#I don't know how to credit this
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Day 3
I love his role as Jervis (obviously, I discovered him via this role after all)
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Damn
He didn't have to look THAT fine
Credit to fox I guess?
Idk who took those screen and put the filter, it was in Pinterest
#benedict samuel#jervis tetch fox#gotham fox#jervis tetch#mad hatter#gotham jervis#jervis tetch gotham#Gotham mad Hatter#he is so fine#he looks 🔥🔥🔥#That look didn't have to be this handsome#that look#i'm not okay#i'm not crazy#I don't know how to credit this#benedict samuel fan
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the easy grip on the knife. the leg over the seat. the hand over the other seat. the sassy "come get it" move. you know the bitch is smiling behind that mask even as he said the line.
#i can't believe i'm saying this#DEADPOOL CAN GET IT#Logan I'm sobbing I understand why you lunged at him#I would too bestie#it's the sass for me folks#paint that car white as much as they painted it red my god#a deadpool thirst post? from me? more likely than you'd think#this is a branch in realities i know it#i've never had Feelings for this motherfucker until this movie#all i'm left with is anger now because WHAT DOES HE WANT FROM ME#camera crew could have just made it landscape but noooooo they had to do a medium shot of this son of a bitch#i'm sending an especially affectionate fuck you in ryan reynolds' direction#i love how you love deadpool#deadpool#wolverine#deadpool and wolverine#wade wilson#logan howlett#poolverine#deadclaws#don't get me wrong i've always adored deadpool's personality. nobody's that hilarious and not have humongous balls i mean trauma.#but i've never went 'why he kinda' until this specific shot right here#@ camera crew why the fuck did you zoom in? WHY?#for me? well it's infuriating#do it again#gif is credit to the owner#30 tags aren't enough for me to dismantle how this shot made me feel. tumblr you gotta update#damn tumblr i'm tryna feed a village here#guys just find my other post
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Angel of Music (18+)
♡ Pairing: Phantom!Minho x Opera Singer Fem!Reader
♡ Genre: phantom of the opera inspired au, horror themes, dark romance, age gap, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :'), the ending is also a lil dark, sorry!
♡ Word Count: 5.8k
♡ Summary: A phantom exists in the opera house– he controls every production from the shadows, lurks around every dark corner, always watching. In your dreams exists an angel– a guardian that sings to you, guides you, and comforts you. When The Phantom appears before you in your dressing room mirror, you begin to realize that he and your angel may be one in the same.
♡ General Warnings: slightly less extreme age gap than the source material that inspires this fic but it's still fairly large (reader is ~mid 20s and minho is ~40), briefly described attempted murder of minor characters, implications of stalking, hypnotism, hallucinations + doubts of reality, so much usage of the words "phantom" and "angel" it's not even funny, this fic is not an accurate representation of how hypnotism works irl but it's fiction so i'm taking liberties!
♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon (due to reader being hypnotized), additionally to not being in their proper state of mind, there are also moments in which reader does not feel to be in full control of their body, light dom/sub dynamics, soft pleasure dom!minho because i want more of him !!, mask kink (does it still count if the mask doesn't cover his whole face?? idk i hope so!), some biting, oral (f rec), overstim, multiple orgasms
♡ Notes: i've known for ages that i wanted to write a phantom!minho fic, and my kinktober series gave me the perfect reason to finally write it! also the fact that both my uploaded minho fics are age gap romances?? that was not intentional i swear lmao
♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.
All inhabitants of the opera house have been on edge these days– consequence of the new owners of the Opera Populaire, who decided to disregard all of The Phantom's demands.
The Phantom, as the name suggests, is a ghost story of sorts. According to your castmates, he has been here since long before you joined the Opera Populaire's trainees last year, but his activity has begun to increase since your arrival.
He controls all in the opera house, and his demands of the previous owner were always quite simple; perform what shows he instructs you to, follow his casting down to the letter, and keep the seats in Box Five free at all times. Evidentially, Box Five is his favorite place to watch the shows from– and sometimes, his dark silhouette can be spotted in the shadows of the booth, indiscernible but unmistakably there.
No one has ever truly seen The Phantom beyond a shadow, nor have they heard him speak. He communicates with notes, always left within feet of the recipient without anyone having seen him come or go. His notes will even appear in broad daylight, with not a single person having caught a glimpse of him despite all the eyes in the room.
Well, more accurately, no one has seen him apart from the Madame– an older woman who used to be a performer for the Opera Populaire herself, but has taken the role of choreographer since her retirement from the stage. In the 15 years it's been since The Phantom made his presence known to the opera house, she's the only one who's ever seen him, or heard his voice.
A brief encounter, she explained when asked about it– had barely seen him for more than a few passing moments. He spoke little, but the beauty of his voice was striking, completely unlike any other she’d ever heard. And all he asked of her, in that fleeting moment, was to remember that the Opera Populaire is his home– and as long as the inhabitants respect him, he'll respect them in turn.
The previous director, the Madame, and The Phantom all had a mutual understanding of what was to be done. As long as they listened to him, shows would go off without a hitch; but refuse, and there'd be dire consequences. As such, the Madame has been doing her best to express the importance of listening to The Phantom to the new owners.
The Monsieurs view it as no more than silly superstition– every opera house has their own beliefs and customs, things they consider good and bad luck before a show, things they view as omens of a show's future success. The Phantom is simply one of those things– and with a guiding hand, they can dispel such superstitions, show the cast and crew that there is no shadowy phantom to fear.
The first note left for the Monsieurs went disregarded– a barking laugh leaving the elder of the two before he tossed it in the bin. The instructions on the note were clear enough– you were to take the role of Eurydice in the opera house's production of Orpheus and Eurydice, and not Carlotta, as they originally casted.
You were just as baffled as everyone else to learn that The Phantom wanted you to take such an important role– you'd only been here a year, were still so new to your opera training. It's true enough that you have a good voice, and your dancing has improved with all your diligent practice, but you're still young, and the tragic role of Eurydice is not so easily performed.
Natural talent for bringing emotion to performance aside, you lack stage experience– experience that you can easily gain from background roles. To make you such a crucial stand-out role after only a year of training was simply unheard of– no opera house would do it!
This is to be your first production, your first time on stage in front of an audience; and so regardless of what The Phantom wants, Monsieur Reyer opted to keep you strictly in the supporting chorus roles, where you would go from shepherdess, to nymph, to spirit as the acts progressed. Not a glamorous, shining position in the cast by any means, but more than enough to help familiarize you with the reality of performing with hundreds of eyes watching.
It wouldn't take long for The Phantom to make his displeasure with the decision known. And what started off as just small accidents and stage mishaps quickly turned violent and dangerous as each week passed with you still not given the role that The Phantom felt you deserved to have.
The first violent turn came during rehearsals for Act 3, right in the middle of Eurydice's climactic aria, when the chandelier above the stage came crashing down. Carlotta was standing directly beneath it just before it fell, and it narrowly missed her– purely because she happened to take a few steps forward whilst singing.
“An unfortunate accident,” the Monsieurs said, “it had nothing to do with The Phantom!” But the veterans of the opera house knew better– and the conductor swore he saw a dark shadow on the scaffolds just before the chandelier fell; a shadow that could belong to none other than The Phantom.
Carlotta screamed as it crashed just mere inches away from her, right where she's just been standing, and cried as everyone rushed to her side to ensure that she was unharmed. Again, the Madame tried to persuade them to heed The Phantom before another such “accident” occurred.
"Good God in Heaven, you're all obsessed! These things just happen sometimes– there is no phantom!" Reyer cried in exasperation over everyone's insistence, still unwilling to give in to the idea that the opera house's ghost was real.
And tonight, just after rehearsals came to a close, another terrible stage accident occurred– this time happening to Monsieur Reyer himself. He was up on the scaffolding when it happened, making sure all the stagehands properly rigged the lights in preparation for tomorrow night's premiere of Orpheus and Eurydice.
He was bent down, inspecting the bulbs and wires, when a dark figure appeared behind him. The shadow wrapped a noose around his neck faster than anyone could even react, pushed him off the scaffolding before swiftly retreating back to the shadows.
Reyer almost didn't survive– he was lucky that the nearby stagehands were quick on their feet and in their wits, managing to grab his arms and pull him up while another cut the rope that served to hang the poor man. And as if the message from the accidents alone weren't clear enough, another note was left behind right in the middle of the stage.
It was astounding, really, that not a single person saw The Phantom leave the note behind– and while some could argue that it was because all eyes were on Reyer, or because the stage became chaos as they worked to save him, the Monsieurs realized that maybe they should start to believe that there really is a ghost inhabiting the Opera Populaire.
The moment the note was noticed, the Madame picked it up, and read it aloud for all to hear. "Again, I remind you that Y/N will play the role of Eurydice. As I instruct, Box Five shall remain open for my use. These seats will not be used by another. This is my final warning– disregard at your own risk."
Realizing they had no choice, lest they wish to continue putting themselves and other cast and crew in danger, the Monsieurs begrudgingly declared you the new Eurydice, right then and there.
Given that you're at every rehearsal, you know Eurydice's lines by heart, and are confident that you can sing them well– but still, you're nervous. It's your first production, the premiere is sold out, is set for tomorrow night, and suddenly you're in one of the most pivotal roles in the entire opera.
You don't even understand why The Phantom is so adamant about giving the role to you; what is it about you that he likes, what is it that he sees in you? You wish you could ask the Madame, but she met him so fleetingly, and so many years ago– she has no way of knowing The Phantom's heart beyond an educated guess.
Sitting before your dressing room mirror, you sigh, utterly exhausted– now that you're Eurydice, it was vital that you do a last minute costume fitting and makeup test. As such, you've been in the opera house hours past the time you'd normally be here. The moon hangs high in the sky now, you're sure; you wonder if you should just spend the night here, sleep in the dressing room instead of making a late trek home.
Regardless, you hope your angel comes to you tonight. You know no one would believe you if you told them, but you really do have a guardian angel; and in your dreams, he comes to you– always when you are most lost and in need of guidance. He's a gentle, calming presence; always comforts you, talks to you sweetly when you're filled with self doubt, sings to you in the most beautiful of voices.
You've never actually seen your angel clearly– only heard his voice calling your name and whispering, singing, in a way that could only be described as angelic in its serenity. In your dreams, he's nothing but a vague, blurry image– even at his most clear, you can't define any of his features.
Still, you think of him fondly– and you suspect that as an angel, you aren't meant to be able to fully perceive him. And your angel always, always, knows when you need him– you suspect that even now, he's waiting; waiting for the moment you fall asleep, so that he can come to your side.
You look at yourself, still dressed as Eurydice. A beautiful, off shoulder bateau gown in the prettiest, purest ivory. There's lace appliques throughout the gown, has a beautiful cinched bodice before the tulle skirt fluffs out. It's elegant, makes you feel like a bride waiting to walk down the aisle.
Your makeup shimmers– extra glitter applied on your eyelids to make sure the stage lights catch it. Your jewelry too, is extravagant– made to sparkle and shine every time a light shines on you, to twinkle with each subtle move you make. It's a shame you have to take it all off just to put it all back on tomorrow– but the effort to make sure everything fits you was necessary.
You reach your hands up to one of your ears, prepare to remove one of your dangling earrings when you hear a voice you know all too well call your name– your angel's voice.
You look around the room, bewildered, but see nothing and no one. And surely you were mistaken– you're still awake! Your angel only comes to you in dreams, and you haven't fallen asleep... right? You are still awake, aren't you?
Again, you hear his voice, another whisper of your name. You rise from your chair, look around the room once more– no one. You turn back to the dressing room mirror, and jump in surprise, realizing that the view reflected in it has changed. You no longer see yourself, or the reflection of the dressing room around you– instead, you see a man.
He looks just as the Madame described her memory of The Phantom– dark hair, and even darker eyes, with a white mask that covers the right half of his face. Not completely– just from his hairline, down to his pretty, plump lips. Every inch of his skin is covered, head to toe, all of his clothes pure black apart from the ornate red vest.
Sleek boots and dark trousers, a tall collar that obscures most of his neck, long sleeves that cover his arms, even gloves covering his hands. He wears a cape, long and as dark as the rest of his clothes, and it blows behind him as if there’s a breeze rolling through.
You’re confused, a little frightened, but you can’t tear your eyes away or will yourself to flee– and as the figure speaks your name, you gasp; he truly has the voice of your angel. But he’s The Phantom, isn’t he?
The blurry, vague scenery behind him begins to sharpen, coming more distinctly visible to your uncertain eyes. A dark corridor full of candelabra, glowing in dull yellows and shades of orange, held by incorporeal hands with no discernable origin.
What little of your dressing room you see in your peripheral shifts and warps as you stare at him, blur together into dark shadows as the table holding your hairbrush and makeup begin to fade and disappear, leaving the view through the mirror as the only thing you can see.
The figure– your angel, The Phantom?– holds his hand out to you through the mirror, as if the glass that should separate you no longer exists; perhaps it doesn't. Smoke– or maybe fog, mist? you can't be certain– pours into the room as you approach the mirror.
As if under a spell, you reach out to take his hand, thinking not of logic as you follow the beckoning call of your name. Your angel; you trust your angel. He smiles as you place your hand in his, and carefully, you step through the mirror, into the corridor.
Entranced, you stare at him; even with half a mask covering his face, he's utterly beautiful. He appears to be older than you, hints of fine lines beholden around his mouth and eyes, and even that adds to his mysterious charm. He holds your gaze as he takes a step back, a candelabra in his hand now, beckoning you to follow him down the corridor.
You squeeze his hand as you follow, and finally he turns around, walks with purpose as he guides you, glancing behind every so often to look at you in what you think to be adoration. You too, glance behind– and where the mirror once stood is now a desolate, barren wall.
You do not see any hint of your dressing room, or of the mirror you stepped through. And as you continue further down the corridor, the candelabra that were once behind you slowly begin to blink out and vanish from sight, leaving only pitch black darkness behind. A spiral staircase made of stone manifests, and you descend it, hand in hand with your angel.
You're so enchanted and bewildered, you can't seem to find your voice– all you can do is follow, let him guide you along to where it is he wants you to be. Even the staircase dissipates when you've finished descending, and for just a moment, you wonder– is any of this truly real?
Finally, you stand in the middle of a beautiful room, lit candles both resting in more candelabra and strewn about the floor, with dark, intricately woven tapestries hanging from the stone walls. There’s a grand piano, sleek black with gold accents, with even more candles resting atop it, as well as a sheet of music sitting pristine on the music desk, black ink seemingly freshly dried, just waiting to be played.
There are several mirrors, though only one remains uncovered– the rest are obscured by cloth, for reasons you do not know. There is a bed, in what you suppose would be called a “corner” in this otherwise circular space, inviting and plush in its appearance, with blankets colored a rich red. Naturally, candles surround the bed as well, covering it in a beautifully soft, yellow-orange glow.
“Where are we?” you finally find your voice to ask, and the man smiles as he beckons you to follow him towards his bed. “We are home,” he replies, and though it’s a strange answer, you feel you understand– yes, you are home. This is home.
You gaze at him curiously after you sit on the bed, just as comfortable as you expected it to be, and he mimics the way you’ve tilted your head at him. “You’re.. My angel, aren’t you? Or are you The Phantom?” you ask, and the man laughs ever so softly, melodious and beautiful.
“I am Minho,” he responds, as if that alone is a sufficient enough answer– in a way, you suppose it is. What else is there to know? He is Minho. That is enough.
“I have longed to touch you, to bring you here,” Minho whispers as he reaches one of his gloved hands to your face, strokes your cheek slowly, gently. The sensation, though simple, feels so tender– it sparks something inside you, fills you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. You close your eyes, bask in the comfort his touch provides you.
You feel his hand move, travel down until his fingers are under your chin. He tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to see him gazing down at you warmly. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, speaking to you as gently as he always does. He’s said it before, in your dreams– that you are beautiful, talented, deserving of all you wish to have.
He never lets you linger on self-doubt, never allows you to think you are lesser than someone else, or undeserving of the opportunities you’ve been granted. Your angel knows you– you think he’s appearing to you now, like this, because he knows you are uncertain of playing Eurydice; he must think that he needs to remind you of just how special you are.
All of your doubts about tomorrow’s premiere– he will dispel them from your mind, as he always does. He kneels before you, gazing at you carefully as he inches closer to you, his hands softly rubbing over your shoulders and down your arms. His attentive stare as he caresses you makes you breathing quicken, your heart starting to pick up speed.
“Do you trust me?” Minho asks suddenly, and with not an ounce of hesitation, you nod. You’ve no reason not to trust him– in the year it's been since your angel first appeared to you, you’ve always trusted him. There is no one else that makes you feel so secure, so at peace, so.. Loved, cared for. Yes, your angel, Minho, loves you, cares for you like no other. You trust him.
“I wish to clear your mind of worry and doubt– to make you think only of me, and the music we can make together. I wish to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you," he says, and oh, he knows he shouldn’t be pouring his heart out like this, for it’s too soon, much too soon. But he’s been enamored with you since the first moment you stepped into the Opera Populaire, has been infatuated with you since first hearing the passion in your voice.
He can’t help it, it seems– now that he has you here, in his lair, his defenses falter, all of his desires pouring out of him. To have you here, and to touch you like this, even so simply– it’s everything he’s wanted. And instantly, unconsciously, you reach out to him. Your angel sees you, knows you– you wish to know him too, to understand him the way he does you.
Your mind is somehow as clear as it is hazy– clear, because you know what it is that you want. Regardless of who he is, what he is, you want Minho to have you. Anything he wants, you feel compelled to give, as if it’s all you know; and in this moment, perhaps it is. In the very back reaches of your addled mind, a reminder blares– The Phantom always gets what he wants.
And what he wants now, most of all, is you; and despite what logic may tell you to feel, you trust him to have you. He sees all that you feel in your expression alone, knows all that you think as if he’s seen into the depths of your mind. Even now, perhaps more than ever before, he sees you.
Sees all that you are, and all that you want– and a charming smile plays on his lips as you gaze at him with wanton desire to let him take you. To let him have, to give yourself over– you wish to offer yourself wholly to your angel’s desires.
Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you, a soft press that you could almost call chaste, his hands slowly moving over your body, each soft touch lingering. You don’t feel his gloves anymore, you realize– did he take them off without you noticing? You suppose it doesn’t matter– his hands are warm, a bit rough and calloused against the soft skin of your arms, and you like it.
Even as his kisses become less chaste, deepen as his hands travel to your hips, they remain slow and purposeful. His hands eventually find the bottom of your dress, begin to lift it ever so slowly up your thighs– not to expose you, but so that he can slot himself between your legs. Somehow, innately, you understand this– and easily, you spread your legs for him, allowing him to find his place between them.
His arms wrap around you after, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he pulls away, breathless as you look to him with eager, impassioned eyes– a gaze that heats his otherwise cold heart. You reach up, bring your hands to his face; he nearly flinches when you touch his mask, though he knows you mean no harm.
Minho feels himself ugly under his mask– too scarred and disfigured to be appealing to you in any regard; at least like this, with only the good parts of his face on display, you may find him handsome. Your touch is as soft as your gaze, and though perhaps you should, you make no move to remove his mask; you simply rub your thumb over the cold porcelain.
It’s a vulnerable thing, really– how softly you touch his ugliest spots. It doesn’t matter that you can’t see them from beneath his mask– the tender regard you seem to feel for him, even without having seen the scars that mar him, is more than enough. It’s ironic, in a way, that you seem to think he’s an angel; in reality, the only angel in this room is you.
“I want to please you, if you'll let me,” he breathes as his fingertips ghost over your thighs. It makes your breath hitch, blinking at him slowly as you process his intent. There is much your angel wants– but chasing the pleasure of his own flesh isn’t one of those things. He doesn’t need it to feel satisfied; your pleasure will more than suffice him.
His dark eyes bore into yours as he awaits your answer, can tell from his wanting gaze how serious he is about pleasing you, and it makes your cheeks slowly bloom with heat. And it’s not just what he wants– it’s what he needs, really; when you surrender yourself to him, he wants it to be for your pleasure, not his own.
“Oh, please– touch me,” you answer, plead– because something from deep inside you screams for it, wanting it beyond all comprehension. Your darkest, most innate desires manifest for him; desires that you didn’t even fully realize you had. They possess you, drive you to kiss him again, urgent and passionate.
Minho returns your kiss with equal fervor, lets his tongue slip past his lips to meet yours. They share a dance, swirl around each other until you’re breathless again; and then he’s guiding you back, urging you to lay down as he hovers over you. He pulls the skirt of your dress further up your body, until your thighs are entirely exposed and he can see your dampening panties.
He lowers himself to you, but doesn’t go immediately where you expect him too– he takes his time trailing wet, lingering kisses over your thighs instead. Your inner thighs are sensitive, ticklish, and you can’t help but squirm from each kiss he grants you.
You also can’t help but jolt each time the cool porcelain of his mask presses against the hot skin of your thigh, and again when he carefully sinks his teeth into your pliant flesh. He doesn't do it hard enough to hurt, or even fully leave indents of his teeth behind– just enough to leave you panting and squirmy; and he lets out a soft, airy laugh every time he succeeds in the endeavor.
Your bunched up skirt is so full that you can hardly even watch him work you up; but there are times, while kissing and biting over your trembling thighs, that he lifts his head just enough to let you catch his gaze. It makes your heart skip a beat, butterflies dancing in your stomach every time he locks eyes with you while kissing around where you need him most.
You reach a point where you’re no longer squirming because his attention tickles, but because you’re becoming desperate, impatient; and the way he stares at you as he does it all doesn't help in the slightest. “Minho, please,” you whine, shameless; and you can feel him smile against your skin before he lifts himself up from his place between your legs.
“Needy are we, angel?” he asks, grinning as you pout and nod. “Need you,” you mumble, but he hears you loud and clear; he’s attuned to you, your angel is. He lowers himself between your thighs once more, kisses your pussy over your panties– and it’s not quite what you need, but it’s enough to have you gasping and quivering.
Again, he takes his time, as if not a single ounce of urgency resides within him. And make no mistake, it does– but Minho knows how to restrain himself. He’s a stubborn man, that is certainly true, but he’s also perfectly in control of himself; for now, anyways.
And he likes the way you whine for him when you feel his tongue lick you up over the fabric of your panties. It’s not a full enough feeling for you, or a full enough taste of your pussy for him, but the desperate, whiny sounds it draws out of you are delicious enough to satisfy him.
Still, while he’s enjoying the way his soft kisses and kitten licks over your panties is making you writhe and cry for him, he also can’t deny how badly he wants to finally taste you directly on his tongue. He’s been patient enough, he thinks, and so have you– why not indulge just a little sooner than planned?
In contrast to how sweetly he’s treated you up to this point, he’s quick to tear your panties away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping makes you gasp, and maybe later he’ll apologize– but for now, lapping his tongue between your folds is of more importance. You moan when his tongue finally meets your bare pussy, as does Minho– and despite the hunger that he feels, he continues to lick you over slowly.
The languid pace makes you crazy– you want more, so much more, but your angel has been waiting for this; he needs to take his time with you, needs to embed the taste of your dripping sex on his tongue, needs to make sure it’s something he’ll never be able to forget. And he isn’t trying to tease you by keeping the slow pace– well, maybe he is a little; he does enjoy it, after all– but he’s sincerely craved this for too long to let the moment quickly pass him by.
He brings his hands to your thighs, squeezing them in his hands and preventing you from closing them around his head. You’re sure it’s partly so he can keep you spread out for him, to keep enjoying the easy access to your pussy, but it’s also so that your trembling thighs don’t cause his mask to shift, and fall from his face.
You gasp when the cool, smooth and rigid porcelain covering the right side of his nose bumps your clit as he shoves his tongue into your hole. And while he isn’t purposely trying to get you to cum just yet, his slow but diligent ministrations are getting you there regardless– with his tongue dipping in and out of your heat, always pushing in as deep as he can make it go, and his mask-covered nose nudging your clit.
You let your head fall back against the bed, your every high pitched whimper and moan echoing off the stone walls surrounding you. You try to tell him you’re going to cum, but you fail miserably– all that leaves you is a quick succession of whines before your eyes are rolling, back bowing off the bed as release on his tongue. Minho moans with you, hums happily as he licks the mess from your pussy like the cat that got the cream.
He laves over your clit when he’s done licking up your cum– and it's sensitive, swollen from your orgasm; but that doesn’t stop him from swirling his tongue around it, and positively knocking the air from your lungs. The sensation is overwhelming, he knows it is even without you telling him, but it’s still so good that you don’t want to squirm away, or ask him to stop– or perhaps you can’t.
You get the distinct feeling that even if you tried, your limbs would resist, would fight to keep you in place– despite your best efforts, you would remain just as you are now. Spread open and trembling, exactly how Minho wants you. “You make the prettiest music, angel,” he separates from you long enough to speak, “want you to keep singing for me.”
And sing for him you do when he dives back in, flicks your clit with his tongue a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking it like a piece of hard candy. Your moans, the smacking sounds of his lips, the way he hums when he returns to your hole to collect the cream– it’s an orchestra, just for the two of you.
You cum again in record time, of course you do. Minho finds it cute, the way you incoherently babble away as you let go for him again. And he isn’t done just because you came again– no, he’s far from finished with your pussy. He doesn’t tire in the slightest, ceaseless in the way he lavishes with you his tongue and suckles with his pretty, perfect lips.
When you cum for the third time, you don’t even know if you truly ever stop cumming at all– the pleasure just keeps coming in waves, never fully receding before it builds again, washing over you like a tsunami before it all repeats. You writhe and twist, back repeatedly bowing off his bed before falling back, but your thighs stay spread for him, even when his hands stop holding them down.
His hands have found their way beneath you, cupping and squeezing your ass as he eats away. Your hips wriggle, and he helps grind you up against his face, moaning and humming all the while. It’s too much and not enough all at once; your body screams that it can’t take it, and yet your mind screams that it needs more, and God, you can’t think straight– but is there any point in this night that you were?
You’re hot and heaving, sweat dripping from your brow as you tremble and bend. Minho is hot too, of course– his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his face red from his cheeks to his ears, and even down his neck. And were you not so far gone, you’d have noticed that his mask has shifted and fallen from his face.
It was because of you, too– when another high took you and tugged on his hair hard, crying as your hips jolted and bucked against his face. He should’ve swiftly put it back on, lest you see his scars, but he didn’t– he just shoved it aside, against his better judgment, so he could keep licking you up without interruption.
You feel positively delirious by the time he’s finished, eyes heavy and bleary, body utterly limp and boneless. He crawls his way up to you, and your gaze is unfocused, blurry; you can hardly distinguish his features anymore– similar to the way he always appeared in your dreams before now.
Regardless, you smile at him before you close your eyes; a weak, but content one that Minho finds oh so endearing. You’re beyond fatigued, but also feel an unmatched sense of elation as your angel strokes your head and whispers sweet nothings for you to fall asleep to. “You belong to me now,” you hear him say, just before you drift off– and you know it’s true.
You think, perhaps, you’ve always belonged to him. From the very first moment Minho saw you, he knew he was never going to let you go. And just as Orpheus had done for Eurydice, he’d gladly walk into the depths of Hades itself if that’s what it took to keep you by his side.
He gently caresses your cheek as you fall into a deeper sleep, presses a soft kiss to your lips and whispers a final soft utterance of love before he covers you with a blanket, and your mind goes completely dark for the night.
You wake the next day with a struggle– at least, you think it’s the next day; it’s too dark in the room you’re in to tell for certain. You reach out for Minho, but don’t feel him anywhere– and as you sit up, and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that you are alone. Your brows furrow as you look around; you’re still in his room, but it doesn’t look quite the same.
There are no candles, not on the floor or in the candelabra that now lie empty. The tapestries adorning the walls are torn and dulled in color, the piano dusty and the gold decorating it chipped. The sheet of music that sits on the piano’s music desk, that last night looked so fresh and pristine, now appears weathered and yellowed.
As you grab the blanket to pull it off you, you realize it isn't a blanket at all that is covering you, but a cape– Minho’s cape. And on the bed, just an arm’s reach away from you lies a note– the same kind that The Phantom always leaves behind inside the Opera Populaire.
Your hand trembles as you pick it up, eyes straining to read it in the darkness. The message he leaves behind, when your eyes focus on the words well enough to read them, is quite simple. “To my beloved and beautiful Eurydice; welcome home.”
#skz x reader#lee know x reader#skz smut#lee know smut#skz fanfic#lee know fanfic#skz imagines#skz scenarios#mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune#don't ask me how many times i listened to the poto soundtrack while writing and editing this#the answer is obscene (several hours)
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yknow solas from dai right and forgive me bc im sure other ppl already knew this but i just found out about this just now and now i have to say it
so i was scrolling reddit and someone was asking how come they can't seem to write solas dialogue correctly for fanfiction and someone in the comments pointed out that he, not always, but very often, speaks in IAMBIC TETRAMETER? and that's why he SOUNDS LIKE THAT?
#dragon age inquisition#dragon age#solas#can you tell i don't know how to tag#also is posting screenshots like this allowed?#ppl post tweets all the time here but i just hope im not being bad#i just didn't want to say op's explanation verbatim without crediting them pls im sorry
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I want to see Jameson's reaction to finding out that, for long stretches of time, the only way Peter could still be Spider-Man and keep himself afloat was the Daily Bugle.
I bet Jameson goes on long rants about who's funding this lowlife - It's you, dude! You're funding him!
#i don't think i give enough credit to how fucking funny this is#absolute power move on peter's parker#*peter's part lol#spiderman#marvel#my posts#all the anti-spiderman/ anti-mutant bigots financially supporting jameson#are actually lowkey funding peter too#and you know that would piss them off to no end
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Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.
Kamala 2024!
If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.
But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.
#personal#answered#anonymous#i mean let's be clear here no president is gonna attempt to be progressive ever again within my lifetime#because joe biden tried to do like 25% of that and got ZERO fucking credit#he did so much on healthcare on reform on loans on so many social issues and for all his litany of failings on i/p#he has been distinctly harsher on netanyahu than a good chunk of dems and certainly the entire republican party#for the first time since i was four we are not involved in any wars as americans and that is thanks to joe biden#but the thing is that he gets no credit for any of it!#him pulling out of afghanistan caused his approvals to tank in a way that never recovered#and leftists gave him FUCK ALL for it#they gave him nothing they just continued whining that even tho he cancelled a bajillion in student loans#he didn't actually cancel a QUADRILLION dollars so both parties are the same and voting is the most arduous task known to man#no democrat who is running is going to forget that catering to leftist/progressive policies gets them zero leeway with those supporters#that it not only tanks numbers but you still get constant haranguing about it anyway#so they're not gonna do it#we are gonna get fuckall for at least a good fifty years#and anything we get will be utterly in SPITE of people like you anon it will happen in spite of everything you've done#mostly because of people like me and mine who understand that voting is the bare minimum#and that for the democratic process to work the way you want it to you need to participate and not pitch a fucking fit#like a four year old who was told they can't go to disney this weekend#like i know you ratfuckers are happy this played out because this is all a game to you and you don't actually care#but that's why i've got zero faith in you people and why i'm glad it's my kind of folks#actual die hard democrats who have always been hardliners for supporting democrats in every possible election#who are picking up the slack and donating to harris and supporting her agenda#which is the exact same as biden's because she's his vice president and they share they same platform#because that's what they were both running on! twice!#anyway fuck you please feel free to find a necktie and test how tall your doorframe is
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🌟🍬🤖🎈Congrats to Wonderlands x Showtime for finishing their 4x4!🌟🍬🤖🎈
#project sekai#prsk#tsukasa tenma#emu otori#nene kusanagi#rui kamishiro#wonderlands x showtime#wxs#the 4x4 is four rounds of four characters' songs if that wasn't obvious#also please don't ask me what happened to the colors i do not know everything got WAY paler on export#i color picked everything i swear#anyways i love wxs so much and i wanted to draw something serious for this huge milestone of so many songs that i adore#i was initially planning on doing this for every band but if you can imagine making four gifs from scratch is actually a lot of work#i do probably have a bit of time before honami 4 comes out (mixed first + 3DMV) though so maybe i'll still do it idk#but i'm proud of myself for having finished this#wish i had remembered to add a watermark but it would take way too much work to fix it now so. please remember me.....#(and don't repost without credit :) )#my art#fanart#if the gifs are out of sync i am so sorry i have no idea how to fix that. this is my first time posting gifs :(#i hope they will be fixed
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Natasha: Hey, no more coffee for you, kid. It'll stunt your growth. Peter: Respectfully Ms. Romanoff I don't think I'll take your advice for being healthy. Natasha: Young man when I was your age- Peter: You were getting injured and then drinking vodka instead of going to Medical. Natasha: What? No... who told you that. Peter: Maria Natasha: Shit.
#i don't know how to tell you this is canon but this is canon#credit: hurtspideyparker#peter parker#natasha romanoff#maria hill#spider man#black widow#mama spider#incorrect peter parker#incorrect natasha romanoff#incorrect avengers#incorrect mama spider#incorrect spiderman quotes
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months ago, while mindlessly scrolling through twitter, i came across an analysis of this particular panel from chapter 434 (i can’t remember who wrote the thread, i’m so sorry </3), and i really want to talk about it too.
(EDIT: original author of the thread is @goingbuggy!!! go check out their metas, they're amazing)
the thread was focusing on the way the speech bubble covers shanks's scar completely, and how it can be seen as a sign of vulnerability. oda is using shanks’s own words to hide his suffering, letting his physical scars be representative of his emotional ones, even though the event he’s talking about is completely unrelated to the way he got his scar.
in fact, we know shanks is not ashamed of the scar, since just a couple of pages after this one he mentions it directly as a way to start the conversation about blackbeard:
he doesn’t have a problem with the marking itself, it’s just used as a narrative device, a tool to highlight (in an extradiegetic way) his emotional wounds and the pain he always tries so hard to hide, in an effort to keep his usual composure.
the original author of the thread compared the panel from chapter 434 to another, way older one, from the very first chapter:
this takes place right after shanks loses his left arm to save luffy’s life. it’s obviously a very emotionally charged moment, which means the best thing to do would be showing a close-up of shanks’s reaction to everything that’s unfolding in front of him at that moment (luffy’s cries, or even his own reaction to his sacrifice). oda, however, chooses not to do that; instead, he hides half of shanks’s face, just like he did in chapter 434. the way the moment is portrayed tells the reader shanks is willing to hide his pain in an even deeper way than what he’s showing by smiling at luffy right after getting his arm chopped off.
it’s a great way to explain an important characteristic without stating it right away. it's a focal point of shanks's character: it's his way of showing luffy he cares about him and would much rather hide his suffering than pass it onto him, but it's also oda's way of conveying that shanks is much more vulnerable than what he allows himself to show.
having said that, the reason oda chose to bring back this framing in chapter 434 appears obvious: shanks misses buggy.
it’s plain to see, especially if we look at the whole page.
shanks tries so hard to act collected when talking about buggy, but it’s obvious that he’s hurting. his wording makes it clear he’s trying to detach from him (“that’s the end of it” + “rumors have it”); he acts like buggy doesn’t exist in his thoughts anymore, when it’s obvious he still does. he feels remorse, he regrets letting buggy go. he’s scared he might have been in the wrong. he knows he hurt buggy, but he desperately wishes he didn’t.
all of this weighs on him in a way he isn’t used to, so he locks these feelings up, thinking of them only in relation to something that happened in the past, and as so, stays in the past. he smiles while talking about him and buggy, but it’s a remorseful smile. he cuts the conversation short even though he vividly remembers what happened between them, and as he does so, his words hide the scar. he desperately tries to patch things up in his mind by exclusively clinging onto the good memories they share, but the remorse always creeps up on him. he always smiles when talking about buggy, even when he’s talking directly to him. but his smile always ends up looking sour.
this is exactly why i hate it when people say shanks doesn’t care about buggy. oda wouldn’t have given these panels so much depth if he didn’t want to show just how much shanks actually cares. even just the fact the panel we are focusing on directly mirrors a panel from the first chapter, one so important and impactful, should tell you everything you need to know.
buggy will always be shanks’s weakness. caring so much about someone when you’re a pirate of that caliber is difficult in itself, even more so when that someone is so far away from you now.
#one piece#shuggy#red haired shanks#buggy the clown#shanks#buggy#one piece meta#? i guess?#if you're the author of the original thread please PLEASE tell me so i can credit you properly!!!#fun fact: whitebeard mentions shanks's missing arm right after he's done talking about buggy. that's funny right#the fact oda chose to bring back That framing for shuggy is so positively insane to me#star yaps#i. still don't know how tumblr works
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Kirby deals with existential crisis and Bandana is a good friend
#kirby#kots#kirby of the stars#kirby fanart#hoshi no kirby#king dedede#bandana waddle dee#gooey#i like the fact that gooey is canonically Kirby's roomie and we never see him therr#i don't think even Kirby knows where he goes#he's like a wild cat you let live in your house but still manages to go out and returns when it wants#did you know gooey means everything to me#everyone's pal gooey#enough about gooey let's talk trauma#Kirby's existential crisis is my favorite subtextual overall narrative from the kirby novels#it's so good how Kirby is always a bit uncomfortable every time they find someone who looks like them#and no one makes them feel worse than void#i think Kirby understood more about void than we give them credit for#and if you ask me why does Kirby have nightmares despite being inside of Dreamland and around the fountain of dreams#the answer is idk#anyway bandana is really perceptive about it#marx is an asshole as always#i wish Kirby's fear and inadequacy could be explored more#they're only hinted at by the novels#but i know Kirby saw themselves in Galacta Knight#the novels confirmed Galacta used the allies sparkler when defeating void termina and the sparkler represents something objectively pure#so my favorite hc is that Kirby was born after the heroes of yore defeated void and star allies draws parallels to that giving you og Kirby#Kirby defeated void and got friends Galacta got imprisoned for eternity#i wonder if Galacta went through the same identity crisis Kirby went through but Galacta sealed with it worse#anyway nothing bad will happen to Kirby after all they have tons of friends to rely on
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dream i had
#i don't know how to explain this other than assure you everything i say in the image is real and true.#i saw this in my dream and it pissed me off so much i woke up. stupid fucking idea.#if anyone actually likes it you're free to do whatever just don't credit me LOL#king dedede#kirby series#“panic why are you a nun on discord”#how about that's NUN of your business LOL.
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I honestly wonder if maybe it angers Elain that the gifts she receives from Lucien are so perfect for her. This male, who really doesn't know her at all on a personal level, still seems to have this innate knowledge of what she likes and might choose for herself. She forces herself to reject and ignore the gifts so as not to lend him any sort of credit because how dare he know her so well when she's tried so hard to push him away? To enjoy the gifts on any level probably feels like giving in.
#idk just a thought#🤷♀️#perhaps she's too stubborn to admit she likes them#you know that feeling when someone you dont like does something good and you don't wanna give them the credit lol#maybe im talking out my ass tho#that's also a possibility#pro elucien#elucien#elucien supremacy#pro lucien vanserra#lucien vanserra#Elain x lucien#lucien x elain#pro elain#girl I know how you feel#sjm#acotar#sarah j maas#elain archeron#lucien acotar
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*gasp* ITS THE PERSON WITH THE SICK DOG ANTHRO DESINGS AND INTERESTING AS FUCK LORE WHO'S ART I FOUND UNCREDITED ON PINTEREST!! I HAVE FOUND YOU IN THE WILD! FUCK YEAH
.
#hello hello!#glad to hear you found me!#and thank you for the compliments!#how did you know about the lore though? I mostly save lore rambles for tumblr only#answered#fox0war#I still don't love the fact my art gets uploaded to pinterest without credits or proper sourcing#but it's nice to hear people out there are liking it#if you wish to get your anthro dog art fresh from the oven I'm also on twitter (kalpeakoira) and bsky (canisalbus)#and there's also instagram (kalpeakoira) but I consistently fail at keeping it up to date so it's mostly inactive#but tumblr has the best coverage out of all these you're not missing out on anything if you only follow me here#oh wait except the mature artwork I can't post that here tumblr doesn't allow it
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you ain't gotta pray for me and my wild boy and all this wild joy ~
#taylor swift#but daddy i love him#the tortured poets department#the eras tour#I don't know if I like this whole album but this song and its performace is just..#acually most of her performce in the eras tours are very creative and just very right for every song#you might not like her but she is talented singer is a fact#like look how she describes how chill she would be when she's in love no matter how bad the boy might be#because it's her choice#she is her own heaven and her hell too#minding her own business#fancam is credited to camillezorel thank you#I put my heart into every gifset I’ve made
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if i just told you i love you would this world change
#witch hat tag#orufrey#these kinda suck lol i feel like i cant draw right now *irritated sigh* BUT I FEEL EMOTIONS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#if you are gay go watch good omens season 2 right now. NO YOU DONT KNOW THO!!!!!!!!!#i know being this affected by good omens is probably cringe. I dont care any more. the last 1 minute of good omens season 2 was#some of the most affecting acting i've ever seen in my life. sometimes someone acts with the force as if their entire career led to that#like during the credits part the very end im not even talking about before that. holy god#aziraphale i know everything about you. i know what you are feeling right now. i can see everything on your face. we're going to make it#ER.... NOT THAT THIS HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS POST. IT'S NOT SPOILERS !!!!!!!!!!!!!#I JUST FEEL THOROUGHLY CHANGED !!!!!!!!!!! SHIT GETS REAL FROM NOW ON.. LIKE IN GENERAL! IN MY LIFE!#tormented gay love tormented gay love TORMENTED GAY LOVE TORMENTED GAY LOVE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#btw the first 3 images were drawn earlier with an entirely different feeling and an entirely different mood.#Why do you keep pulling away from me?#It is because i love you that i do this#the lyrics from one of my japanese orufrey songs (A SONG THAT THE CREATOR LISTENS TO!!!!) led to feelings#“あなたが知らない私を残さず見ててほしいの” but i'm not translating it cause it just sounds weird. if with his eyes oru's asking “WHY don't you want#to let me in? to see all of you?“ those lyrics are like ”I actually want you to see every last bit of the parts of me you don't know“#oru you have no idea how much i want to lay bare my whole soul for you#maybe it's an alternate version of chapter 40. to me#i need to draw something really fucking good or i'm not going to forgive myself. i will not rest in this life#until i have made the orufrey that fully satisfies me nor until i have seen what the manga is leading to#NO STORY MEANS ANYTHING WITHOUT TORMENTED GAY LOVE AT THE HEART OF IT. THATS THE HEART OF THIS WORLD!!!!!#........... so Hi im normal :) haha *goes and finally makes breakfast*
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Zoro Stage Actor - Painting Study
#yesterday i forgot that it was friday and i´m TRYING to post drawings every friday sooo here is this little practice c:#Normally i don't do realistic paintings and i don't paint realistic humans but i really wanted to try that again 😅#(and of course i had to find a way of including one piece in that lol)#but i really like how this looks !! normally i find this type of art difficult but i had fun painting this .. it was relaxing#also ngl i think that this Zoro Stage Actor is BEAUTIFUL ..god.. in my opinion he is THE PERFECT Zoro 😭💚✨#well in general the stage actors are really pretty 💖#zoro#roronoa zoro#one piece#one piece fanart#op zoro#zoro op#my drawings#diamondsheep art#i hope i did Zoro's actor some justice with this#also i would like to link/credit the person who took this photo but i searched EVERYWHERE and i can only find a pinterest thig :(#but if someone knows pls tell me
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