when you button up/zips up her shirt before leaving? Please kiss and make out with her before letting her go. (more on this later ;>)

whenever she’d place her arm around your waist in public spaces. It tightens whenever the space gets more crowded or when you both are talking to someone. Bonus points if you’re a chatterbox and you just let her steer you anywhere (mall, park, whatever)

her in tank tops

when she’s serious. Hand over her earpiece, barking commands to the crew during a time-sensitive task.

Or when she’s focused during a mission briefing, hand on her hip and the other on the desk as she leans over a little, your sides barely touching.

sweat (IYKYK GUYS)

especially the kind where its getting to her hair making it look damp.

fresh out of the shower.

EVEN BETTER: being in the same bathtub as hers, washing her hair, back, lathering soap and rinsing it off her skin.

not-so-subtly watching her put on clothes, adjusting the sleeves and her belt, running a hand through her hair… Thing is, she knows you’re looking. if she’s feeling particularly bold, she purposely acts she’s struggling with her zipper to look over and ask “Can you help me with this, sweetheart?” and she just watches you with a small grin as you pull the zipper up.

Don’t even get me started with how her hands would find their way to pick the lint off of your shirt. Her hands linger on your shoulders after. Down your arms and to your hands that have already finished with the task, slowly pulling them up for her to kiss your knuckles.

if you’re busy and she’s talking to you she picked up a habit of lifting your chin with her finger if she has something more important to say.

how unashamed she is of showing affection. no matter the place or time

when she takes her time kissing you

if you two are apart: her voice softens whenever it’s you she’s talking to on the radio. To Hicks and everyone else she’s Ripley. To you? She’s Ellen.

When she gets stern with you? (GODAYUM) All out of love for you but there’s no way in hell you’re going in alone so pardon her for her French and for her ever-so close proximity.

when she cradles your head every time you hug or cuddle

when she talks about her interests or rambles about the latest book she’s read.

her mock sympathy “Aw, what’s that?” “Did that hurt?” “Poor you.. Want me to kiss it better?”

when she towers over you (SHE’S 5’11” PLEASEEEEEE AUGH)

extra clingy when in the comfort of your shared quarters.

sharing a meal with her and you lock eyes ever so often. Bonus points if you’re in the mess hall with the rest.

that "can i?" look before continuing

her biceps… (alien resurrection has me in shambles. yandere ripley 8 maybe? anyone?)

(scenario 1)

before getting the rings she’d measure your ring size while you sleep. meaning, with you passed out against her with the TV droning on was the perfect opportunity. Carefully taking the tape measure from her pocket, gentle hands taking yours and wrapping it around your finger, mentally taking note and nodding before letting your hand drop back on her stomach and putting the measure back in her pocket.

already knows the best place to get them, price be damned. she wants to spend the rest of her life with you. it wouldn’t hurt to spend on something as important as this.

doesn’t like those cliche diamond rings. she wants it more meaningful and catered to your personality. you like a certain crystal/gemstone? best believe it’ll be perfectly polished and on the ring PRONTOOOO + initials on the inside of the ring

same goes for her own as well! wifey matches her wifey of course

(scenario 2)

She would cry tears of joy if you were to ever propose to her or even imply it. (she wanted to do it first but you beat her to it)

truth be told she already purchased the rings for you both and honestly?

she doesn’t mind an extra pair

BEST BELIEEEVEEEEEEEE she’ll wear the second one around her neck with pride.

there are times you'd catch her gazing into the ring, rolling it between her fingers, just enough for the light to catch on the initials inside. it's become a habit for her now for whenever she needs to ground herself.

Will call you “My wife” every opportunity she gets. private or public, doesn’t matter. won’t hesitate to show it to others too. both of you have literally survived aliens together and now that you’re free of it? she’ll make the most out of it.

on that note, whenever she’s out with the others (whether that be the Nostromo crew or Hicks n company) if she ever sees something that reminds her of you she’ll go “Y/N really loves the ocean. She told me she loves swimming and I’ve been on trips with her to know that her ‘love’ for it is an understatement”, “Guys, hold on a sec,” "“What’s up?” “Saw something she might like. I’m getting it for her.”

remembers the smallest things about you.

she finds it her duty to not just be your partner, but the person you share the depths of your soul is. doesn’t exactly believe in soulmates but she believes in love and that is you.

doesn’t believe in honeymoon phase. she loves you more and more everyday

if anyone were to ever look at you wrong or say something untoward about you she won’t hesitate in confronting the person. even in a public setting. her mood shifts instantly and suddenly her hand tightens around yours under the table and ellen’s firmly setting her foot down on how they should be careful what words to choose next unless they want a fist to their jaw.

I know I’ve said this in other headcanons but PLEASEEE CUDDLE WITH HER AND TELL HER ABOUT YOUR DAY OR WHATEEVERRRR all she has for you are heart eyes, a stupid grin on her face. her mind is nothing but “omgyoursocuteandlovelypleasemakeoutwithmerealquick—”

acts of service is HUGE for her btw. don’t think for a second you’re alone in anything. chores? cool! she’s doing the laundry while you clean the bathroom. checks in on you every now and then. “Hey, babe? I’m done with the laundry, I’ll go ahead with the lawn.”

because it’s hot as HELL these days, she makes sure to give you a glass of cold water at random times during the day. you do the same for her too! (though, as attractive as she is sweating and all… hydration is important).

when you defend her for the littlest things. “She prefers extra spice, ectually.” or when you correct a person who’s talking about her, her heart does a little flip. once you both are sat in your booth, she grins and leans into your ear, “Thank you, babe”

isn’t against the idea of matching outfits. in fact, she may even propose it if there’s an ocassion for it.

if you also have curly hair she will help you style it. she is more than happy to browse hair care aisles with you and even let you take your time in choosing hair accessories. you buy her some too if she lets you (lmao) as she insists you don’t need to do so for her (even if one hair tie caught her eye). but you buy it for her anyway.

gifts from her are are practical yet heartfelt. that fixed vinyl player, an improved cooling system, etc.

For Ellen, to love is to experience. She knows relationships has its ups and downs. It doesn’t scare her to go through all of those with you. What scares her the most is living a life without the privilege of growing old with you. please let her deepen your wrinkles, witness your hair going gray, care for you even as you both weaken. It’s the greatest thing to her.

and a part of you likes that a great deal; there is no sense of injustice with him, no upset that he is asking something of you that he cannot himself achieve. you and the rest of the dancers watch as his twists and bows, displaying himself to guide through the moves, and it’s such a striking thing to behold that you can’t bring yourself to mind.

still, his beauty is the hardest part of being his student. the cording of his muscles, the sleek ink of his hair, the lithe curvature of his movements, it’s torturous. all at once you want to dance as he does, want to make your audience feel as he makes you feel, want him to shed himself of all professionalism and touch you somewhere irrevocable. you feel terrible and silly wanting it, wanting him, but there’s no helping it, you think.

and anyway, you insist that this wanting you indulge in in the dark isn’t dangerous. there is no oxygen for it in the studio, nothing to nurture your fantasies, and so you have to believe that they will wither and die with time. 

of course, while you tie the ribbons of your pointe shoes around your ankles in the empty studio, you pray this fantasy death will happen sooner rather than later. it’s completely exhausting to be so constantly wondering what his cock feels like, and mr. geto likes to remind you that exhausted is no state to dance in.

you love arriving to the studio early like this. before the room is overtaken with the smell of sweat and resin, you can breathe in the marley flooring and stretch your legs wide, grateful. you seek out lonely moments to appreciate how rare it is that you’ve succeeded in ballet enough to make a living from it; you close your eyes and get overdramatically philosophical, and it’s a privilege. you love it.

and yes, fine, it secures mr. geto’s first five minutes in the studio for yourself. this cannot be helping your attempt to suffocate your wanting, you know, but then he’s walking through the door draped in fine linen and hair pulled messy to the crown of his head, and you go boneless.

“good morning, dove,” he calls over his shoulder, turned away from you as he sets his things down.

you don’t remember when he started calling you that, and you don’t know if he uses it with other dancers, but god how can you blame yourself for getting sticky for him when he addresses you that way?

“good morning, mr. geto,” you call back, trying to sound lazy with the dawn as you continue stretching. you watch your fingers splayed on the floor, the borders of each vinyl panel, anything other than his strides towards his seat at the front of the room.

he plops rather unceremoniously down, legs spread slightly and head tipped back as he groans something truly criminal. you can feel something hot and biting between your legs but you try to ignore it, looking up at him.

“exhausted is no state to dance in,” you say with a smile.

he does not lift his head—you wonder if he wants to cause you pain by forcing you to watch the curved tilt of his throat and jaw—but you can see from the movement of his cheeks that he is smiling a little.

“i’m not dancing, dove, you are.”

you roll onto your back and starfish out, sufficiently limber. “what sort of terror will rain down on us today?”

he does look down at you then, lip still curved enough to look like a smirk, and when his head tilts just slightly you die a little death. “terror? i’m never terrible, i know i’m not.” his fingers make a soft sound against his thigh as he taps on it mindlessly. “you’ll like the combos today.”

you can’t help but bark a little laugh. “you don’t mean that. that’s something you only say when they’re hard.”

a chuckle pushes out through his nose. “yes, i know.” and then, matter-of-factly, he adds, “you like it hard.”

and god you try not to draw attention to the innuendo in that comment. just as he says it the doors are pushed open with a low thunk and the rest of the dancers come filtering in, and so you have every possible opportunity to be normal and professional and not silly and terrible, but you are a silly and terrible woman, so your chest stutters on your next breath. and he watches. 

you choose to believe, for your health and happiness, that he still couldn’t quite discern what your reaction was, or why it would have happened. but you cannot deny the fleeting scent of smugness on him, or the way his jaw twitches when his eyes flit to you between greeting your colleagues. 

he must be, you decide as you come to take your place at the barre, a cruel and unusual man who has recognized your unrequited lust and wants to punish you for it. 

yes, that must be it, you assure yourself. 

the rest of class is excruciating. all the typical torment of watching the man whose bones you are so desperate to jump contort himself into beautiful shapes is mounted further by the way he watched you this morning, the way his head dropped to the side just so to see you fluster for a moment. 

you try to channel it into the combos. as you travel across the room, you work to carve the feeling from your chest and toss it outwards, anywhere else. your legs burn with your leaping and turning but you push harder, hoping you’ll reach some critical point at which the physical soreness of your muscles eclipses the fluttering behind your navel, but you can’t quite catch it. and every time you hope you might be close, you feel your fingertips just grazing a moment of forgetting, you catch his eye again, and something hungry pulses in your stomach.

you probably need to get fucked. you definitely need to get fucked, actually, because you’ll ruin all your leotards if this continues. 

sweat shines down your body by the time class is finally, mercifully over, and the plan has already solidified then. you’ll go out tonight, you’ll get well and sufficiently railed, and at long last you will be able to address your fucking ballet instructor properly. 

even collecting your bag from the floor makes your muscles scream. your steps drag as you shuffle about, removing your pointe shoes and slinging your purse over your shoulder in the waning light of the day. 

“was that your attempt at proving me wrong?”

you straighten, inhaling sharply. when you look over your shoulder, it’s only you and mr. geto in the studio again. he’s standing in the threshold now, body leaned against the door as he watches you finish packing. 

fuck.

normally you might relish this sort of attention from him, but at this point you feel overfilled with the smoke of your desperation and you need to breathe. you need to go to the club and release some of this pent up sexual energy. you need to get out before you spread your legs for him in front of the fucking mirror. 

you try to laugh lightly, but it sounds tired and reedy. “yeah, i guess not.” shrugging a little, you add, “couldn’t help it.” and you tried to use that tone of voice one uses when a conversation is over, for the first time since meeting him hoping he simply turns and leaves, but he stays static there, watching you.

you flounder, looking for anything else to say. you want to lighten the tension that’s pulling your hips towards him, so you put on a wry smile. “i’ll try less tomorrow.”

that makes him chuckle as he brings a hand up to massage one shoulder. inevitably you think of how it might feel under your fingers, how it might tense if you were riding him and he was using that arm to lift and drop you on his—

“i do have one note for you, actually,” he murmurs, and you try to mask the horror on your face as he begins walking towards you. “show me your grand adage from the last combo.”

you hesitate a moment, clutching your purse tightly with one arm and opening your diaphragm so he doesn’t see your lungs constrict. this is normal, you remind yourself, he is being a normal instructor.

and it’s true, this is normal, but he has abnormal sex appeal and you are abnormally tightly wound and and he has never adjusted you with his hands before. this is a terrible, horrible, grotesque idea, but what are you supposed to say? no?

you drop your things slowly at your feet, tracking the sweeping of his eyes along your movements. with your hands empty again you stand still a moment, surely looking as bewildered as you feel, but he nods slightly: go ahead. 

you steady the soft tremble of your fingers as you extend your arms outwards, aligning your spine as your leg extends behind you. your core engages to keep your hips from tilting upwards, chin high to create a sloping line from your neck and down your torso. even though you do not—cannot—look mr. geto in the eyes you can feel him watching, your muscles twitch when he assesses them, fluttering like little birds under your skin.

“yes, that’s it,” he says, low, behind his teeth. he begins to walk around you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was trying to make you feel predated. 

two things happen at once. you realize—and the weight of it nearly buckles your knees and takes you through the floor of the studio—that he is not going to show you want he wants by doing it at precisely the moment one long finger brushes the under side of your thigh. there isn’t even anything promiscuous about where he grazes the fingerpad, but nevertheless you feel like an open wound, a nerve, only barely restraining a full body shudder at the feeling. what the fuck is he doing?

“you can lift this higher.”

you’re almost thankful that you scoff on instinct; it makes you sound less affected by this than you are. “i’m—i’m trying, but–”

and then you really do shudder, hot and tacky from the nexus of your legs as his hand grips your thigh in full, pulling it a centimeter higher and watching your body absorb the movement to balance. your breaths puff sharp and you can’t even attempt to stop them now.

his voice is no louder than a whisper but there’s no breath in it, all timbre and sound. “there, dove. hold that.” his hand pulls away torturously slow, and at such an angle that you feel the point of each fingertip as his palm falls away. you hope he’s spontaneously blinded so he can’t see the goosebumps erupting down your arms, but instead he leans an inch closer to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, watching you strain to keep the position from just behind your shoulder.

“it makes it harder if you hold your breath.” you can hear the twitch of his lips in that and it makes it no easier for you to take in air, but you pull a trembling gulp of air in anyways. to please him, you suppose, because apparently that’s all you’re capable of doing.

he hums in approval, “that’s good enough, dove, thank you.” 

and no sooner do the words leave his lips are you dropping your leg and fleeing out the door, only barely remembering your bag.

~~~~~~~

you’re learning that your desperation for your ballet instructor is an exceptionally powerful tool.

earlier today, you pushed your body beyond its limit in the name of exorcising yourself of the curse of him. you were an outward force then, expanding and swelling and trying to expel the dark sweetness between your thighs.

now, haunting the neon shadows of this club in your highest, most painful heels, you think your desperation has a scent. you can’t remember ever being looked at in this way; from across the dance floor and behind the bar and in a far away corner, you catch men’s glances, all of them wolfish and interested. they can tell you need to be fucked, immediately.

you select the largest specimen you can find; a hulking mountain of a creature with a scar down one side of his mouth. he’s not quite handsome in the way suguru is handsome, it’s a louder, more insistent sort of attractiveness, but nonetheless you eye fuck him until he approaches you, knowing his weight will feel nice enough from behind.

he grabs at your side when he arrives in front of you, sliding a paw down your lower back. “come dance with me,” he rasps into your ear, and while normally you’d ask for the decency of exchanging names, tonight you’re sold.

you laugh as he tugs you into the fray, a throng of bodies pressed close and tacky with sweat. there’s a strange relief as he settles behind you, strobes flaring in your vision and his thick fingers around your waist. you can already feel how this ends, something sloppy and vaguely grotesque but you don’t even mind, you’re so coiled and greedy for this man you cannot have.

the music pulls you together and he grinds with you in time with it, pulling your ass against his jeans and twisting your hips back and forth. 

he runs his nose down the slope of your neck, feeling how pliant your limbs move for him. “you’re flexible, huh?”

with your head tilted back against his shoulder he brings one hand slowly up the front of your body, grasping loosely at your neck. you grin and nod into it, letting your eyes go hazy as you look up at the rigged lights and the rising fog.

you’re fucking soaked. you really would just like it if he’d bully his cock into you here in the middle of the dance floor so you can finally think straight, and you’re considering pulling him into the bathroom to do something truly indefensible against the dirty basin of a sink, but you feel his tendons tense around your throat and it makes you tilt your chin back down on instinct.

into your ear he asks, almost amused by what he’s seeing, “d’you know him?”

your heart sinks. 

whatever buoy you had wrestled between your arms was dissolving back into salt water, you’re slipping, you’re frantic, you’re looking across the dance floor and fucking suguru geto is there.

his hair is down and silky over his shoulders, which pull a white t shirt taut across the planes of his chest. you can see, even from here, the shadows of lean muscle, his body’s capacity for dance. the sleeves of his shirt are short enough that you can see, for the first time, the head of a snake tattoo peeking just below the hem. 

fuck.

and no wonder your enormous dance partner figured you knew each other; the way he’s looking at you is lethal, a sharp slice of a stare from across the room, a pointed watching. his lips twitch when he sees you notice him, something conspiratorial and entirely his own there. it looks as though he’s holding a live animal in his mouth, sly and coy and biting down on a moving thing behind his tongue. a single, sinewy hand lifts from his side and he waves.

fuck fuck fuck.

in a fleeting out-of-body event, you can appreciate the hilarity of this moment. it pulls a sound from your throat, almost a laugh, almost a scoff, too, and you stumble slightly out of the hold of the man behind you. “i—well, yeah, actually.” you have no idea what look you’re wearing, but when you turn to face your dance partner, it makes him chuckle under his breath. 

“you uh,” he scratches at his scar with his thumb, “you wanna go over there?” 

he’s teasing you—this much is obvious to you—and so much of you is desperate to tell him no, i’d like to stay right here, and grip to the veins of his forearms and let him take you home. but then you think of mr. geto’s hands along your thigh as he adjusted it and it’s almost like he has you between his fingers again, towing you towards him. 

“i–i’m sorry, i just think i should go and–” you gesticulate behind you, vaguely, reaching for something dignified to say, “and say hi.” a failure of the highest order.

the man in front of you laughs again, deep and from his stomach this time. he’s already tilting his body away from you, already letting you go, already sensing that the smell of your pussy was meant for the long-haired figure a few feet away. “you go right ahead, ma,” you think if he wasn’t so huge a person, his laughing would sound like giggling, “i’ll be fine.”

the sight of him slipping away from you makes you nauseous. you’re watching your own failure, all six feet and four inches of him, dissipating again into the sea of people, already under the manicured fingers of other women who aren’t waiting to arch for someone who essentially equates to their boss.

but there’s something secret and sweet to watching him go, too. standing resigned on the dance floor, accepting whatever honeyed trap fate has set for you, you can unburden yourself from this taxing process of trying so hard not to embarrass yourself. yes, you think, i will simply embarrass myself, and maybe whatever follows won’t feel so excruciatingly painful. 

geto watches you carefully as you slink to his table. he keeps the muscles in his face slack, neutral enough to obscure the meaning from his expression, but the faint pull of his jaw reminds you of this morning, of after class. despite yourself, you align your body properly as you take the six odd steps to stand at his feet, extending your legs the way you know he’d want in the light of day. 

he smells like musk and something botanical when you get close enough. you hope you don’t smell like your own slick. 

“it was sort of deja vu, watching that,” he begins. even under the beating of the music he refuses to shout, voice unfurling from behind his lips and just barely reaching your ears.

you wrinkle your nose a little. “how do you mean?”

the ice in his drink chimes with a flick of his wrist. “watching you dance.”

you tilt your head back and forth, feigning some sort of consideration. “no, i think this might be different.”

he’s smiling enough now that you can almost see his teeth. the part of you that is desperate to be cautious screeches that he’s playing with you, he doesn’t want you, but with each tip of your skull you can feel that voice liquifying. you hope it slips out your ear.

“how so?” he asks.

you do your best to keep a straight face. “well, for one, i don’t want your notes.”

he looks almost joyful to spit this back at you: “oh i have a few, actually.”

your laugh is too breathy and real to truly hear it against the ambient noise of the room, but he tracks it anyway, swishes his ice again. “you’re unqualified, unfortunately. this type of dancing isn’t your expertise, mr. geto—”

“suguru,” he interjects. “suguru here.”

your thighs twitch, almost stinging with need now, but you steady yourself with a breath, humming, “okay, suguru, this type of dancing isn’t your expertise. i only accept edits from experts.”

“i might surprise you, dove.”

you run your tongue along the front of your teeth. he’s asking you to play, you think, and so you raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin the way he does when he wants you to begin.

“well,” he takes a fraction of a step towards you and you match it backwards, pushed by the heat of him and the smell of his cologne, “i think you moved a little too quickly.”

you’re moving entirely in tandem now, him forward and you back, all the way until your head bumps a wall. cornered like this, he eclipses almost your entire line of sight, a vignette of dark hair.

“the part when you tilt your head back here,” and he gestures to his shoulder, “that’s the best part. you fell straight into it.”

something shudders up your legs and you squeeze them together, desperate for a moment of anything against the swelling button between them.

“they need to wait longer for it. makes it better.”

his smirk is slowly fading, something more intimate making space for itself across his mouth. if he recognizes the irony of this, he doesn’t show it, demanding simply: “show me.”

you have half a mind to gape at him, at what he’s offering, but instead you turn—stupid, whorish thing—as he asked, pressing yourself slowly to him. when your ass bumps against his pelvis he groans low. he’s rock hard against you, and a gasp moves up your windpipe but he has his free hand on your chin first, forcing your head back to his shoulder.

contorted like this, his nose grazes your cheek, his breath filtered into your ear. you whine, feline and soft, and he hums in return.

“yeah, it’s good, huh?” and he ruts his hips slightly into yours to emphasize his point, nosing your cheekbone. “so you have to start somewhere else.”

the hand on your chin falls away, moving to the small of your back where it bends back for him. he pushes his thumb to your spine, and then the rest of his palm, bending you forward at the waist. your hands come up to brace on the wall and you let your forehead fall there, too, letting the cool concrete tether you to whatever sanity you have left.

he exhales like veneered restraint watching you tilt, feeling the extra push of your thighs against his cock twitching in his pants. “yes, dove, like that.” he grinds against you in earnest then, dragging the clothed shaft of him over the globes of your ass. “he should work for it a little.”

he pushes again and you moan fully. it leaps from the wall to his ears and it earns you another drag, his fingers bruising against your waist.

“and then,” his composure is dwindling, you can hear it, and he ruts again, “once he’s worked up,” he drags the hand at your hip up your side, around your front, between your breasts to arch you back to him again. your back bows taut and impossible to meet him, head falling immediately to his shoulder this time, eyes squeezed shut. you wonder if your slick is running down your legs now, or if it’s still pooled in your panties. he finishes into your ear,  “then you come up here.”

you wiggle your hips against him, needy, and he grunts. “what did he say to you?” he grits out.

your capacity to think is low, practically panting like he’s already inside you. “huh?”

“when he had you here, he said something that made you laugh, i wanna know what it was.” with his hand fanned across your stomach he can pull you tight against his thrusts.

“h-he, he said i—fuck suguru, i-”

“come on, little dove,” he coos.

your eyes flutter open to find him watching you, purple eyes skidding across your skin. “he said i was flexible,” you huff.

he smiles like he’s going to eat you. “oh yeah? and did you tell him it’s because your mr. geto stretches you?”

your fists bunch and pull against the wall. you’re certain he can feel you clenching through your dress. your mr. geto, jesus. “n-no,” you breathe.

“oh, that cuts deep, dove,” he tuts, but he fucks against your ass again anyway, “i work so hard to stretch you open and you’re not giving me credit?”

you find yourself with the fleeting and miraculous wherewithal to laugh, light and towards the ceiling. “i’ll tell him next time, then.”

that makes suguru laugh, too, the both of you almost manic with the truly absurd suggestion that you would ever be touched by anyone else.

you feel very suddenly like a stray dog at his doorstep, scrap-fed by his hand, bony and waiting for something warm to be tossed out again. the fear that he doesn’t mean this the way you’re taking it, that he wants you only briefly, chokes you still.

“are you drunk?” you ask him.

he lets you feel the frenetic pattern of his breathing against your neck. “no.”

and then even smaller, you can’t help it: “are you messing with me?”

slowly, he brings the hand with his drink up, extending his forefinger out around your front. it’s cold from the glass as it taps on your chin once, twice, and then drags down the line of your throat. “no.”

and you aren’t quite sure how you would describe what you feel move through him then, a trembling sort of shake, maybe, but as it buzzes through his hips he thrusts the momentum up into you. later, you would come to realize this was the sensation of him, at last, deciding something he could not take back.

“i think you left something with me at the studio today,” he murmurs. the electricity of knowing you did not leave something at the studio takes hold of your ribs and tugs. “you left in such a rush.”

“i think you know that’s you’re fault, suguru.”

he smiles small into the side of your face. “yes, i know.” a finger brushes under the swell of your breast. “i can drive you there to come get it.”

you’re beginning to squirm in his hold now, the beastly thing between your thighs drooling in full, usurping control of your limbs. “haven’t you been drinking?”

and suguru is all too pleased to bring his glass to your lips, tipping it slowly onto your tongue.

he’s drinking fucking sparkling water.

he isn’t even tipsy.

you’re nodding before you can even gulp enough air to say yes.

~~~~~~~

you barely make it out of his car before he’s on you. pressed against the passenger door, he kisses you like he wants to reach inside and pull out a rib. it’s teeth and tongue and your mewls in his mouth, and it makes him pull one leg up around his hip to grind slow against your clothed pussy.

he strokes his tongue along yours as he guides you to the front door, bucking into you when you bite down soft on his bottom lip.

“fuck,” he pants. “get inside.”

seeing the studio at night is strange. the moonlight glints off the mirror, bathing the room in silver streaks. stranger still is hearing geto come in behind you, locking the door with a low snick.

he passes behind you like a memory, stepping just to graze your back and shoulder before pulling away and towards his usual seat at the mirror. “stand center floor for me, dove,” he instructs.

your body moves without much thought. it’s so easy to do as he says here, to pervert the habit of following his directions as you stand at the center of the vinyl.

suguru runs a hand across his jaw, over his lips, watching you stand static as asked. you know how lust blown your eyes are already because you can see the black depth of them in the mirror behind his head. “stretch for me,” he sighs. 

a strange confidence feeds and swells in your belly, something alight and excited as you bend at the waist. your movements are no more salacious than they normally are, simple contortions to warm your hips and thighs, but you slow them enough to match the moment. your dress, too, heightens it; the hem teases the curve of your ass, your swollen mound, tight against you in ways your dance clothes aren’t. geto has sharpened the air to a fine point, and you teeter on it.

your head flips over, legs softly bent and then straight again, swishing open and closed. between each movement you glance up at him, swallowing thick at the shadow behind the tent in his jeans, the clench of his fist as it approaches his length. when you open your legs past second position and bend to stretch between them, he moans, unashamed, and you can tell from the lilt of pain in it that he’s stroking himself over his pants now. your pussy nearly opens in this position, faced away from him, and you feel the fever say his name. 

“your middle split now, dove,” he grips himself like he means to strangle, tipping his head back against the mirror to watch you over the bridge of his nose, adding, “please.”

with your hands splayed on the floor, you drop simply into it. when your clit bumps the cool flooring you whine in your throat, settling your weight. suguru is stroking himself in earnest over the denim when you peer up at him. “uh huh,” he pants, “and bend the knees now, just a little.”

your knees cant up and you tuck your tailbone, forcing your dress to ruck up around your hips and display, fully, the wet mess of your panties. the suffocated whine suguru sounds punches the air from your lungs, and you lean back onto your elbows behind you, looking to breathe, looking to survive for another moment.

you wish you could have a picture of the two of you this way; you entirely on display for him—and for yourself, too, as you cannot avoid your own reflection beside him—and your unflappably composed instructor, squeezing down the veins of his cock through the rough pull of his jeans, watching. and because you spend hours every day being directed by him, you know what he will ask you next before he even voices it, but you wait to hear it anyway.

“touch yourself for me.”

your fingers fly to your clit, drawing slow circles around, crossing over to feel yourself jolt. your hole pulses and spits, and suguru growls like he can see it from halfway across the room. the utter relief of friction, fucking finally, makes you tip your head back, moaning wild into the still air.

but then you hear his lips part to say something and you’re pulling your head back straight, still circling over your clit and then your entrance, meaningless patterns over your thong that make your toes curl in your heels.

“you know i never once—ngh, fuck—had the urge to adjust a student with my hands? i always hated that when i was in class,” he grits. with trembling hands, he begins to unbutton himself, pulling his cock out and tugging on it immediately.

god, he’s pretty. long and soft and leaning the way the rest of him leans, gliding between his fingers with the pearls of pre beading at his tip. 

“but i thought that if i,” he pauses to groan with you, “if i touched you once i could fucking forget about it.”

you speed your fingers with each word he says, each stroke of his hand over all eight inches of his cock. a far away voice registers that you’re whining, too, but your mind filters it away, tuned completely to suguru’s confession in the dark.

your smile is wry, and reveals as much as anything. “did it work?”

he laughs then, almost at you. “no, you know what dove, it didn’t really—hah—didn’t really work for me.”

your hips buck into your fingers, a buzzing coil now. “suguru,” you begin, but he doesn’t need to hear any more.

“i know,” he moans.

you have transcended his direction, you think, merged into him enough to comply without listening. he’s tearing his shirt and pants off as frantically as you tug your dress up and over your shoulders, and you’ve only barely shimmied your panties down your legs when he arrives in front of you, completely bare. you think suguru geto, tacky with sweat and need and cock nearly swollen purple, has achieved his own pinnacle, descending to his knees to meet you.

and there’s an ephemeral, fleeting moment, when you both simply watch each other in all the places you’ve kept obscured for so long. his eyes circle over your tits, the pert peaks of your nipples, the gleaming of your slit. you track the snake tattoo from the bulge of his shoulder and around his back, pupils flitting between him and his reflection.

suguru takes hold of both your ankles on each side of his narrows hips, squeezing once, and then gliding them up, up, around your knee, along the inside of your thighs. it dawns on you that he knows exactly where to press, where each muscle begins and ends, because of how much he watches you flex and extend. your breathing comes labored and round, small yips and whines when goosebumps push into his fingers.

he can’t help but tug your hips towards his bobbing cock when his hands arrive there. you squirm and twist to try and sink him inside but he holds you to the floor, jaw tight. 

“not yet, dove, i need to stretch you,” he grunts.

and you’re giggling before you can stop it. “you use a lot of double entendre, is that on purpose?”

he’s smiling now, too, but more than anything you think its a wicked joy with how your mouth drops open as he circles two fingers around your entrance. your arousal is so hot and so everywhere that you think you can hear it dripping onto the marley.

“keep your legs open.” he uses the tone of voice he employs during class and it only makes you gush more, but you do as he asks, tightening your outer thighs to hold yourself spread as he pushes two fingers inside.

“oh fuck,” you pant.

it seems to affect him in equal measure, cock twitching with each pull of his digits, lips parted ever so slightly. he scissors his fingers apart and back again, feeling along the inside of your walls, looking. 

“ah—yeah, yes, there,” you mewl, and he moans something sincere in turn. the pads of his fingers brush and swish along that spot and something behind your ribs is turning over, growing teeth. you whine out a small fuck and that’s it: suguru is gone.

in a single motion, he pulls his fingers from you, breathes in your protest of a whine, and lowers his hips to run the ruddy tip of his cock over your clit, down, down. you run your nose along his forearm as he braces them on each side of your head, feeling the brush of his hair along your shoulder.

his mouth parts directly over your ear like this, and you feel his hand squeeze your left thigh. “lift this for me.”

and as you extend it up to hook over his shoulder, legs spread in almost a full split below his hold, he notches his head inside, a lewd pop that echos up your spine and between your ears.

suguru’s head drops to your shoulder as he bares his teeth. “fuuuuuuck jesus christ.”

you’re no better, winding your right leg around his left and bucking your hips to slide him home. he indulges you this time—perhaps for the first time since meeting him—and cants his hips again. you’re so fucking wet and ready and open for him that he slides to the hilt that way, and both of you are reduced to animals then. the sounds between you are completely inhuman, and you can’t tell where yours end and his begin.

and suguru fucks you like he teaches: not slow, but intentional, precise, every movement with an insurmountable sense of purpose. 

and fucking bossy.

“ngh yeah, squeeze me like that again, dove.”

“oh f-fuck, baby, align your hips.”

“c-can you—haah—arch into me a little more? yeah, that’s right.”

with each driving thrust of his hips you rub your clit along his pelvis, warmth spreading behind your belly button and down each leg. suguru never quite recovered from that first thrust, forehead damp and still at your shoulder as he groans directions into the soft skin there. and your hands grab anywhere they can reach: into the roots of his hair, down the planes of his back, along the slope of his ass to feel the muscles grind.

the friction his happy trail makes with your clit is driving you wild, you’re fucking close, and he can feel it in the way you pulse around him.

with the sudden capacity to mock you he coos gently, “oh, little dove, are you close?”

and you can only nod and pant and whine like a bitch in heat, the crest of your pleasure tapping leisurely on the wing of your shoulder, ready to round the corner.

“hah—yeah, i can fucking feel it.” he adjusts his weight to one arm so he can band the other around your back, pulling your tits flush to his chest. the leverage only grinds him harder into you and you’re nearly screeching with the pressure. he wants to kiss you and you want to return it, but your lips meet open, exchanging air to be puffed back and forth.

“make a mess for me,” he encourages, each thrust more erratic than the last—he’s close, too—and every moan pitched higher. “c’mon, i—shit, unh—i wanna feel your pussy choke me.”

you come so hard you feel like you’re spinning, like you’re on stage, like there’s some great applause awaiting you. it detaches from deep in your groin and pulses outwards, gushing arousal and cream over suguru’s cock and entirely fragmenting you, boneless as he fucks you through it.

“fuckfuckfuck,” he bites the juncture of your shoulder with your neck, “i made this body, dove. you’re mine, huh?”

and hearing it, even from his own lips, takes him over, too, hips stuttering to a stop as he growls wild, seed spurting inside you, warm. your name, your real name, unspools from his mouth, and it sounds like thank you.

part of you expects, sweaty and still and plugged with suguru’s softening cock, that a great shame will dawn upon you now. you think maybe you should feel ashamed for letting him fuck you here, raw, his student.

but as you’re whining into each other’s mouths when he pulls out, as he smooths his hands over your stomach and thighs, as he kisses you again without the sort of demands he had before, the guilt doesn’t arrive.

suguru watches you closely—he’s good at that, you’ve determined—as he sits back on his haunches. you realize he’s waiting for that guilt to come, too.

“okay?” he asks softly.

you could laugh at him for that question, but you grin instead. “mhm.”

his chest unburdens a weight seeing that look on your face. you can see something gathering on his palate, too, something he likes the taste of. 

and then he spits it: “there’s a shower in my office bathroom.”

you really do laugh this time, full-bodied and sore and wet again.

~~~~~~~

you don’t think you’ve ever seen mr. geto with eye bags before. you don’t think anyone has. though, you suppose he seems the type to prioritize his beauty sleep.

or, most of the time, anyway. you couldn’t help that he wanted you again in the shower, and then at his desk chair, and then from behind with your knee propped against the barre, and then—

nobara bows into a pigeon stretch next to you, snickering as she assesses him in his seat. she heckles him: “exhausted is no state to dance in.”

your body seizes with embarrassment and delight all at once, and even though your chin drops to your chest as you stretch your hips, you can feel him watching you all the same.

nobara is watching you now, too, but you notice it too late. she stifles a giggle next to you. “is that a fucking hickey?”

~~~~~~~

thank you for reading !!! comments and reblogs always appreciated >:)

in the presence of others, she’ll usually sneak a kiss to your forehead or one of your eyebrows if she cant wait until you’re alone

a subtle gesture that nobody else will see

but when you’re alone, Ripley’s got nothing but kisses for you

she prefers slow, languid kisses over quick pecks, and actually very rarely gives you just a quick peck unless she’s flirting/teasing to make you pout so she can ask

“What’s the matter? Poor baby, you wanted more? Is that it? Well, why didn’t you say so?”

smug mf

her hands usually find your waist and your neck (she’s got two hands and she’s gonna use em) while kissing you

if you’re straddling her lap, Ripley’s hands are squeezing the underside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there like Jones making biscuits

loves lifting your hands when you’re sitting together so she can kiss each of your fingertips, your knuckles, your palms

she cant really explain why she does it but you both can tell how much she loves to

your lips are her favourite part of you to kiss and we’re talkin both pairs if you got em

insists on kissing your eyelids every single night when you fall asleep together; another unspoken thing, she doesn’t request it, just does it as soon as your eyes close when you settle to sleep

and if you deliberately turn over so that Ripley cant reach your eyelids to kiss them? oh, she is FROWNING, her hands gently pushing your shoulders so you’re lying back under her for the crucial part of your nighttime routine

likes grabbing your chin tenderly with her thumb and index finger while you’re talking, turning your face so she can meet your lips mid-sentence

when she pull away to see that breathless, dazed expression on you, she smirks

“What was that you were saying?”

though she loves swallowing the sounds you make in steamy moments, she actually prefers to kiss your neck, the corners of your mouth to tease you, because she doesn’t want to muffle your pretty voice

usually after you two have gotten freaky, Ripley has a habit of resting her head on your lower stomach to catch her breath, and while down there she’ll kiss over your hips and navel almost worshipfully

she likes feeling the flutter of your muscles under your skin in response to her kisses on your overstimulated body

“hi there lieutenant.”

ripley smirked as she heard her girlfriend’s chipper voice, knowing that the rest of the crew was either occupied in the kitchen or already in their sleeping pods for the “night”. they were currently at the end of the bridge in one of the suit storage rooms, the one farthest from the sleeping pods. conveniently the one with the most privacy.

“l/n” she acknowledged and turned to look at her, giving a curt nod.

the two of them smiled at each other and y/n strode over to her, her arms wrapping around ripley’s neck as if drawn in by a magnet.

“i missed you.”

“it’s barely been an hour y/n.”

“still.”

ripley shook her head affectionately and snaked her hands around her waist, leaning down before planting a soft kiss on her forehead. y/n leaned forward as her lips connected with her forehead, feeling ripley’s pull back and chin rest on the top of her head. she rested her head on ripley’s chest for a minute, relaxing in her lovers arms in a moment of solace. y/n cheekily lifted her head up and started kissing ripley’s neck, trailing behind her ear and nibbling on the lobe. ripley hummed in appreciation and slid her hands down her lower back. she splayed her hands over her ass cheeks and squeezed playfully, causing y/n to lean deeper into her embrace while letting out a squeak of surprise. y/n kissed a trail under ripley’s jawline and trailed back down her neck, tugging down the front zipper of her jumpsuit.

ellen grabbed her hands and tsked disapprovingly, looking down at her eager girlfriend with raised brows, “now now honey, is that any way to ask for what you want?”

y/n huffed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing she had to play nice if she wanted to get what she wanted.

“…can you please take off your clothes?”

“that’s my good girl.”

ripley slapped her ass before drawing her hands back and slipping her arms out of her jumpsuit. she then quickly kicked off her boots, leaving her in just a whole tank top with white panties. y/n glanced down and bit her lip as she saw her happy trail peaking in between the border of the thin white shirt and panties, noting her perked-up nipples from the cold air in the room. ripley guided her to walk backward until she hit a wall, desperate to take her own clothes off but letting her partner take the lead.

ripley cupped her face in both hands and pressed her lips into hers, quickly followed by a nip on y/n’s bottom lip, allowing her to explore her mouth and her tongue. she was never one for subtleties and the two massages their tongues together in an open mouth kiss, moaning every so often as the two couldn't keep their hands off of each other. ripley had her own agenda and unzipped y/n’s suit, shucking it off sloppily as she continued to kiss her.

the two pulled away from each other for air, a string of saliva connecting their mouths. ripley licked her lips and trailed her eyes down y/n’s body, wearing the same undergarments that she was. y/n blushed under her intense gaze and looked away bashfully. ripley crooked her finger under her chin and guided her to look back at her, slipping her leg between y/n’s thighs and pressing her knee against her groin. y/n gasped at the sudden contact and subconsciously started grinding against her knee. ripley leaned down and kissed her neck, sucking on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and biting down, leaving a dark red mark with her teeth branded into her skin. y/n whimpered and ground down more intensely against her knee, her panties getting soled with her own juices, flushing even deeper because she knew ripley would be able to feel it.

y/n’s shirt was pulled down to reveal her breasts, her nipples perking up in the cold air. ripley immediately got to work and sucked in the buds, her teeth scraping the sensitive tit as she pulled back with an audible ‘pop’. y/n’s head leaned back against the wall behind her, pressed her chest into ripley’s mouth as she switched to the other side. ripley was softer on the other nub, using her tongue to massage it with less teeth pulling back once again. she kissed her lover deeply and rubbed her sides, moving her knee up to match y/n’s wet grinding.

ripley kneed down in front of her and hooked her thumbs under the sides of her panties, quickly forcing them down. y/n stepped out of the soiled undergarments and kicked them off to the side. ripley hooked one of her knees over her shoulder and plunged her tongue between her lips. she lapped at her wet labia like a dog drinking water on a hot day, absolutely enthralled by her taste. y/n tangled her hand into her hair and mined out her name, rocking her hips on her tongue. ripley reached her hands up and squeezed her hips, rubbing a figure 8 shape on her clit with her tongue. she pulled back panting, licking her lips, and looking up at y/n to savor her fucked out face. y/n whimpered and tried pushing her face back into her pussy. she chuckled and kissed her lips, burying her face into y/n’s bush, inhaling her scent deeply. ripley leaned in and sucked directly on her clit, slipping 2 fingers easily inside of her. she thrusted her hand, curling her fingers every so often, and continued massaging her clit with her tongue, increasing her speed gradually. y/n arched her back off the wall and opened her mouth up in a silent scream as she reached her peak, gushing all over her mouth.

y/n panted and looked down at her beautiful girlfriend, her fluids glistening over her mouth in the dim light. ripley smiled sappily up at her with nothing but love in her eyes. she pressed her lips into hers, inviting her to taste her own orgasm on her lips. y/n giggled into the kiss and pulled back, running her thumbs over her cheeks.

“you get better at that every time.”

“practice makes perfect.”

“promise you’ll be in the sleeping pod next to mine tonight?”

“of course honey.”

the two shared another brief kiss before getting redressed, interlacing their fingers with each other as they headed back to the sleeping station.

notes: my mouth waters every time i look at this woman. recently saw romulus and SPOILERS:

the human-alien was actually creepy like omfg it was so good

you original intention in coming into the control room was just to check on your girlfriend, honest!

but when she picked you up by the back of the thighs and sat you on one of the only clear surfaces in the room, you couldn’t resist.

ripley hungrily licked into your mouth, her hands grabbing at every curve your body had to offer while your hands tangled into her long curly locks. she sucked on your tongue, eliciting a surprised whine from your lips with your grip on her hair tightening. pulling back, ripley looked down at you with a lazy grin.

“you’re being too loud sweetheart. or do you want everyone to know how much of a slut you’re being right now?”, she light-heartedly scolded as she nipped the skin behind your ear.

“no, ‘m sorry sir,” you whimpered and impatiently wiggled your hips to try to somewhat satiate the heat between your legs.

“that’s my girl,” she cooed as she zipped down your flight suit and bunched your tank top up over your breasts.

your nipples perked up in the cold sterile air of the space craft, letting go of ripley’s hair to lean back on your hands and arching your back up into to her mouth. she cupped your breasts in her hands and squeezed, pushing them together and letting them fall again. pinching the sensitive buds in her fingers, she rolled them back and forth, tutting her tongue in disapproval as you moaned.

“no noise baby,” she warned, giving a sharp tug before letting go.

you bit your lip and nodded, tears welling up in your eyes at the pain driven pleasure. she dove down and started her attack, licking and sucking wherever she could get her mouth on. at one point, she did put her head between your breasts and shook her head, which you had to stifle a laugh at.

her lips connected with yours once again in a much sweeter kiss this time, her hands resting on your hips. you relaxed in her touch, hands resting on her strong shoulders.

while you were caught up in the soft moment, a gasp escaped your throat as her hand shoved down the front of your suit. her fingers slipped through your slit and started moving in tight circles around your clit in one smooth practiced maneuver. easily lubricated by your arousal fluids, her fingers applied more pressure to your sensitive button in the way she knew drove you crazy. your nails dug into her shoulders, your brain going numb as all that filled your mind was chasing the high of your orgasm against her long appendages.

throwing your head back, you let out a soft moan that was quickly stifled by two fingers being shoved into your mouth. your eyes widened at the sudden fullness, helplessly looking at ripley.

“i warned you baby,” she said with a chuckle and kissed the corner of your mouth. “now suck.”

all you could do was nod in response as you sucked on her two fingers, resisting the urge to gag when the blunt tips tickled near the back of your throat.

“that’s it, that’s my good girl,” she praises as her fingers pressed down on your tongue.

you dragged your nails down her back, sucking harder on her fingers to swallow up the moans that threatened to spill from your throat. ripley peppered kisses down the side of your neck and nudged your legs open even wider with her hips, starting to feel the tell-tale signs that your climax was close. she licked a small space in the junction of your neck before lightly biting the area, sucking softly on the irritated skin and leaving a big purple mark in its wake. you scraped your teeth against her knuckles in retaliation, which earned you a warning look from your superior.

humming in response and looking down in submission, ripley responded by adding another finger into your waiting mouth. grabbing your suit by the side of your hips, she dragged down the material along with your panties to hang at your ankles.

“think you can handle three fingers in both holes baby?” she said as she spit on her fingers, adding to her already wet hand.

you nodded eagerly in response, your eyes slightly glazed over with need as the build-up to your orgasm was abruptly ripped away from you once already.

“yeah, that’s what i thought,” ripley started with her index finger, slowly sinking in knuckle by knuckle. she thrusted her finger slowly into your core, letting you get adjusted before adding a second finger.

“fuck baby, she’s sucking me in. you needed this bad, huh?” she whispered huskily into your ear, smirking at your muffled response. she scissored her fingers to stretch your entrance out, pumping into you at a medium pace. every so often she would ghost her thumb over your clit, taking it away whenever she could feel you clench around her fingers.

she watched as drool started to dribble down your chin and teased the tip of her third finger before joining into your heat with the other two. using both of her hands, she started thrusting at the same time into both of your waiting holes. your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the stimulation and ripley finally relenting by transversing her thumb at a nice pressure against your clit as her fingers worked their magic.

all you could think about was how fucking full you were.

as ripley felt you start to tighten up, she took her fingers out of your mouth and pulled you into a bruising kiss while keeping the relentless pace of her fingers piston inside your fluttering walls. all at once, pleasure washed over you as you hit your peak. your chest jerked forward as your orgasm with ripley helped you slowly ride it out with her much slower pace. she pressed her forehead against yours as your pants filled the room, and all she could focus on was your fucked-out face.

“so good for me,” she mumbled and gave your ass a quick swat. you opened your mouth to retaliate, but your expression dropped when you heard noise coming from outside the room.

hearing footsteps in the hallway, you quickly pulled your shirt down and zipped your suit back up. ripley took a step away from you and picked up a random manual nearby, while you took a seat at your desk with a random file pulled up.

“hey ripley, lambert’s looking for you,” kane said as he stuck his head through the door, glancing at the two of you.

“tell her i’ll be there in a minute,” she said casually, putting the book back on the shelf.

he nodded and left almost as soon as he arrived.

you let out a breath of relief, but couldn’t help the butterflies you felt in your stomach at the risk of being caught.

ripley wrapped her arms around you from behind your chair and kissed your cheek, “i better go see what she needs, i’ll see you at dinner love.”

“yeah, if you’re appetites not spoiled from eating dessert first,” you said with a smirk. she snorted and gave your lips a quick peck before heading out of the room.

well, at least your desk is the only one messed up this time.

a/n: spit on your hand and stroke my cock at a medium paceee

Getting this one out of the way- has no limits on or qualms about PDA. If she wants to kiss you senseless and the crew just so happens to be present, good for them. Hope they enjoy the show

Also shows affection in other ways- picking lint off of your uniform collar; making an extra mug of coffee on the off chance that you wanted some; sharing food; cranking the volume on her tape player so you can hear the music

Keeps incredibly odd hours. Somehow manages to juggle staying up reading until 00:30 and still being functional at 04:00 when Dallas inevitably needs you all on the bridge. Only person in the group who isn't grumbling in the morning, but she's not obnoxiously bubbly, either

Big reader, but not a fan of mysteries or thrillers. Gets too invested in the sustained tension and ends up skipping multiple chapters at a time because the lack of resolution starts to annoy her. Likes horror, but the more 'realistic' plots scare her the most. Horrors beyond her comprehension? Sure. Whatever. A plot where that random stranger that you passed at the grocery store is actually a serial killer? Keeps her up at night. Enjoys the ridiculous monster books and ghost stories, though.

Lots of late nights spent in her tiny bunk with your arms pinned under her back and your head resting on her stomach as she reads. Doesn't read aloud so much as mutter or whisper the words to herself so she can make sense of what she's reading. Will read the 'best parts' out loud to you if you're still awake. Likes to bounce ideas back and forth about the plot. Would those explorers really try spelunking with no experience? And in Antarctica, no less?

"Oh, for christ's sake-" "What?" You tiredly mumble, lips brushing the exposed skin where her tank top has ridden up on her torso. "Look at this. Would you wander into an unknown, ancient, alien city with no knowledge of who lives there and no backup?" You shrug halfheartedly, slurring, "Depends." "Depends!?"

You almost always wake up because you start to roll over only to feel said book start to slide from where it's laying on top of you, facedown. You get very good at twisting your arm to get it off of your back- wedging a finger between the pages as a placeholder- and quickly bookmarking it with whatever's within reach before setting the book on the nightstand and falling asleep again

Readily reminds you to eat, sleep, etc. and will often cross her arms and deadpan, "That's an order, Officer." if you try to argue. Also pulls that stunt to demand that you come over to her, kiss her, get into bed, etc., so you're never fully sure of which situation you'll find yourself in when she plays that card

Grinning at you as she flops into one of the dining chairs. Raises a finger into the air and slowly rotates her hand until she's pointing at her right leg. Lowers her arm until the finger makes contact with her thigh, quirking a brow at you. If you're quick to jump into her lap, she winds her arms around you and chuckles as she kisses you. If you're a little slow on the uptake, she fixes you with a catlike grin, voice dropping to a lower register as she chides, "Well...? Do I have to make it an order, Officer?"

Waking up from hypersleep to see her already standing over you. Waits for you to wake up a little before she snags your wrist and pulls you into a sitting position. Bends at the waist to meet you in the middle for the most electrifying "good morning" kiss of your entire life

One of those people who has to talk everything out. There's no hiding from her, and if you have a disagreement, she's the one who seeks you out and initiates that talk after you've had a chance to be alone

"Fights" with her are rare to nonexistent. Encourages the kind of talk where you share how you feel unfiltered. Don't hold anything in just because you can't find a 'nice' way to say it- she wants to work things out, and it'll happen faster if she doesn't have to guess how you're feeling. BUT...

Very very headstrong. If you want to get her to take your side in a friendly debate, you're gonna need to present her with a fully realized research paper on why your "dangerous" idea is actually the best idea. She'll lean against the wall, arms crossed, and stare at you like you're a case that she just can't crack. Even if you end up being "right," there's always a stipulation

"I'm going with you." "You're not doing that without a radio, god dammit!" "If you're not back here in an hour, I'm going out after you."

Might feel overbearing at first, until you see the worry in her eyes and the restless tap of her fingers on her arm- the same nervousness she shows while she watches Amanda tinker with electronics, climb a tall tree, or swim in an open body of water. Keeping people safe and in line is her job, and she's damn good at it

Show the same concern over her. Put her EVA helmet on for her; make sure her radio works before she goes on a spacewalk; don't let her weld without proper safety gear. She'll quietly scoff and shake her head at you with a mildly annoyed look as she mutters, "I'm fine." Her tune changes if you roll your eyes, ignore her protests, and continue to help.

"Good luck out there." You say, gently slapping the side of her helmet to tell her that she's clear to go out. Soft, adoring eyes stare out at you from behind her helmet's visor, the frown from earlier morphing into a fond smirk that's reserved only for you. The clunky glove of her EVA suit brushes the back of your hand- a deliberate gesture- before she turns away from you to enter the airlock. The intercom by the bulkhead crackles to life as she's sealed into the antechamber, her amused voice issuing from it, "Be back in time for supper."

Prefers wearing the uniform jumpsuit for two reasons: It's easy to get dressed in the morning and the fit applies even pressure on her torso. Wears lots of similar articles of clothing- well-fitted high waisted pants, vests, bodysuits, etc.- when the two of you are planetside. Get her a weighted blanket or a compression shirt for her birthday, and whenever she can help it, she'll have it on her

Sitting at her station on the bridge, cross-legged and drowning in her weighted blanket while she sips on coffee and reads the ship's daily logs

Big music lover. Headphones are on as much as possible without hindering her work. Likes music with lots of layers to it. Bonus points if it sounds better with the volume cranked up. Some songs that fit the bill are:

Electric Light Orchestra - Sweet Talkin' Woman Atlanta Rhythm Section - So Into You Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here Fleetwood Mac - You Make Loving Fun Heart - Crazy On You Joan Jett and The Blackhearts - Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah)

Loves Amanda deeply and is very open about being a single mother. Everyone knows about or has met her (Brett offered her a cig on sight and had to be told how to properly interact with a child), and she's adamant about any romantic partner meeting the kid before anything gets serious.

Despite Ripley being sort of a helicopter mom, she's very excited if you want to teach Amanda any sort of skill- be it whittling, archery, drawing, self-defense- I see her putting a lot of emphasis on her kid being 'well rounded,' even if it's not in the most traditional sense. Being a single mom meant fixing a lot of household things by herself, and she's probably taught Amanda a lot about the basics of plumbing and electrical work by example alone

You'd better be adventurous- any time on leave is spent with the three of you creek walking, welding, bug hunting, building computers, and digging for mole crabs. Amanda may never give you a parental nickname, but she sees you as a friend, and you make her mom happy. Does the obligatory grimace and makes disgusted noises when the two of you hug, kiss, or stand vaguely near each other, but it's just to keep up appearances

Going backpacking and spending most of your weekend covered in mud after falling into a creek. Getting home and being herded out back by Ellen for a "preliminary decontamination" with a hose. Amanda wrapping her arms around you and hiding her muddy face in your stomach while you shield her ears from the water, both of you cackling and shivering while Ripley washes you off like two muddy dogs

Jonesy goes to you if Ripley won't give the fat thing a treat (altho there is limited supply but oh well it's jonesy we're talking about here)

shamelessly affectionate even when you guys are in front of the crew

think of sitting on her lap during breakfast (inspired from this, ifykyk)

doesn't matter if it's breakfast, she'll add spicy sauce onto whatever viand is on her plate and munch it down like the best thing she ever tasted (she'll argue with you that it's true)

( i've got a feeling she'll absolutely LOVE kebabs )

but really, she uses the spice because she hates the mushy food labeled protein packs they give the crew so expect that she'll be begging for the food you cook once you both get back to Earth.

speaking of which! whenever you're cooking, she won't leave you on her own. things get done faster if it's worked on together, she learned that as senior officer so why not apply it at home too?

chopping the vegetables and meat, handing them over to you once the pot's boiling. wiping down counters and ever so often glancing your way to check your progress. if she's done with her task in the kitchen, she moves over to the dining to set the plates and glasses.

chores around the house are split too and scheduled accordingly. from 5am to 10pm, it's a smooth routine that keeps you two (and amanda!) going. bumps happen for sure but that's not much of a hassle having known ripley for so long.

but just because there's routine doesn't mean there's spontaneity. she loves going on road trips with you and amanda. the outdoors is the best way to bond. whether that may be swimming, hiking, biking, hell anything outdoor that is fun for you three reminds her of how lucky she is to meet you back when you were her roommate back in college

needless to say, responsibility is a shared thing between you two.

going back to the spaceship...

the moment that alien got on board as a chestburster, she never let you out of her sight.

where she goes, you go and vice versa.

there is no way in hell she even let you go on a heroic escapade once you heard the distressed voices of lambert and dallas on the comms when they were out there. don't even dare to think she'll let you leave now. especially when you're the one who actually listens to her in this ship.

you also get a flamethrower, non-negotiable. (include a motion tracker too and a stun, why not).

alien aside—

she lets you borrow her clothes and uniform at times (only if it doesn’t have her name stitched on it. not convenient for work purposes)

if you also have curly hair, you share hair products (yayayayay!)

or! or! both of you go out to buy and test varying brands to see which one best defines curls most (and is actually worth its price)

obviously, she loves products that really give her the best volume and lasts long

with that said, she most likely has tried a bunch of hair products and will give you recommendations if you ever need a certain trait enhanced. just ask!

would join you in the shower, lathering the soap, washing each other. it's become routine now, her hands rubbing against your back while yours tangled in her hair to make sure the shampoo gets to the roots. her eyes never leave you, relishing in these quiet minutes before duty calls.

not big on makeup but if you are, she’d prefer light makeup if an occasion calls for it

loves button ups and slacks (have you guys seen sigourney weaver in them, ohmahgAwdDdd)

book lover book lover book lover book lover book lover book lover

you and ellen share a bunk

once asked you to share a cryo pod with her but you refused since it wasn’t built for that

is it obvious that she’s clingy yet?