#ceil writing

[ceilidho]

ok but Ghost who realizes how much his size turns you on and then can’t keep himself from emphasizing it whenever you’re around. Spreads his thighs when he’s sitting to take up more space. Rolls his shoulders back and straightens to his full height when you walk through the door (his posture is already military-grade, but it’s that last infinitesimally small, casual slouch that disappears when you’re in the room in favour of emphasizing his height). Starts wearing shorter sleeves or rolling up his sleeves to show off the pronounced muscle of his forearms. Whenever it’s just the two of you, he always has a hand on you somewhere, showing you how much space his hand takes up on you, how much of you he can fit in his palm.

#cod mw2 #ceil writing #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

today's obsession is:

you're sitting on your couch working, and johnny's distracting you by eating your pussy, but you really need to work so you tell him no puppy I have to work and he's says please please jus' a little bit and you tell him okay but don't be loud, licks and kisses only and then you have to pretend to concentrate on work while he only licks and kisses your pussy for 35 mins ://///

#okay now discuss #ceil got an ask about something like this and it ruined my life #I know he's your pookie ceil!!! #sugar baby johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #lumi writes

[strawberryspence]

ceilings, plaster, can’t you just make it move faster?

Steddie Week / Day 2: Fluff and Angst ( @steddie-week )

-

There’s beeping on his side as Steve slowly gains consciousness. He can hear birds chirping, and the trees dancing against the wind. Which was weird, because he remembers closing the window last night.

“Pst! Steve!”

Steve’s eyes shot open, jumping out the bed to reach for his spiked bat when he sees Eddie’s head wedged between his bedroom windows. He looks like a damn burglar.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Steve drops his bat, rushing to open the windows wider, “Eddie? What the hell are you doing?!”

Eddie jumps clumsily inside the bedroom, “Like a ninja!” Steve bites down laughter. If he looked as dorky as this man, he doesn’t even know why Nancy dated him.

“Why are you here?”

Eddie pokes his ribs, “Are you really asking me that?”

Steve swats his hand away, “Yes. It’s a perfectly normal question to ask when you’ve just been woken up by a man who climbed your roof.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie sings, “We have a date.”

Steve gapes at him, “What? Was that today?”

“Yes.” Eddie laughs. There’s no hint of anger or remorse in his voice, “Go on, get ready for the day. I’ll make you some brunch.”

Rushing to get ready, Steve showers and dresses up in his favorite Levis and polo. His hair also doesn’t take him more than 5 minutes to sculpt. It’s like he’s having the luckiest damn day ever. When he finally walks out of his room, the smell of waffles and coffee spreads through his senses.

Steve sits on the counter, “I am sorry for forgetting about our date, Eds. It completely slipped my mind.”

Eddie laughs, pushing a plate of waffles in front of him, “No worries, sweetheart. You’re still healing, you deserve all the rest.”

There’s a pause as Steve squints at him.

“Healing? Healing from what?”

Eddie shakes his head, “None of that now. Eat so we can go to the carnival.”

“Carnival?” Steve perks up at the mention of a carnival, “There’s a carnival in town?”

Eddie nods, his mouth stuffed with a forkful of waffle. Steve’s always wanted to have a carnival date, but the last time the carnival was in town, Steve was too busy trying to stay alive in an underground Russian bunker.

“Yep! So get some food in you and we’ll go. We’re burning daylight here.” Eddie urges him to eat.

Steve laughs, “Slow down. The carnival won’t leave.”

Steve takes the first bite of his waffle and literally moans on the spot. The waffle melts on his mouth, a combination of sweet and soft sensations bursting.

“Oh my god.” He moans, stuffing himself another bite, “Did you freaking make this?!”

Eddie smirks, “Yes.”

“Why the hell is it so good?”

“It’s my mom’s recipe. I only pull it out for the pretty boys.”

Steve chokes on a bite, his cheeks flushing, “So I am just another pretty boy now, huh?” Eddie cackles at his reaction, pushing a glass of water his way.

There’s a twinkle of warmth in his eyes, and a smile so soft Steve knows for sure it’s only for him, “The prettiest boy.”

-

The carnival was— perfect. It had everything Steve has ever wanted to try. In a sense, it’s like everything was catered for his pleasure.

Steve looks around in wonderment, as people walk and move past them, “Dude, we should’ve bought the kids!”

There’s a sharp pain in his chest as he remembers the kids, but it's gone as quick as it came. Steve clutches his chest, chasing the pain.

Eddie looks at him, hands immediately wrapping around him in concern, “Stevie? Are you okay?”

“No. I— I just—“ He tries to straighten up and he feels… nothing, “Nothing. I think my heart skipped a beat or something.”

Eddie smirks at him, but his eyes soft with worry, “Sweetheart, I haven’t even held your hand.”

Steve feels his face heat up, “Oh, shut up.”

“Well. Which one do you want to do first? Ride some rides? Play some games?” Eddie pulls him by the hand, intertwining their hands together as they walk around the park, “You know what, I’ll win you one of those bears from one of the games!”

They spend the next few hours just playing and riding rides. They tried numerous carnival foods that Steve was never allowed to try as a kid. It's the first time Steve has actually gone to a carnival and had fun. Eddie’s loud and crass and wonderful in so many ways. He has tricks for game after game, and even if he’s scared on some rides, he still rides for Steve.

It’s the perfect date.

“Eds, you can stop trying. You’re wasting your money.” Steve whispers as Eddie hands more money to the carnival personnel.

“I am going to get you that damn bat toy and I won’t stop until my wallet is empty.” Eddie winks at him, as he squats and stares at the barrel of the water gun.

Eddie concentrates intensely as he tries to get the water to shoot on the hole. The personnel look bored as he watches them, but Steve only has eyes for Eddie. There’s pure determination on his face, squinting hard so he can finally win the damn bat toy. Steve shouldn’t have should interest on it to begin with.

The lights above it start lighting up one by one, Eddie just has to reach the top and he can finally get the stuffed toy. Steve doesn’t even realize that they won because he was only staring at Eddie.

“Jesus Christ! Finally!” Eddie grabs the bat toy from the personnel, hopping up and down with joy. His lips stretched into a huge smile, and his eyes bright with excitement.

Steve wishes he could stay in this moment forever. In this light and sparkling moment with this person that he could love— this person he might already love.

“One bat stuffed toy for your majesty.” Eddie kneels one knee, and presents the stuffed toy like it’s a bar of gold. Steve plays along, nodding ceremoniously, before taking the bat into his hand.

It’s not a bar of gold, not a crown, not a diamond. But it’s Steve’s most prized possession.

A personnel walks past them, shouting in a megaphone, “One more hour till closing!”

“The carnival’s closing?” Steve asks as Eddie straightens up.

“Apparently. You want to do one last ride?”

Steve shrugs, “Sure. I think I have…” He pauses, tries to think of what he had planned for tomorrow. Weirdly enough, he can’t think of anything.

Eddie pulls him along, “There’s one more ride I want to visit before the sun sets.”

As they walk past the stalls, the lights start flickering open. Bright, colorful lights start surrounding them. It’s not dark enough yet, but Steve knows it’ll be beautiful in the dark.

“Here!” They enter the line for the ferris wheel, which was surprisingly empty, “Come on!"

The personnel lets them in on one of the carts, smiling respectfully as he locks it, “See you on the other side.”

The wheel starts moving, slowly but surely and soon enough, they’re on the top. From where Steve is sitting he watches as people walk around the carnival like tiny little ants. The sky starts changing its colors. The bright blue, turning into a softer orange and pink.

“It’s beautiful.” Steve whispers, breathless as he sees the entirety of his hometown.

Eddie chuckles quietly beside him, reaching for his hand and taking into his, “It is.” Steve turns to him and catches his eyes on him.

The ride stops as they arrive at the top. The cart moves ever so slightly, and it feels like someone lulling him to sleep. Steve lets his head fall on Eddie’s shoulder as he watches the scene in front of him.

“Did you have fun today?” Eddie asks, his thumb softly caressing Steve’s hand.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs in content, “I think I’m going to bring Robin here tomorrow.”

A sharp pain stabs him again, the same one he felt earlier. Steve jolts up, as he clutches at his chest again, massaging it slowly, “What the hell is that?”

“I think it’s time, Steve.” Eddie says, there’s a hint of sadness in his voice.

Steve turns to him, confused, “Time for what?”

Eddie moves closer, cupping his jaw into his hand, “Time for you to wake up.”

“I am awake.” Steve pulls away, narrowing his eyes.

He shakes his head, “No, sweetheart. You have to wake up.”

The beeping is back, and Steve swings his head around to see where the sound is coming from. He gasps as he looks down at the ground, all of the people are gone now. It’s just— It’s just him and Eddie, on top of the ferris wheel.

“What’s happening?” Steve demands.

Eddie tilts his head, “You don’t remember?”

Steve shakes his head, as Eddie takes his hand again, “Here. Close your eyes.”

He gulps, but obeys. The beeping subsides.

Eddie starts talking, “We went back to the Upside Down, to finish what we started and then—“

Lights start flashing in his eyes, like thunder striking in the dark. Vines strewn everywhere in the ground.

Steve remembers screaming, lots of screaming. He remembers running in front of Robin. He remembers using all his strength, he remembers killing a monster, he remembers using his body as a shield. He remembers— he remembers pain. All around his body, like sharp pain, heightened a thousand times over. He remembers hearing sobbing and Robin begging him to stay.

He tried.

Steve gasps awake. “Robin? Is Robs okay?”

Eddie grins at him fondly, “Yes, sweetheart. Robin is alright.”

Steve looks down at his hands, “Am… I dead?” His eyes widened in realization, “Eddie? Are you dead?”

“I am not sure, sweetheart.” Eddie shrugs, “I don’t remember a lot either. I just woke up here and then— I remembered that before we went to fight Vecna, you…” Eddie laughs, his cheeks flushing, “You asked me on a date. To go to a carnival. So here I am.”

The beeping is back, and it’s louder than ever. There’s a gust of wind that brings a soft whisper, “Dingus. Please.”

“Robin’s calling me.” Steve whispers.

“I know.” Eddie says back, “You have to go back.”

“We have to go back. Together.”.

Eddie smiles at him, but it’s small and painful and Steve hates it. “I can’t hear any beeping, Stevie.”

His lips quiver, Steve starts shaking his head, “No. No. We have to go together or I am not leaving.”

Eddie holds onto him tighter, “No. You have to go back. You have to wake up.”

“Will you be there?”

Eddie blinks, pursing his lips in contemplation, “I am not sure.”

Steve clenches his jaw, swallowing the lump forming on his throat, “Are you real? Was any of this real?”

Steve looks around. The carnival is now gone. It’s just him, and Eddie and the ferris wheel. The sky is still there, watching over them in a combination of beautiful orange and pink hues. The sun is still setting, vividly and slowly. The end slowly sinking into the horizon.

Eddie giggles, “Of course, I am real, sweetheart. Everything was real.”

“Then I want to stay.”

“No, baby. You have to go back. Listen to the wind.” Eddie pulls him closer, leaning his forehead into his.

Steve lets his eyes flutter shut as the wind shakes the cart, tiny little voices being brought by the wind, tiny little pleads from Robin, Dustin, Max, Erica— from everyone. Everyone pleading and begging for him to wake up and come back.

“Can you hear it now?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods against him, as Eddie continues, “Everyone needs you. You have to go back.”

“I promise to find you. When I wake up, I will find you.” Steve promises, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to live in a world without Eddie Munson in it.

Eddie nods, there’s a look in his eyes that doesn’t fully believe it, but he says, “I’ll be waiting for you, sweetheart.”

Eddie leans over, his lips soft against Steve’s. Steve tries to map it out, tries to memorize it as best as he can. Eddie’s lips are chapped and rough, but it’s the softest and most gentle kiss Steve has ever had. He reaches over to wipe the tears streaming down Steve’s cheeks.

The beeping gets louder, insistent and— There’s a sharp pain in his chest and it feels like getting struck by lightning.

Eddie pulls away, “Wake up, sweetheart.”

There’s heaviness in his chest and then— Steve gasps, opening his eyes. It feels exactly like being drowned, and being able to finally breathe again.

“Oh my god! Steve!” He hears a voice sob. It’s a voice he would recognize anywhere.

The heaviness lifts away, and silhouettes surround him. Steve holds out his hand, and someone takes it.

“Dingus.” Robin sobs, “I thought I lost you.”

Steve can feel tears running down his cheeks. He looks around, his eyes getting used to the light. He blinks at everyone, roaming his eyes on each one of them.

He turns back to Robin and behind her is a big window. The sky is streaks of orange, the sun obviously setting. It looks exactly the same as the sky from his dreams. It was real.

Steve opens his mouth, his tongue feels heavy and sharp, but he wills himself.

“Eddie.”

(The beeping starts slowly, barely even there. The cart lulls against the wind and caresses his cheeks, with it a silent whisper of his name.

He smiles and waits.)

#steddieweek2023 #day 1: fluff and angst #aha #im back on my shittttt back on my rooootssssss #surprise mfers i love you all #heavily inspired by ceilings by lizzy mcalpine #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie headcanon #steddie hc #steddie fanfic #dae writes #daeheadcanons

[moeggoi]

"This man would hurl himself in death's way to save you. You are sure of this -- but why?"

#disco elysium #kim disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #trying to extrapolate the study #i'm clenching my fist trying not to start a whole essay in the tags about how much I love kim #acab except kim #the day i finished the game i printed his portrait and tacked it onto the wall #it's really close to the ceiling so it looks like i'm praying when i'm looking at him #I love the way Kim is written #Absolute angel #but he's also incredibly human and flawed #I mean compared to Harry maybe less flawed but just complex #the whole game is so complex #oh god i started to write alright uhh maybe I'll draw Jean next... #he really grew on me after I got my grubby hands into ao3

[akeminui]

*stans

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst scenarios #riddle x reader #twisted wonderland writing #twisted wonderland scenario #twst x reader #riddle twisted wonderland #riddle twst #riddle rosehearts #black butler #black butler x reader #black butler ceil #ceil phantomhive #ceil x reader

[ohbo-ohno]

Loving the idea of Soap being pussydrunk as all hell when it comes to his Princess. He’s been denied her for so long and now that he gets to feel her, taste her, he just can’t get enough. He never wants to leave her slick pussy, whining and clutching at her when Ghost tries to pull him off.

knight johnny is a virgin before ghost comes along and i love the idea of him going from having to stomp down all his lust and need all the time to being allowed to be horny, allowed to be needy. he'd be like a different person once ghost gets his hands on him, allowed to want things and to ask for them :(

he's sooooo needy for her in general too :( has to ask (beg) permission to touch her literally anywhere, so it's such a treat when he's allowed to eat her out at whatever pace he wants. usually ghost makes him beg for every lick :/ makes both the princess and johnny go insane with need and ghost likes his pets a little drunk on their pleasure

he tries to hold onto her for a little longer when ghost goes to pull him off :( early on in the relationship he'd try and fight, try and force ghost away so he can go back to licking her cunt, but every time without fail he's forced to the floor, usually ends up getting fucked doggy style cause ghost wants to remind him of his place :/ but later on he'd listen so well, even the tiniest nudge from ghost has him doing exactly what he's told, no hesitation. just wants to be a good boy

also @ceilidho said "ghost lets johnny kiss his princess" at one point and i just. i capsized like a boat. johnny having to beg to kiss his princess has me :((( she's so so pretty and he loves her soooo much, he sits at ghost's feet and just begs and begs endlessly, wants to kiss her so bad. but he has to wait, has to sit and stay and be good.

sometimes he's only allowed to give her a peck on the cheek or the lips, and that's almost worse than not being allowed anything at all. but sometimes he's allowed to make out with her, and he nearly knocks her over with how he lunges for her, sticks his tongue down her throat and soaks both of their chins, leaves her lips swollen and bruised

#asks and answers #conqueror ghost au #sorry for the random tag ceil lol #bo writes

[iatemyceilingfan]

After reading one of the best fanfiction's I've ever found thanks to a random tiktok I saw about it, I REALLY wanted to make some fanart for it!

So, here it is! I hope you like it, @whimsywillowwrites ! Also go follow them, they're silly and I like em a lot.

No text version

I spent a few hours on the background and the lighting, tinkering it for a while to make it work. I'm really proud of it and think it captures what was described in the story well, on top of the things I decided to add to it, too.

That's all! Thanks for staring at this for two minutes 🤘🤘🔥

#art #artist #ceiling fan #digitalart #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel #hazbin art #hazbin fanfic #fanart #fanfic #writing #ao3 fanfic

[emry-stars-art]

YES, PLEASE AND THANK YOU @snazzy-jas-z-is-a-fan-of !!

(Find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕)

And I’ll do an art-only version of this post for your reblogging pleasure here :) there's always always more to be said about this so I might make another post on the same topic but later

Anyway onto the juicy stuff

Okay so. Evermore and Palmetto both have glove etiquette, but in Evermore Nathaniel never had to worry about it, because he was expected to constantly be wearing gloves from first day he’s able to after getting nasty scars on his hands. Except for when he’s working or helping Nathan work. The nobles and specifically Prince Riko made it clear that they had no desire to see how ugly his hands were. (This is also why he has a habit of wearing a little of his hair down on the left side; it helped cover the scars on his cheek that ruined his pretty complexion.)

Then he comes to Palmetto and Day introduces him to a whole new set of rules. Gloves are a common and important part of dress and fashion, but people are also able to decide whether or not to wear them at any given time. The only real rules on gloves are when not to wear them; you always take off gloves to eat or drink, and to offer your hand in greeting or service.

Nathaniel gets to kind of ease into it; he’s not around anyone important enough to need to offer proper greeting or help, so mostly he takes his gloves off to eat in the servants quarters, where he doesn’t deal with more than curious glances. There’s a lingering fear of letting anyone important see his hands, no matter what Day says to assure him otherwise.

Then Nathaniel becomes the prince’s guard. Nothing changes for a while - the prince has always been more self-sufficient than most - until one day Nathaniel sees the prince eyeing the fall from his horse. (Really Andrew is trying to get up the courage to dismount, because even if the fall isn’t actually an issue for him, his fear of heights sometimes catches up to him when dismounting horses.) Nathaniel understands by now that he’s allowed and expected to help, so he reaches out - and remembers. He’s also acutely aware that the prince hasn’t yet seen his hands, then also also acutely aware of how serious Day was about the proper etiquette, and slips off his glove. The prince gives his hand a curious look, but accepts the help and all but crushes Nathaniel’s hand in his as he finally makes the fall. Even on the ground, though, he doesn’t let go quickly. Instead, the prince’s thumb brushes once across the back of Abram’s hand and he turns his hold, pulling Nathaniel’s hand up to examine it. The only thing keeping Nathaniel in place is the bone-deep instinct that he isn’t to deny anyone, especially a prince. Maybe the prince would decide he didn’t actually want to see Nathaniel’s hands and Nathaniel could go back to wearing his gloves with little more than a strike to the cheek for making the prince look at them.

But the prince does no such thing. He drops Nathaniel’s hand and continues on as normal. Nathaniel does his best to do the same, but that’s probably the first kind skin to skin contact he’s had in years. He isn’t recovering as quickly as he imagines he should.

(Meanwhile Andrew was NOT about to let an opportunity to hold Nathaniel’s hand slip like that, and he finds that he doesn’t mind the roughness. Most other guards were pulled from a much more privileged crowd - usually who had some callouses or scratches at most. Nathaniel’s hands show Andrew that this one isn’t all bark and no bite. Andrew… really likes them.)

Gradually, Nathaniel (likely soon or now Abram) gets used to taking off his gloves. He doesn’t without reason, it takes him a while not to feel naked without them, but it only takes a few more instances for him to realize that the prince truly doesn’t mind his scars. Helping the prince from his horse becomes easy habit (GS isn’t necessarily tall, but neither is Andrew. No step stool = Abram’s help).

Maybe there’s even a few times Abram is completely gloveless when he’s around only Day or the prince. He finds himself hiding his hands subconsciously when he’s not thinking about it, but he’s never once told to cover up.

Then Abram is kidnapped, taken back to Evermore. All the same rules are enforced and more. In this case, gloves aren’t all that different or upsetting. That much is okay.

It’s when he gets back that things change. Since he’s blind for a while, he’s relying much more on touch and hearing. It’s also a good tactile reminder; if he were still in Evermore, he would never be bare handed. This is when he truly gets used to not wearing gloves. (During this time he’s also touched more gently and more often than ever in his life. Others’ bare hands on his naked skin to care for scars and rashes and fever, first Day and medics and then Day and Prince Andrew. Abram finally, finally realizes that this is what he’d been missing. He actually finds himself calmed and cared for in being touched.)

Even when his sight returns, Abram only wears gloves out of doors or to formal events. Slowly and so, so carefully, Andrew finds more small reasons to touch Abram’s hands, and Abram always finds rationalization to accept. Then Abram even leaves his gloves in his saddlebags or pockets when they go out.

Winter hits. Abram has very few burn scars on his hands, but even the simple knife scars can seize and ache in cold weather. By now Andrew is very attentive to Abram’s pain or discomfort, so he notices. Abram’s hands hurt.

So Andrew buys him new gloves, lined with soft, warm fur. Abram is both pleased and disappointed - pleased because any gift from Andrew is a good gift, and disappointed because the prince expects him to wear gloves again. But the first time Andrew sees Abram wearing them indoors, he says easily, “They’re to keep your hands from the cold. Wear them only as much as you need.” (Because, again; he’s not going to admit it, but he loves Abram’s hands.)

It probably takes a long time for Abram to get accustomed to much more touch. He likes holding the prince’s hand, he’s used to that this far into their courting, but anywhere else with anything more than clinical intent - sometimes including with clinical intent - he gets overwhelmed very easily.

Andrew is careful with him. Like we mentioned in the last post, Andrew’s had about six to eight years longer to get readjusted to wanting and touching; Abram is essentially starting fresh. It’s a lot for him to handle.

(Don’t worry, though, I promise they figure it out. Just like they always do, in every universe, for all of our mental health.)

#handsssssssssssss #drawing them in that order in my sketchbook made me realize it was like #a timeline of abram (and Andrew’s) comfort #they are so so special to me TT #they’re so rough and mean and wary bc they have to be #but it can never be overstated #how soft they can be for each other #you know what I mean #do you read me on this one #i feel like that one post #‘i can’t make poetry out of that. you can do it yourself #look right there. it’s on the ceiling’ #(the glow in the dark star painted over in landlord white in the Airbnb or whatever) #I’m about to chicken out of posting this one #and it’s not even posting it it’s going into drafts rn #augh whatever. I’ll be back #fan art #my art #my writing #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #royal au #tw scars

[nocaptainonthisship]

honey

Bear Shifter!Price/Reader

(coming to an ao3 near you as soon as I finish writing the damn thing.)

It frightened you, that first winter all those years ago, waking beneath warm, immovable mass of unknown provenance. You could not understand then all the things you now know to be true. They were nothing but myth. Imagination. A collective fantasy undertaken by society in its entirety when confronted with that which the mind could not yet understand. These stories didn’t walk among you like men did, these beasts and brutes did not hide in a crowd. 

They did not take pretty maidens back to their dens for debauching. 

Until he did. Except he wasn’t a beast and only sometimes a brute, and he didn’t drag you anywhere. No, you came willingly to John Price’s bed, even if you didn’t understand the implications of a crisp fall day, of orange leaves littering the yard, of blackout curtains on every window and a pantry full of supplies. 

No, the first time you had woken like this you had been afraid, your brain sluggish and syrupy as molasses. Sleep felt like the only true thing left to be desired. Desire felt like a prison. It went to war with the confusion inside you as you struggled to open your eyes, to get your bearings, too understand just how much time had passed that you felt as though you were waking from a long coma and not a post-coital nap. To rest wasn’t just desire, it was imperative, a matter of life or death as grave as the matter of discovering what had happened to you. 

You had opened your eyes to find a gray dawn, a bedroom where you recognized the shadows if not the specifics. That warmth that cradled you shifted and rumbled as if sensing that sleep had lost this battle. As if he was preparing to go to war. There was a hand which spanned almost the width of your ribcage, nestled under your breasts. It pulled you closer until all you were aware of feeling was skin against skin.

“Honey,” didn’t sound so sweet, whispered in your ear. It sounded like the boulders of your former life tumbling down the sides of the old quarry. It sounded like an oath, fealty wrapped around you like a fur coat. It was almost enough to lull you into complacency. 

What you didn’t know then, but you know now, is that, “Honey,” never was a term of endearment. It was a demand. It was an order just as much as the ones he barked at his men in the field. Looking back, you wonder if he had not yet realized what kind of holy bond tied you together. It was instinctual. 

Taking you out to dinner, taking you back to his home, taking you to his bed, taking and taking and taking until you were empty and ready to be filled with a version of yourself you had not met yet. All the things you had learned, all the versions of you that you had been were built on foundations of sand. Who you were told to be, who you were taught to be, who you were afraid to be. All flimsy under the weight of him. All vanished, and leaving behind only instinct. Only honey, warm and golden and thicker than your thoughts. 

Instinct, over and beyond reason. 

You know now what it all signifies. The cold grey dawn peaking behind curtains which you had neglected to fully close, the warmth which caressed you and dragged you back to the shores of slumbering. You know now that the hands which grip you tighter as you wiggle are not the hands of merely another hopeless lover. These hands are the hands of your mate, and he isn’t going to let go. 

When you’re awake enough, you like to tease him about the way he purrs. John will protest and grumble and say things like, “Not a damn cat, love.” There is no other comparison, though, to the way it rumbles through his chest, rattles its way into your bones, calms the place in the back of your brain which is consumed at every moment by the bond which you share. It’s the song of home, which settles inside your soul and wipes away its ragged edges. 

You had been something before him, a leader and a fighter and a pillar of your community. You had been more than the body which kept him sane through the months of sleep. You had also been deeply, desperately unhappy. Lost and adrift in a world which could never care how un-moored you were, you had harbored inside you a hunger which you feared would never be met. Not feared – known, in the way you knew your name or the skin of your hands. Before John, you had longed for him in a way which could not be spoken of, even if you wished. Before John, there was only this secret greed inside you, this desire to be taken away from the rules and regulations and repercussions of the world. To be reduced - or perhaps to be elevated - by the protection and the provision of a man who loved you. 

Held against him now, as he purrs against your back and his hand finds your hip, you do feel reduced. Its a return to your factory settings, a hard reboot, a knock on the head that makes you less of a woman. More of the beast and the brute. Maybe you were born to be his mate, and your body knew before your mind. Maybe you were remade, reformed, reforged in the image of him to become his perfect half rather than born as such. Maybe that piece of you had not existed until, seeing his face for the first time, it formed itself out of the ether of you and uttered, “Mine.”

#captain john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #bear shifter! price #john motherfucking price #in which cap finally caves and writes a bear shifter fic #obviously not a single word of this would exist without ceil and landscape with honey. obviously. it changed the game.

[ceilidho]

prompt: simon notices you in the stands (welder/amateur rugby player au). (nsfw, 1.9k)

-

She’s in the stands again, and he doesn’t know who for. 

The same bird as the time before, and the week before that. Always a few minutes into the match, like she snuck in through the backdoor. She always leaves in a hurry, up and out of her seat with her jacket already tugged on, her strides quick on her way out the main doors. 

In the years since joining this amateur league, Simon’s never been tempted to talk to any of the people in the stands. For the most part, they’re there for one of the other players anyway. Wives, girlfriends, sisters—the odd cousin or fuck buddy, those girls dipping in and out, replaced by newer, sparklier versions of each other, the older ones licked clean. 

His focus narrows when he steps onto the field anyway, shrinks like horse blinders sunk down over his skull. Hardly a reason for him to spare more than a glance towards the stands.

Rugby’s not a sport for spectators. At least, not such a low level league. Barely amateur—just some of the locals with a bit of built up stress and aggression to work off. It’s why he’s here after all. Simon spends the hours of his day hunched over sheets of metal and carbon steel, sweating into the metal mask pulled down over his face and staring without blinking into the heart of the flame just inches from his face. 

His nerves are a closed fist in his chest and it grows and grows until he steps out onto the field of the local rec centre and hears the timer overhead start to count down and feels someone’s chest cave in when he drives his shoulder into their solar plexus, hears the breath whoosh out of them, their next breath in thin and febrile. 

It sets his head right. Violence with no consequences. At the end of the game, he looks the man he just bruised and bloodied in the eye and shakes his hand. Puts the world to rights. 

And he needs nothing more than that. His bills are paid, bloodthirst sated, thirst quenched when the team hits up a pub after the match, after which he slinks off into the night to head home with his hood drawn over his head, the size of him rarely inviting more violence. Occasionally it happens that someone with the bad luck of choosing him to mug wants to prove that they have the bigger cock, but that never ends well. Not for them at least.

Simon would fight for a living if welding paid him less. As it is, he satiates that beast in him on the field or the occasional back alley, and it keeps him in check.

But now there’s a bird in the stands drawing his eye and distracting him from the match. It rubs him the wrong way. The blood pumps through his veins more viciously, and the pretty thing in the stands watches the game completely unaware, a serene smile on her face. His gaze keeps being pulled towards where she and a couple clusters of fans sit and nurse paper cups of tea.

She cups both hands around her tea and he wonders absently whether she’d have to hold his cock the same way. 

It’s Gaz who calls him out on it first, panting hard after the first period and frowning at the scoreboard. “Not to be a dick, but that was bollocks, Simon. Never seen you miss a pass like that.”

Few people could get away with speaking to him like that, but Gaz is right. He’s been playing like shit, too preoccupied by the bird watching him with wide, rapt eyes. 

He doesn’t know how to apologise though, so he doesn’t. “Graves is a useless twat. Can’t throw for shit.”

Gaz rolls his eyes. “Not saying he isn’t, but you’re distracted. Where’s your head at?”

“Stay out of it, Garrick,” he says, not even bothering to meet his gaze, the warning clear in his voice. 

“Sorry for caring,” Gaz shouts after him as Simon jogs away.

He asks around at first, trying to find out if she’s someone’s relative or girl, but all the guys just shrug, no answers. If she’s someone’s, they aren’t staking a claim on her. It’s good news for him. Bad news for anyone else taking an interest in the girl that comes to their every match to cheer them on.

His urges sit deeper than the abyssal plain.

She’d probably turn tail and run if she knew the hunger festering in his belly. She sits sweet and innocent in the stands cheering him on and all Simon can think about is pushing her knees up to her ears and feeding his fat cock into her pussy. Shoving his tongue into her cunt, licking her from hole to hole. Sucking each puffy lip into his mouth until her moans go garbled, eyes unfocused. 

No, Simon thinks when she jumps to her feet enthusiastically at the end of the match, she probably wouldn’t like that. Women rarely do. Objectifying them and all those other terms that Gaz likes to wax on about, Johnny nodding along like he isn’t the same kind of mutt as Simon. 

Even during the day, she troubles his thoughts. Troublemaker. He thinks of her when he cleans and buffs in between passes, mind not lulled into the rhythmic emptiness of usual. Even the sound of steel sizzling in his ears doesn’t clear her from his thoughts. Instead all he can think of is her walking into the shop in a little skirt and top, and dragging her to the back where he’d bend her over the closest desk and pull her panties to the side before sinking in to the hilt, mask still on. 

He’s never gotten his cock wet on the job—never been tempted to. For her though, he’d make an exception. 

By the next match, Simon’s made up his mind. When he sees her sneak in after the match has already started, he feels his blood pump harder, his tackles extra rough. His opponents walk away wincing and cursing him under their breath, but it only makes him preen when he glances over to find her watching him, hardly able to pull her eyes away. Price would call it peacocking. He wouldn’t be wrong. 

He approaches her himself at the end of the match before she’s had time to pack up and leave, leaning over the railing separating the field from the stands, covered in sweat and grass stains and bleeding from his right eyebrow.

She stares up at him wide eyed, looking a little lost for words. “Hi?”

“Got somewhere to be?” he asks, blunt. He’s never had it in him for pleasantries. Why waste time when he can see even now the way her eyes rove over his chest appreciatively? 

“…No,” she finally answers, shaking her head. “Just home for supper.”

“Look like you could use a good fuck. Come round back with me?”

The blatant proposition makes her eyes widen, but Simon doesn’t see the problem. Figures if she doesn’t have a man, there’s no issue with him trying out for the part. He waits her out though, vaguely admiring the pert shape of her mouth, lips round with shock. 

Finally they come back together and she chews on her lower lip nervously, caught off-guard but considering it. He doesn’t hold it against her. His bird’s pretty enough, but he doubts she ever puts herself in the position to be asked. He sees the yes in her eyes before she says it.

Still, he enjoys the way she stutters it out softly, eyes downcast. Simon doesn’t bother with his goodbyes to the guys still on the field before ushering her out of the arena and down the hall to the locker rooms with a hand on her back. He drags her into the first empty supply closet he finds, locking the door behind them. She breathes a bit heavily, almost stumbling over her feet, and that’s the eagerness he’s been looking for. Proof his bird’s just as hungry as him. 

She definitely is, Simon thinks, smug when he hoists her up and her legs wrap around his waist without a second thought, her eyes already glazed over. Like she’s been waiting for this for weeks, cunt already sopping wet when he nudges her panties to the side with his knuckles and buries his cock into her. She grips him like a vice, slack jawed and whimpering into the stretch. He likes that. He likes it more when she digs her nails deep into his back, leaving her mark behind. 

“C’mon, don’t get shy on me,” Simon huffs into her neck when she tries to grab his hair instead, what little of it she can. He stares with eyes half-lidded at the way her tits bounce with each thrust. “I like it rough.”

She clenches up at that, dripping wet. Almost a shame that he couldn’t get his mouth on her first. He’ll have to follow her back home like the mongrel he is, mess her pretty bedsheets up and make her scream until she can’t even face the neighbours the next day. 

He doesn’t need her to tell him to know that she’s a good girl, doesn’t do this ever. Only for him. He can tell by how tight of a screw she is, practically purring in his arms; it’s a fight to bully his cock into her. It’s nice when she stutters it out though, strokes his ego the right way. 

“D-didn’t think you’d notice me,” she says, all shy even with her legs spread. 

“Hard not to, pet,” Simon teases, endeared by her soft edges. His slot right in, if not a bit jaggedly. “Been panting after it for a while, haven’t ya?”

“I just wanted to get out of the flat for a bit,” she whispers.

That shifts his perception of her a bit. Infinitesimally so, but still. He didn’t expect the bird to have a lonely flame in her heart. 

“Well, I noticed,” he grunts, and then bends to suck at the salty skin at the crook of her neck before pumping a load into her.

She’s a real good girl. Comes nice on his cock and muffles her whine by biting into his shoulder. He can’t wait until he’s covered in her bites, until his nipples hurt from making her chew on them and his neck is littered with hickeys like a schoolboy. 

Taking her home is easy enough after that. She lets him drive them both back to her place, handing him the keys with a little yawn when he tucks her into the passenger seat of her own car all limp and pliant. 

And he’s right, of course. He makes a right mess of her bed come morning. 

When he leaves after a morning fuck in the shower and breakfast, the cold sinks into his stomach like a lead weight. The fist in his chest is clenched as ever; Simon hadn’t noticed it loosen in the bird’s presence, but he feels it now drawn tight again. Maybe he thought fucking her would finally shake her from his head, but instead it’s made it worse somehow. The lonely flame in his own chest flickers.

He stands in the middle of the sidewalk and thinks it over while angry nine-to-fivers snap at him before really taking him in and scurrying along. Then he turns back around, heading back the way he came.

The next time Simon sees her in the stands, he feels his smile like a phantom limb. He doesn’t have to ask to know she’s there for him.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #cod simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader

[housethemd]

What if House/Wilson/Amber had a baby?

Amber finds out she’s pregnant, but there is no way to know if it was Wilson or House who fathered the child.

They spend the entire nine months she is pregnant bickering over who the father is (well House and Amber bicker, Wilson stops them when they get to mean.)

They have a little girl, and for logical reasons they list Wilson as the father on her birth certificate, but they raise her together.

As she grows she turns into the spitting image of Amber, making it harder for them to discern her biological father. House argues she has blue eyes, thus she must be his. Wilson argues back that his mother has blue eyes, therefore he could produce a blue eyed child. They all lay in bed at night sometimes and debate certain features or behaviour of their daughter, but they all know the truth.

They don’t want to know who’s she is biologically.

The unknowing makes them feel like she really does belong to the three of them.

(And maybe she grows up and does a 23 and me or something and pretty much accidentally tells them who her biological father is, by way of relaying results.)

#is this anything #I thought this up in the 30 minutes I laid in bed staring at this ceiling this morning #housethemd writes #house md #james wilson #hate crimes md #greg house #hilson #dr house #dr wilson #wilson x house #house/wilson #gregory house #amber volakis #house/wilson/amber polycule supremacy #i am a wilson/amber/house polycule truther #polycule #medical malpractice polycule 2: electric boogaloo

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

oh this is so NOT funny and QUITE gross of Johnny, but manipulating you while you're injured?

maybe your car breaks down and you (stupidly) touch the blown radiator hose. manage to give yourself some fairly serious second degree burns on your fingers.

and now you're dependent on him for everything, aren't you?

who's going to take you to hospital so you can have you fingers looked at? apply the anti-septic salve? change the bandages?

who's going to cook for you, and bring you hot drinks all the time? you can't hold any cutlery, can you? he'll feed you, though, there's nothing to worry about.

and of course he'll run the bath for you. he'll help you once you're in there too! you can't do clean yourself, you might break the blisters and that could cause an infection! Besides, your fingers hurt, don't they? Johnny will take your bra off, don't you worry. he'll get on his knees and take your panties off too.

and if you ask him why he's stripping his own clothes off, getting into the bath with you? well how else is he supposed to clean you? don't you go on being a prude now, he's lived with you for so many years, it's nothing he hasn't seen before.

and you are thankful, of course you are, even if you don't show it! it would be a nightmare to do anything by yourself, he's a lifesaver. you need him until your fingers fully heal.

and when you're warmed up from your shower, you thank him for his help. you're squirmy, uncomfortable in his presence, feeling icky about how he'd run his hands all over you in the bath. but. it's not like you could do anything about it. you're betrayed by the stickiness between your legs, and you'd just like him to leave your room, please.

but you didn't think that he was done, did you?

you've got burnt fingers, hen, how will you touch your tight little pussy? naw lovie, you can't even hold your little vibrator. don't worry, your johnny's here now. he'll kiss your little pussy better, you'll forget all about your fingers that hurt so much :((((

#johnny mctavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #lumi writes #ceils gross soap agenda #its in my veins

[haejjoon]

"the stickers above your bed are childish."

it's not the best conversation opener goro's ever come up with. it doesn't even classify as decent. but goro akechi is eighteen years old and alive in a time when he shouldn't be, so tact isn't exactly the first thing on his mind.

akira, the cheeky little fuck he is, doesn't rise to the bait. he doesn't even see it as bait, screw him. "i guess," is all he says, taking with goro's jab in calm, quiet stride.

"they're ridiculous. they don't even glow as advertised," goro continues. "how much money did you give to have them hang on your ceiling—ten thousand, twenty thousand yen? you got scammed."

"yusuke sure did," akira says. a wistful smile curls on his lips. "he got them for me as a gift."

nausea that goro refuses to acknowledge as envy snakes around in his gut. of course they were a gift. akira "wouldn't even buy himself a decent lunch if it meant saving another yen on metaverse gear" kurusu could never, would never, be so frivolous. goro should have known better.

"and you deigned to put them on the underside of this crumbling café's roof." goro's words are bitter. he hopes akira doesn't call him out on it like he always does. he can't explain this one away.

"yeah," akira murmurs, looking up to stare at the shitty plastic stars littering the ceilingside. "it was a gift. i wanted to use them."

goro lets out a harsh ha. "so it was pity?"

"...not really." akira sounds so, so far away. "they reminded me of the stars back at home. i actually had trouble sleeping the first few nights here, 'cause i wasn't used to the pitch black."

akira turns to goro, smiling softly. a small dimple winks at him from his left cheek—a star, embedded perfectly on his pale face. "you should come see them with me once this is all over."

what is goro supposed to say to that? no, really, what can he do?

standing before him is a man who stuck silicone stickers to his ceiling because he was robbed of his night-lights back at home. standing before him is a man who's offering, truly offering, to take goro back to enjoy that view with him.

i'm not even really here.

and goro watches akira look at him so expectantly—stars on his cheeks, stars in his eyes, stars stars stars—and curses maruki to the heavens; not only did he have to bring goro back, but he had to give him a fucking heart while he was at it.

"that sounds ridiculous," is what goro says. the lie slips past his lips like tar. crunches through his teeth like asphalt.

and flittingly, goro wonders if akira is the kind of person to make wishes upon the stars. akira only grins back, turns his gaze back to his fake galaxy.

"yeah," akira agrees, "it does."

#my writing #shuake #akeshu #goro akechi #persona 5 #persona 5 protagonist #p5r #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #saw the stars on akiren's ceiling in a screenshot and thought of this

[wanderingcas]

interesting but not surprising: putting my own complicated feelings on the human experience and what living truly means in this particular au cas's journey

#destiel apocalypse fic #just had a moment where i wrote a line and just. stared at the ceiling #like ok yes i needed to process some things via fic writing today lol #sam rambles

[owlpellet]

we just discovered that the landlord of the apartment complex we recently moved out of somehow got all the negative reviews of the business scrubbed off google and bribed the CLEANER who cleaned our apartment after we left to leave its now sole 5-star review

certainly there is some kind of legal violation in doing this?

#the person who left the review (5 stars no text) literally has posted business photos of herself cleaning what was our unit #which by the way got jacked up in price by a few hundred dollars #i guess there's no proof she was bribed #but she's sure not a tenant #time to write a 1-star review i guess #we were just going to not bother and leave it behind us but ohhhhh #OHHHHHHHHH #WE SEE YOU MAKRAS REAL ESTATE #YOU CAN DODGE PRISON BUT DODGE THESE LEAKY CEILING PHOTOS

[starrystevie]

currently thinking about steve harrington, pop music lover and abba enthusiast, discovering a*teens in the early 2000's.

he's a high school teacher and the kids introduce him to 'bouncing off the ceilings' which, quite frankly, takes a few listens to grow on him. it's high pitched, high energy, and too much to listen to on a grainy boombox at 8am. but on the fifth or so play of if, he finds himself tapping his toes to the beat and humming along.

it seems like a no brainer to stop at the store on his way home and pick up the cd, 4 bright and smiling faces peering up at him from the cd case, the name 'a*teens' big and bold across the top. he listens to it in the car, a little bit impressed the further the tracks go on, and brings it inside to finish listening to as he cooks dinner.

when eddie gets home, coveralls covered in grease and hair pulled back in a low ponytail, he stops in his tracks at the music. steve turns around wondering where his daily kiss on the cheek after work is only to see eddie standing in the doorway with his face scrunched up.

"what the hell are you listening to?" eddie asks, condescension lacing his tone. steve rolls his eyes and turns the music up louder on the remote, flashing eddie a cheeky smirk.

"something the kids were listening to today. i think it's pretty catchy."

he turns back around to tend to the ground beef on the stove while eddie finally comes into the kitchen to wash his hands and give steve his well-deserved kiss. the cd is sitting on the counter and eddie picks it up, fake gagging at the cheesy lyrics spilling out of the sound system.

"stevie, even for you this is... bad," he says as he casually flips through the cd jacket, reading over the over-processed lyrics and photos of the teen stars. steve's about to defend himself when eddie perks up, a half grin on his face and shoves the booklet into steve's face.

"can i help you-?" steve squaks out and eddie points quickly at a line in the back of the pages. "-what?"

"look," he whines, slamming his finger into the page once more. "read."

formed in 1998, a*teens consists of members amit, dhani, marie and sara. as an official cover band of the swedish pop group abba, make sure you grab their first album the abba generation with hits like "mamma mia" and "dancing queen"!

steve turns to look at eddie, his mouth open just slightly in shock, disbelief flooding through him. "no fucking way. no wonder i like them."

eddie laughs and sets the cd case down, wrapping his arms around steve from behind and pressing kisses to the back of his neck. the two stand in the kitchen laughing and swaying to cheesy pop songs blaring on their too nice speaker system while the ground beef in the pan almost burns.

later that night when they're in bed and trying to fall asleep, steve can feel eddie humming where he's cuddled up against his chest. the notes sound similar and when steve can finally place it, he presses his smug grin against eddie's shoulder.

"told you it was catchy."

#steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #i may or may not have screamed along to bouncing of the ceiling as i was driving home yesterday #and was immediately inspired to write this #no one can deny the classic hits of ateens even eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet