nothing else, Diluc left, walking back to the wineyard and starting to plan how would he be able to make you let down your walls.
A few months had passed, and just as he had foresaw, both of you had suddenly became the soon-to-be couple in Mondstadt. Everytime people saw you around, his eyes started to share furtive glances, their hands making small gestures in a comedic way. Even despite Diluc acted as if he was unaware, he knew it. After all, those rumors had been planned by him. He helped you with even small stuff, always getting up and bringing you your drink, paying when he invited you to have lunch or diner, always as "friends" of course, definitely not because he was already thinking about the ring to ask you to marry him... He also waited for you after work, always bringing you small bouquetes of flowers that he had "found" around while he was doing small quests (he was actually buying them, then making the bouquet with your favourite flowers).
He had already written down all your favourite places, foods, flowers, colours, the type of clothes that you liked, your most hated food, your fears, the name of your first pet... the list could go on for hours. Cause if he didn't know all that information, could he even call himself your boyfriend?
He also had a "small" compilation of sneak pics he had taken of you, the photos were laying around his room, some were hanged in frames, others were hidden in boxes, the rest were used for his shrine in progress.
Of course, when he finally confessed his feelings, he was 100% sure you would fall in love with him, he had done everything you had told him you liked in a man! So when your face changed, your eyes suddenly losing that loving spark, his world almost crashed completely. You tried to explain it to him, it was not the first time a man who you had considered a friend had confessed to you, so you were a bit dissappointed... did that mean that you had approached her with that intention since the beginning? You didn't know what to think, so you asked him for some time, just enough for you to think deep about it. Before you knew it, his hand was already way too close to your neck, a small zap being sent all through your body and causing you to fall against his arms.
When you finally woke up, you were in his room, the fire was crackling, almost making it feel way too... cozy, almost as if you were at "home". What happened? Just as you were about to move from the bed, you noticed something. There was a chain tied to your ankle, tying you to the bed, your clothes had been changed to a soft nightgown, somehow perfectly fitting your body, what the hell had happened?
You were about to scream, when the door opened, his crimson hair swaying just like the first night you had met. He was carrying a small tray, some grapes and other fruits were on top of it. As soon as he noticed you were awake, his lips curved up, his eyes shining with pure devotion.
"Darling! I'm sorry, it seems the thing I created had a little misscalculation..." Diluc apologized, leaving the tray in his desk.
"Are you ok? Do you feel any type of pain? It would kill me to know that I have hurt you..." His hands moved towards you, although as soon as he saw you flintch his hands stopped, his face looking as hurt as if he was the one that had been chained. He suddenly got up from the bed, once again heading towards his desk and taking something from one of the drawers. He got close to you, and despite your failed attempts of squirming away from his touch, it was all in vain as soon as you felt a pulsing pain, almost as if you had been pricked with a needle. The blood that was supposed to keep you on edge was suddenly towards your lower half. What was happening?
As soon as he had used that strange needle, your whole body had went soft, almost limp. did he inject something inside of you? Before you were able to complain anything about it, your brain felt as if it had turned into mush, your brain feeling too fuzzy to think.
"What... what was that?" Diluc eyes' glistened, looking a bit too proud of his work.
"Just some potion to help ease your mind, you looked too... stressed before, but now you look just like a pretty little doll, darling. Did you like the nightgown I bought? I knew it would suit you, but I didn't think it would make you look even prettier!" His hands went through your soft hair, his hands feeling a bit too... hot, maybe it was actually your body the one that was melting?
"Diluc, you need to let me go... I... We can talk about all of this... I promise I won't say it to the knights of Favonius..." You tried to hard to form a cohesive sentence, but Diluc's face switched, his calm face turning into a grin.
"Oh sweet heart, you are almost as naive as beautiful. Do you truly think that those... pesky little knights can harm me in anyway?" Diluc's gaze darkened, his eyes drifting through your whole body. "I'm sorry for having to take this...solution, but you were getting a bit too... close, you know?" Diluc sat down at your side, his hand moving your head a little, just enough for your head to rest on his shoulder. "Just being close to you makes me feel at peace, you know?" His body shifted a little, his calloused hand taking your hair out of your face. "I finally made up my mind after seeing you two that afternoon... that damned liar keeps trying to take what's mine." His hands moved, his fingertips drifted through your chest, pinching a bit your nipples, just enough to let a moan leave your mouth.
"That drug is still active, I guess..." He pushed you just a little, your body falling to the bed without much resistance. His frame on top of you, his soft hair sending shivers down your spine. His face lowered, his soft lips leaving kisses all through your neck, letting you whimper as much as you wanted. His hands were moving around, slowly touching your clothed cunt, treating you as if you were a delicate porcelain doll. "I can even see your pretty pussy, are you that excited to be touched?" You tried to complain, of course that was not the case! That damned syringe had done something to you, of course you were only able to make some complain noises.
"Uhm... to be honest that was just a muscle relaxant, it was just in case you tried to play some little tricks on me, I'm sorry for doubting you, honey. But I swear I will never do anything like it again, I just got a bit anxious." His hands got away from your lower half, going back up and starting to caress your face, kissing your pretty lips and making them all shiny.
"We can consume our love any other day, I've prepared plenty of stuff for us to do, sweet heart." Before you were able to complain, your eyes started to close, body too tired to even ask when would you be free.
#diluc x you#diluc x reader#genshin diluc#diluc ragnvindr#smut#fanfiction#x reader#genshin imagines#genshin impact#genshin impact headcanons#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#genshin x reader#diluc smut#diluc fanfic#yandere male#yandere#yandere boyfriend#yandere x darling
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Hi! Just saw your reblog and I'm so interested in your thoughts on Fig and Kipperlilly being similar, and was wondering if you'd share?
Yes! i am always down to talk about my two favorite fantasy high characters but before we get into it, some assumptions I have made about FHJY that aren't explicit in the text but I won't necessarily be justifying here:
(under the cut)
Kipperlilly was in some form or another manipulated by porter
Kipperlilly truly cared about Lucy, and to a lesser extent the rest of her party
The biggest and most obvious similarity between the two is the anger they feel. When we first see Fig she's a deeply angry kid. She hates her mom for hiding the truth of her parentage and for wrecking their family the way she did. And while she forgives Gilear much faster than Sandra Lynn, she also starts off incredibly angry at him.
Her anger is very justified, and it's centered around the ways the adults in her life mistreated her. Sandra Lynn by hiding the fundamental truth of who she is from her for so long, and Gilear by, before the start of the series, saying that she isn't a Faeth anymore.
Our introduction to Fig is her taking that anger out on both Sandra Lynn and Gilear, and she does almost immediately see the error of her treating at least Gilear the way she does.
Brennan: You see a little tear forms in his eye and you see he says,
Gilear: I know that I said some hurtful things when I first found out.
Fig: Yeah, you said, “You're no longer a Faeth,” and guess what, I'm not. I'm just Fig now.
Gilear: Fig, I'm sitting here with beans on my shirt.
Fig: I know, I saw you ate one on the ride here.
Gilear: I was hungry, all right? I've put on some weight. You ever heard of a fat elf? You ever heard of it? I've never seen a fat elf in my life and I'm here with a bad comb over and beans on my shirt.
Fig: Okay, fine.
Gilear: And I'm reaching out to you.
Fig: I'm sorry, Gilear, I'm sorry that I got angry at you. You're just some random man, I shouldn't be mean to you.
But for almost the entire season, Fig does not forgive Sandra Lynn. She's still so angry with her that she struggles to see Sandra Lynn as a complex person right up until episode 15 "Family Fires", is unsure as to whether or not Sandra Lynn is a good person worthy of saving:
Emily: Because I am undecided on my mom. Because at first, I felt like I, oh maybe she's a good person, but now I maybe feel like she's part of this ruby plot.
Brennan: Go ahead and give me an insight check.
Emily: (rolls) 14.
(emotional acoustic guitar music)
Brennan: (sighs) Your mom has never lived up to the standard you put on her of making your life good and perfect. She never was able to protect you from all harm and suffering in the world. And maybe that's not fair. And she's probably just a person, and those photos make it look like--
Emily: She's a complex person. She's allowed to be.
Brennan: Yup.
So anger, and in particular the ways it can make someone lash out, is something that Fig is intimately aware of, something that she has had to fight to control herself. The difference is that the adults in her life helped her, they supported her. Gilear, Sandra Lynn, and Gorthalax all gave her the space she needed to be angry but also helped her move past that.
Kipperlilly didn't have that. To our knowledge she only had Jawbone, someone who only knew her through Aguefort and evidently did not know how to help her in the ways she needed.
There's also the matter of Porter who, in the third episode "After the Afterlife" singles Fig out when she audits barbarian class:
Porter: Let's see what everyone else in the class, [players laugh] what do other people, what do other people kind of think? Like young lady, what do you think about rage?
Fig: What do I think about rage?
Porter: What do you think about it?
Fig: [sighs] Well, I kind of think it's inevitable, 'cause, I mean, like, people really let you down left and right.
Porter: Yeah!
Fig: So you're always gonna feel rage. It's just a matter of whether or not you use it productively or just whether or not you control it or it controls you.
Brennan: A small tear forms in the corner of his eye.
Porter: That's exactly right. That is exactly right. That is amazing.
He sees something in her. Porter sees the rage within her, and he encourages it. But more than that, Fig's perspective that "you control [rage] or it controls you" highlights another contrast between Fig and Kipperlilly. Fig learns to control her rage, while Kipperlilly literally gives control up to the shatterstar. But they still have that same rage, just on the opposite ends of expressing it.
We also know that Fig cares deeply about her friends, and that prior to the start of the series, her former friends abandoned her when she started to grow horns. She was alone when she came to Aguefort. She was isolated from her peers and from her family. She found the Bad Kids, and she is utterly devoted to her friends. She'll do anything for them.
But Kipperlilly? Brennan said in an interview with Caitlin Tyrrell that the Rat Grinders didn't know each other before forming the party. We don't know how the party formed really, but we know that she picked out the name the High 5 Heroes.
I think the High-Five Heroes part of it is sweet, but there's actually something even a little bit sinister to it to me, of being like, "We're the High-Five Heroes." And you're like, "You've pitched a name; we all just met. We don't have anything going yet." ( source )
He calls it sinister that she insisted on the name, but I can't see it as anything other than said. It speaks to me of a kid so desperate for friendship that she's willing to force inside jokes for just a hint of that. She doesn't want to be alone, and Fig might've put up a better act, but she didn't want to be alone at the start of Freshman Year either.
The difference is who they found. Fig got the Bad Kids, people who love and care about her. She had support from her friends and from her family. Kipperlilly was emotionally in a very similar state as Fig but with none of that support, and even had people who either couldn't support her (Jawbone) or wanted to encourage this isolation and rage (Porter).
Kipperlilly is Fig if the first day of school went different, if she ended up with people who didn't understand her like the Bad Kids did and if she couldn't get the support she needed from the adults in her life.
#kipperlilly copperkettle#figueroth faeth#fig faeth#dimension 20#fantasy high#fantasy high junior year#does this make any sense#it's very clear in my head but i worry i rambled#or drew conclusions from no where
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The Kind of Light That Means Just Love (When My Baby Smiles at Me)
Had a prompt in writing group today and felt moved to write a sweet little Charles/Edwin fic! 1.4k, no warnings ^_^
Also readable on Ao3 (for registered users only - sorry, it's a last-ditch flimsy anti-AI scraping measure!)
~
Click!
Edwin blinked, partly in surprise – partly to dislodge the blots in his vision left behind by the sudden, rapid flash of white light that had danced across the pages of his book. He looked up to find the culprit grinning at him from across the room.
“Charles,” Edwin admonished, gently closing his book with a finger tucked between the pages to hold his place. “I have asked you to stop fooling around with that contraption and get some work done.”
“I have been!” Charles defended, gesturing broadly at the higgledy-piggledy array of items around him. Evidently, taking stock of the contents of his bag of tricks was an expansive task. “Taking a break.” He snatched the small square of paper from the Polaroid camera and began to shake it with abandon.
Edwin rolled his eyes. Ever since they’d acquired that camera as payment for a job ‘well jobbed’, Charles had scarcely put it down. Edwin, admittedly, had been intrigued by it at the start – it was certainly a testament to how far photographic technology had advanced since his own life and subsequent death. It was quite fascinating; seeing the slow, hulking monstrosities he’d been forced to sit rigidly still in front of for aeons in his youth, compressed into such a portable and efficient form. But after a few days of study, digging around in its component parts, comparing its output to that of sepia-tinted newspaper clippings from his day – as well as the baffling digital displays on Niko’s portable telephone – the novelty had worn off, and he’d turned his attention to more pressing matters.
But Charles remained enamoured. He’d had the thing slung round his neck for at least a week, and showed no signs of taking it off anytime soon.
The amateur photographer in question grinned infectiously, as the chemicals on the paper settled. “Ah, yeah. That’s a good one, that.”
He held it up proudly, and Edwin was treated to a lovingly framed image of the chair in which he sat, with an open book floating above it.
“I hardly see why you bother,” said Edwin, crossing his legs the other way and letting the book fall open on his knee. “Neither of us show up in photographs. I highly doubt that’s going to change with repeated exposures.” And a good thing, too, as Edwin hadn’t consented to be photographed in just his rolled-up shirtsleeves. His states of improper dress were quite strictly reserved for quiet, studious evenings in the privacy of their rooms; unlike Charles, he had standards with regard to flashing every dip and plane God gave him in mixed company.
“Well. Thought that counts, innit?” Charles bounced to his feet and over to the secondary cork board that had recently been added to the office. Unlike the first, which was full of case notes and theories, this one was exclusively populated by Charles’ photographic whims. The only faces that appeared were those of their living friends – Crystal, Niko, even one snap of Jenny wearing stiff shoulders and a reluctant grimace while Niko hugged her from the side.
Charles and Edwin featured only in the notable absences. Empty chairs, floating objects, the spaces between their friends in the group shots. The only one in which they were ‘visible’, by a loose definition of the word, was the one where Charles had insisted they cut eye holes out of white sheets and drape them over their heads. “Like Beetlejuice!” He’d said; and he’d sounded so excited that Edwin hadn’t even asked him why on earth one would juice a beetle, or what it had to do with playing dress-up.
The new photo found its home amongst a cluster of similar absent Edwins – a floating magnifying glass, an empty desk, a hand of Cluedo cards with no holder. “Brills,” Charles grinned, stepping back and crossing his arms to admire his collection.
“I really don’t see the point of this exercise,” said Edwin. “Who’d even know that’s a picture of someone?”
“I know, don’t I? I can look at these and be like –“ he pointed at the floating magnifying glass image – “That’s the time Edwin got all fussy about Niko’s rent contract ‘cause he thought her landlord was pulling a fast one. And this –“ his finger moved to the Cluedo cards – “This is the time Edwin knew what the answer was for forty bloody minutes, but he held off on making his accusation because he wanted to watch me go round and round in circles, like a knob. See what I mean?”
“Is your point that you keep these as evidence for blackmail?” Edwin asked.
“No, point is, I remember.” Charles tapped his forehead. “Got it all in here. Don’t need a bloody photo to remind me what you look like, do I? Seen you every day for the last thirty years.” He cast Edwin a flippant smile, soft round the edges like the warm browns of his hooded eyes. “Know your face better than I know my own.”
Edwin ducked his head, tamping down on the peculiar feeling in his face and stomach. Like an abrupt upset of the humours – an anomaly of the ectoplasm. At least, that’s how he would’ve characterised it some months or years ago. Now, he was more than painfully aware that it was probably more akin to the spectral equivalent of… blushing. Lord help him.
“Then why take the photographs at all?” Edwin pressed, setting his book aside and giving Charles his full attention. He winced at the sharp tone of his own voice. It was quite unintentional – he had no desire to judge, only to understand.
Fortunately, Charles knew his voice as well as his face. He shrugged, unoffended, eyes roving over his collection. “We’re still here, ain’t we? Not alive, but… we should have memories too, yeah?” He reached out, twitching the corner of a photo. One of Edwin – or the absence of him. Him and Niko, that is. Edwin remembered it well; remembered Niko perching birdlike on the arm of his chair, hugging his arm, nudging her head against his and beaming for the camera. She’d insisted he pose his fingers alongside hers, although in the end result of course only hers were visible. One half of a broken heart.
“Shouldn’t just be for the living, should it?” said Charles, smiling that strange, sad little smile of his at the picture. The one he was so careful not to let people see. “Making new memories to keep.”
Edwin rose, stepping carefully over Charles’ assorted chaos to join him at the board; and Charles watched his advance with that easy, open curiosity on his face. When Edwin’s hands clasped around the camera strap, Charles bowed his head and let him take the device without a fight.
Sometimes, his trust felt as real and visceral in Edwin’s hands as a living, beating heart. But now wasn’t the time for poetics.
Quickly reacquainting himself with the various switches, Edwin held the viewfinder to his eye, framed his shot, and took the snap. Charles did a remarkably good job at not flinching with the flash – but Edwin supposed this style of photography had been more commonplace in his lifetime. He just stood and watched, bemused, as Edwin retrieved the photograph and gave it three short, sharp shakes.
When the image of their photo board revealed itself, not a Charles to be seen despite the fact the camera had been pointed squarely at him, Edwin cocked his head and contemplated it. He had to concede that Charles had a point; though there was no Charles in the photo, Edwin could easily fill in the gaps himself. How could he not? He’d watched the white light paint Charles’ familiar, beloved features; highlighting the amused twitch of his lip, the fond warmth in his eyes. The glint of his gold chain against his white vest, cutting stark across the warm tones of his skin. The confused acceptance with which he’d stood perfectly calmly, waiting for Edwin’s motives to reveal themselves.
Edwin stepped up to the board and held out his hand. Wordlessly, Charles dropped a drawing pin into his palm.
“This,” said Edwin, glancing sidelong at Charles as he carefully pinned the photo up beside the silly shot of the two of them in their butchered bedsheets. “Is the time Charles made a surprising amount of sense; whilst talking utter nonsense.”
Charles smiled, brighter than a camera flash; the after-image of which Edwin would be carrying on the backs of his eyes for days to come.
~
Hope you liked it! Comments and reblogs are super duper appreciated! ^_^ 💛
I have no idea if I'm gonna write/post more fic for these guys, tbh my interest is relatively casual atm and my time/concentration is limited, plus at any given moment I may be lured in by the siren call of horror movie fic on my alt account. But they're very sweet and I have the odd plot bunny so we'll see!
#dead boy detectives#payneland#charles rowland#edwin payne#my fanfic#this goes out to the DGHDA folks I've seen dipping their toes in the Dead Boys fandom I see you and I love you and miss you#also if any of you want my horror alt you can DM me and promise not to reveal my secret identity to a living soul lmao#I wanted to come up with a more whimsical title but my whimsical title muscles are rusty#been a long time since the Dirk days!#and this song is Perf frankly because have you SEEN the way Charles smiles? Fucking adorable. Absolutely blinding.#I get you Edwin I would have fallen like a tonne of bricks too
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I can't seem to find the exact post but I believe you said once that Tom didn't reset because it would undo the good he did. What was that good?
Sigh Okay. Before the ask, I have to give context about something to make the interpretation of a character make sense.
Back in 2015, when I saw the Snowdin Shopkepper, I didn't get that she was wearing a summer hat. Back then, I thought she was wearing something similar to a cowboy hat or something with that style. And because of some background objects like the treasure chest and the scroll, I thought she was a retired adventurer.
And because Gerson selling the notebook and the glasses did fit with his theme, my belief in QC being a retired adventure got stronger because of her selling the bandanna and the glove, because I thought it was her theme of being a retired badass who just wanted to have a normal life.
So yeah, my old beliefs kind of affected how I create works with this character. (Because it was only a few days ago that I found out that her hat was a summer hat.)
So with that out of the way, I hope my interpretation of this character isn't something that came out of nowhere.
Now let me introduce you to QC back in Undertale Orange.
QC is a a bunny that's desperate for money and she needed to get money fast. So she started to work has a bounty hunter after being rejected by the royal guards. She wants money because she and her sister are in a very bad spot financially and it doesn't help that her sister has a child.
When she first sees Tom walking through the Snowdin Forest, she gets an idea. Get his soul and give it to the king to get a reward in money to help her family with the financial problem. Despite being a bounty hunter (the goal of bounty hunters is typically to return criminals to the justice system), she plans to kill Tom and give his soul herself to the king with no interference from the royal guard to gain more respect from the king and maybe get a bigger reward.
Since QC isn't good at on hand to hand combat (the reason why she got rejected by the guard) she decides to try to befriend Tom to gain his trust and later backstab him.
As you may have guessed, She gets attached to the kid, and she then begins to question what she's doing. But in the end, she admits the truth. And if you read my last post, you would know how Tom's relationship with the other kids is, so it shouldn't be surprising that he doesn't get mad at QC for trying to trick him, because she just wanted to do that to help her family.
After finding out what happened to Lila, Tom knows that he can't just leave the underground or stay in hiding because that may cause problems for his new friends. So he decides to give his soul to QC to help her. She tries to protest it, but it's no use. She then accepts his soul and takes it to the king. She then gets a big reward in cash. So big that she and her sister are able to buy a building in Snowdin that they make into a shop and inn.
She then kept Tom's glove and bandanna in the empty treasure chest that had all the reward money, along with a photo of Tom and the other children that Tom had. Tom's final request is that his things should be given to the others if the barrier is ever broken. So she keeps them with her. Until one of the kids in the photo shows up in her shop. that being Frisk. She had no clue how to explain what happened without making her look like she's the reason that Tom's dead. So she just sells the items to Frisk, like if those were part of her stock, because she didn't want to make a kid with a knife angry at her. She pretends that she doesn't know that Frisk is a human because the dogs didn't sound the alarm of a human being in the area, so she knows that the royal guard doesn't know about the human, so she just pretends in case someone's listening.She's still pretending that Frisk is a monster after the barrier is broken, because even though Frisk "broke" the barrier, they don't deserve the title of hero, in her opinion. Because Frisk didn't have to sacrifice themselves… To her, Tom, it's the one that deserves that title.
What she doesn't know is that she's doing to actually give that hero's welcome...
So to answer your question, Tom helped a family in need and was able to put them back on their feet. He did see himself on QC… Someone who goes through a lot just to show the people that they care… He wouldn't want someone to erase his happy ending if he was in QC's position... So he didn't reset.
#undertale#ut#undertale headcanons#undertale orange#uto#orange soul#bravery soul#ut snowdin shopkeeper#uty second chance au
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1.13.2014
#tetsuya endo#ddtpro#found this when i was looking for those other photos#i tried to clean this up but graphic design is my passion :/#anyway i love that you can see takeshita in the upper left hand corner. this is such a cool angle#photographer was in the balcony
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“post top surgery photos for different body types!” followed by several images of guys at most 6 months after surgery -_-
#it IS possible to find accurate photos for all body types: those aren’t it#if i found out someone was using my 6mo checkup pics to tell other guys what their results might look like i’d be mortified#it simply isnt true! any torso looks way better when its not recovering from major surgery!#[post]
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#found a picture of me in a dress from last year#and realized i tried that dress on the other day and have a photo that looks almost exactly like it#same pose and everything#checked the date and realized that i took them (unknowingly) almost exactly one year apart. the difference is only like two or three days#and its just weird cause like. ive lost a fairly significant amount of weight since then#and what they dont tell you about growing up not skinny is that if you do lose weight at some point and become smaller#it doesnt necessarily feel good?? yknow? like in your brain i mean.#i feel so incredibly weird about it. especially seeing the side by side.#and its also not that i think that i wasnt pretty even though i was not confident in myself at all. cause i was! i think i was at least#and i think im pretty now too. but i think the feeling of weirdness comes from the fact that most people would look at those photos and go#'oh you look so much better/healthier now!' or something along those lines.#like other people would see me now as an improvement rather than the exact same guy just at a different stage in my life#does that make sense?? i hope so#its hard to convey this idea#idk. its weird. i like the way i fit into clothes better and i like the way my body handles my chronic pain a bit better now#but i feel a lot of guilt for thinking that way because i have quite literally never looked like this before#and if im happiest with the way i look now then what does that mean for the body i had my whole life before this? makes me sad a bit :(#ive always wanted to love every version of myself#but god it is so hard to do that when fatphobia is raging and rampant literally everywhere#aiilov-personal
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After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.
Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.
Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.
By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.
When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.
Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.
Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.
Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.
For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.
Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.
That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!
So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.
People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.
Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."
They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.
Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.
#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#may allah protect them#may almighty allah see our pain#hopefully she'll message me tomorrow
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how to find literally any post on a blog in seconds (on desktop)
there are so many posts about ~tumblr is so broken, you can’t find any post on your own blog, it’s impossible, bluhrblub~
I am here to tell you otherwise! it is in fact INCREDIBLY easy to find a post on a blog if you’re on desktop/browser and you know what you’re doing:
url.tumblr.com/tagged/croissant will bring up EVERY post on the blog tagged with the specific and exact phrase #croissant. every single post, every single time. in chronological order starting with the most recent post. note: it will not find #croissants or that time you made the typo #croidnssants. for a tag with multiple words, it’s just /tagged/my-croissant and it will show you everything with the exact phrase #my croissant
url.tumblr.com/tagged/croissant/chrono will bring up EVERY post on the blog tagged with the exact phrase #croissant, but it will show them in reverse order with the oldest first
url.tumblr.com/search/croissant isn’t as perfect at finding everything, but it’s generally loads better than the search on mobile. it will find a good array of posts that have the word croissant in them somewhere. could be in the body of the post (op captioned it “look at my croissant”) or in the tags (#man I want a croissant). it won’t necessarily find EVERYTHING like /tagged/ does, but I find it’s still more reliable than search on mobile. you can sometimes even find posts by a specific user by searching their url. also, unlike whatever random assortment tumblr mobile pulls up, it will still show them in a more logically chronological order
url.tumblr.com/day/2020/11/05 will show you every post on the blog from november 5th, 2020, in case you’re taking a break from croissants to look for destiel election memes
url.tumblr.com/archive/ is search paradise. easily go to a particular month and see all posts as thumbnails! search by post type! search by tags but as thumbnails now
url.tumblr.com/archive/filter-by/audio will show you every audio post on your blog (you can also filter by other post types). sometimes a little imperfect if you’re looking for a video when the op embedded the video in a text post instead of posting as a video post, etc
url.tumblr.com/archive/tagged/croissant will show you EVERY post on the blog tagged with the specific and exact phrase #croissant, but it will show you them in the archive thumbnail view divided by months. very useful if you’re looking for a specific picture of a croissant that was reblogged 6 months ago and want to be able to scan for it quickly
url.tumblr.com/archive/filter-by/audio/tagged/croissant will show you every audio post tagged with the specific phrase #croissant (you can also filter by photo or text instead, because I don’t know why you have audio posts tagged croissant)
the tag system on desktop tumblr is GENUINELY amazing for searching within a specific blog!
caveat: this assumes a person HAS a desktop theme (or “custom theme”) enabled. a “custom theme” is url.tumblr.com, as opposed to tumblr.com/url. I’ve heard you have to opt-into the former now, when it used to be the default, so not everyone HAS a custom theme where you can use all those neat url tricks.
if the person doesn’t have a “custom theme” enabled, you’re beholden to the search bar. still, I’ve found the search bar on tumblr.com/url is WAY more reliable than search on mobile. for starters, it tends to bring posts up in a sensible order, instead of dredging up random posts from 2013 before anything else
if you’re on mobile, I’m sorry. godspeed and good luck finding anything. (my one tip is that if you’re able to click ON a tag rather than go through the search bar, you’ll have better luck. if your mutual has recently reblogged a post tagged #croissant, you can click #croissant and it’ll bring up everything tagged #croissant just like /tagged/croissant. but if there’s no readily available tag to click on, you have to rely on the mobile search bar and its weird bizarre whims)
#tumblr#tumblr tips#tumblr tags#tumblr search#tumblr how to#new to tumblr#why did I pick croissants as the example? who knows!#but I'm a pro at finding things on people's blogs especially my own#takes me like 4 seconds to find Exactly The Post I'm Looking For no matter how long ago I reblogged it
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UPDATE What's up, it's the proposal guy. You said you wanted to know how this turned out, so I figured I'd tell you. First some context though, because I'm mean and I wanna keep you in suspense longer.
1- I don't wanna doxx us so I'm not telling you where we live, but suffice to say, neither of us are American, and gay marriage has been legal here for less than five years. For both of us, this is the first relationship we've had where marriage was even an OPTION, and I think that's where we've been getting some of that whole 'this has to be a REAL proposal with EVERYTHING' idea.
2- I gotta figure out how to explain this properly. So, I'm pretty used to being the GUY guy in relationships? I was always the one who did the nice gestures, not the one they got done for. Before I met my dream guy, I didn't really notice or care that it was such a thing, I just assumed that's how shit worked. Also, I promised I wouldn't talk a lot about his stuff here, but his last boyfriend before me SUCKED. Anyway point here is, it turns out we both REALLY like feeling swept off our feet sometimes, and a big part of finding each other has been getting to feel special for once? That's a stupid sappy way of putting it the point here is I think all that's what morphed into "I need to be the one getting proposed to, also it has to be completely perfect", and then our Petty & Extra genes got involved.
So I'm sitting in bed thinking about all that up there, and watching all the comments coming in basically being like "Dude, you are BLOWING this" on repeat, and telling me to compromise, and I look up and see him flossing in the bathroom and making all these doofy faces at the mirror, and it's like a switch just flips in my brain, and I'm like "Oh, I'd rather he gets to have his perfect proposal than we both have an okay one". I'm gonna do it.
Morning rolls around, and while I'm 'out for my jog like normal' I hit up a pawn shop for a temp ring (the ring pop thing is cute but NOT HIM). I found one I was at least confident wouldn't get ruined the first time he got his hands greasy (he fixes old machines as a hobby it's hot as hell), got back home, and hid the box in the toe of my nasty ass workout shoes in the bedroom closet, since I figured he'd check there last.
He was still asleep, because he stays up late no matter what and then is SHOCKED he's tired the next day, so I called and booked a table at our usual anniversary spot. (Side note about the 'he picks bad restaurants' thing. This isn't an 'I like Greek, you like Chinese' situation, dude's just BAD at finding places. He either assumes pricey is tasty and I get to eat some overrated gourmet bullshit, or he'll try and find something hip and underground and risk giving us food poisoning again, and he REFUSES to give up and pick somewhere we've been before when it's his turn to plan date night. I'm obsessed with him <3.) Date was set, I'd propose on the 21st.
Some of you might have noticed this, but fun fact! It's currently the 16th.
Last night I'm doing dishes and he's been sent to our room for mug collection duty, and he's taking FOREVER, so I go check just in case he found the ring, because the man's a gift tracking BLOODHOUND. Turns out he hasn't, he's found my Angry Box.
I assume other people have an Angry Box? Basically, we had this huge messy fight right when we first moved in together, and I never wanna let it get that bad again, so I have this shoebox where I keep a bunch of our stuff I can look at if we're fighting and hopefully cool off. There's one of those photo booth roll things, letters we wrote when he moved back with his parents for COVID, the wine cork from our first date, shit like that. Anyway, he's just sitting on the floor staring at it, and I explain about the Angry Box, and then he! Proposes!!! Kind of.
He definitely didn't have anything prepared, because by 'propose' I mean 'ugly cried & rambled at me for several minutes before I figured out it WAS a proposal', but once I got on the same page it was amazing. I said yes, and he had to admit he didn't have a ring for me because he was CONVINCED he'd win and I'd do it, so I grabbed mine because, yeah, he was right. He was like "this is the ugliest ring I've ever seen" and I was like yeah well the plan is to replace it later and he went "No. You can pry this off my cold dead fingers. After I'm buried with it." So I guess it's not a temporary ring anymore.
I'm just gonna go ahead and skip to this morning. I pointed out we still have the reservation, and he said I should propose there anyway because "We can get a free dessert. They have those creme brulee shot glasses you like. And for love, or something" and I said ok deal, but that means you gotta get me a ring to keep it fair, and his eyes LIT UP. When I swung by his work for lunch he was still on the phone with a jeweler and he had a whole page of notes on three other ones. Pray for me.
OH PS: I was RIGHT that he'd been the one behind the cat biting me, but it wasn't about the proposal stuff, it's because I paid my baby sister three dollars to shout 'fuck you' every single time he enters a room she's in for (if you ask me, he should be madder at my sister for charging so little), and he did it by giving her a bunch of treats for biting his hands too, so now neither of us can pet our baby girl without oven mitts on. HOLY SHIT I love this man.
Oh my goddddddd I love everything about this <333 I awwww'd out loud on a voice call, like, six times while reading. You two are friggin perfect for each other and so obviously smitten with each other and I wish y'all all the happiness in the world
PS Are y'all planning to have a big wedding? If so oh boy I can't WAIT to get that one in the inbox
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“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.
And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.
Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.
Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.
I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.
Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.
He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,
‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.
I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.
Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.
And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.
I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.
Okay, I love you. Bye.’
A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.
His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.
Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.
Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.
On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.
Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.
The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.
And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.
I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.
And then the pattern continues.
Thank you.
Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.
One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.
She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.
On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.
‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.
Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.
But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.
What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’
She was killed later that day.
Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.
And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.
Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.
It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.
Thank you.
The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.
I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.
I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.
It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.
He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.
A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.
The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.
I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.
But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.
A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.
Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”
—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.
#politics#dana ballout#the 95#palestine#israel#war crimes#gaza#committee to protect journalists#🇵🇸#brahim lafi#shereen abou aql#issam abdullah#ayat hadduro#rushdie sarraj#hassouna saleem#sadi mansour
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THE LECLERC CHRONICLES ★ F1 GRID
PAIRING ✦ charles leclerc x fem!younger sister!reader ; f1 grid x fem!leclerc!reader
SUMMARY ✦ you're the younger sister of charles leclerc, and your relationship with the rest of the f1 grid has the internet going crazy [ SMAU ]
WARNINGS ✦ cursing
REQUESTED ✦ here!
NOTES ✦ reader is 22 years old, and the youngest leclerc sibling. this one is a bit shorter than my other smaus, sorry for that! the fc i've used is lexi jayde, but feel free to picture whoever you want! my requests are open so feel free to leave a request :)
SERIES ✦ the leclerc chronicles masterlist ; next part
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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 776,319 others
yourusername it's tough work being the hottest leclerc 🤷♀️
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user1 UGH SHE'S SO PERFECT
user2 my fav leclerc sibling!!
charles_leclerc the caption 🤔🤔
yourusername am i lying though?? 😘
arthur_leclerc i think you are!
yourusername i think it's just you (& charles) who think that!
landonorris so what's the crown for then?
yourusername because im a queen. i need no other reason 😊👑
landonorris self proclaimed queen or-?
yourusername im queen of the grid, now bow down, bitch!
alex_albon you don't even drive-???
yourusername stop it rn or i'll tell charles to ram into both of you on the track 😊❤️❤️
georgerussell who are the flowers from 🤨🤨
yourusername my man, who else?
georgerussell okay be honest now y/n...who are they from.
yourusername and if i told you ur girlfriend then what 🤷♀️
carmenmmundt only woman i need 😘😘
georgerussell WOAHHH SLOW YOUR ROLL GUYS
carlossainz55 loving the sunglasses, y/n! 😎😎
yourusername awww you type like such a dad but ur forgiven bc ur my fav ferrari driver 💗
charles_leclerc helloo i'm your older brother??
yourusername hey, i'm still allowed to have my favorites!
liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 801,211 others
yourusername bahrain weekend woohooo!! TEAM LECLERC (third slide is for motivation ❤️)
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user3 THE THIRD SLIDE IM WHEEZING
user4 SHE'S SO FUCKING FUNNY
charles_leclerc the last slide??? im telling maman ☹️
maxverstappen1 maybe you can beat me with that motivation!
yourusername he speaks the truth charlie soz 🤷♀️ AND PLS DONT TELL MAMAN IM SORRY
francisca.cgomes ur sooo 😍😍
yourusername leave pierre for me rn. im richer i swear
pierregasly huh?
yourusername see, not a thought behind those eyes! run away w me bbg 😘
francisca.cgomes okay you've convinced me, give me ten minutes x
yourusername HAAA GOT UR GIRL GASLY
landonorris the coat in bahrain weather??
oscarpiastri how is she surviving??
yourusername a girl does what a girl has to do 🤷♀️ maybe you should both take fashion tips from me anyway xx
charles_leclerc you aren't being rude are you y/n?!
yourusername noooo!! im offering friendly advice 😊
lance_stroll i wonder who bought you the first shirt...🤨
yourusername my rich nepo baby friend, thanks again boo 😘
lance_stroll wowww you're literally a nepo baby sister idk what ur on about
yourusername im actually famous for my incredible looks & witty humor, not my fugly brothers
charles_leclerc why are you so rude to us ☹️
yourusername it comes from a place of love 💗
logansargeant i wonder whose sunglasses you're wearing?!
yourusername idk i just found them!!
yourusername
( caption one: the third wheel lifestyle is NOTTT for the weak 😔 + tags | caption two: yeah i took this photo asw. can they stop being so fucking happy please it's making me depressed 😔 )
liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, and 781,221 others
tagged francisca.cgomes
yourusername who needs a man when you have kika 😘 ( ps no clue who the other people in the last pic were, but whatevs )
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user5 the y/n lifestyle is something i needddd
user6 SO REAL FOR THIS
user7 outfitsss!! 😍
francisca.cgomes love you 😘
yourusername LOVE YOU MORE 💗💗
landonorris what on earth were you drinking
yourusername idk but it was fizzy and orangey and it was yum
alex_albon orangey isn't a word ❌
yourusername ACTUALLY ☝️ it is. sooo idk what ur on about mate
pierregasly are you even of age to be drinking
yourusername IM THE SAME AGE AS UR GF??? ur just jelly she prefers me to you
pierregasly ☹️☹️
logansargeant the winnie the pooh shirt 🔥
yourusername do americans even know winnie the pooh...
logansargeant clearly??
charles_leclerc how much did you have to drink
yourusername none of ur concern brother!
liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, and 1,002,665 others
tagged yourusername
landonorris y/n's signature pose: hands under the chin (she forced me to post this please come save me guys)
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user8 SHE'S SOOO ICONIC
user9 CAPTION LOOLLL LOVE Y/N
yourusername live laugh love me!!
alex_albon is it now...
yourusername SHUT UP ALBONNN IT IS
yourusername guys the caption is a liee i swear he just loves me 💗
landonorris urm who told you that mate
yourusername shut up or i'll send you back to the basement 😁 no one cares enough to save you
georgerussell63 carmen's looking over my shoulder and says y/n's a cutie
yourusername TELL CARMEN I LOVE HER AND TELL HER TO COME OVER TONIGHT 😘😘
pierregasly are you just after everyone's girlfriend then?
yourusername yup! single life = hoe life, @/alex_albon lily's next 😘
liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 800,219 others
yourusername hey alexa, play art deco by lana del rey ( 📸 @/arthur_leclerc )
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user10 SHE LISTENS TO LANA?
user11 SHE'S ONE OF US FR
user12 the dress wooowwww
charles_leclerc when did you take these 🤨
yourusername don't worry about it 💗
arthur_leclerc we had tons of fun without you ❤️❤️
yourusername ARTHUR DON'T BE MEAN (it's true)
charles_leclerc ☹️☹️☹️
lilymhe 😍😍
yourusername LOVE YOU LILS 💗
yourusername but also ops on leaving alex for me...just for research purposes
alex_albon Y/N STOP IT SHE'S MY GF
yourusername leave me alone im single and sad :(
lance_stroll did i not buy you that dress for christmas
yourusername yes you did!! thanks again lance it was a LOVELY investment 😘
yourusername
( caption one: guess where i am!! 🇦🇺 | caption two: yeah yeah the flag gave it away whatever look at my new best friends 🦒 )
liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 833,331 others
yourusername aussie aussie aussie... (australians finish the chant)
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user13 she's so perfect
user14 wait is she charles' sister??
user15 yup!! she's the youngest of the leclerc siblings
oscarpiastri coming from an australian...no 🧡
yourusername lucky for me ur not the only australian i know...so!
danielricciardo OI OI OI 🇦🇺🇦🇺
yourusername @/oscarpiastri LOOLLLL POINT MADE
oscarpiastri DANIEL WE'RE MEANT TO BE AUSSIE BUDDIES WHY WOULD YOU BETRAY ME
danielricciardo THE CHANT WAS CALLING TO ME I CANT HELP IT
charles_leclerc FORZA FERRARI
carlossainz55 ❤️❤️❤️
yourusername idk red's not really my color...might have to step into the mclaren paddock next time to see if orange suits me better
charles_leclerc as my sister you can't fraternise with the enemy
yourusername yeah but y/n leclerc does whatever she pleases and right now she wants to wear an orange jacket 🤷♀️
landonorris *papaya, not orange
yourusername yeah yeah pls give me a vip paddock pass for japan thank you lan 😘🫶
georgerussell63 the first picture??
yourusername i dropped my ice cream and my WONDERFUL brother decided to capture the moment instead of comforting me ☹️
charles_leclerc it was so funny you just had to be there
liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 872,339 others
tagged charles_leclerc, carlossainz55
yourusername FERRARI 1-2 I KNOW THAT'S RIGHTTT!! PROUD OF MY BROTHER(S) (and little lando norris congrats on 3rd 😘)
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user16 THE CAPTIONNN BROTHERS IM CRYING
user17 the way she said in a podcast once that carlos being in her life was like having ANOTHER older brother makes me cry its so sweet
user18 FERRARI IS MY RED FLAG YESSS 🚩🚩
charles_leclerc rare post of you being proud of me?
yourusername it's mainly for carlos...but i'm proud of you too i guess!
charles_leclerc but i'm your brother??
yourusername idk ur both my brothers in my eyes 💗💗
carlossainz55 te amo y/n! ❤️
logansargeant embracing your inner cowboy, i see! very american of you 🤠
yourusername RAHHH WHAT IS A KILOMETRE 🦅🦅🦅
lance_stroll nurse, she got out again
yourusername SHUT UP LANCELOT ur just jealous that i prefer america to canada!! ❤️
landonorris thanks for the caption y/n, but are you not looking for a way out of the ferrari paddock...🤨🤨
yourusername unfortunately mr norris i have to be a supportive big sister on days like today, where my dear brother has done an exceptional job at racing. i hope you understand, and i offer you my deepest condolences ❤️
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might make a p2 to this idk :)
#f1 x reader#f1#f1 smau#formula one x reader#requests#f1 imagine#formula 1#f1 imagines#f1 x you#charles leclerc#arthur leclerc#lando norris#oscar piastri#carlos sainz#logan sargeant#lance stroll#alex albon#george russell#pierre gasly#formula one x y/n#f1 grid#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#mclqren
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snapshot.
Carlos Sainz x Reader [Warnings: overuse of pet names because i'm a romantic, masturbation, mentions of sex. not beta-d so sorry for typos or mistakes ] -
Word Count: 1K
you capture a candid photo of your boyfriend sleeping. little do you know, this innocent act sparks some ideas in his mind.
(i needed to do something after i saw him in boyfriend mode taking photos of his girl. hope this is a good way to make my comeback. soon i'll post about the little break I took. love you all. hope you enjoy) 🫶🏼
The morning sun pours its golden rays through the curtains. You wake up with its gentle kiss. The warm glow envelops you, seeming to prickling your naked skin. You find yourself nestled in its embrace, entangled in a sleepy haze, locked in the limbo between dreams and wakefulness.
You sigh as you open your eyes.
The gentle glow of the light dances around you, creating a peaceful ambiance that centers on the man lying next to you. Carlos. His head rests on the pillow; hair falling in disarray over his forehead.
Owning the image before you, your eyes don’t shy away from taking in the whole scene—the slightly parted lips, the shadow of his long eyebrows, the naked chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his slow breaths. There’s a serene vulnerability about him in that morning light, a beauty that begs to be immortalized.
And you know you can’t trust your mind for that. You can’t afford to have time tarnish it.
So you shift in bed and reach for the nightstand where your phone rests, and you aim the camera at Carlos. For a second, it seems a crime to so casually steal that image of beauty and serenity with something as mundane as a touch on a screen. Beauty like that deserves more effort.
Carlos stirs slightly, a fragment of a smile playing on his lips as he mumbles, with his eyes still closed,
“What are you doing?” There’s drowsiness in his voice, laced with a hint of amusement.
“Nothing,” you whisper softly. “You just looked so pretty.”
He smirks and runs his hands over his face. “I should feel violated,” he teases, extending his hands towards you, “My turn, now.”
Handing him the phone, you watch him. His gaze shifts to you with a different glint. You’re sitting on your knees in bed, the sheets around your legs, and nothing but your hair covering your chest. Reclining in bed, he points the camera at you. Instinctively, you cover your chest with your hands, the modesty you still hold translated into something similar to a pose.
Carlos lets out a soft groan. “No, no,” he protests, “you can’t hide those from me.”
“You want a photo of my boobs?”
“Sí, to have it as a keepsake in my wallet.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes and giggle at the sight of him. The sleepy eyes. The messy hair. The ridiculously overly feminine case on your iPhone that looks absurdly small in his big hairy hands. And all of this bathed in the soft glow of morning light and the memories of last night when you loved each other to sleep... God, you feel so lucky to have found this man.
Tilting your head to the photo, a faint smile grazes your lips as your gaze lingers on him, disregarding the phone pointing at you.
“The hair,” he directs.
This time, without even noticing, you were already obeying. You sweep your hair back, leaving the strands to cascade down your back. The soft sound of the clicks locks this moment into eternity. Looking down, you see the streaks of light cutting through your chest, drawing parallel lines over your naked bosom. You pass your fingers over it. Click. You take a deep breath and look in the direction of the light. Click. Your arms stretch over your head, in a casual stretch like you've done any morning, without a camera aiming at you. Click.
When you look back at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.
A mischievous twinkle awakens in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. Probably way more than you.
You let your fingers rest over your lips. Click. And then they hover over your jawline and your neck, which is still sore and probably painted with small hickeys. Click. Patiently, they glide over the curves of your chest with a fatherly touch, a tease enough to make your skin erupt into goosebumps. Before you dare to touch yourself, you look up.
“Do you like this?” His voice cuts the silence. And God, it’s so much deeper than before. “Tell me, love. Do you like having me here… watching you?” You nod. “Go ahead then. Play with them.”
You obey his command, gently pressing your fingertips against the buds on your chest and grazing over your nipples. Without realizing it, you squeeze your legs together. Carlos probably notices it because he moves in his place. When you look up, his hand is cradling his cock over the blanket. The power of his words and the sight of his hand on his cock are enough to make your breath hitch. You intensify your touch, tracing circles around your nipples, feeling them harden under your touch. Click. Your eyes never leave him as you continue to play with yourself, knowing you're putting on a show for him. The thought sends shivers down your spine and makes you wetter than before.
His hand doesn’t move too much, almost like he’s saving himself for you. You can see the tension building in him, the way his muscles are tense and his jaw clenched. It's a game of self-control, and you both know it.
"Spread your legs," he commands in a low voice. You obey without hesitation, spreading your legs wider and giving him a full view of your body. Click. "Fuck," he mutters through gritted teeth. "I want to be inside you."
The mattress shifts, and as you look in his direction, you can see him crawl towards you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there’s a hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race. Reaching for your chest, he kisses the spot your fingers are still pinching. He circles his tongue around your hard nipple, making you shiver, as if an electric current is flowing between the both of you. You arch into his touch, wanting more.
And then his teeth graze over your chest, ever so slightly, before he bites into it, making you gasp and whimper. The combination of pleasure and pain has you gripping the sheets tightly as he continues to tease and torment your sensitive nipples.
His hot breath is fanning over your face as he looks down at you, panting and begging for more. A smirk plays on his lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “Such a good girl,” he praises, before leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his tongue is demanding and forceful, exploring every inch of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you desperately try to deepen the connection.
His fingers trail down from your chest to your stomach and then lower, slipping between your legs. The other hand keeps holding the phone, registering it. You take a couple of seconds to notice it, but you’re shaking. Burning.
“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he growls, before abruptly pulling away from you and returning to his seat. Arousal is dripping down your thighs as you watch him recline against the headboard. “Go ahead. Touch yourself.”
The memory of his lips and teeth seem to feed your body and arousal. You’re burning. The feeling of the sun on your skin only feeds that feeling. A warm tingling spreads through your chest and down to your core. You slide your fingers down. And God, you’re truly wet. You didn’t realize how hot this little game had turned you. You push your knees further apart, which earns a satisfied groan from your boyfriend.
"Do you want a photo of that too?" he asks.
You nod eagerly, feeling the heat radiating off your body. Without losing eye contact with him, you slide your fingers down to your throbbing center, spreading your folds and teasing yourself with light touches. His eyes are dark and intense as he watches you pleasure yourself under his gaze.
"Fuck," he groans, snapping another photo of your hand between your legs. You moan at the sound of his voice. "I love watching you, baby. You look so pretty."
Carlos repositions the phone to make you be right at the center. It’s a masterpiece. Your body fits perfectly within the frame of the phone. Your skin taken by the streaks of light, golden sunshine gilding your naked body almost like blessing the pleasure you're implying on yourself. You’d later learn that you looked unreal in those photos—something pulled out of a painting, shadows and light in perfect harmony. But in that moment, you just felt needy and desperate.
"Can I move?" You ask, your voice shaking with need.
"You can do what the fuck you want, baby," Carlos replies, his eyes never leaving you as he slides out of bed. You feel a surge of confidence and power as you take his spot, spreading your legs wide.
Your fingers slide over your wet lips, teasing yourself with light touches. Carlos sits at the end of the bed, watching intently. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on your juices and they sparkle in the light.
Your eyes meet his, and he nods encouragingly. You let out a breathy moan as you start to move your fingers in circles over your clit. The pleasure builds quickly within you, and you hear Carlos let out a low growl.
You slide two fingers inside of yourself, the wetness making it easy for them to slip in. You let out a loud moan around your fingers, imagining they're Carlos' instead. The thought of him filling you up makes your walls clench around your fingers.
You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but you want Carlos with you. "Carlos," you cry out his name, hoping he'll join in and take over where your fingers are currently working.
But he doesn't move from his spot at the end of the bed. He continues to watch you with dark eyes, his hand still hovering over his erection but not touching it.
You can see the longing in his gaze and it only fuels your desire further. You want him desperately, to be taken by him until all sense is lost.
You call out to him again, pleading for his presence and touch. You long for him. His hand tightens around his erection as he struggles to hold onto control. Your eyes lock with his, and he lets out a small laugh of helplessness.
"Use your words, baby," he grunts. "Tell me what you want."
"Please, come here."
"Not yet."
"Can I?... Please? Can I cum?"
"Yes. Go ahead. Give in for me."
You comply, arching your back and pushing your hips forward. Your fingers glide in and out of your body at a rapid pace, your breaths becoming shallow and erratic. Carlos' gaze never wavers from you, and the sound of his gentle moans fills the room.
Climax is imminent.
You can feel it building, a searing warmth spreading through your veins, threatening to consume you completely. You know you're on the edge, but you want to prolong this moment, revel in the pleasure of it all.
When you open your eyes, he's standing by your side. The camera is focused on your face, but his eyes? His eyes are fixed on yours. All his attention is on you.
"I'm—," you gasp, meeting his gaze, your voice barely audible. “I'm so close.”
“I know, my love,” he whispers. Click. “Let yourself go for me.”
As the words leave his lips, you feel yourself start to unravel. Your body trembles with ecstasy as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. You let out a guttural moan, your fingers still working their magic on your slick folds. It hits you like a wave, stealing your breath and lifting you higher, as you cry out his name and arch your back, almost like being pulled towards him by an invisible force. The camera continues to click as your body convulses, capturing every bit of your ecstasy, your face twisting into a mix of pain and pleasure.
As you come down from your high, you're aware of Carlos moving around the room. The bed dips slightly, and then he's beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your sweat-damp skin.
“Can you take me now?,” your voice low. “Please?”
Had this one in my mind all day so I just needed to sit down and write it down before it would vanish. I know I've been MIA, but I see all the support you keep giving me. You're all incredible.
Hope you enjoyed this one silly thing. As always, all feedback is appreciated. 🫶
#Carlos Sainz#Carlos Sainz Jr#Carlos Sainz x Reader#Carlos Sainz x You#Carlos Sainz Smut#Carlos Sainz Fanfic#Carlos Sainz Imagine#Formula 1 x Reader#Formula 1 x You#F1 x Reader#F1 x You#F1 Imagine#F1 One Shot#Driver x Reader#F1 Driver x Reader#Driver x You#F1 Driver x You#F1 Fanfic#FanF1ction
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tinder buddies | ln4
hi! i have no idea how to comment on that. i've got inspiration from the rumors that are now going on twitter and tiktok about lando and his activity in sm and i thought man, i need to write something in this narrative because sexting with him??? scuse me??? but of course all of this is fiction and and i dont have any statement on the rumors about lan, mostly because all of these are rumors and not facts. anyway, pls leave his poor papaya ass alone and enjoy this instead!
summary: when you met your tinder buddy irl and realize how indeed world is small
warnings: masturbation on cam (both male and female), bit of swearing, in general alott of sexual tention
pairing: fem!journalist!reader x lando norris
Y/N thought that she was good at what she was doing. She thought that despite her young age she fit in the world of motorsport really well. Sometimes it even crossed her mind that she was no different from her older colleagues, what's more, sometimes she even thought that she was better than them. However, she admitted this only to herself with complete modesty and behind tightly closed doors.
Apart from the fact that Y/N was a really good journalist whose career was growing at a surprising pace, at the end of the day she was just a twenty-two-year-old girl who, like many other twenty-two-year-old girls in the world, had her smaller and bigger sins.
Y/N breathed heavily as she entered her hotel room. She set her suitcase and bag aside, taking off her shoes and plopping down on the bed. It was well after midnight, her flight was delayed by several hours and she was simply exhausted by the passing day. Even though she was excited about the events that awaited her in a few hours, right now she was just tired. However, she knew perfectly well what would help her relax before going to sleep. Not so much what, but who.
The girl unlocked her phone and easily found the Instagram icon, clicking on it and going straight to the messages. She entered the first conversation and was about to write some prosaic message, but she didn't have time to type out half of the sentence when a new message appeared in the chat.
"u up?"
Y/N smiled to herself. It looked like she could count on a pleasant end to the day.
"I was just about to ask you the same thing"
The reply message appeared a moment later.
"i was waiting for you to be available. i thought the evening would be wasted"
"And yet you see, surprise"
The person on the other end smiled and untied the drawstring on his sweatpants. He quickly wrote his answer with one hand.
"wanna call?"
"I think you know the answer"
She smiled and reached for the switch and turned off the light, pressing the camera icon with her other hand.
Y/N and the boy she had been messaging with for a little over a month knew next to nothing about each other. She had a private account and a few photos, he had a black icon and an empty profile. He only knew her name, she only the first letter of his. They met on Tinder, their profiles there looked quite similar. She has a few photos, more of the body than the face, he has the same, mostly in black and white. They had never seen each other's faces, but they knew each other's bodies inside and out.
Y/N placed her phone on the table and leaned it against the lamp, which she turned on a moment later. The light from it was dim, but it illuminated her body enough. The angle her phone was at only showed her from the neck down. She was perfect at maintaining her privacy.
"New background?"
He asked, seeing that the surroundings behind her were different from those he had seen before. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in only a bra and a thin t-shirt.
"I'm away from home"
"Work?"
"Too many questions"
There was quiet laughter on the other side. He liked her temperament. He liked her curves even more and the sounds she made when, at his command, she pushed her fingers inside her and brought herself to orgasm. Yes, he liked that too.
"Yeah, you're right. Strip."
Y/N pulled the t-shirt over her head and her interlocutor saw a red, lace bra that he never seen on her before. He smiled and ran his hand over his crotch. He felt a chill run through him.
"You look good, baby. Red suits you"
She laughed and pushed her hair behind her shoulders.
"Is this the first time you gonna tell me to keep my bra on?"
"For now, yes. I'd love to look at it for a while" he squeezed his cock and began to lightly massage it through the fabric. "You know what to do, dont'cha?"
Y/N bit her lip and lifted her hands, placing them gently on her shoulders. She slowly moved them down her body and when she found her breasts, she slowly started massaging them in circular motions. She closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, hearing the sigh that came from her phone. He watched her carefully, following her every move.
"Take it off," he said after a while, "It's pretty, but I think I prefer you without it."
She quickly took off her bra and threw it aside. He smiled at the sight of her breasts. Y/N returned to them, continuing their massage. As she lightly pinched her nipples, she moaned softly. His cock vibrated at the sound that came from his headphones. He smiled.
"Does it feel good, baby?"
"Mhm, yeah" she answered, looking again at her phone "But you're playing unfair again. I have to see you too."
He chuckled and shook his head.
"You don't let me enjoy you"
He replied and put down the phone, quickly pulling his shirt over his head. He fell back on the pillows and turned on the light on his phone. Y/N smiled at the sight of the familiar, slightly tanned and toned torso. Her interlocutor didn't see it, but she smiled even more when he tightened his hand on his cock, which was now clearly visible on the gray material of his trousers.
"Take off the rest of your clothes and lie down"
He ordered. Y/N obediently lay down, taking off her pants and underwear. When the rustle of fabric could be heard on the other side, he easily freed himself from his pants and tight, slightly damp boxers. He spat on his hand and spread the saliva over his cock, feeling it tighten under his touch. Fuck, what he would give if instead of his hand it was this tiny hand that disappeared between the pair of thighs he saw on the screen of his phone.
The girl complied with his command and he saw her middle finger slowly sinking inside her, only to come out after a while covered with her juices.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, "You're so wet, baby."
“I wish you were here and licked me clean.”
Y/N said, rubbing her clit. She felt that she wouldn't need much to reach orgasm.
Her interlocutor smiled under his breath, but she wasn't able to see it.
"I'm afraid that i would make you even more wet."
"Someone has quite an ego here"
"I know my capabilities, baby."
She snorted under her breath and made herself more comfortable, inserting her finger into herself again. First one, quite slowly, and soon she added another one. A long moan filled the hotel room as she began to move them, imagining that it was not her but him who was fucking her. And not with his fingers, but with his wet, hard cock.
"Yeah, just like that, baby. Keep going."
His eyes carefully followed the screen and the activities taking place on it. His hand moved smoothly over his cock, his lips were slightly opened. As he was stroking himself, the glass of his watch on his wrist reflected the light from the phone. He wore it every time they cam together. Y/N didn't know anything about watches, so she didn't know what brand it was or whether it was expensive. They never talked about it, honestly, they basically never had a normal chat. However, he once asked her about the tattoo on her forearm, just below the inner bend of her elbow. He noticed it after the first time they met on camera. When it was all over and they were about to hang up and return to their real lives, he asked about it.
"What does 33 mean?"
He asked when the girl started getting dressed.
"What?"
"Tattoo on your arm"
The girl looked at her forearm and only then did she understand what he was asking about.
"I can't tell you because you'll make fun of me"
Hearing this, he smiled. Not because there was probably some stupid story behind it, but because the girl was concerned about not looking bad in front of him. Even though they absolutely didn't know each other.
"I barely know your name, I don't know why I would make fun of you."
Y/N was silent for a moment, glancing at her tattoo and lightly stroking it with her thumb.
"Do you know Formula 1?"
He smiled and nodded. His reaction, however, was beyond her reach.
"I know a thing or two"
"My favorite driver drives with this number. Well, actually he did, now his number is 1. But for me it will still be associated with 33"
The girl explained. She felt a bit embarrassed to expose herself to him, especially with something like this. However, he did not laugh at her or comment on her confession in any negative way.
"I have a friend who is also involved in motorsport and has the same number. Actually, not anymore, because he also had to change it. But for me it will also be associated only with 33"
Y/N smiled at his words. Sometimes she wondered if they could become friends and get to know each other a little better. But then she decided to come down to earth and remind herself that she had no time for relationships or friendships. Now the most important thing for her is work and career, everything else can wait. After all, no one will satisfy her as much as herself. Right?
"Fuck, I could fill you so good, baby," he moaned, gasping for breath. He felt that he was only seconds away from orgasm "You have no idea how much pleasure I would give you."
The girl's lips were opened, her eyelids were shut tightly. She massaged her clit with her left hand and moved the fingers of her right hand inside her in quick, uneven movements.
"I'm about to- I…oh my god-"
“Yes, baby, thats it" he gasped, speeding up "Cum for me.”
She felt a wave of pleasure wash over her. The moment her back arched, she heard a long "fuck" coming from her phone. He came shortly after her, staining his toned abs with his sperm. He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, trying to calm his breathing. There was silence on both sides for a moment, neither of them moving an inch.
After some time, Y/N sat on the bed and reached for a tissue, wiping her hands on it.
"I have to go now. I have a lot of work waiting for me tomorrow."
"Me too. I wanted to let you know that we may not be able to have a call tomorrow."
He answered, also wiping himself.
“It's okay, no big deal,” Y/N replied and took one last look at the muscled, tanned torso visible on her phone screen, “Good night. And good luck with your chores tomorrow.”
“Good night, baby. You too.”
She smiled and reached for her phone, ending the call. Exhausted from the previous day and the evening cam session, she just buried herself in the blanket and shortly after fell asleep. The next day, when her alarm went off, she was full of energy despite several hours of sleep. She couldn't wait for saturday's qualifying and all she was thinking about as she was getting ready was whether she would be able to get good material.
As she put on her red bra, she smiled involuntarily as she remembered last night. She wondered if he had already gotten lost in the whirlwind of his today's duties. Y/N quickly got dressed, gathered her things and, putting her pass around her neck, left the hotel. When she got to the track and was in the paddock, she couldn't think about anything else. Her only thoughts revolved around what was going to happen on the track in a few dozen minutes. However, for a split second she wondered what her tinder buddy actually knew about Formula 1. Maybe they could have something to talk about? Maybe she could even take him to some grand prix?
Her thoughts disappeared when she noticed Lando Norris hanging around the McLaren garage. The girl asked the cameraman to prepare the equipment and she would ask the Brit if he would be willing to have a short conversation. She squeezed the microphone in her hand and without thinking, she approached him, introducing herself and asking if it was possible to record a short conversation.
Hearing her name, his heart did a flip. He knew that name very well.
"Sure, no problem"
He replied with a smile, obviously not revealing himself, and ran his hand through his hair. The glass of the watch strapped to his wrist gleamed in the sunlight. Y/N had seen this watch before. Many times.
The girl smiled back and, hearing his agreement, gave a thumbs up to the cameraman. When she raised her hand, the sleeve of her shirt rolled up, and Lando's eyes involuntarily caught the tattoo on her forearm. A slight 33, just below the bend in the elbow.
He felt a sudden wave of heat wash over him. It's a coincidence, right? It must be.
"How's your mood before qualifying?"
Y/N asked, putting the microphone down and straightening her shirt. As she was arranging her collar, Lando's eyes caught a glimpse of her red bra strap. He smiled to himself and looked down. He wondered how many accidents and coincidences had come together in the universe and resulted in this situation.
"What? Something wrong?"
The girl asked, not knowing what made him react like that.
He shook his head and after a moment looked up again. He looked at the girl carefully. However, she was completely lost and looked at him questioningly.
"Sorry, as you can probably see, my mood is great. I'm positive about today's qualifying."
Y/N tentatively gripped her microphone. When the cameraman approached them, they started recording the footage and she had no time to analyze Lando's strange behavior. In fact, it was possible that this was their first and last conversation ever, so why should she care about it. When they managed to record a short material, Y/N thanked him and wished him successful qualifications. After that everyone went their separate ways.
Immediately after entering the garage, Lando found his phone buried in a pile of his things. He quickly entered his latest conversation on Instagram and, without thinking, decided to send the girl a message. Worst case scenario, he'll just make a fool of himself, which isn't a big deal since they don't know each other at all. At best, he would spend tonight as he had long dreamed of.
"ure even prettier than i thought, baby."
Y/N felt a vibration in her pants pocket and without thinking, she unlocked her phone. She was surprised to see a notification coming from Instagram, and she was even more surprised when she noticed who sent her the message. After reading it, she felt a cold sweat break out on her. However, she decided to think and act soberly.
"How do you know what I look like?"
"turn around"
Lando replied quickly and leaned against the threshold of his garage. The girl clutched her phone in her hands and obeyed his command with her heart beating wildly. Lando smiled at her, holding his still unlocked phone. Y/N felt a lack of saliva in her mouth. It's impossible, it's not really happening.
"Are you sure we're looking at the same person?"
She replied, having difficulty pressing the appropriate keys with her fingers. He was amused by her reaction. This whole situation didn't make sense to him. It was crazy.
"im looking at a pretty neat journalist with a mad bunda who has a tattoo with my friend's racing number. and u?"
Y/N blushed. Fuck. It's him.
"I see that your jumpsuit is a little tight in some places."
Lando snorted under his breath. The girl wasn't lying. The whole situation made quite an impression on him.
Y/N bit her lip and looked up. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't arousing.
"u know exactly why its tight"
"I guess I have to find out in real life. The camera likes to lie."
When she sent the message, she looked up again and their eyes locked. The Brit winked at her and quickly replied, turning on his heel and disappearing into the depths of the garage.
"my driver's room in five minutes. ill be happy to dispel your doubts"
#f1 imagines#f1 one shot#f1#formula 1#f1 oneshots#f1 imagine#lando norris#ln4#lando norris x reader#lando norris smut
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simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror)
tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.
It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.
He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.
Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.
Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.
He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.
"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.
"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."
Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"
"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.
"Well, he must be soft in th'head."
She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."
"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."
"Hm?"
"His loss is my gain."
"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"
And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.
Instead–
"Could be."
"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"
"Tha' obvious?"
"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"
"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"
She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?
"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."
And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."
It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.
"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.
"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."
Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.
He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.
(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!
I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)
Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.
And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.
When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.
But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.
So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.
(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)
"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "
"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."
Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.
But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.
"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.
"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."
He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.
Just wanna be fucked.
Daft, silly girl.
She should've chosen anyone else.
It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.
"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."
And he means it.
It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.
Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.
Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.
The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.
"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.
"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.
(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)
His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.
"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."
Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.
What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.
"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.
"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."
"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.
"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."
Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that
Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you.
Johnny: I don't believe you.
Johnny: Pick up my calls.
Johnny: SIMON.
#should've made this a proper fic#it's longer than i expected it to be#anyway.#simon 'ghost' riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon 'ghost' riley#simon riley#ghost#x female reader#call of duty#fanfiction
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