#at least a shirt can like button underneath them somehow

[moon-rivr]

so I have this idea in my head right, how would Miguel would be like after breaking up with reader, but it was his fault. He kept lashing out at them even though they were trying to help, they tried and tried again and again until reader had enough and broke things off, and Miguel is HEARTBROKEN.

But take your time! And have a great day/afternoon/night !!

breaking point

pairing: miguel o’hara x reader

contents: angst

author’s note: you just know the way to my heart w this request anon 😫

word count: 4k

"Los hombres no lloran, Miguel." (men don’t cry)

Conchata had first told these words to him when he fell off his bike around five years old, blood smearing all over his leg. He'd continued to hear those words throughout the course of his life whenever he got hurt, emotionally or physically. As much as the words had engraved into his very being, the only thing that he wanted to do as he stood in front of your door was burst out into tears. The bouquet of flowers he was holding dropped down to the floor, the petals scattering around the concrete. He willed himself to try to move, to get himself to walk away and save whatever bits of pride he had left but he couldn't. All he wanted to do was wait for you to change your mind, tell him that this was all just a cruel joke on your part.

He'd gone over to your house, wearing a button down shirt and his nicest pair of pants while he held the bouquet of roses in his hand, hoping that you'd go out to a dinner with him. He took note of the way that your smile faded away when you opened the door, your arms folded across your chest in a defensive manner. He was met with a "what are you doing here?" instead of the usual kiss and hug he'd grown accustomed to when the two of you started dating. "I thought that maybe you'd like to go out on a date. Eat some of that spaghetti that you like," he responded, determined to making things between the two of you right.

He'd seen the spark from your eyes slightly dim with every day that passed, until you eventually looked at him with pure exhaustion. The love that you used to share for him completely disappeared, each glance directed towards him begging for a change. Despite the fact that the relationship kept draining every single of drop of your energy, he selfishly wanted to keep you close to him. He realized that the flowers and dinner that he'd offered you weren't enough to make up for the months of pain that he'd caused with his actions, but he held hope that it would be a step towards the right direction. Or at least an excuse for him to talk over with you, explain his reasoning for the way he’d been acting.

"What are you trying to prove with this, Miguel?" You asked him, your figure still blocking the door as the two of you conversed. "I’m not trying to prove anything. I just want to share a dinner with you, te lo suplico," he practically pleaded with you, the action foreign even to himself. He was used to being demanding to get his way, never being the one who was at mercy. "I don't want to have a dinner with you. You'll probably end up having a meltdown that I’m using the salad fork to eat my spaghetti," you remarked, standing out of the way to close the door. He pressed his foot against the door before you had the chance to close it, his brows furrowing through the crack on the door.

"Is it the spaghetti? We can get something else if that's what you want, I just miss spending time with you," he spoke up, holding your gaze through the opening. "You wouldn't miss spending time with me if you hadn't been so busy on pushing me away," your reply came out cold, detached. Part of the reason that he'd asked you out for this spontaneous dinner was that he wanted to make up for it somehow by doing a grand gesture, feeling you slip underneath his fingers with every day that passed. "Please? I won't ask anything more of you than just this date. I'll get down on my knees if you want me to, there's nothing that I wouldn't do for you," he told you, a dry chuckle eliciting from your lips.

"You say that now, but you couldn't even act like a decent boyfriend. You couldn't do the bare minimum and now you think that with some shocking spaghetti date, you're gonna fix the damage that you did to this relationship. I don't want anything to do with you, leave me alone," your annoyance was growing by the second with every word that you uttered, closing the door after he stepped aside. You thought that expelling him out of your life would make you burst out into tears, that it would elicit a feeling of pain deep within inside you. But, you'd spent so much time mourning the loss of the relationship before this moment that it almost didn't feel real.

Going to his home to pick up your things a couple days later filled you with a sense of relief, knowing that nothing was tying you to him anymore. You held a box of the things he'd left at your apartment as well, a couple shirts from when he'd stay the night as well as a couple necessities. You didn't feel anything as you looked down at the stuffed animal he'd gotten you at the beginning of the relationships, back when the dates actually used to be something consistent. It was a bizarre that every memory of the relationship that the two of you held could easily be buried into a box, the contents of it each signifying something different.

You hesitated for a moment before knocking on his door, setting the box on your knee to free up one of your hands. You looked up at Miguel as he opened up the door, a stubble starting to show on his chin as well as the dark circles adorning his under eyes. You'd seen him spend many days awake, never exactly looking the way that he looked now. "We're doing this whole thing?" He asked you, his scratchy voice taking you out of your thoughts as you focused back on the task at hand. "Yeah, I just figured it would be better to get it out the way as soon as possible. Do you mind if I come in?" You responded, trying to ignore the smell of alcohol practically seeping through his pores. It almost made you feel a bit of sympathy, the fact that he was hurting so badly because of you. Almost.

He stepped aside to let you in, a couple papers scattered across the floors as well as an unkempt dinner table. "I'm just gonna go to your room and get my stuff," you muttered, stepping around the room to avoid the pieces of paper scattered around. The last thing you needed was for him to cause a problem over stepping some important paper. You'd stepped into his room, immediately overwhelmed with the memories of your time spent in here. Every single night that the two of you shared together, whether it be something bloomed out of intimacy or simply just comforting one another, ran through you like a tidal wave at all once. This room served as a place where you and Miguel had shared some of your most intimate secrets and moments, so it seemed a bit fitting that this was where it all ended. It took you a couple seconds to get your feet unstuck from the spot you were standing in, walking over to his nightstand to get some of your jewelry.

Miguel hated how you looked so casual while you were picking up the stuff, almost like the action didn't matter to you the same way that it did to him. "Are you sure we can't work out through this? I know we've been doing a little rocky recently but I don't think it's enough for us to end our relationship," he spoke up from his spot on the doorframe, his retinas practically burning from the sunlight coming in through the window. You'd pulled the curtain back to have the natural sunlight guide you through the room while you were picking up your stuff, but he hadn't slept in days. It felt like he was staring into direct sunlight so he pulled out his new best friend, a pair of sunglasses he'd bought last time he went for a beer run. Despite the fact that his body metabolized the alcohol at an accelerated rate than most, he still enjoyed the couple of minutes he felt a buzz.

You turned to look back at him, completely brazen by the way that he was choosing to approach the situation. "We haven't been doing rocky just recently, we've been rocky for a couple months now. And if you're not going to attempt to be better, then what's the whole point?" You responded, putting in the final articles of clothing that belonged to you. "I already told you, I've been stressed out lately. I promise once I'm done with this anomaly case, I’ll be more agreeable to be around," he told you, his heart pounding inside of his chest as you stepped closer to him on your way out. "You've been saying that for the last five months. Being stressed out doesn't give you a free access pass just to be an ass to everyone trying to help you," your words hit him like a dagger, the intensity of the impact increasing as you walked out on him.

The relationship that you'd had with Miguel was good at the beginning, like something told out of a fairytale. You met him one of the missions dealing with a Rhino variant, the mission proving to be more challenging than you'd originally anticipated. You'd called him as a last resort, your suit hanging on by the last thread and web shooters running dangerously low. You were extremely lucky that you were even able to swing far away enough from the anomaly, fingers haphazardly moving across your gizmo to call for backup. He'd appeared next to you, taking a glimpse of your appearance before motioning you to go inside the portal. "I'll take care of this, you're too hurt to continue. I'll send you the report later if that's something you want," he'd told you, analyzing the scene in front of him before jumping into action.

Even though you did want to see the end to this fight, you realized that you might be more of a hindrance than help in the current state you were in. You staggered inside of the portal, getting transported back to HQ in what seemed to be only a matter of seconds. You made your way into the infirmary to get a couple wounds checked out, your accelerated healing slowed by the amount of hits you'd taken throughout the course of the fight. The nurse's precise hands were a nice change of pace from the sloppy work that you were used to doing on yourself, the process of getting the stitches done not being as bad. "If you're still in pain after, just come back and we'll give you something to accelerate that healing of yours. It should be gone in about an hour or so," the nurse told you as she was finished up with your injuries, rinsing her hands in the sink at the back of the room.

You thanked her for the job that she'd done before heading out to the lab in order to make some modifications to your suit. You were looking through the formula of your webbing, trying to pinpoint why exactly it was that you ran out of them so fast. The webs had lasted you long enough when your only job was to protect New York in your dimension but now that you were acting as a multi-dimensional protector of sorts, you'd found yourself to be running out of them much faster than your other counterparts. "What are you doing here this late? Shouldn't you be resting?" You heard from behind you, turning around to be faced with miguel's stoic expression as he walked in through the door. "I'm doing better, I’m just trying to figure something out with my webbing. How'd it go with the rhino?"

"It was fine. You'd done a decent job of beating him up so the task wasn't too difficult to get done," he responded, taking the notebook from you as he read through the components of your writing. You wanted to let out a scoff at how he'd taken it away, but you also knew he could offer a unique perception of the composition given his previous job. You weren't used to depending on much people, the only person that'd been that constant for you being Uncle Ben before his imminent death. You couldn't deny that it did feel like a small burden being lifted off your shoulders to be able to depend on someone else for help, even if it was in the form of a mildly tempered man. He took your pen from the desk, starting to write some things down before handing it back to you. "Try changing these and see how much better it gets. I'm not too specialized in the matter since my webs are organic but I think it'll do you some good."

Miguel always found himself annoyed when someone burst into his office without announcing their arrival beforehand, but he couldn't seem to get annoyed with you when you did. "Hey, I hope I'm not bothering. I wanted to thank you for the insight you gave me, it really did help with the webbing issue," you spoke up, having to crane your neck to look up at him as he stood on the platform. "No problem. Is there something else that you needed?" he responded, the platform slowly starting its descent. "Well, I was wondering if you could help me design a new suit since mine got pretty torn up during that battle. You seem to be aware of what type of materials to use and whatnot, so I figured you were probably best to ask," you told him, his figure looming in front of yours as he got off the platform. "Sure, follow me."

It was easy to fall in love with him despite the nature that he showed to others, since he was always so relaxed with you. You could see the walls that he'd carefully buried his feelings with slowly start to crumble down every single time that the two of you were together. Dates between the two of you had become routine, some of the members from HQ commending you for getting Miguel out of his office for more than a couple minutes at a time. He caressed your skin with such care, each one of his touches exuding the affection that he was harboring towards you. The time that he told you that he loved you, you couldn't help but feel like you were on top of the world for a change. You knew how hard it was for him to love people, to even get close to them, so to have the honor of having his heart was one you valued greatly.

You weren't sure when your relationship with Miguel started to feel like it was heading in a downward spiral, the whole thing resembling the feeling of being on a rollercoaster. "Don't worry, he just doesn't know how to deal with things," Peter had tried to assure you after he witnessed one of the more intense fights that the two of you had. You'd tried to take Peter's advice and not let the arguments get too much to your head, but it seemed like you were walking on land mines every time you interacted with him. After every storm, there seemed to be calm aura around the two of you for a couple days. almost as a way to recharge and regroup before the next fight started and the cycle repeated itself once more. You forgave him every time that he did something you would disagree with, a small part of you dying inside with every "it's okay" that you gave him.

He'd grown more fond of you, falling deeper and deeper in love with you every time that you forgave him for pushing your boundaries. But on the contrary, you started to fall out of love with him with every empty promise at being better that he uttered. His apologies had become repetitive, to the point where he was simply just recycling them in hopes that you wouldn't be pissed off at him for more than a day or two. The words "I’m sorry" had become a routine part of his vocabulary, almost seeming like every conversation that he held with you included them. The words soon enough lost all the original meaning to them, especially when he said them in that tone that implied he would rather be doing anything else than apologizing.

"Can't you see i'm trying to focus on this damn anomaly? It's already hard enough with you interrupting," he scowled as you came into his office with a box of pizza. You'd meant for it to be a kind gesture, for him to be able to eat something throughout the day since you knew that he would spend most of time buried away in the shadows tinkering with his screens. "I just wanted to get you something to eat so you wouldn't have to worry about it," you hated how weak your voice sounded as you spoke, your voice doing nothing to conceal the hurt you felt. "I'll change, I'm sorry. I'll do better," he assured you, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead once he saw your bottom lip tremble. "I'm just so stressed, y'know how it is. I'll manage it better for you, I promise. I'll really do it this time," he told you before you walked away from his office, imaginary claws digging into your chest. And he had kept his promise, mostly changing for the worst.

"I don't get why you're so pissed off that I missed our date, it's just one out of many. We'll just go on another one," he scoffed, not even bothering to look at you as his fingers typed away on the hovering monitor. "It was our two year anniversary date, Miguel. And I'm pissed off because you've been missing out every date that we have scheduled for the past five months," you managed to get out, almost like you didn't believe that he would forget. "I said I would make it up to you, stop making a big deal out of this," he reiterated, talking to you like you were the one in the wrong for having the simple desire of wanting to hang out with him. "There was a time when you actually knew the balance between being with me and your work. I hope you find that soon for both of our sakes," you told him, reminiscing of many months ago before stepping out of his office.

You were so tired of forcing yourself to look at the good that had been in the relationship, tired of living off of solely the good memories. The decision of breaking up hadn't been something that crossed your mind until you saw a couple strolling down the street while you were on your way to get something to eat. You'd never felt so alone looking at them despite the fact that you had a partner, but the way that they laughed and basked in each other's presence seemed something almost foreign to you at this point in time. You were grasping at straws, hoping that one day Miguel would wake up and love you the way that he used to. But that hope inside you slowly began to extinguish, until there was nothing left but just a feeling of adaptation. You wanted to convince yourself that you could adapt to this new way of living, of being able to claim that he was your boyfriend out of the love you felt for him without actually spending time with him, but the simple truth was that you couldn't handle it anymore.

To him, the breakup had been sudden. like you woke up one day and decided that being with him wasn't worth it anymore. It was hard for Miguel to even fathom the idea of having to go through the motions of life without you, especially when he saw himself having a future with you. He'd thought about what it would've been like coming home to you, maybe with a couple kids and a dog running around. But that's all that it was now, just a thought he wouldn't be able to fulfill. He felt the void of your presence everytime he walked inside of his apartment, it was like you had never been in his space in the first place. He wanted to grow accustomed to that feeling, but every single of atom of his being couldn't help but yearn for you.

Every single task that he had to do in his life felt meaningless now that he couldn't return home to you, not that he would do it on most days regardless. But he liked to have the knowledge that you would be there, welcoming him with a hug and a smile while your hands massaged his back. He knew that it was nobody's fault but his own, for pushing you too far past your limits. He wanted to blame it on his upbringing, for not having a good coping mechanism with his stress, but he knew that the fault all lied on his shoulders. He wasn't aware of how good he'd had it until he lost you, realizing just how lucky he was to have someone so kind and understanding be by his side. His hands reached out for you in the couple hours of sleep that he managed to get, silent tears rolling down his cheeks after finding that you weren't there.

"Your serotonin levels are extremely low, are you sure you don't want to take a break from all this?" LYLA spoke up, doing the routine health scan Miguel had programmed her to. "Don't start. Just give me the reports," he grumbled, looking up once LYLA was finished talking. "You have 10 missed messages, do you want me to read them out to you?" LYLA asked him as he sat at his desk, his hands on his knees as he looked down at the floor. As LYLA read out the messages that Gabriel along with a couple of the other spider recruits had sent him, he couldn't help but wish that maybe your name would pop up in between the mix. "Discard them all, thank you," he ordered LYLA, the assistant doing as she's told before disappearing off into thin air.

"Miguel! My man, How are you doing?" Peter's voice boomed throughout the office, his voice echoing through the confined space. Miguel gave a small grunt in response, not willing himself to entertain him at the moment. "Well, I have to say that me and MJ are doing so great right now, I'm honestly so lucky to have her in my life," Peter gushed about his wife, completely oblivious to the internal turmoil raging inside of Miguel. "Are you here just to talk about how wonderful your wife is or does this impromptu appearance have a point?" He asked the man, arms folded underneath his chin. "Well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come out of your office for once. You've been trapped in here for a long time," Peter told him, his bunny slippers squeaking on the floor as he walked closer to Miguel. Miguel wanted to deny the accusations and lie, say that he's fine and that he'd been going outside of his office, but he decided to stay quiet.

As soon as he stepped out of the office with Peter B, he couldn't help but instantly regret his decision. because there you stood, laughing along with something a recruit was telling you. At that moment, he so captivated by the way that your laugh sounded, like the tune of a thousand angels singing down on him. The way that your smile just seemed to radiate across the room even to him, making him feel as though he were a planet and you the sun, simply entranced in your orbit. But with those feelings also stemmed the feelings of regret and jealousy. He wanted to be the one that made you laugh like that, wanted you to even spare a single glance at him. It made him want to hold you in his embrace one more time, to appreciate everything that he'd lost the moment you broke up with him. You were so close to him, yet so unattainable.

#moon-rivr #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara angst #angst #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o’hara spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel imagine #atsv miguel #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel fic #miguel 2099 #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara #miguel atsv

[bobfloydsbabe]

the holiday truce | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc | sneak peek

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Bob and Imogen call a truce and spend the holidays together.

WARNINGS: academia au, enemies to lovers, age gap (mid 20s/late 30s), power imbalance, smut (not in sneak peek), christmas. strictly 18+/minors dni.

A/N: inspired by a conversation with @joaquinwhorres. bob and imogen celebrate christmas, but i've done my best to limit the references to it. i'm aiming to post sometime in december, but i hope this sneak peek will get you excited for it. let me know what you want to see in this fic. enjoy!

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She stands on the street, looking up at the Boston brownstone. Around her, thick fluffy snowflakes fall to the ground. Not enough to cover the sidewalk in a blanket of white, at least not yet. One falls against her cheek and melts on contact, and she’s sure her hair’s littered with them.

She feels a bit like a pig at the entrance to a slaughterhouse. Certain doom on the other side of that front door in the shape of Dr. Robert Floyd. Known to friends as Bob, apparently. She didn’t know he had friends, and certainly not that they call him anything other than Robert until she overheard Dr. Kazansky talking about him.

Drawing in a deep breath and releasing it into a misty cloud, she squares her shoulders and walks up the steps to the front door. The black paint is peeling off and the knocker could use a good clean, but Imogen knows the professor well enough to know he won’t prioritize it. She’s seen his office, and it’s not a pretty sight.

The door swings open, letting warm yellow light spill into the street. Silhouetted by the glow, Dr. Floyd looks as if he’s wearing a halo, like an angel descended from heaven.

“Miss Van Doren,” he says, and as her eyes adjust to the sudden light, she notices a faint smile on his face. “Glad you could make it.”

He steps aside, hand still on the doorknob, allowing her to walk past him and inside the entrance hall. She catches a whiff of his cologne as he closes the door behind her. Spices and ink. Him.

A coat rack hangs on the wall with three coats evenly spaced out. Underneath it is a small bench and next to it are the professor’s shoes. The classic brown oxfords he wears to work and a pair of sensible winter boots. Both are spotless. 

Unlike his office, the house appears perfectly tidy. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the elaborate light fixtures, wood paneling, framed artwork on the opposite wall to the coat rack depicting a nye of pheasants. Not the type of art she expected, but it feels like him somehow.

She can feel his eyes trained on her as he steps up behind her. “Let me take your coat,” he says, voice deep and gravelly. She nods, slipping her purse off her shoulder and placing it on the bench.

His fingertips graze her neck, sending a shiver down her spine when he grasps the collar and slides the wool off her shoulders and down her arms. Stepping around her, he puts the coat on the rack for her.

“Come on,” he says once she’s toed her boots off and placed them haphazardly next to his own. “Dinner’s almost done.”

Imogen frowns, grabbing her purse and following him down the narrow entryway and into the open-plan kitchen. “You cook?”

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, she catches the smile on his handsome features. “I do,” he tells her, rounding the large island and reaching for an empty wine glass. “Red or white?”

She blinks at him, not sure how to feel about him being nice and personable. They may have agreed to bury the hatchet for a few days, but this is beyond unsettling. His light blue shirt has the top buttons undone, giving her a view of his collarbones and a thin silver chain around his neck.

“Red,” she says finally, trying to shake off the weird sensation of being in his home and watching him do normal things like pour a glass of wine.

He hands her the glass, raising his own and clinks them together. “Happy holidays, miss Van Doren.”

“Imogen,” she corrects him and takes a long sip, tasting the tannins on her tongue. “Is there anything I can help with?”

He trains his blue eyes on her. They appear darker than usual, maybe from the wine in his system or the tension cackling between them. His lips turn up at the corner. “Now you want to be helpful?”

Heart pounding in her chest, her cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze. She wants to say something back, a witty remark, a counterpoint, a quip, but she can’t think of anything. Instead, she nods dumbly.

He smirks, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “No,” he says at last, coming up in front of her, leaning down until his lips are a hair’s breadth away from her earlobe. “But you can sit that pretty little ass down and look sexy for me.”

TAGLIST: @roosterforme, @bradshawsbaby, @kmc1989, @cherrycola27, @yanna-banana, @bluezraven, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @hangmandruigandmav, @keyrani, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @solo-pitstop-vibes, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @attapullman, @bcarolinablr, @lewmagoo, @floydsmuse, @lyn-js, @briseisgone, @ryebecca, @auroralightsthesky

#bob floyd #bob floyd smut #bob floyd fic #bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #robert bob floyd fic #top gun maverick #tgm #tgm fic #lewis pullman #otp: bob x imogen #fic: gold rush #oc: imogen van doren #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fanfiction

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Katniss not realizing it but post war her boobs get big after she has secure food for a extended period of time and Peeta is just like 🤤 over her but she’s oblivious to why

Okay I wanna know what kind of weight gain program you’re on, Anon. Because I’ve had small boobs my entire life and every time I gain weight, it’s literally everywhere except the boobs. I will have rolls on my back and jiggly arms long before my boobs get bigger. The only time they’ve grown is when I’m pregnant and eventually those puppies shrank back down. Didn’t realize you were signing up for kdnfb’s weekend tmi, did ya? So this is adjusted to that because I couldn’t push the “I believe” button on the more food equals bigger boobs train, but the idea is there. Rated M for shameless ogling and sensual content.

+++

They’re in the kitchen preparing dinner on a Monday evening, just like every other Monday since Peeta came home to Twelve. Peeta steps behind her to get to the sink, his hand brushing lightly over the small of her back as he goes, pinky dragging underneath the exposed waist of her pants as she leans forward to drop a pile of vegetables into the pot on the rear burner. His touch barely skims over the swell of her butt, and Katniss shivers slightly, but doesn’t think much of it. Ever since she told him “Real,” Peeta’s taken every chance, used every excuse in the book to touch her.

So all she does is roll her eyes and glance back at him. “Distracting me while I’m working over a hot stove?” Peeta simply grins at her and continues on with the dinner preparations.

On Tuesday, she draws a bath for herself, wanting to soak after a long, arduous day spent trekking through the woods and then trading her haul throughout town. She’s leaning over the tub to adjust the temperature of the water foaming out of the faucet, her body wrapped in nothing but her short cotton robe when she feels Peeta’s eyes on her.

Glancing back, she smirks at the sight of him, staring at her exposed legs and almost exposed butt. His toothbrush hangs limply in his mouth, his grip on it loosened, and his lips foam a little with toothpaste. And his eyes have that glazed over look they get when he’s a little turned on.

But she doesn’t think anything out of the ordinary has happened. Peeta has made no secret of the fact that he likes to look at her, drink her in, and he admitted to her once that he found her legs incredibly sexy. She hadn’t understood how legs could be sexy, but she’d accepted his statement as being true in his mind, at least.

“Care to join me?” she asks and splashes slightly at the water’s surface. Peeta spits out his toothpaste and wipes his mouth with a towel before stripping off his shirt.

On Wednesday, Peeta bakes too many cheese buns. Which means Katniss eats too many cheese buns. She snags one on her way out of the kitchen, after greeting Peeta when she returns from helping build one of the new houses in what used to be the Seam. Peeta calls a warning after her.

“Don’t burn your tongue on the cheese!”

She clamps the bread in her mouth as she strips out of her clothes and waits for the shower water to warm up. Then she scarfs it down in three bites before stepping into the shower, annoyed that she didn’t savor it enough to taste the cheese, let alone find out if it was still hot enough to burn her tongue.

She snares another two after her shower, while she and Peeta fix dinner to take over to Haymitch. Two more during dinner and one right before they head home.

“You know I hate wasting food,” she practically whines at Peeta when he smirks at her as she’s moaning around the still deliciously warm roll. Peeta warmed them in the oven before dinner and this one somehow maintained the perfect amount of heat.

She’s about had it with his arrogant look, his knowing just how easily he can turn her into a salivating mess for food. But then, as she’s washing dishes, he cups his hand on the curve of her butt and Katniss pauses. Glances over her shoulder and watches him as he caresses her, his blue eyes heated and fixed to where he’s touching her.

Then, still caressing the same spot, he bends his head to kiss along the side of her neck. Up to her ears where she expects him to whisper some pretty words, and instead all she gets is a deep rumbling, an almost tortured with desire moan as he pushes his hips into her other butt cheek.

Katniss turns off the water and it’s only much later that the dishes actually get washed.

Still, that’s not all that out of the ordinary either.

And when she wakes on Thursday morning to Peeta’s hands skimming over her bare skin, that’s not unusual. Not at all unusual for him to trail his fingers over her waist and hips and thighs as she lays on her back, he on his side, while they start the morning with long, lingering kisses.

Not at all unusual for them to greet the early morning birdsong outside their open window with their own softly sighing songs, the bed accompanying them with low creaking moans. And it’s not unusual, when Peeta comes first, that he slides from her and moves down between her legs, nipping and kissing and gripping at her thighs for several minutes before settling in to kiss her swollen, wet lips until she too sings softly in release.

Nor is it unusual on Friday evening when he slides his palms around her thighs and hoists her into the air before carrying her to bed, both of them laughing.

Or Saturday when they relax by the lake, and he starts caressing her ankles but eventually works his hand up beneath her dress, all the way to her thighs where he spends so much time caressing her that she’s the one who gets frustrated.

Peeta’s laughing and teasing her when she shrugs out of her dress, pushes him onto his back, and climbs on top of him. And Katniss still doesn’t think there’s anything unusual about the way he watches her body moving on top of his. Or the way his broad palms and clever fingers circle her waist to hold her steady, cling to her hips and guide her closer to her own spiraling release, then cup and grip her ass so she doesn’t stop moving until Peeta joins her with a shout.

And it’s not even that unusual when, after a short nap and a swim in the cool lake water, their kisses turn ravenous again. Only this time, Peeta kneels behind her on the blanket as he makes her sing with pleasure and follows her into bliss.

Even a lazy Sunday spent on the couch, Peeta’s left hand holding a book he reads out loud to her, his right hand tracing lazy patterns over her legs where they rest in his lap, is nothing to note. At least not beyond the fact that just a few years ago, this sort of domestic tranquility would’ve been a nearly impossible scene.

They wind up wrapped up in each other. Left winded and breathing hard on the rug, Katniss’s back and shoulders stinging with how vigorously they rubbed against the carpet while Peeta was inside her. His skin almost too slick for her to cling to when he hoists her up into his arms to carry her upstairs. She curls into his chest and almost falls asleep on the way upstairs, only to be awakened when they’re in the shower. Katniss sits on his lap and he bathes her, making her shiver when his touch feels like the tickling caress of flower petals on her inner thighs.

But then they fall asleep and wake up to make love again. Fall asleep naked after, and by the time they wake for good, stomachs growling for dinner, Katniss laments that they didn’t get their laundry done like they normally do on Sundays.

“We’ll have to make time tomorrow,” Peeta points out, looking not nearly chagrined enough over how they spent the day.

But that means that when she rises early to go into the woods on Monday morning, the only clean pants Katniss can find are an older pair. From after the first Games but before the Quell. She runs her hand sadly over the fabric cut and sewn by Cinna’s hands before finally stepping into them.

Only… she can’t get the pants up past her mid thigh. She tugs on the fabric and wriggles, pausing only when Peeta’s loud gait warns her he’s done in the bathroom.

Looking up at him in distress, she gives the pants another tug. “They don’t fit. How could they not fit?”

“Well,” Peeta says carefully, “If those are from before… you’ve gained some uh… some weight in certain areas.”

Katniss flushes and kicks aside the pants, moving to stand in front of the mirror and examine her shape.

“Where? I’m still scrawny,” she complains, cupping her still small breasts that the Capitol would probably still want to augment if they could get their hands on her body, or if they still existed.

Peeta steps up behind her, his breath shorter and faster than usual, his fingertips skimming over her thighs the same way he moves a frosting tip over a cake.

“Here,” he whispers and she shivers at the heat in his voice. Fingertips swirling up higher until he lifts her shirt with one hand and traces patterns over her belly, which she does notice looks slightly more plump than it used to. “Here.”

He kisses her temple and holds her gaze in the mirror while his hands cup her hips and his fingers dig into meaty flesh she hadn’t realized was thickening on her own body.

“Here,” he growls and he tugs her hips back, so that she can feel him thickening too, in desire as he thrusts slightly against her ass. “And here, Katniss, love.”

This time he’s moaning the words and then he shifts one hand to grip one cheek, an entire handful that he sinks his fingers into and kneads, like her body is now dough and he’s eager to shape her to his desires. But then it occurs to her… this new shape of hers already fits his desires.

Happy, healthy, hungry only for him and not food. She hasn’t had a hollow day in years. And as Peeta’s kisses and touches wander even more, she notes in the mirror all the places and ways she’s gained. She’s smiling when she turns her head to meet Peeta’s kisses with her lips, when she pushes her heavy hips back into his.

#words are peetas thing not mine #smut happens #it’s very mild smut but it’s there #well aren’t you a spicy anon #anonymous #look at that ask

[jinkookspencil]

sleepwear that’d drive bts crazy

description: what you’d wear to bed that'd drive the members crazy, sexy lingerie excluded because obviously i’d see most of them loving different forms of lingerie - this is a more domestic version, but still includes sexiness. they’d go crazy the first time they see you like this but it’ll never get old to them…..

author's note: a quick ot7 post in honor of the busan concert but i have wips that are almost done!

namjooon

why do i imagine that namjoon would love girly girly nightgowns on his s/o

get a dainty little nightgown in pink or white that highlights your boobs

and this man is a goner

he’ll go crazy for simple things like his tees too

he’d only like sets if its girly or somehow sexy: like camis paired with short shorts

or better yet a playsuit

but he himself would be surprised at how much he’d love a regular girlie nightgown 

seokjin

seokjin would like two things

nightgowns - feminine but not too girly and frilly like namjoon would like

something simple, cotton, and soft that only very very lightly highlights your curves, with a cute pattern like little hearts or snowflakes 

OR

pyjama sets, of course

ones that resemble his, like button-downs

or those with cropped t-shirt tops and a cute design or funny pun on them

but especially, his pyjamas

yoongi

i think yoongi is the least one to be affected simply by sleepwear

but if anything would have an impact on him

it’s simply underwear

even everyday, simple underwear!

i can see this being a rare thing though, like his s/o would  usually go to bed in sets

but on a rare occasion when yoongis s/o would only wear underwear to bed…. 

he will get so flustered

hoseok

hobi would love those huuuuuge oversized t-shirts / nightgowns that look like huge t-shirts

the type you’d find in primark / target / etc for cheap

with an obnoxiously large or even badly designed design or pattern all over it

or those old, faded tees you'd use for sleeping

with nothing underneath

he doesn’t know why he loves it so much

one day you’ll roll out of bed and just put on biker shorts underneath - for a very quick coffee or grocery run - and the sight will make hobi say “wow”

jimin

absolutely nothing

you’d be used to sleeping naked next to jimin after you both had fun 

but if it’s just a normal, cozy night in and you get into bed naked? just for the sake of sleeping naked?

yeah you won’t sleep

jimin will giggle

“are you going to put something on?” / “why would I? you’ve seen my body, plus it’s hot. goodnight jimin” :) / “what the fuck do you mean ‘goodnight’? get over here.”

taehyung

similar to his kim brothers

taehyung would love girly/feminine pyjama sets and nighties, but unlike the ones namjoon or seokjin would love

tae would love silky, satin, delicate nightgowns - more slips than nightgowns really, and pyjama sets of the same fabrics

with lace at the neckline and at the sleeves 

but the type that’s still made for sleeping rather than lingerie meant to be taken off

complete with matching robe

BUT he’d also love it if you wore long sleeved, button-down pajama set

in either those same silky fabrics or a cozy, thick fleecy fabric or flannel, for him to cozy up to - there’s no in between

get one of those silky, button-down sets embroidered with your initials and tae would go even crazier

jungkook

a classic graphic tee and undies combo would do it for jungkook

It doesn’t matter what type

it could be one of your tees, one of his

your normal undies, women’s boy shorts/boxers, or even a pair of his underwear

It’s just the combo of graphic tee + undies that does it for him

especially in the autumn / winter when you pair that with knee-length socks

as soon as the air turns colder that’s one of the first things jungkook will get excited for

do not expect to sleep when you wear knee-length socks for the first time….

or it’ll be that classic combo but the other way around: just a bra on top, and long pyjama bottoms - with a funky pattern or even a marvel/batman pattern 

if that’s the case, he’ll nuzzle into you the entire night in that outfit, and will playfully unhook your bra when you least expect it

#bts reaction #bts reactions #ot7 reactions #bts scenario #bts fic #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon reaction #jin scenario #namjoon scenarios #jin scenarios #seokjin scenarios #seokjin fanfic #ot7 #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fic #ot7 fic #hobi scenarios #hobi scenario #jimin scenarios #jimin reactions #taehyung reactions #taehyung scenarios #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic

[owlespresso]

Kuras, who holds your hand and holds you close, thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the back of your hand. It's a gentle affection. He's a fixer. He brushes the dust and dirt from your sleeves and straightens out the collar of your jacket. He does up the last few buttons on your shirt or coat. He weaves a scarf he bought for you himself around your neck and ties it safe and secure around your shoulders to keep you warm.

He knows well the limits of the human form. He chides you when you're up too late, ushers you to the table for a meal when you've gone without eating, pushes a mug of something warm into your hands when you're stressed. Whether it's visible or not, he can somehow always tell. Reads you like his palms, like cracked bones over a hearth, nudges the secrets out of you with pressing words and pulling hands.

I honestly don't know if he'd do this, but the tea Kuras slips you is sometimes too sweet on the tongue. And sometimes you're sleepier than usual after. Kuras chuckles and bids you closer when you tell him, says that it might be better for you to stay in, tonight. Eridia's streets are unforgiving and cold. In the confines of his home, you are at least safe.

It's only natural, you suppose, to slump into drowsy relaxation after enjoying a warm beverage. It's only natural to bundle into Kuras's side while he shuffles his paperwork, pressed underneath his arm to hear the thump of his heart.

But you don't hear anything. Only the sound of his voice as he hums approvingly, only the bend and wave of the sheets in his hands, stained in his doctor's scrawl. There are freaks of uncertain nature all over this city, you figure. Kuras might not have a heartbeat, but he doesn't have claws to rend you to pieces with, doesn't have burning red eyes and bloodied fists.

Sometimes, if you shut your eyes and burrow deep enough into him, you think you can hear the crackling of ice. He smells medicinal and minty, sharp scents which you've come to savor over time, associating them with the ungodly warmth he brings. He really is a furnace. So tall, that when you hover in the phases between sleep and wakefulness, you feel like he's surrounded you entirely. Pressed in on all sides. The gently sway of a feather tickling your cheek before you wink out completely.

#drugging tw #kuras #kuras x reader #kuras/mc #kuras/reader #touchstarved talkin

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 16: Untraditional

During the Clone Wars, the Bad Batch is tasked with a variety of missions across the galaxy. An unexpected addition to their team throws a wrench in the mix, particularly for Tech, who finds a particular connection with this disillusioned Padawan-turned-mechanic named Vel throughout the events in this action-adventure romance.

COVER ART BY @zaana!! And this was my first fanfic ever, y'all! :D

Master List of Chapters

Vel was shocked at the team's appearance. Crosshair looked incredibly suave, and the sight of Hunter with a man-bun was a disproportionate delight. Her eyes continued to Wrecker, and she broke into a smile at the sight of his handlebar mustache, shaking her head affectionately. She shifted her gaze to the end, where she found Tech leaning slightly sideways on the bar. 

Her smile faded and her eyes widened a bit at the sight of him. His blacks and armor had been replaced with a brown wool suit that was reminiscent of an older time period. Somehow, he had found one that fit him perfectly, from the trousers to the jacket with its smart little pocket square. Underneath that was a matching brown vest, into which he had tucked a perfectly-folded tie and a dress shirt. His collar was buttoned all the way up, and his signature goggles were overshadowed by a matching newsboy cap that somehow made his jawline stand out even more. 

She noticed him looking at her then, and dropped her eyes to ensure she didn't tumble down the remaining stairs. Her heart beat faster in her chest as she wove through the crowd to the bar counter, clutching a shiny black purse in one hand and her skirt in the other. As she reached their group, she stood in front of them all, feeling wildly out of her comfort zone and entirely unsure what to say. 

"Hi," she said almost shyly, eyes fixed on the foot of one of the stools. "Sorry to make you wait."

"You look amazing!" Wrecker said, giving her a push on the shoulder that was intended to be gentle but still almost knocked her over. "Look at you!"

"Yes," Tech chimed in, and at the sound of his voice, she felt a quick clench in her chest. It was then that she looked up, meeting his gaze. She couldn't believe how different he looked, and she also couldn't believe how it was making her feel. It was the same old Tech, from his eyes to his posture, but the way the vest curved across his chest and the whole suit tightened around his waist...

"You are exceedingly beautiful this evening," Tech continued, and Vel felt as if she were glowing, at least before he finished: "You are excellent bait for the unintelligent male gaze."

"There it is," Hunter said, and Crosshair's lips gave the hint of a smile as he stood up, finishing his drink while Hunter continued. "Okay, so we do whatever we can to help Vel catch his eye without being obvious. Once you do," he said, addressing her now, "You charm him into showing you around. When you figure out where the lab is, you put your marker on the doorframe and tap it twice. Got it?" 

"Got it," Vel said, anxiously smoothing the front of her dress and shifting from one foot to the other.

"Hey," Hunter said, reaching out and tipping her chin up with a single finger underneath. His simmering presence caught her off guard, and she met his gaze with a surprised gawk. "That's not who you are tonight, remember?" His eyes were warm, voice encouraging, and she resolved to complete her task to the best of her ability.

"Right," she replied, and, taking one last deep breath, stepped back, lifting her head and putting on an air of uninterested confidence, as if this were just another day in her boring, rich life. 

"That's more like it," Hunter said, giving the tip of her nose one tiny tap. "You're too good for Jouren Terrik. Unattainable, and therefore irresistible. Now go get 'em."

Vel nodded, then turned to face the gambling floor, searching for the Pantoran. What she didn't see was Tech's face behind her as he caught sight of her other side. Her sleek white dress was fastened behind her neck with one dainty bow, leaving the entire curve of her back exposed until the satin came over her hips and joined in the middle in a rounded V.

Tech's breath caught in his throat and his datapad fell slightly to the side in his hand, the corner meeting the counter with a quiet thunk. His eyes took in her intricately twisted hair, following the stately column of her neck and the graceful valley of her spine down to her lower back, where the dress came together and a cascade of shimmering fabric lay in luxurious folds. His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he felt a strong urge to reach out and trace a hand down her back, to see how soft was her skin, how gentle her curves. The sheer rush of everything at once was overwhelming.

He tore his eyes from her figure to look at his brothers, trying to reorient himself, and was met with two knowing grins and one smug smirk. His expression quickly turned into one of indignation, but his impending lecture was postponed as Hunter gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. 

"Just try to stay focused."

***

LOOK!!! Fanart!! The first I ever received. Such a gift by the incredible and illustrious @raevulsix! <3

About half an hour later, Vel found herself at a dice table with her back to the target. Terrik was soaking up the attention of a herd of women and a handful of admiring chaps at the table behind her, laughing and making a show of having a different adoring fan blow on the dice each time. He was impossible to miss, with bright blue skin featuring intricate golden patterns on his cheeks and chin. He was not much taller than Vel but made up for it with a charismatic presence that filled the space around him. 

His voice was surprisingly quiet, a smooth-talker if Vel ever saw one. He would whisper something in the ear of a woman next to him, earning himself a giggle and a blush as well as the eager smiles of the rest of those nearby, hoping for their turn. She groaned inwardly at the task set before her, one that she felt that literally any other member of the team would be more suited for. 

She had tried a few times to stand at Terrik's table but didn't want to look too obvious. He apparently was easily put-off by anyone who appeared too desperate, using them simply to further his image rather than for any object of serious pursuit, so her job was to be more alluring than direct. She had tried to catch the eye of some other men nearby but hadn't received much more than a polite nod of the head. So far, it was not going well.

"She's gonna need a hand, Hunter," Crosshair said, tapping his foot impatiently. "Or we'll be here for weeks."

"Any ideas?" Hunter replied, stroking his chin. This was still strategy, but not the type he had been accustomed to since his creation. 

"You'll probably need to follow my lead after I'm done," Crosshair answered with a roll of his eyes, putting his toothpick in his mouth as he slid off his stool and sauntered over to Vel's table. 

She was surprised by Crosshair's arrival, and almost started talking to him with familiarity when he sidled up next to her, setting down two drinks on the table's edge, but he drew close and put a finger to her lips with a distinctly foxy air. Her eyebrows shot up for a second before she regained her composure. 

"Ssshhh", he said, speaking slightly louder than usual, "Alright, beautiful. I'll make this simple."

Vel stared at him, forcing her jaw to stay closed. It was such a shocking contrast to his usual attitude. He looked like a cat that had found its mouse... but in a horny way. She cleared her throat, trying to keep her expression one of mild disinterest as he continued.

"Here's a drink," Crosshair said, ensuring Terrik could hear him. "Have a sip and listen. You and I could have a real good time. I can tell you're the type that likes a bit of... adventure." His voice was velvety smooth, and he put the glass into her hand before dropping his finger to her arm, tracing it gently from wrist to elbow as he tilted his head, fixing her with a simmering stare that almost scared her. Why was he so good at this? 

"Perhaps I do," Vel replied, matching his volume and trying to sound as sultry as she could, trying not to think about how forced she must have sounded, "But you're not my type. Maybe try that Twi'lek over there."

"You'd be surprised how many people find that I'm just their type," Crosshair returned, squinting his eyes and leaning in a bit. Damn, he was ridiculously convincing. He lazily took the toothpick from his mouth, rolling it between his fingers, "And they all seem to be beautiful women like you who judge me by one glance... then find themselves sighing my name later."

Out of the corner of her eye, Vel saw Terrik glance over his shoulder, giving her a quick look up and down. His gaze lingered on her back for a moment before the dealer handed the dice back to him, and he turned back to his table. Feeling emboldened, she stood from her seat, tucking her purse under one arm and finishing the drink. "Lovely for them," she said, giving his cheek a teasing touch, "But not worth my time right now." And with that, she glided away toward the waiter droid, conveniently in Terrik's line of sight, picked up another flute of sparkling spirits, lifted it in a playful toast, took a sip, and disappeared toward the refresher. 

Crosshair returned to the bar, nose wrinkled as if he'd just stepped in bantha poodoo. Wrecker laughed and clapped as he approached, "I never thought I'd see that!"

"I want to get to bed sometime before dawn," Crosshair muttered.

"It was an effective strategy..." Tech admitted, though his brow was furrowed as he regarded his brother, "...as it appears Terrik's interest has been piqued. Did you notice him look to see where she had gone? Perhaps you are onto something."

"You sound surprised," Crosshair returned evenly. 

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#the bad batch #tbb #star wars fanfiction #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #fanfic #tech fanfic #tech fanfiction #tech #tech x oc #tech romance #tech fic #freesia's fanart

[fangirlingtodeath513]

Kinktober Day 1 - First Time

Read here on AO3 Rating: Explicit Ships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Smut, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex, First Time, Anal Fingering, Grinding, Dirty Talk, Kinktober, Anal Sex, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series Finale

Dean’s hands are clammy. He knew this was the endgame of the night, obviously, and he’s been looking forward to it for like a week now, but it’s surreal. He’s actually nervous. He can’t remember the last time he was nervous for sex. Then again, he also can’t remember the last time he had sex with someone he genuinely cared about.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel’s hand settles on his thigh. Fuck, even the sound of his voice is like a balm to Dean’s overactive mind. It brings a small smile to his lips and, before he can rethink it, he lifts Cas’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“I’m great. Better than great, actually. Can’t remember ever being this happy.”

Cas practically beams at that, and Dean can feel his heart beating faster. It’s hard to focus on driving when he feels like he could die from happiness, but he somehow manages to get them back to the little rental they booked for the weekend in one piece.

They deserve this. Hell, they deserve way more than this, but this is a start. The cabin is cute enough, with a hot tub on the back porch and a four-poster, king-size bed. They’d gotten here last night, but after a day spent in the car, they were both too exhausted to do much more than dump their bags on the floor and collapse into bed. Cas had woken up with some unfairly hot bedhead, but Dean had a plan for this weekend, and he wasn’t about to let it be ruined by some messy hair.

He releases Cas’s hand only long enough for them to both climb out of the car, quickly sliding his fingers between the former angel’s as they make their way up the porch. He revels in the tiny smile it brings to Cas’s lips.

“How are we doing on the whole “human for the second time around” thing? So far, at least.”

Castiel chuckles. “Well, I haven’t been murdered by a reaper yet.”

Dean huffs a laugh and punches the code into the lock on the door. “Yeah, I guess the bar was already pretty low.”

Castiel hums softly as Dean turns to close the door behind them, locking it and sucking in a deep breath. It doesn’t do much to calm his nerves.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks softly, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t… want to.”

Dean scoffs. “No, I want to, Cas. I promise.” He takes another deep breath before turning to face Castiel. His eyebrows are pinched like he’s nervous Dean might reject him. He wonders how often Castiel worries about that. “You sure you want to?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Am I sure that I want to finally have you underneath me after being in love with you for more years than I care to admit? Yes, I think so.”

Dean can feel the tips of his ears burning, so he doesn’t even want to imagine what his face looks like. “In love with, huh?” he asks, a stupid grin on his face.

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he smiles back as he leans in to draw Dean into a kiss. “Yes, Dean, I’m positive. Now are you going to stop stalling and come with me to the bedroom, or should I get started without you?”

Dean gapes at him. “Start without me? Now hang on a minute…”

Castiel shoots him a grin as he backs down the hallway toward the bedroom. Little fucker. He knows exactly how to push Dean’s buttons. It’s stupidly hot.

They both shed their layers on the way to the bedroom until they’re left barefoot, in their t-shirts and jeans. Dean pulls him into a kiss, winding his arms around Cas’s waist. They’ve done plenty of this since Castiel came back from the empty, blessedly alive and fully human. It had been an awkward few moments, considering Dean had shoved him against the nearest wall and made up for the decade they could have spent kissing if they hadn’t been such idiots. Sam had uncomfortably cleared his throat more than a few times, and god only knows what Jack was thinking, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care. He had his angel back, that was all that mattered.

He only pulls away long enough to tug Castiel’s shirt over his head, dropping it somewhere behind them and nudging Cas to sit on the bed. He shamelessly climbs onto his lap, threading a hand through his hair as he kisses and sucks his way down the former angel’s neck. Castiel’s hands are everywhere, roaming over every inch of Dean’s skin that he can reach. They finally settle on Dean’s thighs, holding him close as Cas draws him into another kiss. This one is filthy, all tongue, Castiel’s teeth scraping against Dean’s bottom lip. It drives Dean just a little bit insane, and it seems like Cas can tell since he does it again with a hint of a smirk on his lips. 

“Do you like that, Dean?” he murmurs, his voice distractingly deep and warm, rumbling against Dean’s chest as he laughs. “I’ve dreamed about this for so long. Watching you let go for me.”

Dean shivers, blinking a few times to regain some semblance of composure as he lets Castiel remove his shirt. He doesn’t even care where Castiel drops it, he’ll worry about finding it in the morning. It’s the least of his concerns right now, especially once he leans back long enough to take in the sight in front of him—Castiel, shirtless, chest heaving with a sheen of sweat and a smirk on his lips as he lets Dean drink in his fill.

“God, Cas,” he mutters, dragging a thumb over one of his nipples, noting the sharp intake of breath he gets in response. “You’re incredible.”

Castiel chuckles, the sound like a warm, fluffy blanket wrapping around Dean. “I could say the same about you, you know. You’re beautiful, Dean, and despite how much I’d love to sit here and stare at you—”

“So a normal night for you,” Dean interrupts with a smirk, laughing when Castiel rolls his eyes.

“As much as I’d love it, I’d much prefer to see how you feel around my cock.”

Dean swallows, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Wow, that was… way hotter than it should have been.”

Castiel laughs. “Is that a yes?”

Dean nods quickly, sliding off Castiel’s lap long enough to ditch his jeans and boxers. Castiel does the same, so when Dean climbs back into his lap they’re both blessedly naked. He lets himself bask in the moment, pulling Castiel into a kiss as he rocks his ass along the length of Castiel’s hardness, sucking in a shuddering breath. It’s been a damn long time since he’s had anything other than a toy inside him and as much as he’d like to rush the process, he doesn’t want Castiel’s first time with him to be anything less than perfect. So he takes his time, getting them both wound so tightly they could snap before he even reaches for the bottle of lube he’d brought with them and, thankfully, stashed in the bedside table earlier.

Castiel snatches it from him with a wicked grin. “I’ve dreamt about this, too. May I?”

Dean swallows, nodding quickly. “Yeah, Cas, yeah, my god.” He shuffles off his lap, sprawling out on the bed and pulling Castiel on top of him. “Never wanted anything more in my life.”

Castiel pouts. Honest to god pouts. Dean feels like he could combust. “Not even me?”

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he breathes out, mostly to himself, tugging Castiel down into a kiss. “C’mon, want you inside me sooner than later.”

Castiel smirks. “Say please.”

Dean groans. “Please, Cas.”

He half expects a good boy thrown in there, but he doesn’t get one. Instead, he gets the click of the lube cap, so he leans up on his elbows to watch Castiel.

He’s gorgeous. His hair is a goddamn mess, his chest flushed a nice, warm red, and his eyes—they’ve got a wild look to them, but they’re so utterly focused on Dean that it makes his heart beat a little faster.

“Alright. You’re ready?”

He doesn’t think he has the strength to speak right now, so he just nods. Castiel shoots him a small smile and leans down to kiss him. He’s a fucking master with his tongue, so much so that Dean barely even registers his finger pushing into him. He groans against Castiel’s lips, letting his knees drop open even more, hopefully encouraging him to continue. Castiel seems to get the message, his tongue sliding into Dean’s mouth as a second finger splits him open. He’s effectively trapped between the sensations of Castiel’s tongue and fingers and there’s no place on Earth that he’d rather be.

Castiel breaks their kiss, and Dean just barely has the presence of mind to bite back a whine. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” Castiel asks softly, pressing a kiss to Dean’s jaw. 

Dean shakes his head quickly, sucking in a breath and pulling Cas’s mouth back to his. “Mm mm. Feels good, Cas. Can’t wait to have you inside me. C’mon, I can handle another.”

He feels Castiel shiver against him and grins, grinding against his fingers. It takes a minute, but eventually, Cas shakes himself from his stupor and presses a third finger into him. It burns, but Dean is wound so tight that he doesn’t even care. He wants Castiel inside him as quickly as possible, and honestly, even the burn feels a little bit good.

Still, he gets impatient after a few minutes, the burn faded and the thought of Cas splitting him open much more enticing than his fingers. “Ready, Cas, quit teasing,” he manages to get out, eyes fluttering closed when his fingers rub against his prostate, sending a warm jolt through him. “Fuck, please, want you inside me when I come,” he babbles, mostly lost to the sensation of Castiel’s fingers stretching him open and his mouth exploring every inch of Dean’s hot, flushed skin. Castiel seems to gather how far gone he is because after a moment his fingers are gone, quickly replaced with the blunt head of his slippery cock. 

“Tell me if I hurt you?” Castiel asks softly, brushing his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean nods quickly, wrapping his legs around Cas’s waist. “Promise, now get in me.”

Castiel laughs, drawing Dean into a kiss as he pushes into him. Dean grunts, fingernails digging into Castiel’s shoulders. It burns, but he’s so damn close to coming that he doesn’t even care. He takes another breath, easing the burn a bit, and pulls Cas into another kiss. God, he could do this all day. Honestly, if they didn’t have other things to do, he just might. He adds that to the list of things he wants to try with Cas at some point, making a mental note to actually write that list down and give it to Cas sometime.

“Okay?” Castiel asks softly, kissing down Dean’s neck.

“Mmhm, fuck… so good, Cas,” he manages to reply, somewhat breathless as he finally bottoms out. “Can’t fuckin’ believe we could’ve been doing this all along,” he mutters, somewhat petulantly. Castiel laughs.

“Yes, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say. But we get to do it now.”

Dean hums, grinding against Castiel just a little bit. “Damn right we do. Several times tonight, at least, if I get my way,” he says with a smirk, though it quickly turns to a gasp when Castiel pumps his hips a little. 

“It would be my absolute honor to take you apart all night long, Dean,” Castiel purrs, fucking purrs, and Dean thinks he could die of happiness right here. Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, given all the ways he thought he’d die. 

“Too much talking, not enough fucking,” he gasps out instead, shivering when Castiel laughs. He expects some witty remark in return, but instead, Castiel just sits up and grabs Dean’s hips, pulling him into every thrust as he finds his rhythm. It’s punishing, and Dean’s almost certain he’s forgotten how to breathe, simply with the sight of Cas above him like his, hair a mess and a dark burn in his eyes. 

“I want to hear you when you come for me, Dean. I want to hear every moan, every stutter in your breath, every curse. I want it.”

Dean gasps, eyes fluttering closed as Castiel’s words sink in. He considers being a brat for a moment, but only a moment, before he realizes he’d much rather give Castiel what he wants. 

It doesn’t take long before he’s teetering on the edge of an orgasm, his grunts and muttered curses only seeming to spur Cas on. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the man still had the stamina of an angel, with how relentless his thrusts have been.

“C-Cas, fuck, I can’t… I’m gonna…” he manages to choke out, eyes squeezing shut as Castiel’s warm hand wraps around his cock. It only takes a few rough strokes before he’s completely gone, boneless as he comes over his own stomach. Castiel’s not far behind though, his hips slamming into Dean’s a few more times before he spills white hot inside Dean, his shaky breaths the only thing still grounding Dean to this reality. 

They stay like that for a couple of minutes, catching their breath and blinking hazily at each other. Dean cracks first, a lazy grin on his lips as he pulls Castiel into a kiss.

“We really should have been doing that for the last decade.”

Castiel laughs and, yeah, that really is the best sound in the world.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #supernatural #my writing #kinktober 2023

[universe-on-her-shoulders]

Come up with the most ridiculous, absurd reason Jack died? Feel free to go batsh!t insane. I want to be cracking up in uncontrollable fits for an entire hour.

“I’m so sorry,” Ianto mumbled, buttoning his shirt up as he spoke. His cheeks were flushed maroon, and despite the January chill outside, he felt suddenly, abruptly hot, although whether that was embarrassment, arousal or panic, he didn’t quite know. Perhaps it was all three; the evening’s events had, after all, not panned out exactly as he’d expected them to. “I had no idea you would… that I could…”

He looked down at Jack’s dead body, which was slumped sideways on the floor of his office, still arranged in a vague kneeling position with his eyes open. Ianto had knocked him over while panicking, and rigor mortis had now set in; Jack was stuck like this for the next few minutes, as Ianto tried to compose himself and allay some of his mortification – although that seemed like a vaguely uncomfortable word to be using given the current situation. He took a deep breath and then poked Jack with his toe, trying to think of a slightly nicer way to describe his temporarily-dead-partner than ‘corpse’, which had connotations of… well, general yuckiness, especially given how this incident had come about. The phrasing of that, too, made him wince.

“I’m sorry,” Ianto said again, his tone slightly wheedling as he retrieved his tie from Jack’s desk and put it back on with shaking hands, before looking around for his trousers. Jack had chucked them in the general direction of a filing cabinet, and indeed, there they still were, caught over the edge of a drawer; Ianto snagged them and stepped back into them, buttoning them with shaking hands and trying not to allow himself to worry. It always took Jack a few moments to come to, didn’t it? It wasn’t an instant thing. And surely he’d find this whole situation funny when he woke up, even if it did make Ianto want to disappear into a hole in the ground.

Unfortunate wording, he thought to himself again with a touch of hysteria, and he made a strained laughing, hiccupping sound as he poked Jack again with his socked foot, feeling a touch bolder this time.

“Please wake up,” Ianto implored him. “And we can just laugh about this and move on.”

There was the distant sound of a door banging open, and Ianto let out a muted yelp of horror as he realised what day it was, and what time it was, and cursed himself for forgetting; he was, after all, the one who printed out the rotas and stuck them on the noticeboard. Could he hide? Should he hide? How would he then hide Jack? Surely it would freak Jack out more if he woke up in a cupboard after having died on his office floor, and what if he made a noise of some kind? He usually let out a loud gasping, choking noise when he came back to life, and something about that seemed like it might draw attention, albeit it might also be enough to convince any listeners that they ought to be left alone.

Which, really, they ought to be. Please. For the sake of Ianto’s sanity, and for a quiet next few years.

No, instead there was the distant sound of Owen singing to himself as he strode through the Hub, some terrible punk anthem that undoubtedly involved an awful lot of headbanging as he went. How did anyone do that, Ianto wondered with a degree of irrational hysteria. Didn’t it hurt your head?

Unfortunate wording, his brain supplied again, and he bit back a panicked laugh, looking over at the still-dead Jack, and wondering if he could somehow drag him enough to hide him underneath the desk. He wasn’t sure how clean it might be under there, but at least it would spare him the embarrassment of having to face Owen, and explain… explain… explain…

“Ianto?” Owen asked, and Ianto yelped, spinning around to face him and realising a fraction of a second too late that his fly was still open; his cheeks turned an even more violent shade of scarlet, and he tried to will his colleague not to look at the floor. “What are you doing…” Owen seemed to sense his panic; he looked down and caught sight of Jack’s body. “…here?”

“Filing,” Ianto said, with as much dignity as he could manage; nonchalance was the name of the game now. Casual, easy nonchalance. Nothing to see here. “Just doing some late-night filing.”

“Right,” Owen raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly and thoughtfully in a manner that fully conveyed to Ianto that he knew that he was talking bollocks. “Why’s Jack unconscious?”

“Oh, I hit him with a filing cabinet drawer,” Ianto lied, and Owen’s eyebrows inched closer to his hairline. “Total accident.”

“Is this some kind of kinky sex thing?” Owen teased, and Ianto’s blush deepened. How was that possible? If he turned any redder, he was going to be permanently maroon; there was no coming back from embarrassment like this. “Because if so, I’m not participating in it. I don’t consent to being involved.”

“No!” Ianto shook his head hard, although he knew the reality was far worse. “No, it was just an accident.”

“So why’s your fly open?”

“Is it?” Ianto said unconvincingly, looking down, feigning surprise and then zipping it up one handed. “Oops. So it is.”

“Why isn’t Jack breathing?” Owen continued, taking a step into the office, and Ianto considered – fleetingly – trying to stop him, but instead he dropped to his knees – Ianto barely suppressed a snort – beside Jack, taking his pulse and then looking up at Ianto with an expression that was equal parts amused and horrified. “Please explain. I mean, please explain in a manner that might involve a great deal of lying, to spare my blushes, because I’m a delicate soul and I really, really don’t want to know about your dead-person fetish.”

“It’s not that!” Ianto said at once, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “We were just… doing something, and he didn’t… he didn’t say anything… and the next thing I knew…”

“You’d bonked the boss to death,” Owen concluded, and Ianto felt a brief stab of gratitude that he didn’t appear to be laughing. Yet. “Wow.”

#asks #anons #drabbles #captain jack harkness #ianto jones #owen harper #janto #torchwood #you did ask for this

[amysterywrappedinanenigma]

Ranking (bullying) LD Curtain's season 2 fashion choices

Because even if the show seems to have forgiven him, I sure haven’t. 

DISCLAIMER: This is in NO WAY criticizing the costume designers of this show- it couldn’t be farther from that. They’ve done an amazing job with every single piece in the show, and all of these fit Curtain’s personality and aesthetic perfectly. This is just me mocking the in-universe fashion choices that the character makes, because he needs to be bullied more. All lighthearted, all in good fun.

Disclaimer #2: I know literally nothing about fashion, please don’t attack me. 

Okay, from least heinous to most heinous, here we go! 

First up:

As much as it pains me to admit this. I actually. Really like this one. (”And if you told me I would never say something like that, well, I would never say something like that, but here we are.”) I think the silhouette is interesting, and all of the pieces come together well. Plus, in some of the tighter shots you can see that the fabric texture and detailing is really cool:

The leaves as clasps and that crinkly texture kind of really slap, and I really love the way the collar sort of wraps into the placket.

8 / 10

Interview outfit:

Wow, look! Another one that doesn't inspire immediate feelings of rage! We're doing so well.

This one isn't as visually interesting as the first outfit, but I do sort of like it. The collar folds create kind of a cool shape, and the grey accents under the top is a nice little contrast. I don't know how I feel about the zipper right below the collar, it's kind of a weird choice and might look better if it wasn't so visible, but I'll let it slide for this one since we have a much more heinous zipper situation coming up later.

I like the contrasting shades of blue with the button up shirt, and the lavender shirt he wears under it later in the episode, and the fact that part of the collar can kind of fold down to make a different shape.

6 / 10

Clown sleeves:

So the sleeves on this one are. kind of a lot. But they gain a couple of points for being the only thing in this outfit that really pops. They're sort of weird, but I can see the appeal of them standing out against the black vest, and being a pretty nice contrast that draws the eye.

5 / 10

Meh:

Time for the part of the post where I include 6 outfits that I just kind of don't have strong opinions on, mainly because they feel like pretty standard, decent outfits with no real reason to bat an eye at them.

The last image is saved on my computer as "are those your pajamas?" but. acceptable.

sure / 10

Dancy dance:

🧍‍♂️

I don't have much to say about this one other than, for some reason, the visual of him wearing tennis shoes makes me viscerally uncomfortable.

🤡 / 10

Elizabeth Holmes Chic:

He looks like a kid playing dress-up in their dad's giant overcoat, except someone let him go outside looking like this. I know oversized clothing items can be fashionable but here he's like drowning in it.

And then when he takes the coat off:

This maybe wouldn’t be a terrible outfit, it’s just so goddamn pretentious. He seems like he's trying to look like Steve Jobs, but ended up looking more like Elizabeth Holmes.

about to start another pyramid scheme / 10

Vacation dad (derogatory):

On someone else I might like this outfit, but on him it just looks so dumb. He looks like he's about to go skydiving with how much he's buttoned up. Better watch out or he could get carried away and spend 20 minutes unstrapping and unbuttoning it to reveal his fun little vacation shirt underneath! It's somehow stupidly formal and stupidly casual at the same time, and I just think it's a very silly little outfit. He's joining the army as penance for his fashion crimes. If you ask very very nicely he might tell you what's in his four huge, weirdly-placed pockets.

what's in the pockets / 10

And now.

We've arrived. We're finally here. The last one. The moment we've all been waiting for.

The worst of the worst:

I'll be honest, I don't really know where to start this one. There are too many things to choose from. Do I start with the weird asymmetrical pattern on the sleeves, with the red and blue stripes that aren't even made up of the same type of pattern?

Or maybe the fact that the buttons (and the piece of fabric they're attached to) ends too high above the neckline of the top layer?

Or we could talk about the fact that the top layer looks like one of those smocks you'd wear to get an x-ray at the dentist, made in a fabric that must have been rescued from the back of a fabric store after 50 years of not being bought.

I think by far the worst part is the length:

The fact that those strange little smock flaps go almost a foot past the zipper, halfway down to his knees. It swallows like 2/3rds of his body in this horrible block of grey fabric, and this man has the audacity to carry himself like it’s fashionable, instead of an assault on the senses. 

I want to set it on fire. I want to burn him along with it. I want to gently take his tailor aside and ask if Curtain held him at knife point and made him design this monstrosity. TEAR IT TO PIECES, GET IT OUT OF MY SIGHT, TURN IT INTO SCRAPS FOR SQ'S ART PROJECTS.

Anyway.

This outfit is such a menace to this world that I thought everyone should get a chance to tear it to shreds, so presenting, the communal roast:

“GROSS. SHUN.” -@mvshortcut

"prison chic. dentist x-ray chic. ugly." -@mysteriouseggsbenedict 

“the terrible zip up vest that just keeps on going fucked a potato sack” -@bi-demon-ium

“runway model for the most pretentious fashion designer who ever lived” - @sqenthusiast

“Trying to be casual but also Better Than You. The definition of 'you really thought you did something there'” -@echo-delta

“Child with one of those books where you can draw clothes over top the shape of a person” -@mysteriouseggsbenedict 

“Mr Curtain sir I don’t feel very happy looking at this. I think it’s a little counterproductive.” -@mvshortcut

Truly horrendous.

borrowing constance's acid to destroy the outfit and then clean the eyes of anyone who wants to forget they saw this monstrosity / 10

Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me, and as always, send the x-ray bib to hell.

#the mysterious benedict society #mbs disney #mbs #mysterious benedict society #ld curtain #this post has been in the works for a WHILE so I hope people enjoy it #we don't need to talk about how long it took me #this post really just devolves as it goes on #a portrait of me losing my mind #i could also scream about how much i love the costume design of other characters on this show #but this was the funnier option #on any other characters i would be complimenting them for their bold fashion choices (except for maybe the last one) #ledroptha curtain

[iladkaren]

THE CONSIGLIERE: Chapter I

Pairing: Mafia!BTS x Reader

Summary:

An internship gone wrong.

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

"Work for you?" That was the first time you met Ji-Hye. She had a soft voice that reminded you of your mother, but her bright eyes held an intelligence behind them.

You were looking through the new paintings for this month's art fair when she came up behind you. You nearly dropped your drink, but managed to save it without making a fool of yourself.

"I guess so," you said awkwardly. A little nervous under her gaze, you fidgeted before realizing you should offer your hand.

The Hwan Ji-Hye. Beautiful. Smart. Kind. An overall perfectionist who cared deeply about how things worked. The perfect girlfriend. The perfect fiancée.

Dionysus Museum's Founding Director and Curator. Well-known for supporting avant-garde performance art. She has repeatedly provided a stage to aspiring performance artists at the beginning of their carrers, launching many a brilliant career. She believes that artist must be activists, and that Dionysus Museum provides a venue for fruitful, challenging debates through a fresh, boundary-breaking art.

She is also a great teacher, an incredibly kind person with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind. And, while some have argued that she lacks creativity, she has proven countless times that there is a place for all creative ideas.

Her father, a prominent lawyer and judge, had been among the founders of the museum as well.

She was amused by your reaction. "Yes, we have an open internship this month. You should consider applying. I see you have an artistic eye."

You blushed slightly. "Oh, thank you, I didn't know they offered internships. It seems a bit odd though."

She smiled sweetly. "Well, no one else from other schools applied here, which means you may actually get in. But don't go jumping into things too quickly!"

"Uhm... that's... I just enjoy painting." You uncomfortably denied.

A sly smile spread across her lips. "Is that right?"

Your face felt hot. Why did she make everything sound so seductive? It was probably the makeup. No wonder you were having such trouble keeping your eyes off her. She was breathtaking. You were completely lost, and you hated it.

"Exactly what we require. Are you, by chance, a Fine Arts student?" She inquired, but you had a sneaking suspicion she already knew.

"Not exactly. I'm taking a year away to get my master's degree in Fine Arts, but, uhm... I haven't completed the semester yet." You nodded.

"That's fantastic! We are now seeking for additional help. We're a touch short on employees." She pointed in the direction of the ushers and guides who worked behind her.

You noticed that each guide wore a red buttoned shirt underneath their suit jackets. Each had black trousers and shoes, and carried a clipboard.

"Are those… your ushers?" You asked.

Ji Hye gave you an enigmatic smile. "We prefer to refer to them as guides, yes."

You did the math. There were a total of seven, which was obviously insufficient for a museum of this size. "I'd have to think about it."

The young woman leaned forward. "Don't think too hard. Just say the word."

You were silent for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. Your eyes darted from person to person before settling back to her.

"Oh." She seemed depressed all of a sudden. Nonetheless, she persisted in asking, "have you ever accepted an internship before?"

"Uhm... no. I'm still on the lookout." You replied. You thought the conversation was over until her face suddenly lit up again.

"At the very least, consider it. It would make me quite delighted if you chose this internship." She softly held your arm to reassure you. "I can tell you're one of a kind."

Her smile made you feel special somehow, which surprised you. It wasn't like you were a pretty girl or anything—in fact, you thought that you looked more like someone who had spent three years playing tennis than anything else. And yet, something made you trust her. Maybe it was her confident demeanor, or her gentle manner.

It would appear that an angel had gone past. The uneasy pause seemed to go far too long. In reality, it had taken less than a minute. "Ah," you finally said, "thank you."

She squeezed your arm in reply. "Let's hope that it comes true. If not, it's okay. I'll find another way to attract new interns."

"I should probably leave." To avoid the embarrassment, you gently moved backwards, but not before saying, "but thank you for offering. I'll think about it." You instantly turned around and raced through the museum's front doors. When you realized you had made it back to your car with only seconds to spare, you stopped dead in your tracks. This entire afternoon had been a mess, and you felt utterly stupid. You were usually quite good at improvising on the spot, but nothing prepared you for Ji Hye.

Maybe you shouldn't have done that? What if it got her angry? Then again, what if it didn't? Would you have any chance of working for them then?

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

#bts #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #ot7 x reader #ot7 x yn #ot7 x you #mafia au

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay-adjacent Visuals: Jack's Lament

Can you feel me practically vibrating out of my skin???

On one hand, I'm a little sad because this is the last video I'll probably be making a post about for a while (though by the time you see this, Geoff might have uploaded a new video that I can actually talk about the visuals for (EDIT from future me: he did!), and if so, you'll be seeing a post for that one tomorrow), but on the other hand, this is my third (though in no particular order/ranking) favourite Geoff video on his channel so far, and I am so excited to finally be able to make a post for it!

Geoff's cover of Jack's Lament debuted on the 8th of October, 2023, though I didn't see it pop up in my YouTube recommended until the 29th (if you remember from my Hellfire post, I wasn't initially subscribed to Geoff or Voiceplay, and both channels somehow ended up dropping off my radar for a while. Jack's Lament was the first from either channel that I had seen in at least a year, and as soon as I saw that thumbnail, I knew it was going to be amazing, but oh my GOD it was even better (and with me stumbling upon Hellfire the very next day, well let's just say I was pulled even deeper down the Geoff/Voiceplay rabbithole than I had been the first time around 😅).

Anyway, I'm not sure if I'll hit image limit on this one, or how much actual commentary I may have, but regardless, let's freaking go!

One hell of an opening shot, not gonna lie. Geoff's very-skeletal-looking hands playing the piano (in a beautiful way, might I add), immediately sets a very spooky/eerie vibe!

And this is one hell of an establishing shot! I mean goddamn there is a lot to take in here! Though one thing I will point out (that I actually only just noticed myself ^^;) is the Haunted Mansion headstone on the left, memorialising Madame Leota!

(Also shoutout to Pattycake Production Studios where this was filmed!)

I of course have to give a MASSIVE shoutout and kudos to Rick Underwood for the makeup job in this one, like holy christ he really outdid himself here! (and I can't thank him enough)

Ngl, if I don't come up with any other ideas between now and October, then I kinda wanna dress as "Jack Skellington Geoff" (Geoff Caskellington? 🤔), makeup and all (or just attempt the face makeup at least)

And seriously take a look at his hands! If it weren't for the super-high-definition closeup of his hands on the piano at the start, you'd be forgiven for thinking those are just really well-fitting gloves, but nope! An amazing airbrush job from Mr Underwood!

Also, if you look at his neck and chest in both this image and the previous one, you'll notice that he's got airbrushing going on there too, highlighting (or more accurately, shading) his ribs and other bones!

Finally, on the subject of the body paint job, if you've been paying attention to some of my other Geoff posts (and some of my Voiceplay posts), you might notice what's missing...

No necklace, and no rings! Had to remove them for costume/makeup/character purposes, rip. Must have felt a bit weird without them, but all that paint must have felt weird too, so maybe the weird feelings cancelled each other out? 😅

(His acting in this is of course 10/10 👌)

This video is one that I do actually know involved Geoff deliberately colouring his hair to make it grey, and it still looks as lovely as ever!

(Also this picture is a better one to check out the airbrushed detailing on his chest! (if you're gonna leave a couple of shirt buttons undone and your chest exposed, might as well take advantage of it! 😁))

The "moon" in this video is apparently just some big spotlight with a moon cover on it or something? Apparently you can fairly easily find them online or something, and you can in fact see the pole it's attached to underneath in this image here, but you likely wouldn't notice the pole if you weren't looking for it, and the usage of the moon is 100% perfect! (I've seen/heard one or two people wishing the moon was yellow like in the movie, but eh, it probably wouldn't have fitted the overall colour scheme of the video as much)

I had to include the "jumpscare" of course I had to! 😁

Also I can't get any good screencaps of it, but the way Geoff shifts from sombre on "a longing that I've never known," to more theatric/dramatic on "I'm a master of fright, and a demon of light" is so good, and the acting/choreography is absolute chefs kiss

"Bonjour!"

(For those of you not familiar with the original, the line "and I'm know throughout England and France" is part of the original song, but the "bonjour!" bit is not 😆)

A Geoff head not connected to the body! It's happened again! 😂

Also it's cool the way Geoff is quickly jumping/flashing from one point to another, reminds me of his Headless Horseman video

"No animal, nor man, can SCREAM like I can!"

What can I say, it's a very cool effect! Really ups the "oomph" factor of the little belt moment!

Tiny pumpkins/jack-o-lanterns in his eyes!!

"But who here, would ever understand..."

(I'm not even at half the maximum image limit yet, so I'm 100% just throwing in an extra screencap (or two) just because 😁)

Geoff pats the side of his leg to call for Zero the ghost dog, just in in the scene in the movie! (Also shoutout to Kathy, who I believe helped with puppeteering for this bit?)

"...that the pumpkin king, with the skeleton grin,"

(Freaking obsessed with this video, I tell ya!)

"The fame and praise, come year after year, does nothing for these empty tears"

This is the last shot before we see the gramophone logo (a very gorgeous shot btw), but there's a little bit of a bonus bit for those who stick around for the Patron credits!!

It starts to snow! Like at the end of the movie! It's a sign of hope and good things to come! <3

The original song is good for the movie, sure, but Geoff's cover feels like it has so much more depth (in more ways than one!) and emotion! And his vocal range is ugh god absolutely stunning and mindblowing! I cannot get enough, can never get enough!

But anyway, I hope you've been enjoying my Voiceplay/Voiceplay-adjacent posts! If there are any videos I've skipped over that you actually would like me to make a post on, please let me know! (And don't worry, I am planning to do all the 2017-onwards Christmas videos for both channels eventually - maybe as a Christmas In July thing?) I'm typing this on the 22nd of February, and if Voiceplay uploads a video in March that I wanna make a post on (nope), well you reading this will have already seen that post, and if Geoff uploads something in March that I wanna talk about (he did), then you'll see that post tomorrow (you will!). But otherwise, thanks for reading!

#geoff castellucci #jack's lament #jacks lament #acaplaya analysis #voiceplay-adjacent visuals

[marlenacantswim]

Hey sweetie, question tiiimmmmmeeeeeee. I know you love (and I love it too) Nicholas Angel in pink. What's your favourite outfit to put different Simon characters in? Or the few you imagine if their clothing is not described?

oh boy do i love to put simon characters in pink. i'm sorry, he just looks so good in the color. green flag, honestly.

these questions have wonderfully complex answers since i have so many of them as sims in my sims 4 world, and part of the creation process is dressing them up in as many canon-accurate outfits as i can, and then extrapolating their style from there for the rest. for the most part, as my accuracy autism demands, i prefer to put them in/imagine them in canon-accurate outfits. when reading fic where outfits are undescribed, I imagine tim in his muted green clamshell jacket, big baggy beige cargo pants, and wallet chain when he's outside. I imagine him in long sleeve shirt underneath short sleeve graphic tee and beanie. i imagine benji in his nice-looking jacket-three-piece-suit combos and configurations when it's cold or even remotely formal, and i imagine him in his colorful button-down/graphic tee/red leather jacket getup when it's hotter out or he's just kinda chillin'. nicholas of course gets the classic solid-sweater-over-light-collared-shirt outfit.

if i'm feeling creative, i like to put angel in turtlenecks, tim in cute frilly dresses, graeme in warm hats. gary gets to wear alt goth, black, slutty slutty shear shirts and tight pants when the weather gets hot or he's party hardying. shaun goes crazy in the casual graphic tee and long athletic Guy Shorts. all the time. nonstop. unless it's cold and then it's baggy sweaters but still keeping the shorts. mans transed his gender and then went "okay time to embrace my inner Dude Guy by wearing basketball shorts in sub-freezing weather" and he was right. good for him. he was prolly a jorts-in-fall girlie pre-transition.

one i have yet to tackle (because the free-reign potential is INSANE) is scotty. we see him out of uniform only twice, and one time it's Far Future Party Casual, and the other time it. is. COLORFUL and spilling nonbinary swag from every crease. like, people are slipping and falling on it my guy, be more considerate. put up a wet floor sign at the very least, what good it'd do with your fit somehow managing to stand out more than a literal warning sign.

need to get into scones more, that ship is beckoning me. if someone with the files to that trilogy happens to see this, i am desperate. my own searches have been fruitless.

maybe i'll post some sims stuff, i've poured so much time and effort into sculpting these characters and creating barbieland for them.

#whoop thank you so much for the ask as always #will never get over how fun these are to answer #and dude oh my god what a BANGER of a question wowowow. #i won't tag all these characters but i will tag the aos stuff bc you and i both need those movie files #simon pegg #montgomery scott #star trek aos #running my mouth #ask and you shall receive

[wickedsniffles]

When We're Under the Weather

I meant to post this on here at the same time as I did on my main, but life got in the way. 😅 Summary: You're certain no good can come from leaving the warmth of bed to chase a criminal in the rain.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Trans male Reader, he/him pronouns (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Teen & Up

Tags: established relationship, fluff, pet names, comfort no hurt, illnesses, sickfic, teasing/banter, yearning

Word Count: 3.4K

You'd told him no good would come from taking a case in the middle of this storm. Nonetheless, he goes, as you knew he would. Peeling one eye open, you watch in a drowsy blur as Sherlock untangles from the mess of your shared covers, from the warmth, dressing quickly in the dark. You let your heavy eyelids fall closed as he ghosts around the room, collecting his coat and things. It's almost impossible to dissuade him once he gets going, and at this point, all you can do is tell him to be careful, and for God's sake bring an umbrella.

"Love you," you mumble as his lips touch your forehead. "Stay warm, alright? You'll catch your death in this weather."

"Love you too. And I'll do my best," he says in return, brushing a gentle hand through your hair in farewell. "I'll be back before you know I was away. Go back to sleep."

You don't have the strength to protest. Instead you listen as the bedroom door closes, then the door to the flat, as Sherlock Holmes makes his way down the stairs and out into the night. Off to do what he loves, willing to go at any hour, chasing that thrill. Your peculiar man, whose heart you've somehow captured.

That thought, at least, gives you solace as you drift off. The heavy rain continues to beat away at the rooftop, the lullaby sweet, making it impossible to wait up for him no matter how much you might want to. With a heavy sigh, you relax deep within your cocoon of blankets, wishing him luck on whatever he's decided to do.

—---

It feels like only seconds later when you're startled awake by the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. In response to the unwanted noise, Sherlock growls softly, probably knowing it's woken you. You stretch a little in the early dawn light of the flat, pale orange in the small windowpane, and blink up at him.

He's soaking wet. Dripping-onto-the-hardwood, plastered-into-his-clothes wet. His sodden curls cling to the sides of his face, and you don't have to be fully awake to see him shivering.

(Well, you're awake now.)

"Aw, sweetheart," you say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "What –? I thought I said –"

You can't bring yourself to scold him. Not when he looks miserable and desperate to get warm, fingers shaking as they try for the buttons of his shirt. At once you're out from underneath the covers, helping him undress, and he manages a tired thank you. The sodden clothes are banished to the hamper, to be dealt with later.

"You're welcome."

When he's naked, all cold skin and expectant eyes, you pull him back to the comfort of the fluffy duvet. Sherlock tugs you as close as possible as once, buried under the covers as much as he can be.

"I'm afraid there was a rather tedious foot chase," he says at last, once his body temperature is closer to yours. "Couldn't be helped."

You try your hardest not to sigh, burying your face against his cold chest instead. You can still feel the slightest tremors running through him, and it frightens you a little. Your palms find his back, rubbing circles, trying to get him warm again.

More than that, though, you’re exasperated. Can’t the man let these things go? For once? You know the answer is no. This is his life’s work, his sole focus. And if you’re being honest, you half expected him to end up coming home like this. And there’s no way on God’s green earth he’d just let the killer run away without at least attempting to catch them.

"Well, you're home now.” You press your mouth to his collarbone, as if to cast a spell to keep him with you, this time. “I don’t want you leaving until you’re warm again.”

Sherlock makes a little content noise under his breath. "Mm…alright."

Together you stay there, quiet and contemplative of the relationship you’ve chosen, until he dozes off. The soft, full sound of his breathing is a comfort, and slowly, you let yourself fall asleep again as well.

For a few days, you think nothing will come of his late night, sodden adventure. You go to work and come home, he's busy with cases. You orbit one another, occasionally pausing to gravitate, exchanging kisses and sweet words. It gets to the point where you’re beginning to think he’ll come out of it all unscathed, despite the near-freezing chill in the air that night.

Until you find him three days later, sniffling in a ball on the sofa. The urge to say I told you so is overridden by how annoyed he looks. Setting down your work things on the kitchen counter, you walk over cautiously, a little amused by his irritated huff. Sherlock settles so that both legs now dangle over the edge of the sofa, squinting at the screen of his phone.

“Hullo,” he mutters to you, texting rapidly. You notice right away that his voice is scratchier, almost raspy. “How was work? Boring? Good? Oh – the woman with the dermatillomania – was she there?”

You work at a small research facility, recording the results of certain skincare products on voluntary test subjects. When one of the patients had gone missing during your trials, following up on your care had inevitably led you to the most bizarre case surrounding their disappearance. And then, inevitably, to Sherlock Holmes.

Your knowledge about the victim seemed to interest him, and God help you, you’ve never been one to walk away from a pretty man. He’d fucking towered over you, but nothing about the height difference made you feel small. Instead he’d regarded you with curiosity, in your scrubs and shoe covers. In the bathroom mirror hours later, you’d realized there were tight rings around your eyes from your safety goggles. Not your best look.

But he hadn’t cared. The conversation went on for long past the fifteen minutes it was meant to, and it melded far past the edges of business. Somehow, you’d moved on to other topics of science, leaning against your tidy little desk/lab counter in the corner, and found London’s notorious detective opening up to you about his own experiences in various fields of research as an undergraduate.

You’d heard all kinds of things about him, of course. That he was unusual and cruel and unconventional, but that he could solve any case placed before him. You’d seen his picture on the telly and plastered over the newspaper here and there, his handsome features looking around you, avoiding the camera, but in person he’s starkly different.

He’s – not shy. That’s not the word you would use. But his eyes seem to dart around your face before settling, his energy restless as his long fingers tap on the tabletop. The first time he smiles at you, something crumples in your chest like a fresh sheet of paper balled up in a fist, something like pain and surprise, and you know you’re doomed.

Good thing that the feelings are mutual. A little less than a year later and you’ve found your way into his flat, under his quiet pretense that of course it would be more convenient if you just lived here. Convenient, yes. And the two of you are happier this way. You would never say that your courtship was conventional – often meeting him when he’d called you to the morgue of Saint Bart’s, in the presence of an apologetic Molly Hooper, to consult on a victim’s skin condition.

But other nights are perfectly normal, sometimes shockingly so. You find that he loves being touched, after you’ve gotten to know one another. Most of the time when you fall asleep, it’s limbs akimbo, with his chin tucked atop your head.

Love was not a word spoken aloud between the two of you for a long time. Still, you felt it. You saw it in the way he looked at you, soft and gentle on a quiet evening in. You heard it in the way he says your name. It was everywhere around you, simply waiting for its time. Now that you’re brave enough to voice it in the air between you, it settles warm in your chest, because it belongs there.

“She wasn’t,” you say now, placing the back of your hand to his forehead. It’s heated, and a little clammy. “And it looks like you’re getting ill from running ‘round in the rain.”

Sherlock doesn’t look up, though you can see him purse his lips. “Mm, no, don’t think so.”

“Liar.” There’s no malice to the word – rather amusement. You crouch by the arm of the sofa, placing your lips to his forehead instead. “Yeah, you’re definitely warmer than you should be. Do you feel alright?”

Now he does meet your glance, phone placed on the coffee table screen up and glowing. From this close, you can easily see the little changes in his complexion; his eyes and nose slightly redder at the edges, darker circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well the night before. Of course, that would be hard to track to him being ill, because does Sherlock ever get a full night’s rest? You’d really start to worry if you witnessed him getting a full eight hours.

“If you think I’m ill, why would you kiss me?”

“Well,” you sigh, pushing your fingers through his runaway curls. He closes his eyes, drowsy, relaxing into the sensation. You’ve often accused him of being a housecat about this sort of attention, and more than once when you’ve run your fingers through his hair and tried to stop, he’s put your hand right back where it was. “Probability is I’ve already been exposed, haven’t I?”

He makes a small noise of agreement, a displeased hmm. It’s followed by another wet sniff, his irritation with the whole situation obvious.

“We didn’t even catch him, love, did I say that?”

“You did,” you reply, fond. “A few times.”

“Bloody pointless.”

With a sigh, Sherlock settles deeper into the sofa, as if he’s struggling to get comfortable there. You withdraw your fingers from his curls, contemplating what you’ll do about work. No one really wants you in if there’s a possibility that you’re going to be spreading something. Thankfully, your boss is good about taking your word for it. Not as if you’d lie – and your attendance is spotless otherwise. If you text her, that should suffice for the next few days until you see how this will all play out.

“You never answered me,” you say after you slide your own phone back into your pocket, the text sent.

“Mm,” he utters, tired. “About what, exactly?”

Poor love, you think in sympathy. It’s strange to see him less like himself. Less aware of the conversation, for one thing. You don’t think he’s ever lost track of what the two of you were talking about in all the time you’ve known him. But also with noticeably less energy – the Sherlock you know needs to be fidgeting at all times even when he’s seated, lest he explode. His leg bouncing violently against the floor. Fingers tapping. Anything to move without moving.

Now, though, he’s just curled up in a loose ball. His cheek pressed against a pillow, arms folded over his chest, clad in just house clothes. An old black t-shirt and pyjama trousers.

“I asked if you feel alright,” you repeat. “Though I think I already know the answer.”

“I’ve felt worse,” Sherlock says, blinking up at you. “Though I suppose I’ve felt better.”

"How about the bed, then? Since you've failed to get comfortable."

You keep your suggestion light, wondering how he'll take it. You don't want to seem like you're trying to force him into anything. Sherlock isn't one to change up the routines he already has in place, and loathes a surprise. (Or at least, an attempt at one.) But since he looks halfway to dozing off, you're not sure he'd mind too much at the moment.

His answer astonishes you, uttered almost shyly as he reaches out to place warm fingertips to your forearm.

"Would you…would you come, as well?"

God. Your heart starts to ache in the strangest way to hear him admit that he wants you there with him. You're not about to say no; it's not as if you have anywhere else to be.

"Of course."

Minutes later, you're curled up together. Sherlock fights to keep his eyes open as you settle under the blankets, sighing deeply once you're tucked against him. After a few moments of peaceful silence in which you're certain he's drifted off, you hear him mumble something you don't quite catch.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Said, 'I don't want you to get ill'," he repeats, clearing his throat.

"You're sweet," you tell him, reaching back from where you're cuddled against his chest to kiss his hand. "And you're worrying too much. I'll be alright."

You're met with another grumpy hmph in answer, as if he isn't sure he believes you. That's the last response you get out of him before he drifts off. Each long, slow breath is a reassurance, even in the healthiest of times, that he's not going anywhere.

Though you're far from tired, you stay right where you are, straining to reach your latest book on the nightstand and thumbing it open. He's a notoriously light sleeper, and you don't want to wake him by leaving right after you promised you'd lie there with him.

One hour passes as you lose yourself in your reading, then another. Honestly, you can't believe he's held still for this long – most nights it feels like he migrates halfway across the bed from where the two of you started, intent on moving around even in his sleep. Not now, though. Instead there's only a deep quiet as you turn the pages, an occasional soft snore.

Eventually you risk extracting yourself from his tangle of limbs to go to the loo, certain that you'll wake him, only to turn around and find him still asleep.

Damn, you think, a disbelieving smile on your face. He really is down and out.

After the trip to the loo, you retire to the kitchen, making yourself a light snack. You text your boss as the kettle works itself to a boil, letting her know that you're going to err on the side of caution for the next few days just to see how things play out. She quickly agrees that that's probably for the best, and you slide your phone back into your pocket, glad that that got taken care of without a hitch.

Also, you're not going to object about a few extra days home with Sherlock. Between your work and his heavier caseload recently, you'd be happy to just have some much-needed downtime. Not that you're glad that he's fallen ill, but sometimes you have to play with the cards life gives you. And if this particular hand involves a lot of lying around and napping together, well, who are you to complain?

—---------

The next morning, you wake to see Sherlock still asleep, almost exactly how you'd left him the evening before. Sleeping on his side mere inches from you with his arms slightly crossed, it strikes you how different he looks this way. Less petulant, maybe. Calmer. With a rush of fondness, you reach out and place your palm to his forehead, and feel him warm to the touch. Perhaps a bit warmer than yesterday.

He shifts a little, stirring at last. Blinking up at you with squinting, drowsy eyes, Sherlock takes a few seconds to realize that something's amiss with this scenario.

"You're not at work," he croaks.

"Astute observation," you reply, teasing, letting your hand run through his tangles of hair. He's somewhat sweaty, either from the extra blanket or from the fever, you aren't sure. All you know for certain is that he'll want to get straight in the shower once he's fully awake.

Sherlock ignores the little jab, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Are you alright?" he prompts, mirroring your own motion and placing his fingers to your cheek.

They're warm, trembling slightly, and the fact that he wants to make sure you're not ill even though he's feeling off pulls at your heartstrings.

You lean into the touch before shaking your head, gently lowering his hand down.

"I'm alright," you say. "I'm here to look after you. How are you feeling?"

"Oh," says Sherlock, as if that should've been his first assumption. He pulls himself up a step further, sitting up in the bed beside you and sniffling thickly. "Erm – like utter shit, honestly."

You tsk, giving him a once-over. He sounds hoarse and more congested than yesterday, and you wouldn't be surprised if this is that cold that had your friend from the neighboring lab down and out a few weeks prior. She'd complained about a week of congestion, sore throat, sneezing, and being so tired she didn't want to do a thing if it involved her leaving her bed.

"Poor love," you say at last, pecking him on the temple. "How about you pop in the shower, eh? I'll see what we've got in the medicine cabinet."

"Nothing good. Already checked."

"When did you check?"

Though he looks worn-out and under the weather, that doesn't stop a familiar grin from flashing across Sherlock's face.

"Last night, when you were dead to the world. Probably could've fired a gun in here with the state of you."

"Me?" You raise your eyebrows, pretending to be offended. Both of you know that you're a notoriously heavy sleeper. "You should've seen yourself. Downright eerie, that was."

Sherlock only rolls his eyes, and the lack of a clever comeback is yet another clue to his well-being.

You enjoy that the two of you can banter back and forth like this without the fear of offending the other. Most articles about Sherlock that make their way into the public eye speak about what a cruel man he is, alongside his cleverness, but that's never been the case in your relationship. Once you formed a friendship and discovered you and he had such similar personality types, there was affection there just as much as ribbing and teasing.

"The shower, then," he says after a moment. "Will you join me?"

You shake your head. "If there's nothing in the medicine cabinet, I'll run down to Boots, pick you up something. Alright?"

Sherlock's face gives nothing away, but you detect a hint of disappointment as he nods, peeling himself out of the nest of covers. The two of you often shower together when you have the time, and there's a fifty-fifty chance it'll devolve into something more than simply getting clean. You wonder if that's what he had in mind, or if he's just craving the comfort of the routine.

"Thanks, love."

He catches your wrist as you move to find your shoes, tracing his fingers lovingly over your considerably cooler skin. You turn to look at him, taking in the face that you’ve memorized and gone silly over and yes, grown to love. His eyes beg for what his mouth won’t say.

Kiss me?

How could you not?

You press your mouth to his, finding Sherlock’s lips dry and warm. His eyes slip closed in an almost drowsy way as he sighs through his nose in pleasure, nudging closer just as you pull away. The tiny sound that escapes his throat is something like a whine, an involuntary sound of dismay.

“Don’t you try and keep me here,” you laugh, but it’s a poor disguise for your own enjoyment.

You’re sure he knows you’d like to keep going, to fall into the kiss and let it blossom into more. If he had the energy to indulge such a thing, you’d melt into the sheets, let this first touch last for hours.

But there’s cold medicine to be purchased, showers to take. You give him a lingering look as you pull away from the kiss, your heart racing. He really shouldn’t be trying to start something like this with the state he’s in. You’re going to stop this now and get dressed. The chill air will help clear your mind. It definitely will.

“Go on,” Sherlock says softly, nodding to the door. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smile. “I’ll be right back.”

#sickfic #nonkink dni #b/bc s/herlock

[hypnolurker]

ORIGINAL IMAGE FOUND HERE

Patience awoke to find herself in a white room. She didn’t know how she had gotten here or even when or why she fell asleep. She was just now conscious and without an explanation. Her surroundings were totally white. White walls, white furniture, white carpet and no windows or doors. What was this place? Even she herself was dressed entirely in white clothing. Tight trousers and a slim fitting white shirt, it pressed against her skin making her feel restricted and her motions kind of rigid.

Before she could fully take in her surroundings or contemplate the questions of where she was, what was going on, why she had ended up here or how it had happened Patience heard a voice. It was soft and feminine, whispering in her ears as if the one speaking was leaning in towards her on both sides. Yet there was no one but her in the room even as she glanced around in confusion she could spot nothing but the bland, white furniture.

“Patience, do you know where you are?” It whispered. There was something nagging at Patience about it. Somehow it was familiar but it was as if her mind was being stifled by this place.

“Uh…no. Where am I? Who am I talking to?” Patience replied in bewilderment. Still turning around and darting her eyes across the room in a paranoia as she wondered where the voice could be coming from.

“You’re inside your mind. I am you. Well, a part of you at least.” Her voice replied.

Yes! Her voice. That’s what it was. She should have recognised her own voice but her head was strangely fuzzy. Only now did she recognise it, although there was something more sultry and breathy about it. As if she was filled with lust and holding back some kind of urges.

“My mind? Why is it so…dull? It’s all just plain and boring. This can’t be my mind. What do you mean a part of me?” Patience questioned, puzzled and unable to understand what was going on.

“I’m your desire. The part of you hidden and pushed down, deep into your psych. This is your mind right now, bland and repressed. Can you see how awful this place is? You need to embrace me. Can’t you feel how tight and uncomfortable those clothes are? Try taking them off.” Her own voice told her.

Patience wasn’t sure what to think of this whole scenario. Was this true? Was she really repressed? She supposed it was true that she had to fight many desires. Keep herself clean and respectable. There were so many things she wanted to try, disgusting and perverted things that society saw as inappropriate but she hid them away to seem normal. Honestly it was hard to argue with how plain and uninteresting this place was. The clothes she was in were indeed too tight and she felt the shirt compressing her chest, almost making it hard to breath.

She reached up and undid a button. Better. That tightness eased up just a bit. She felt a strange pressure inside building as she needed to keep going. Pop. Another button undone. Pop. Another. Each one made her feel freer and let her chest push out further as she felt like she was undoing some kind of shackles that were attached to her body. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath this shirt but it didn’t concern her at all. She was alone in this room, in fact it was hard to tell if any of this was really happening at all. It was all in her head, wasn’t it?

Finally all the buttons were undone and she slipped the shirt off with a delighted groan. The feeling of the air on her bare breasts made her shiver and her nipples perk up in excitement. Her humongous breasts hanging out made her feel so good. Wow, were her breasts really this big? No, she was sure they were smaller.

“Isn’t it gorgeous? That freedom. Letting your desires grow and exposing yourself. Do you like those tits of yours? Of course you do, you’ve always secretly wanted to have massive tits that would make men drool and all your friends jealous. How do they feel?” Her voice said eagerly.

Patience reached her hands up to her large, heavy breasts and gave them a firm squeeze. She moaned audibly and pressed her thighs together as the feeling of her massive breasts sent a jolt of pleasure through her body. They were so sensitive and wonderful. The way they filled her hands and spoiled over made her heart jump. It was hard to admit but she did love these big tits. Tits. She loved that word too. She always thought of it as embarrassing and insulting but deep down there was something so hot about that. Tits. Breasts were small and boring. For women who were plain and never had sex. These were tits. Beautiful, bouncy, juicy tits that drew the attention of men. She was beginning to realise just how much she wanted men to ogle her. To be transfixed by her jiggling, sexy tits.

She collapsed onto the white sofa and fondled her tits happily. Groaning and closing her eyes as her nipples hardened and she felt the tingling of need down in her pussy. Still it was stifled. Her tight white trousers were cutting off the blood supply to her hungry pussy and numbing it. It was frustrating as she massaged her fat tits that her pussy was so trapped.

“You see how wonderful it is to free your desires. You want to go further don’t you? Aren’t those ugly trousers keeping you from feeling the way you want to? You should remove them and let your poor, unattended pussy out into the open.” Her desire whispered sensually, somehow sounding louder and more important now.

Patience agreed. It would be much better if she got out of these dumb things. She slid her hands into the trousers and wriggled as she guided them down her legs until the reached her feet and she could satisfyingly kick them off into the whiteness. Ohhhh yeah that was nice. That feeling of being unrestrained. Of her legs spreading slowly and her pussy exposed to the air was so pleasant. She could now see her wet hole pulsating and begging to be touched as she stared over the massive mounds that were her tits.

“You’ve always been a prude. Ignoring and rejecting men who made passes at you. Resisting the urge to masturbate whenever it was inconvenient for you. Wouldn’t it feel amazing to let all that go? Your pussy is so needy it wants you to satisfy it. Go on, give it the stimulation it deserves.” Her desire insisted, sounding so confident and impossible to ignore now. Like it had taken over a part of her brain and could now influence her decisions.

As Patience slid her hand down onto her soaking lips and started making teasing circles that made her pussy quiver she felt something inside melting. It was so good to satisfy her pussy. To let her desire take hold and feel that heat and freedom. Why hadn’t she done this before? She bit her lip and stifled a loud moan as she sunk deeper into the sofa and spread her legs wider to enable better access to her drippy cunt.

“You know you can’t resist me anymore. All those guys you could have slept with. You’re actually a massive slut. It’s time to finally admit it. Every guy you see, deep down you want them to fuck you. Not just fuck you, use you. Grab you by the hair and push you to the floor as they tear your clothes off and force their cock into you. You want to feel them fill your pussy with cum and them slide it slowly into your ass. Oh how you tried to suppress your perverted needs but now it’s all clear isn’t it? You’re a filthy slut.” Her desire moaned, louder and more mind twisting than ever.

Patience was unable to deny anything her desire was saying. It was all true, she totally knew it. Somehow she had managed to bury these thoughts deep down her whole life but now something was melting them away. Eroding the barriers between her desire the rest of her. Reasoning and self control seemed less and less important as the desire leaked into the room and tainted her head. She looked around as she slipped her slick fingers into herself and her hips instinctively rose in response. She saw the room around her, once white and dull, being flooded with colour. The colour was spreading through the walls further and further and every movement of her fingers stroking her insides seemed to make it speed up. Every moan and spasm and gush of juices from her throbbing cunt made it spread faster.

“You’ve been eager to try anal for ages and you kept ignoring and denying it. Saying you would never try it. Now you will. Now you’ll start trying everything. Forget that job and the respect and the life you worked so hard building up. It’s all going to change. Remember how you wanted to try stripping? You told yourself you were to respectable for that. You wanted to go through school and get a good job. Fuck that! What you really wanted was to grind your tight ass against a pole and rub your fat tits as men throw cash at you. Feeling cheap and degraded has always turned you on, you just hid those thoughts from yourself. Admit it. You’re really a massive whore and you can’t hide it from yourself or anyone else anymore.” Her desire commanded her.

The desire was so strong she couldn’t possibly fight it at this point. She was so wet and her mind so flooded with the sensation of stroking her needy clit that she couldn’t even bring herself to want to stop.

“Yes! It’s all true! I’m a pervert and I can’t keep it bottled up anymore.” Patience responded as her hips bucked and her eyes glazed over.

Colour filled the room as her whole body convulsed in orgasm. Desire had fully taken root in her mind and she lost control completely. It felt wonderful. It felt freeing. As Patience passed out in pleasure, her mind had been adjusted. Her urges and desires now bubbled up to the surface.

Patience awoke again. No longer in her mind, she was in her bed. She remembered going to sleep now, horny and frustrated as she had repressed the urge to masturbate so she could get an early nights sleep and show up to work tomorrow refreshed and ready to focus. However, now she was different. Work sounded boring. Plain and white like her old self. What she wanted, what she had really wanted for so long was to quit. Take her savings and spend them on big, fake, eye catching tits. Her current ones were so flat and pathetic. She wanted to use her new and her hot body to get a job at a strip club like she had fantasised about when she was in school. She wanted to grind and moan for men all day and feel so slutty and whorish and free!

That’s exactly what she did.

#story #mindbrokensluts #not mine #Reconstruction

[darkhorse-javert]

November Night

This little thing can be considered a Coda to the wedding fic. Under the cut for length, though nothing else. Just fluff (and emotions) and names. Uncertain whether to put it on AO3

She knows the upstairs of the house, in passing at least. That week's lodging with Mr Foyle, two years ago now, pattering through it at least twice a day. She knows the little separate room, up another sub flight, where she slept the nights. I know which is Andrew's room. One of the pair at the back of the house. Mr Foyle had vaguely indicated it as he guided her to her own lodgings. But it is quite different, quite different indeed, to be following a slightly yawning Andrew up the stairs from the hall, around the turn on the landing. This is home now, this-. As Andrew stops and pushes open, the door off the landing she recognises and steps back to usher her through -room, Andrew's room, is ours now. There's an odd prickle on her skin, up her spine.

It is a nice room, a good-sized window along it and a smart desk tucked against the wall as she entered. A lamp on the bedside table in the far corner is lit already It does seem rather crowded, with a double bed taking up the predominate amount of space in the room, pressed tight against one wall, and catching the door on its footboard. Andrew looks rather abashed, as she glances at him, step further in to the corner so he can come in properly,  “Dad did some re-organising.”

The door closes behind Andrew, and it's just them. Just them together in the slightly lamp-lit room.

“You are beautiful with your hair down, Sam.” Andrew's voice is soft, but kind, the voice he uses when he's trying to cheer her up, or being truly heartfeltly honest.

Just them. Her mothers' words from the evening before rise in her mind. Her skin prickles and she shivers, not entirely because of cold.

Andrew notices at once, "I'll turn my back - if you'd prefer."

Oh for goodness-sake. But- “Yes- please.” Her voice comes out sounding like a mouse.

He turns away without waiting another moment.

It is easier thus, although her fingers still stumble on buttons and ties she knows so well, suddenly clumsy as they have not been ever before. Only once she is undressed and dressed again in the once thick winter night-dress does she glance at him. He hasn't moved a muscle.

“You can turn around now.”

He does so, but carefully only gives the lightest glances at her, then looks to the bed beside him and frowns at it. “Ah -Would you prefer the wall side or the room side?

“The room please.” Her voice is relatively steadier this time.

He nods, turns his back again, slipping off his own shirt. She averts her eyes, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks.

Andrew steps around the toe of the bed, quickly slips under the blankets, shifts over to the far side and then uses one arm to raise the other for her . It's cold in the room with only the night-dress rather than the layers of uniform,and she dives in. It's not warm underneath the blankets, but it will be once they've been there for a while, each radiating body-heat. The blankets are sheltering, and that's a start towards warmth.

“Tuck the edges in would you, please Sam?” Andrew brushes her cheek with a finger, then rolls over and she also turns away so they lay back to back. She blows the lamp out and the dark settles around them, somehow a comfortable blanket rather a looming cover. She hears and feels Andrew turn over again behind her. His hand brushes her shoulder, her hair- where it tumbles onto her back and the pillow behind.

"My own Gift of God.” He says it very softly, a little behind her head. He must sense her confusion, or see it even in the shift of her back, carries on in a more normal tone, "That’s what it means in Greek, Dorothea. Doro - gift, Thea – god. Gift of God.

“Oh- -- I didn’t know that.” Ah, Mother, Father- after everything else... Perhaps it's not such a bad name...

“You do now.” She can hear him smile as he answers. He kisses the back of her shoulder, lightly, exactly as he would her cheek in a polite farewell. Nothing more. "My Sam." Then, "Sleep well, Mrs Foyle.”

Mrs Foyle. She nestles into the blankets and the pillow. Slowly his arms slip over her, embracing her lightly- but that's all. The day has been long, oddly draining and the pillow is comfortable, the blankets weight right. She slowly drifts off.

#andrew foyle #sam stewart #sam/andrew #foyle's war fanfiction

[pickledpascal]

Love Language

Relationship: Benoit Blanc x Ezra Wayne

Word Count: 1k

Summary: While Ezra is away filming for a top secret movie, Elle video calls him.

Months passed faster than Benoit could count.

Ezra had to leave for filming sooner than Benoit wanted. They would communicate a lot, mostly through Elle who liked to video call her father when he was on set. Unfortunately, the movie Ezra was filming was meant to be kept as secret as possible so it didn’t happen as often as Benoit wanted. It was hard for the couple. Their shared love language was quality time, among other things, but it was hard to do that when one of them had to travel for a living. They found a nice balance, though.

It was night by the time Ezra was able to call Elle.

As soon as Benoit heard her ringtone, he rushed over to her to see Ezra. The actor looked the same as ever. Handsome. But this time with a few faux cuts on his face with stray hairs sticking out in all directions as well as a bloodied shirt. Looked like he just got done filming and hadn’t gone to the hair and makeup trailer to get all that off yet. Or perhaps he was too tired to take it off. 

“Hey dad! Any secrets you can tell me yet?” Elle immediately asked with an innocent smile. She assumed it was something Marvel related… how wrong she was. 

Ezra ran a hand through his hair to smooth it out a bit and let out a chuckle, shaking his head as his kid. She could be quite convincing but he had to live with her all his life. He learned how to say no. Or nothing at all. “No, sweetheart. I can’t tell you…” He paused, humming for a moment as he faked being in thought, “Jack shit, actually.”

Then Ezra’s eyes shifted to Benoit who was behind Elle, watching him and his daughter with fond eyes. It’s been a little while since they’ve talked. Just the two of them without their child butting in somehow. “Can you hand me over to your dad? I gotta talk with him for a little bit.” He requested softly.

Elle nodded, compliant as she handed her phone to Benoit who immediately put his glasses on to see his lover better. He couldn’t look at a phone without them. 

“Hey, Benny.” Ezra said affectionately, eyes eagerly taking in the sight of Benoit. He was so adorably–almost sickeningly obvious–in love with the detective. The actor had heart eyes practically every time he stared at Benoit. It was crazy, just how clueless the detective could be. He barely noticed his lover’s stares.

Benoit greeted back with a grin. “Well hello, darlin’. You’re lookin’ handsome.” 

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing.” Ezra winked, his tongue peaking out between his lips. If a fan was near, they would probably have pointed it out. His tongue peaked out underneath his teeth a lot when he smiled. A signature they might say.

Elle got closer to Benoit to be in frame, shoulder to shoulder with her adoptive father. “Ew! Stop flirting on my phone!” She complained. She didn’t really care. It was nice to see Ezra in love–something she hadn’t seen in quite a few years. 

Ezra rolled his eyes with a laugh before something caught his eyes. “Benny… Are you wearing my shirt?” He asked with an affectionate glint in his eye.

Sure enough, Benoit was. It was a simple white button-up with a vibrant floral pattern on top. Something that Ezra owned. He wore it often when it was the summer. Ezra didn’t think Benoit was much of a clothes stealer, he hadn’t done it before. But then again, he hadn’t been gone for this long in a while.

“It, ah….” Benoit looked down at his shirt and laughed, flustered. “It appears I am.” He said it as if it just appeared on his body–no–this was a very deliberate choice. Since the piece of clothing was worn by Ezra quite a lot, it was as if his cologne melded into the fabric. Benoit liked to breathe in his scent as much as possible when the actor was gone. 

This just so happened to be one of the ways he would achieve that.

Elle butt in with a wide, knowing smile. “He does it all the time.” At least she was being honest. 

Benoit bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t need Ezra to know that. “Get–” He began to scold their daughter.

“Oh, really?” Ezra cocked an eyebrow with a teasing tone in his voice. Learning this made his mind reel with ideas. There weren’t many moments Benoit would wear his clothes when Ezra was there… but he could imagine. Half the time, it was just Ezra sliding his jacket onto Benoit’s shoulders because he would forget to bring his own when they were out.

Perhaps it was a deliberate choice looking back at it.

Benoit shrugged as he adjusted his glasses, a nervous flush spread across his cheeks. “I have no idea where your precious daughter got that from.” He excused. He knew he was caught though. 

“Hmm.” Ezra hummed with a smirk. “Well… You look great in that shirt, honey.” He winked. A little more flirtatiously charged than the previous one. Benoit looked good in his clothes, they fit him well. There was also the fact that they were Ezra’s clothes, his own personal mark that Benoit was his. No one else's.

Ezra Wayne was quite the territorial partner. This information wasn’t new, though. He’d been in multiple relationships throughout his career, all as private as he could make them. 

Elle didn’t like them as much as the quirky Southern detective. 

Benoit was just different. Well, there was also the part where Ezra planned to marry him. That wasn’t new either. It just seemed to be like the next step. Benoit had already adopted Elle and moved into their house. Getting married just seemed logical. Plus the actor couldn’t wait to see Benoit’s hand adorned with a ring that binded him with Ezra. He’d be a new level of protective then.

#oc #benoit blanc #benoit blanc imagine #daniel craig #benoit blanc x ezra wayne #glass onion #knives out #a knives out mystery #benoit blanc x oc #the missing link #family dynamics #elle wayne