#anyway this scene OBLITERATES me

[indistinctchatt3r]

The way Sol can't bring himself to believe that Osha killed Indara, even with the overwhelming amount of evidence. The way he knew with such certainty that she was alive, because he would've felt it somewhere and somehow if she had died. The way he couldn't believe the little girl he'd saved, raised, and fought for had killed someone. The way he interferes because he can't handle her being treated like a criminal. The way he initially refuses to consider the idea that Mae was alive, but as soon as Osha proposes the same theory, he instantly believes her. The way his face breaks with relief and he can't help but smile at the sight of her. The way he would rather blame himself for Osha's circumstance rather than let her in any way blame herself. The way he can't help but stare and reminisce and regret. The way his heart would so clearly do anything for her but that's the one thing he's forbidden from doing.

[chantryexplosion]

they <3

[nerdyqueerr]

Ok done Knightriders posting for tn. You all need to stop thirsting over that background clown acrobat guy btw what the hell is wrong with you people

[savagewildnerness]

Let’s breakdown this scene…

Lestat, playing piano: bent over, lost in the world of the music - out of this world entirely. Louis sees a broken thing playing a plank of wood. A far cry from the proud, splendid creature he once knew.

(From Interview with the Vampire) "My eyes widened as I studied this stooped and shivering vampire whose rich blonde hair hung down in loose waves covering his face.”

Side note from me, as I love to talk about things that make The Vampire Chronicles appealing to me. Some people seem to be of the view that they wouldn’t desire immortality, only to be these sad, lonely, melancholic creatures… but I have always felt this way myself - even when I was a tiny child, long before I read The Vampire Chronicles. There has always been an innate loneliness and isolation to me deep inside. I don’t think you’d necessarily know it to meet me, mind! I am a smiley person! I like to do childlike, fun things. I try to bring happiness, not gloom to the world.

However, my instinct has always been to retreat into my own, wordless, unbound imagination, and to feel entirely alone, in truth. And still, I am. As a child, I felt more the weight of the world as if I were already 1000 years old. Now, loss of hope that comes with time is both sadder, scarier and, in its way, more freeing.

Anyway - imagine having infinite time and so being able to truly drift out of existence for decades. It’s such an appealing concept to me. I know Lestat is very sad here, but the idea of this kind of true escape… oh how I yearn for it. To let the world crumble around me. To step out of existence for some decades, with the possibility of return, not the reality as it is in mortal life that that is you falling through cracks you’ll never crawl out of ever again…

Lestat names Louis, reflexively when asked who said “hello”. He hasn’t turned to see Louis yet. To Lestat, Louis died 50 years ago. He is a ghost, surely? Lestat’s voice has a flat affect here. He isn’t thinking. He is merely reacting.

When Lestat first looks at Louis, I see fear:

- Does Louis really exist?

- What will Louis do?

- Must Lestat be drawn back into the world here? To acknowledge reality?

(From IWTV) “`I've dreamed of your coming . . . coming. . ' he said.”

Lestat asks Louis if he’d like a rat, as if he were a hallucination still, more than real-Louis. I think Lestat knows Louis is real when he speaks, but he’s still only half in reality himself.

Louis says “I’ve come to see you”, but Lestat is still half in his own constructed world with his music and Argerich… I love how Lestat hugs and caresses his plank-piano, drawing it into himself, as if drawing music in to himself. Me too, Lestat. Me too. I adore how Rolin and all added music to this scene. It isn’t there in the books. Of course it makes a through-line for rock star Lestat, but it is a deep love of Lestat’s and I am SO HAPPY with this addition!

I know a lot of people find “Siri, pause…” funny, but I must be a weird human, as I just find it oddly poignant. Like did people watch and laugh at this moment? This feels like when I go to see a play and people all laugh at something and I don’t laugh, then some other thing I laugh out loud at, but nobody else is laughing. And this is why I can’t do memes or any popular thing. SIGH. ANYWAY!!!

The way Lestat puts the keyboard up on front of himself, like a shield as Louis moves closer, his breathing growing ragged. Lestat genuinely scared… as though Louis’ mere presence might obliterate him if he gets too close. And of course, he does not know why Louis is there. Is he there to kill him? Does it matter if he is? He should kill him. He could too, right now. The emotional support piano becomes a protective plank.

But what Lestat is not expecting is Louis’ kindness, care, worry and empathy.

“Did you save my life in Paris?”

And now we get the first glimmer of the old Lestat as Lestat lifts his chin, shakes his head, tries to be nonchalant and to muster up his old pride, maintain any pride he still possesses. He immediately dismisses Louis’ niceness with a self-criticism as he truly perceives that he put Louis in danger by not protecting him from Armand. Responsibility in Nicolas’ death, and, he thinks, in Louis’.

Lestat is defensive. His unspoken mantra, “Don’t see me. Don’t see the real me, Louis. I cannot take it. Not right now.” Lestat is almost begging Louis to tell him he hates him, as he’s imagined Louis’ hate all these years… I fear halluci-Louis may not have been the kind, loving vision for Lestat that DreamStat was for Louis…?

A side note again: Lestat’s “All hail me” gave me a full-on spontaneous existential crisis. Folks, does Lestat say “All hail me” in the books? I hope not! Because for as long as I remember, in appropriate circumstances, I say “All hail me” and obviously it’s a turn of phrase, but I had a sudden heart stopping moment where, with a chill, I thought *Did I get that from Lestat?!* Am I entirely even my self at all?! Am I merely a manifestation of all the art I have ever consumed? Am… I… Armand!?!?!??!! Oh MY! I don’t think Lestat says this in the books though, right? Right!?!?

Well, Lestat puts his piano-plank down, terrified Louis might show him love. Craving it. Fearing it.

“Been enduring here?” Lestat is truly proud now. He will not admit his pain. As if not speaking it could make it invisible when it’s plain all about - from within him and without. It is *very* Lestat when questioned on the pain in his soul or shown that it has been seen to be like “I am FINE” & to think that’s how he comes across to others, when really of COURSE they see how broken he is. And then he bemoans that nobody will let him be broken, when he himself struggles to be broken other than when alone or on the page.

“I didn’t know it was a gift.” - Lestat is still wary. Still expecting hate from Louis here… unable yet to fully accept and understand…

Then Louis begins to say the only things Lestat has ever wanted to hear and know from Louis - thanking Lestat for the gift of vampiric immortality, showing he understands the beauty of it and intends to value that and use it… & Lestat is done for; broken open from here. He still, for a moment tries to fight back with “Shall we list all the ways we have wronged each other…” etc. But really, Lestat can now no longer maintain ay facade. Louis has opened him up.

And now we are open to Lestat’s thoughts for the last half-century. Armand erases Louis’ suicide attempt from his mind, but it is the first thing Lestat asks about. In his mind he has replayed for 5 decades how Louis is dead and it is his fault.

Sam and Jacob are so brilliant and beautiful as they open to each other in this scene. Claudia. Grief. Pain. Then, love. Broken-Lestat is particularly too much - holding on to responsibility over Claudia’s fate and how she looked at him at the end and he did nothing… and Louis, trying to take away and share the burden. Louis - so empathetic… and as they move through grief to love, words fall away (or become too personal to matter) and the storm outside echoes the storm of their hearts and their love.

(From IWTV) ““…And as I looked down at him, as I saw his yellow hair pressed against my coat, I had a vision of him from long ago, that tall, stately gentleman in the swirling black cape, with his head thrown back, his rich, flawless voice singing the lilting air of the opera from which we'd only just come, his walking stick tapping the cobblestones in time with the music, his large, sparkling eye catching the young woman who stood by, enrapt, so that a smile spread over his face as the song died on his lips; and for one moment, that one moment when his eye met hers, all evil seemed obliterated in that flush of pleasure, that passion for merely being alive.

" Was this the price of that involvement? A sensibility shocked by change, shrivelling from fear? I thought quietly of all the things I might say to him, how I might remind him that he was immortal, that nothing condemned him to this retreat save himself, and that he was surrounded with the unmistakable signs of inevitable death. But I did not say these things, and I knew that I would not.

" It seemed the silence of the room rushed back around us, like a dark sea…””

Bonus: misprint in my TVL copy!

(From TVL) “Louis had come finally to this very place and seen me through the windows. I tried to imagine it. Louis alive. Louis here, so close, and I had not even know it. I think I laughed a little. I couldn’t keep it clear in my mind that Louis wasn’t burnt up. But it was really wonderful that Louis still lived. It was wonderful that there existed still that handsome face, that poignant expression, that tender and faintly imploring voice. My beautiful Louis surviving, instead of dead and gone with Claudia and Nick.

But then maybe he was dead. Why should I believe Armand?”

[waltricia]

Bridgerton season 2 episode 3, “A Bee in Your Bonnet” is ✨magic✨ and let me tell you why.

For those of us who didn’t read the book and knew nothing of what was going to happen, we truly went on an incredible and surprising roller coaster of an experience.

We start the episode with seeing the guy from Hellboy and being like ‘oh yay, it’s the guy from Hellboy!’

… only for him to die three minutes later. And that scene is rough. It’s sudden and abrasive. And the sounds are jarring. The death is scored by tense strings. Then a moment of quiet. Then the AMAZING Ruth Gemmell begins taking us on Violet’s traumatic grief journey, which starts with her jolting Anthony (and us) out of the quiet.

And a thunderous heartbeat threatens him as he walks toward this entirely altered, unwanted life path. And that’s obviously the beginning of his PTSD.

In the other flashbacks throughout the episode, we continue to hear horrific, heart-rending pain radiate out of Violet while Anthony must not only attempt to endure it, but cover his own grief. Anthony and his siblings (and again, we the audience) all have to listen to Violet grieve while she’s giving birth! Screams on top of screams.

And the last flashback is technically quiet, but just as devastating because, like the moment of Edmund’s death, the quiet is weaponized. It signifies the death inside Violet.

It should go without saying that Jonathan Bailey is also a brilliant actor, but I’ll say it now anyway. Damn, he good! He and Ruth partnered perfectly in this grief journey. Serious props to them both because I felt this shit.

And then finally we come to the end. We had been immersed in the horrible aftermath of that striking tragedy. Between the flashbacks- in the present day- we had followed Anthony through the rooms and grounds where he had suffered silently. We had seen Edmund’s grave. We had learned that Anthony’s greatest fears and insecurities all stemmed from that tragic event ten years prior.

And then another fucking bee comes along.

And I swear to god, the first time I watched this, when Kate got stung, my heart was pounding, I was terrified, and my instinctive reaction was “oh my god, is she going to die?!” In hindsight, it’s obviously insane to think that she would be killed off at all, let alone in this scene. But the very fact that, for a moment, that was a legitimate fear I had is exactly why this episode is so god damn brilliant. I felt what Anthony felt. And I’m not the only one! I’ve seen other people’s similar reactions to this scene. The episode really is a roller coaster; easy, lighthearted moments (pall mall, drug tea), interspersed with the terrifying drops and loops that are Anthony’s painful memories which constantly haunt him. And then it brought us right back to that first traumatic moment. Because Anthony has PTSD! And that’s what PTSD does. Anthony is right back where he was, literally not far from the same spot outside Aubrey Hall, standing in front of a person he loves, watching them get stung by a bee on almost the same spot on their body. The tense string scoring comes back and Anthony panics because he’s completely helpless again.

And all of those elements- the setting, the scoring, the acting- combined to terrify us and make us forget something critical: most people don’t die from beestings.

And here’s where it gets really profound for me. Because it’s not just about how we feel Anthony’s fear. It’s also about how Kate completely obliterates it. Without knowing that history and without realizing the full extent of what her actions would mean, she does exactly the right thing. Rather than die and rather than also panic or shy away from his vulnerability, she meets it with her own in the form of care and steady assurance, which is true strength. And in so doing, she stops this cyclical moment in its tracks and completely alters the trauma. She puts his hand on her heart, and the heartbeat comes back. But this time, it’s not threatening. It’s inviting.

And just like in the first scene, the moment is over all too quickly. Just like in that scene, Anthony is thrust onto a new path. But where that moment was damaging, this one is healing. And we feel that too. And it’s the greatest experience that art can give us.

It’s catharsis.

And that’s why this episode is magic. 🐝✨

[eremin0109]

not including a kabedon scene between wade and logan was such a missed opportunity.

just imagine them standing on the street just before the deadpool corps show up, wade yapping loudly about shit when logan smells danger. as the first of deadpools start pouring in, logan mutters a "fuck" under his breath and quickly grabs wade by the arm and drags him towards the donut cart. he roughly pushes him against its door, putting his large hand over wade's masked lips, glaring down at him. "shut the FUCK up" logan mouths, their bodies pressing together in a tight fit as more and more footsteps shuffle outside from the portal.

at this point, wade's face (and his crotch, naturally) has gone through an entire journey. from startled to shocked to "bitch let go of me" to "oooh are we bouta kiss rn" to...well tumblr is a stinky ol' prude and hates smexy times so we will just leave it at that. use your imagination, kids.

anyway so that's how wade ends up being pinned against the rusty metal of the donut cart, hands firmly resting (he was grabbing two handfuls) on logan's ass, wraggling the weird pseudo eyebrows on his mask every which way. logan grit his teeth, knowing well that the shameless freak is enjoying every second of this. credit where it's due though, wade was as still as a leaf on a windless day. bastard was real obedient when he wanted to be. not that logan was gonna spare more than 3 seconds to decipher what THAT made him feel.

"stop that, right fucking now" logan growled, when the groping turned to outright prodding, not proud of how the words came out strained. like this was actually affecting him. as if. AS fucking IF—

"thought we were playing the quiet game, peanut?"

logan feels wade's lips shift into a shitfaced smirk underneath his palm. suffice to say, when wade's balls get obliterated with seven inches of hard adamantium, it's entirely deserved.

[a-lesbianshadowinthenight]

i don’t think this scene will ever stop emotionally obliterating me. there’s so much that builds up to this moment, you can almost see the moment lupe knows that she has to talk about it, and you can see how painful it is, how it’s still painful to think about her daughter, so much so that she pushes away and dismisses esti because she reminds lupe of her.

in the earlier car scene, before esti crashes, it’s like lupe finally sees how much she’s been contributing to esti feeling alone, that it’s been hurting her. she seems surprised to even learn that esti just turned 17, and you can see the moment it clicks for her. she could have been thinking about herself at 17—how much she needed someone the way she could have been there for esti. but it was too painful for her, it might have felt easier to pretend she didn’t care, to keep her distance, to hide away her pain behind anger.

but she realises the impact that it’s had, how esti had to grow up too fast just like she did, but she’s still a kid who just wanted to feel less alone. who saw lupe and thought lupe would be just as excited to have someone on the team who speaks spanish. except she ends up feeling more alone because lupe brushes her off time and time again, even when esti is trying to help her.

“it’s like seeing her and not seeing her.” is the most gut wrenching line—she’s reminded of alma but simultaneously reminded that she can’t see her. having that reminder be constantly present would have been hard to handle, how difficult it must have been, to be expected to care for and be the sole person responsible for esti when she was told by her parents that she would screw up her own kid, when esti’s a reminder of that child that got taken away.

the way lupe looks at her kills me, because it’s like she finally lets herself feel the pain of it, without the anger, without the defence mechanisms that she normally uses to disguise it.

then esti hugs her and lupe doesn’t expect it but she realises how much she needed it. it shifts something, because she immediately jumps into caring mode when esti is cold, and you see so clearly the change in their dynamic. the start teaming up with each other, lupe looking at esti like a proud dad when she does her pep talk.

anyways, this scene is as beautiful as it is devastating, and i think just a really important moment for both lupe and esti. roberta and priscilla’s acting is just perfect in this scene, they both have such good control of their micro expressions. roberta conveys such deep pain and sadness with very subtle facial acting, priscilla crushing your heart without a word of dialogue is mind blowing. i wish we got to see more of their dynamic as it changed

[xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx]

It occured to me that Astrid's demonic birthing scene, while rife with symbolism and references, doubles as a political statement to the question of whether or not it's okay to sexualize fictional characters. Whether or not Lydia is allowed to age has been and still is a huge point of contention among fans. We have new babes coming in every day trying to lay down rules for shipping beetlebabes, adamant that underage content is. Idk. Distasteful? Idk how these babes think, I've been here for too long and I have good taste.

Anyway, in one fell swoop Tim obliterated the absurd idea that Astrid isn't allowed to age or fuck or give birth. And I think that was really cool.

[morningstarwrites]

I love your work so much, all the scenes are so wonderfully written. So if I may ask, how do you do it? Keep writing vastly worded elegant chapters with authentic emotions in a week? How do you keep yourself motivated and managed?

Omg thank you, you are too sweet 😭 The short answer is:

Binge-write like a possessed person

Doubt everything I type

Post it anyway

And the long(er) answer is:

Organization: I have an outline for each chapter, and I'm not afraid to delete stuff if it's not flowing well. I've legit obliterated hundreds of pages at this point LOL

Writing elegantly: I think a lot of it just boils down to I LOVE READING/WRITING AND I LOVE ENGLISH!!! I'm basically always at the library reading something

Emotions: I pull from real life experiences. If I'm not certain, I research about it. Also, I'm a huge romantic, which goes without saying amirite??

Motivation: I work best with a deadline, which is why I set Fridays as my posting day, TBH if I didn't, I don't think I could have written so much!

Special shout out to: MY READERS! It makes me happy that somewhere out there, someone wants to read my writing. So I persist!

[epicfirestormer]

Okay look, I've never really read Greek mythology (my only exposure is EPIC the musical and I've never read The Odyssey or The Illiad so bear with me) but I feel like Odysseus is cursed to always suffer. Not in the same sense Cassandra or Sisyphus are actually cursed, but in an almost unwritten rule sort of thing. Like, how much of an unlucky bastard do you gotta be to constantly be thrown around by one god to another. How are the gods so involved in his life. First is Athena, which fair enough, she chose him as her champion. That one wasn't a problem. But then he runs into Polyphemus, who is POSEIDON'S SON. which, talk about unlucky. then he runs into Aeolus, which also wasn't actually a problem until the crew fucked around and found out with the wind bag, then he runs into Actual Poseidon, gets most of his crew obliterated and then yeeted to CIRCE'S island after that, because of course he does. Only after he found out his leftover crew ran into Circe of all people and was about to go confront her, does he run into Hermes who genuinely has no reason to be here and doing all this besides maybe helping his great grandson and also for entertainment purposes. Then he runs into Circe and it turns out she's pretty chill actually when she realized that he really just wants to go home and not stick around to do anything bad. Anyway, they don't run into any gods for like a saga and a half, which is a new record really, but shit still goes wrong because Of Course It Does and THEN Eurylochus tries to kill one of Helios' cows and then fucking ZEUS comes in to chime in and give Ody the illusion of choice (where he'll suffer no matter what he chooses). Zeus is literally just taking the piss out of this whole thing, and when Odysseus makes his choice, he STILL gets fucked over by being sent to CALYPSO'S island and being stuck there for SEVEN YEARS. Like, at that point it's just Zeus being petty. I'm more surprised that we don't have more scenes of Odysseus breaking down in tears during the entire musical. He's just being used like a ragdoll and thrown around.

Like. Odysseus' story is only a tragedy for everyone involved. It's actually a comedy of error for all the gods who are watching.

[devilart2199-aibi]

IDW collection reading update! :D 📖 (Fixed!)

Phase 2 volume 4 done! This volume included: Monstrosity, RID issues 12-18 and MTMTE issues 14-16!

I ended up reading all the way to Phase 2 volume 6 before finishing this update so my notes are a bit scattered! Anyway! As usual my thoughts are below :3 ⤵️

Monstrosity:

This story is set in the past, when Optimus has assumed leadership on Cybertron after the senate and pervious primes were killed.

This story is, I dunno... For some reason I can't really get into these?? It feels... edgy?? Idk, I feel like that's not the best way to describe it. But there's something about the vibe with these ones in the past (like Autocracy and this one).

Of course everyone is becoming the characters we know since this is in the past. So there is going to be a lot of fumbling and growing from them and things that seem out of character. But given their situation at the time, i can't be super harsh on odd decisions.

They have to deal with the senate and their corruption, as well as that from the previous primes, the Decepticons uprising and wanting to take over, Cybertron running out of resources aaaaand I feel like something else I can't remember rn 🤔 but a lot is going on!! Haha.

There is a scene that references the OG animated movie where they toss Megatron out of Astrotrain and he goes "I still function...!" Which was a pretty cool homage tho.

But this kinda felt like a whole way to just show how badass Megs is meanwhile Optimus is going through it on Cybertron 😂 It was entertaining and interesting at parts, but some things I was 'eh' about

RID: 12-16:

Before i go on, I'm sorry, but... this Megs panel is giving me the same energy as that little alien guy that was in the news months ago 🤣 Now actually⤵️

Megatron returns!! This story was very entertaining!! I feel like I can usually guess where something is going, but I was surprised by a lot of the twists here! There was so many!

The character deaths had me shook! 😭 Wheeljack ahhhh!!! Metalhawk!! Also everything with Prowl and the Constructions! O_O;

I'm sorry Prowl 😔 I was pretty surprised when they started killing off the Decepticons at first, but then went: "Well, I guess he's being super ruthless now" I couldn't see you were brainwashed!! 😭🗿To my defense, him teaming up with Arcee and given Arcee's record, it kinda seemed like the natural progression of things lol 💀

Two things I kinda have mixed feelings about tho are:

1. Arcee just casually being part of the Decepticon gang and no one questioning her being there?? She then easily kills the guy controlling Devastator and that was like... Megatron's big plan. Why didn't she do it sooner? I imagine it was to draw out Meg's, but still it seemed weird.

2. Starscream killing Metalhawk after Metalhawk came to save Starscream. It's in his character and everything, and I'm happy that he did it bc it shows who he is. But OOF I thought he was leaning a different way for a bit and that I had Starscream wrong, But no, he's greedy boy. (I was starting to like Metalhawk T_T)

Anyway! Good guy Swindle!! 🥹

MTMTE 14-16:

💀💀💀💀💀 BIG SAD. But!!! It was a super interesting story!! I really enjoyed learning about Overlord and Chromedome.

Chromedome becoming Trepan's apprentice in the past was crazy!! :O And the whole scene with him and Prowl in Prowl's office. When Prowl asks/threatens Chromedome to go into Overlord's mind 😙👌 *chef's kiss* GET 'EM CHROMEDOME!! 💪👊🔪

The whole thing about how the Phase Sixers are made was very interesting too!! This frame ⤵️ Meg's saying this made me lmao 😂 I can now see the thing between him and Overlord better now.

As for Overlord getting out and obliterating some of the crew... ughhhhh 😭😭😭 Pipes man!! Ratchet protecting the medibay was awesome. Best doctor 🚑😌

I was shocked during the fight with Overlord that Magnus got so injured!! I've read ahead already, but I was sweating it, I thought he was gonna die too 😭😭 Overlord goes right for your spark man 💀

Luckily they got Overlord back to his containment cell, but- 😭😭😭😭 LITTLE MAN 😭😭😭 Why'd he have to hop in there to get the sword??? OTL

Then Chromedome blowing it up once the cell disengaged from the ship 😭 It was a perfectly painful sequence! 👏

When I saw the scene with Whirl and the cannon/ blaster shooting asteroids, I knew it would come around 😔

Also!! Learning that Chromedome has had other deep connections with bots (idk if Brainstorm meant Conjunx' specifically) and given them his innermost energon before and that's why he's dry!! Excuse me as I sob 🤧🤧🤧🤧😭😭😭😭 and then he makes himself forget!!! UGHH OTL My heart man!

The tape that Rewind made too!! 😭🤧

Drift taking one for the team too by getting banished 😔 he's a real one. Also pls come back.

RID 17-18:

We got more Shockwave lore here and I'm a big Shockwave enjoyer so I was very happy!! More heartache of course tho 😢

Him pitching/making the Jhiaxian academy of advanced technology is huge. Then all the experiments he did once he was turned purple 💀💀💀

Him going to Dai Atlas and injuring him before the attack on the senate so that he would escape death was a cool surprise. He's still in there ;_; ahhhh.

There is another story that happens in current time where Bee gets turned into Goldbug, but I think he's called "Goldfire" here? 🤔 He really got injured during the whole thing with Meg's so they had to fix him up with pieces of his old earth form.

It was cool to see included in the story :3

Final Random Thoughts:

This volume had a bunch of great stories in it! And I learned quite a bit about characters I like!

Though it was sad, I'd say my favorite story was the mtmte one with Overlord (The Overlord arc?). The art is always fantastic and so is the story!

I look forward to reading more and I'll be making another reading update very soon since I'm already on volume 6!

I didn't want to lump them all together bc I like using images as the story breaks and Tumblr only let's you use 10 per post 😔 Also... I ramble quite a lot haha, so 3 volumes worth would definitely be too much! 😂

Anyway! See you next time! 👋

[cyb-by-lang]

Deluge Scrapped Scene

As a reminder, Deluge is the branch in the timeline where Shinso is the bonus hostage picked up by the League of Villains instead of Kei.

I cut this scene for redundancy, but it's fun on its own for being in Midnight's POV.

Kayama Nemuri jolted up when her phone vibrated on her desk, dislodging a pile of paperwork tall enough to form an avalanche. After a couple seconds to find the purple liquid glitter case amid the disaster, she flipped her phone upright and blinked at the caller ID. 

Giving out her working phone number to her homeroom was one of those choices Nemuri didn’t make lightly, but she was determined to be available in a crisis like any hero. She carried it into the field during nighttime patrols, which meant she might respond even faster than police in some cases. Knowing that one of her students was a disaffected child soldier had, if anything, reinforced her belief that making time for them was vital. Plus Ultra, after all. 

“Midnight speaking. Gekkō-san, is everything all right?” 

“No, Kayama-sensei,” was said in such a wretched tone that Nemuri shot to her feet and grabbed her whip off the rack on her desk. Someone was going to feel the business end of it by the end of the night. 

Transferring the call to her wireless headphones and then tucking her phone into her costume, Nemuri said, “Talk to me, Gekkō-san. What’s wrong?” 

While staying late at UA wasn’t solving any problems, Nemuri hadn’t felt comfortable heading home while her friend was preparing to be lambasted by the press. Shōta waved off her offer of assistance with his damned tie, again, but she’d been among the teachers who waved him and Nezu into their chartered car to the broadcast studio. Sekijirō, Power Loader, Cementoss, and All Might were all still active, according to the teacher group chat, but she was pretty sure that no one was about to visit the staff room and interrupt her attempt to keep busy. 

And now she was headed for Power Loader’s most ambitious portal experiment like that’d give her a leg up on the situation. She wasn’t sure whether to thank or curse her sense of impending doom for giving her the option now. 

“I was just on a call with Shinsō-kun,” Gekkō mumbled, her voice tinny as Nemuri descended the nearly-empty building. 

Howling wind on Gekkō’s side obliterated any detail Nemuri might otherwise be able to get from listening to background noises on the call. Was her student out in public this late? Given the number of highly publicized villain attacks, Nemuri expected even Gekkō to be staying safe indoors. She was supposed to be avoiding any more stress. Every single red flag in Nemuri’s head was waving. 

The explanation surpassed all expectations, despite being relayed in Gekkō’s low, upset voice: “The League of Villains grabbed him.” 

Nemuri stumbled down the last two steps, one hand lashing out immediately to grab the handrail. Muffling a vicious curse against her whip, she took a breath to steady herself and then said, “You’re sure?” 

“Unless the League got rid of Compress and Toga Himiko and Kurogiri.” Gekkō let out a bitter laugh as cold as winter. It sounded like defeat. “I muted my phone when I realized what was going on. They…I heard them talking.” 

In what felt like a different life, Nemuri encouraged Shōta to join her in teaching at UA. As the homeroom teacher for 1-A, she’d been sure he’d train any student who showed promise into a real hero. His pragmatic views weren’t something Nemuri’s classes had time for, but she knew their value. And she’d winced when 1-A this year ran into villain after villain like some brutal carnival game, patterns emerging from effectively nowhere. It was brutal, unfair, and yet—some part of Nemuri was quietly, pathetically grateful that her students didn’t attract that level of attention. No more than the rest of UA. 

And now this. 

“Multiple pro heroes have been organized into strike teams on the League’s known bases,” Nemuri told Gekkō anyway, because she wasn’t supposed to encourage vigilantism even from her most wayward student. Even if she understood the impulse. Her heels clacked on the floor as she proceeded down the hall. “We’ll get him back.” 

Shinsō was Nemuri’s as much as he was Shōta’s, and fuck if Nemuri wouldn’t find out exactly when and where to crack some skulls. 

Toga Himiko, Compress, and Kurogiri. Nemuri didn’t need much of an imagination to work out how they might have worked together to kidnap Shinsō. With the Sports Festival as reference, it would have been as straightforward as stopping his Quirk—possibly with a knife to his throat or in his mouth—and shoving him through a portal, as long as they had the element of surprise. 

None of them were heavy hitters, but they didn’t have to be. 

And Nemuri was out of position and off the roster to help. Between that and their lived experiences, her reassurances to Gekkō rang utterly hollow even to her own ears.

“That’s assuming the League wants to recruit him,” Gekkō pointed out, sensing that doubt and seizing it. “And I don’t trust that. I can’t.” 

Nemuri’s heart went out to her class’s self-proclaimed misfit—who’d genuinely latched onto Shinsō like a mother bear with a new cub—and still, Nemuri didn’t want to risk her. They’d all just agreed to let Gekkō sit this fight out. This was too much. But at the same time, Gekkō’s brutal upbringing made basic considerations like “laws” hard to get through her skull on a good day. She understood them, but she didn’t prioritize in a way that let anyone rest easy once they knew about her motives. Nemuri’s contacts—specifically Nezu—left no ambiguity there, nor did Stain’s hypothermia. 

What Nemuri wouldn’t give to just let these kids be kids. 

“I already called Sensei,” Gekkō continued quietly, with just a touch of steel entering her voice. “I’m done sitting and waiting for things to get done.” 

Nemuri, opening the door at the exact moment Power Loader looked up at the powered-up portal generator, managed to avoid Gekkō’s mysterious “Sensei” by sheer chance. One moment there was empty air, and the next there was a man in grayscale standing between her and Power Loader. Only the faintest whisper of moving fabric served as a warning, and Nemuri suspected it was a courtesy to offer even that much. 

“Good evening, Power Loader and Midnight.” The stylized fox mask turned Nemuri’s way. In that same polite, upbeat tone, Gekkō’s nightmare teacher went on, “Or is it Maijima Higari-san and Kayama Nemuri-san when it’s this late?”

Clearly wrong-footed, Power Loader managed, “Who are you and how did you get in here?”

“I’m a teleporter and I’m a teleporter,” he replied, deadpan. The masked face turned toward Nemuri. “And I was looking for Kayama-san.” 

“Hero names will do,” Nemuri said firmly, before Power Loader could trip over himself figuratively while literally doing so. Again. “Though we don’t have one for you, at least not in that getup.” 

“‘Fox’ will do.” He bowed, just a fraction. “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, and I doubt All Might or Principal Nezu are currently available, given the circumstances,” said Fox. That masked face dipped a little, with the lip of the hood shadowing its top half with a palpable air of menace. “But my student called for help. What kind of teacher would I be if I refused?”  

“Agreed.” Nemuri tapped her earpiece, drawing Fox’s attention to it, and added, “My question is if you’ll follow our lead,” Nemuri said, waving her free hand to indicate UA and maybe this world in general, “or if you plan to tear off on your own.” 

“Good question,” Gekkō muttered in Nemuri’s ear. 

“Hm. Well, I’ll be right back with an answer.” With a quick salute, Fox vanished between one blink and the next. 

Dammit. 

There was a quiet beep as Nemuri’s call with Gekkō disconnected, which probably sufficed as an indicator of Fox’s teleportation range. From what Nemuri remembered, she lived within the city. They’d have to come up with something to augment that, or this mission was getting nowhere fast. 

Gekkō didn’t talk to the adults at UA about anything if she could avoid it. Even Gekkō’s consultations with Nezu and All Might were more mission-focused, from Nemuri’s understanding. She probably barely understood that the point of high school was to get an education and make friends. All of the trust prerequisite to that experience was lying broken on the floor long before UA.  

And now her best friend was missing. Kidnapped. Any faith that pro heroes could handle the situation just fine was dead on arrival, probably made even worse by the recent failure at the training camp.

God dammit.

“Midnight. Exactly how involved have you been in all of this?” Power Loader asked, once it was clear that Fox would not be coming back instantly. 

“His kid’s in my homeroom.” 

“Ah.” And with that, Power Loader clearly decided that more information was for people whose department budget wasn’t going violently up in flames every other day. 

With that, she pulled out her phone and scrolled down her contacts list until she found Eyesore Goggles, clicking the green call button. 

Shōta answered on the third ring. If her guess was right, he was either backstage or regretting his life choices or both. He was a multitasker.

“Nemuri, what—?”

“Is Principal Nezu next to you right now?” Nemuri asked sharply. “Because I have an update for the strike teams.” And, with the most gentle tone she could manage amid this new hell, she added, “The League attacked again. It’s Shinsō.” 

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 7 - A Thousand Flowers Could Bloom

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: It was inevitably going to happen...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, mild dom/sub undertones, frottage, dirty talk, light hair pulling and biting, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 4.3k (longest chapter to date, haha, is anyone surprised..)

Authors Note: A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, passions between Benedict and reader finally boil over. Yup, yup, the movie fades to black on the sex scene... I am not lolol. Please skip this chapter if you want to keep your reading PG-13/12A rated. There is no real plot here. Sorry it has taken me so long to write this; I got so nervous. Still not sure I like this very much. Thanks to ColetteBronte for the read through. Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

It's a blur as the kiss deepens; Benedict’s tongue glances yours, a tentative swipe before entwining. Something sweeps through your being, throwing you overboard, tossing you into a tsunami wave, your mind reeling as your hands stay limp by your side, still taken by surprise this is happening.

“Ben,” you stutter breathlessly when he withdraws fractionally.

“Don’t,” he growls, “don't you dare use that big brain of yours; just shut up.” His thumb is heavy on your cheek as he cups your jaw. “Just shut the fuck up for once in your bloody life.”

So, for once, you do just that. Letting your hands do the talking, looping around his neck to pull him back to you. That is the permission he needs, and suddenly, you are being spun around and pressed into your own hallway wall, him bearing the whole length of his being into you. You feel like you are drowning in him. He is all you can see, smell, and breathe. 

Then, he obliterates every thought you have. Hunching down mid-kiss, he insinuates a warm thigh between your knees. Then he stands up straight, the meat of his substantial quad muscle snagging the seam of your sleep shorts, your clit mashed into your public bone, throbbing.

You mumble a curse into his mouth as his fingers locate the tab on your hoodie. The only sound is the slow release of the zip as he tugs it down and your own shallow panting over his lips as he does so. He smiles dangerously as the material parts, dropping it off your shoulders to the floor so you stand in tiny shorts and a white vest. 

There is a noise in the back of his throat as his eyes sweep down briefly, lingering on your peaked nipples, then slender fingers wrap around the crest of your hipbones and flex, indicating he wants you to move. To ride the thigh that he has you dangling upon, up on your tiptoes.

“Use me,” he mutters like velvet. “Go ahead.”

“I….” You seem almost incapable of speech, too strung out on the tidal wave of chemicals racing around your body. “…need sex, please,” aware it sounds reedy.

He unwinds your hands from around his neck and pins them to the wall at shoulder height.

“Ride my leg, and then we will have sex,” he orders slowly, a knowing smirk on your cheekbone. “Come on; you don't think I can tell how much you need it?” He places a hot kiss on your skin. “You've been aching to come since you straddled me hours ago; don’t deny it.”

Fuckkkk…. 

This is what his ex, Gen, meant all those years ago. ‘Knees weak, pussy strong’ is how she paraphrased what he could do to her. You thought it was her exaggerating; now you realise it wasn’t. It’s like he’s a different person to the Ben that you know, but fuck if it isn't blisteringly hot.

So when he relinquishes your wrists, you wrap around him again, undulating on his leg, pressing your cheek into his, the friction of the layers of fabric adding to your arousal. It feels so good you speed up, grasping his neck.

“Yes, that’s it,” he pants approvingly in your ear, gripping your hips again in encouragement. With every stroke, you bump against a solid mass in his jeans, which makes you feel frantic and impatient for more. To come, to fuck, to do everything he will let you.

“Ben…” his name like honey, tumbling from your lips in your heightened state. You are too cowardly to lean back and look at him, see yourself reflected in his eyes; it feels too much like admitting this is real. Or perhaps you’re simply worried it will break this fevered spell, that he will put a stop to it, leaving you throbbing and bereft.

“Stop thinking,” he drawls, his breath hot on your temple, intuiting you are disappearing too much into your thoughts again, your pace slowing as you slide on him. He squeezes your hips roughly to the point you squeak. “Do you want me to order you to do it?” the voice lethally low. “Is that what you want?”

“I… I…” words fail. You have no idea. 

He pulls back to cradle your jaw again, tilting your face to look at him. His hazy blue eyes are dilated to inky black, and his lips are flushed dark pink. “Y/n,” slow, sensual, rumbling from his ribcage, his fingertips warm on your cheeks. “When I tell you to do something, I mean it. Do it.” His thumb swipes your bottom lip. “Right now.”

“Help me,” it’s a desperate uncensored whisper.

“What do you need?” He smiles predatorily, his eyes sparkling in the low light.

“Hold me down; be firm,” confessing your desires. “Control me a bit.” You’ve never divulged that proclivity to any past lover, the craving for something with a hint of roughness, a light tussle. And yet, with your best friend, you can’t help but let it tumble out of you.

And perfect, perfect Ben, god, he obliges. 

The hand on your hip digs in as the other slides around the globe of your bottom cheek, and you squeal as he spanks there with a harsh flick.

“I told you to ride my leg,” his directive clipped but somehow still laced with a laid-back bemusement, “so do it.”

It's so perfect you feel an urge to shake him and yell ‘yes’ and ‘this’. But instead, you bite your lip and do as bidden, riding the rough creases in his jeans, letting the texture catch your swollen clit in your thin cotton shorts. It feels so good you shudder, but still, you crave more.

“I want to ride your jeans naked.” Again, you cannot suppress your runaway tongue.

He makes a noise that is almost feral; a sizeable, warm hand slides up your spine underneath your vest, ruching the fabric until it snags on your breasts at the front. Without prompting, you release briefly to strip off the top, then immediately wind around him again like a vine. The soft cotton of his shirt snags delightfully on your nipples, and you can feel his body heat seeping through the thin material. Moaning your approval as his fingers splay wide, touching the sensitive skin of your lower back, right above your shorts.

“Take these off,” he runs a feathery touch above the waistband, the tone gruff and challenging.

He dips slightly and backs away a half pace, just enough to give you room to strip off the last of your clothing. He has not so much as undone a button, but the bulge in his jeans makes you swallow hard as you shimmy off your shorts. He probably wasn't expecting you to be without underwear, based on the noise he makes. You are grateful you have recently trimmed (for a failed date, as it turns out). 

As your shorts hit the floor, he dives in for another mindblowing kiss. And before you know it, you are hauled back onto his thigh, completely naked, the denim feeling so perfect against your aching clit.

“You are so close, aren’t you?” he groans as your heat and wetness seep through his jeans, engulfing his quad. 

All you can do in response is nod, mildly embarrassed, bury your face in his neck and move again in earnest, making faint noises into his skin. The drag of fabric on your engorged clit is so intoxicating you couldn't stop if you wanted to. He murmurs encouragements, touch searing your skin, just this side of painful; you will likely carry his fingermarks tomorrow.

“Come on, that's it,” he encourages, shifting his leg to increase your range of motion, pressing his erection into your hipbone as you crash into him.

Over and over, you ride, getting faster and faster, chasing the high that feels so tantalisingly close, your skin turning dewy with exertion, his body heat enveloping you. You need something to make you break, and he intuits it. One hand slides up your back to grasp the hair at the base of your skull.

“Give it to me,” he orders duskily, an untamed look in his eye, twisting his grip until your hair is taut against your scalp.

Then, the other hand leaves your hip and insinuates between your bodies, grabbing your breast and pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The rush of sensation, a little rough, just as you requested, hurls you past the edge you were skating. Convulsing on his leg, he keeps his hold on your hair and nipple as you snap. Eyes rolling closed as you cry his name and curse, coming so hard the world goes fuzzy. Shuddering and shaking, him moving to brace your body upright with him as you writhe.

“That's it, yesssss,” his victorious hiss in your ear is breathy and impressed. 

There are a few moments of silence as you return to the room, so marvellously sated but somewhat mortified about what has just transpired.

“I…. I can't believe I did that,” you mutter into his skin, almost ashamed, even as your body still quivers from the best orgasm you can remember in many months.

“You were amazing,” he reassures into your ear.

“Don't ask me to look you in the eye,” you jest lightly, lips skimming his throat, unwilling indeed to meet his eye.

He chuckles, loosening his hold as he drops a kiss on your forehead.

“Are you honestly asking me to fuck you without looking at you?” he checks light-heartedly.

“I have an eye mask you can borrow,” you offer, giggling.

His responding laugh jiggles your whole body as he shifts to allow you back to your flat feet. Your leg muscles still twitching, still leaning into him for support.

“If you want to play with blindfolds, I am more than game,” he murmurs, cradling your face so you daren’t look away. This closeup and aroused he is a devastating sight, all cheekbones and blown pupils. And partnered with those words, in that hedonic tone, your insides are molten all over again. 

“Me too,” you whisper back.

Before you know it, he picks you up effortlessly and strides across the hallway toward your bedroom door. This is a seismic shift in your friendship, but as he lowers you gently onto your bed, all you feel is elation. Butterflies in your gut as he climbs on top of you, still fully clothed.

“Ben, what do I have to pay to get you naked?” you grumble good-naturedly, tugging at the shirt around his shoulders, your usual banter flaring despite this surprising development.

He laughs as his lips land on your neck, warm and plush, kissing a line down to your collarbone that is all at once too much and not enough. 

“I will get naked if you wear that blindfold you promised,” he jokes, your breath catching as you feel his chin stubble catch on the swell of your breast.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, smiling as he pouts up at you, eyes sparkling. 

The fact that the playfulness is still there makes you feel light as air, floating on feathers, him holding your gaze and slipping lower so the tip of his nose brushes your nipple.

“I was right all those years ago,” he inhales almost lewdly. “You really do have a fantastic pair of tits.” He looks up at you from your chest through heavy lashes with that same deadly lopsided smile from years ago, the one he gave you on the train, and once again, it makes you flush from head to toe.

“Naked Bridgerton, now,” you riposte with faux scolding, raising an eyebrow. 

This would have been a very effective response had he not chosen that precise moment to envelope your nipple into his mouth and suck hard, instead making you call out, eyes fluttering closed as your spine curls up off the bed, the heat and suction perfect. Swirling his tongue around and using an edge of teeth, swapping to the other side to do the same before you open your eyes. Then he kisses his way back up, claiming another fiery kiss. As you go to weakly protest again about him being too clothed, he sits up and whips the shirt off over his head instead of undoing it, throwing it aside as your eyes fall open.

“What the fuck?!” It's an unbidden but honest response to the sight before you. 

In the low light cast by your bedside lamp, he is all defined, sculpted lines—a shape you didn't think real humans came in. He laughs slightly abashed as you keep staring, raising up onto your elbows to drink in the view. You know he is in shape from the feel of his body when you hug him, but just how buff momentarily stuns you. 

“You look like a bloody Michelangelo sculpture,” you declare, compounding his coyness.

“If you keep this up, I'm not taking off my jeans,” he warns demurely, in a voice that is both amused and humble.

You mime zipping your mouth shut and throwing away a key as he leans in laughing and busses a brief kiss on your lips. Your hands map his tapered torso, revelling in the supple, warm skin and contoured, lithe muscles and the catch in his throat as you do so. You pull him down on top of you; the weight and warmth of his naked chest meeting yours makes you hungry in a way you haven't felt for years. Eventually, you reach the waistband of his jeans, circling to the front and rapidly flicking open the button of his fly. He squeaks quietly into your passionate kiss, taken aback by your boldness.

“No going back now,” you warn as you carefully lower the zip of his fly over his straining cock.

“I think that ship sailed when I felt your orgasm on my thigh,” he replies drolly, as your eyes briefly fall to the damp patch you left there, cheeks flushing. 

His bravado falters when you push his jeans down his slim hips, delving inside the back of his underwear to grab the peachy solid mass of his bottom. He groans into your cheek, and his mouth finds yours again. There is a wave of body heat as you shimmy his underwear and jeans down his leg, unseen as you kiss almost artlessly. He takes over, squirming his way out of them until they are also flung off the bed. You don't see his cock, but he presses down onto you as soon as he is naked, and you feel it brand your thigh, sizeable and hot.

“Let me see,” you almost whine, petulant.

He huffs a laugh, grabs your wrist, and guides your hand between your bodies. There, nestled within a patch of lightly trimmed hair, you feel the steely warmth of his cock. 

“Ben,” you stumble out as you encircle the heated mass, feeling a trickle escape your body as you begin to pump him lightly, a thumb swiping the sticky precum at his head, loving the way it makes him stutter and moan into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he sounds winded, pulsing under your fingers.

“Are you okay?”

“Sorry, it's been… uhh… ages since someone else touched my cock,” he rushes out, sheepish.

The honesty makes something melt behind your ribs; this wonderful, handsome man, still recovering from heartbreak, has not had sex in so long that you want to give him - your best friend - everything, a need to please him burning bright. Not wishing to dwell on consequences, what any of this might mean after tonight.

“What do you want, Ben?” you query softly as you pump his cock in your fist.

“You,” he answers sweetly, plainly, breathily, “just you.” He tilts his head and sighs into your neck. “It's been so long since I had sex that I'm not certain I can satisfy you. It’s why I made you to come before; I couldn't bear to leave you in need.”

The vulnerable admission, a true friend confiding in another, makes you crave him, this, even more. The glibness of your recent casual hookups thrown into stark relief in this singular moment of intimate honesty. It's what has been missing from sex since your breakup with Tom. The shorthand that comes from knowing someone so well artifice crumbles; them able to see through all the layers you can hide behind with strangers.

“I bet you are better than you think,” the need to reassure seizing you. “The way you took control earlier was exactly what I needed. Then there is this…,” you squeeze his cock a little, “...now I understand why Gen said she would miss you so much,” you add unabashed, enjoying the feel of his unseen demure smile against your jaw. 

“So you liked when I took control?” he queries, shifting the subject.

“Oh god, yes,” you avow, a little frisson racing down your spine at the memory from moments earlier, your grip flexing around his cock as you do so.

“Do you want me to do it again?” his cadence lowers to something more decadent as he removes your hand and traps it on the pillow next to your head.

“Yes, please,” it’s almost too keen.

Again, the noise he makes is an elixir, elation coursing in your veins. His long fingers lacing with yours, holding you down firmly, his mass weightier as he bears you down onto the mattress. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he rumbles, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. Your reply in the affirmative is a shaky exhale, a skitter of excitement across your skin at the very idea. “What was that?” his tone suddenly brusque, pushing up to look down upon you, his eyes boring into yours as he surges his cock, branding your inner thigh.

“Yes,” you enunciate crisply, struggling against his control, even though it’s precisely where you want to be, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as his fingers sink further between yours, stretching your knuckles wide apart. He claims you in a vehement kiss, leaving you whimpering around his invading tongue, the tip of his cock rocking against your clit.

“Tell me you want me,” he orders, breath hot on your face, his hands still pinning you under him.

“I want you,” you answer reflexively, as simple and true as breathing. 

He nuzzles your face, his cock sliding temptingly through your slick folds as you shudder, your pebbled nipples catching on the slab of his pectoral muscles, sighing shakily as he gently bites the shell of your ear. He surges his cock again, this time slipping lower, teasing your entrance, parting you with his tip. You inhale sharply at the warm mass, pressing insistently, not quite at the right angle to slip fully inside yet. 

“Do you still have your IUD?” he asks quietly, the domineering mask slipping momentarily, releasing your wrists. 

“Yes, just get inside me, please,” you respond, soft but fervent, raking fingertips down his back, loving the heated contours that flex as he moves to angle better.

Then, eleven years after you first idly thought of it on that drive down to London from Scotland, Benedict Bridgerton finally slides inside your body. 

A blunt warmth spearing you open in a way that feels so good it makes your throat catch, and your eyes roll back in your head. A curse falls from you as he keeps going, finding your hilt as he bottoms out. The perfect fit, just the right side of an ache as you stretch around him. He exhales raggedly into your cheek and stills.

“Move please,” you implore, greedy for more, grabbing his bottom impatiently.

“Give me a moment,” he appeals, breaking persona again, the heat of his body cloaking yours.

“Please,” you coax gently, “Benedict.” You add, almost as an afterthought, using his formal name as if to underline the seriousness of your request.

He makes a noise and lifts to look down at you. “Call me that again,” he commands gravelly, overwrought.

“Benedict,” you repeat as if a tasty morsel you can’t resist.

He makes a hungry noise and withdraws slightly, surging back into you in a way that has your whole body rolling under him with the force of it. You groan, hands flexing on his body, your tongue pressing into the back of your front teeth, quelling the urge to call out how good it already feels.

Your walls cling to him as he sets a languid but perfect rhythm. Breathing each other's air, exploring damp skin, lips meeting repeatedly in loose, open-mouthed kisses. Once again, he grabs your hands and manoeuvres them above your head, holding you down, stretching your arms so your body cants up, your nipples grazing his chest.

“You have no idea how many times I've fantasised of this moment for so many years,” he rasps, making your breath hitch with his words and a change of angle that catches a new spot inside. “And yet, this is better,” he continues, dropping a kiss in your hair.

“Same,” you confess succinctly.

A triumphant crooked smile claims his face, and then he thrusts forcefully, wringing a loud moan from your lungs, your head smashing into the pillow as your hips tilt up in a silent request for more. Yearning for him to fuck you so hard that you feel a physical reminder; for your body to carry a tangible memory of it. 

“You want more, don't you?” he intuits, pride colouring his tone.

“Yes,” you hiss, conscious he can read you effortlessly. 

He snaps his hips in response, and you feel a tug deep inside where he nudges your hilt. It feels so good you gasp and fight to release your hands from above your head, desperate to grab his bum cheeks again and haul him deeper into you.

“Nuh-uh,” he chides bemused, shooting you a pointed look, “you do as I say, remember?” 

You struggle underneath him, eyes blazing as you stare into his glassy pupils, telegraphing silently this is precisely what you want, making a show until you finally settle and curl your bottom lip under your teeth, nodding meekly as he restarts at a leisurely pace.

“Good girl.” He even winks.

Oh fucking hell.

Your pussy pulses around him, betraying how much you like that line. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he smirks, the smug, cocky persona he can slip into so easily fitting him like a glove. The ghost of Benedict-past rearing - that troublesome young playboy you recall from years ago. 

He chuckles richly when you don’t give him the satisfaction of a verbal response, somehow the spectre of your younger, indignant self joining the party, too.

“Don’t forget: I can tell when you’re lying,” he murmurs into your jaw, still fucking you slow and thoroughly, sliding his lips down your neck, your collarbone, down to your nipple that he bites, making you cry out. “I know you of old…” he adds, pausing for you to catch the reference.

“Shakespeare…,” you stumble incredulously.

“Mmm hmm,” he confirms, tracing a teasing circle around your areola with the tip of his tongue.

“You quote Shakespeare while you fuck?!” your tone incredulous. “You don’t fight fair,”

He laughs again before silencing any retort you may have with another heated kiss, entwining your limbs, wrapping like a protective vine around you as he begins thrusting keenly. You move with him, uncaring how vocal you are, the need for more inexorable. You stare into each other's eyes as you move in perfect synchronism, faster and harder, grabbing flesh, whispered words and endless kisses. It’s never been quite like this before.

“Come for me again,” he pleads hotly, and you can see he is teetering close to the edge now, a little vein pulsing in his temple, his neck corded, a sheen over his body where his pace never wavers.

“So close,” you vow, needing just a little more friction to fall into that abyss again.

You groan as he grabs your hand and sucks your fingers into his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around them, then releases them with an obscene pop, guiding your wettened fingers between your bodies to the apex of your thighs, silently instructing you to touch yourself. Gasping and canting up into his body, your own slippery touch like a lightning rod on your clit.  He growls as your pussy tightens around him responsively, feeling so huge as he ploughs into you.

Only a few flicks of your fingers and you are hurtling towards mindless bliss, eyes closing and body going taut, then snapping like a string as you peak, every fibre of your body fracturing as you call his name and constrict tight around his cock, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his back as you float somewhere outside your body, mind blanking out in sheer pleasure.

Distantly, you hear him following you over, his grip almost punishing as he takes a few last frantic pumps, then stills, emptying deep inside, chanting your name into your neck as his whole body shudders and collapses on top of you.

As you flop back onto the mattress, your body sated, your thoughts race. Probably the best sex of your damn life. Even as he slides next to you, pulling you into his arms, your mind whirls until your scattered thoughts coalesce into one singular truth that makes you chew on your lip and frettingly stare at the ceiling - it was too good, too tender, too raw and honest for a first time. But all you want to do is repeat it. Over and over and over. Just never let him out of your bedroom. Except this is your best friend, and you have no bloody idea where you stand now.

Well… fuckity fuck.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhelll @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheepp @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb

[meowmeowriley]

Bunny!Shifter trans masc Ghost

Oh no, Tumblr is bullying me into making bunny!Ghost trans! Oh what a horrible thing, ah, terrible. So sad, so awful. Woe is me.

Anyway fuck it, he goan be trans 😁

Think about it, trans day of visibility was on Easter this year, and even though this is definitely not an Easter fic, doesn't that feel like a sign?

It is my duty as trans NB myself to represent with a trans masc bun boy. Gotta reconfigure some scenes in my head, but really, its not gonna stop him from absolutely obliterating Soap's bussy and also his ego, cause the man thought he had stamina, but he ain't a rabbit 😏

[truetogaia]

What is each recom’s favourite ✨position✨?

Featuring: Quaritch, Z dog, Mansk ♡, Lyle, Ja, 

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warning: NSFW, mature and explicit themes, literally sex positions 

Notes: Well i’ll be damned, recom fans are always so smutty LMAO, love u guys tho!! I didn’t include all characters bc I really can’t find the names to them all RAHHHH, I thought about adding Walker too but… she's kinda scary looking and i’ve only seen her in one scene </3

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

QUARITCH:

This old soul loves the more traditional positions where he has the opportunity to go rough if he wants to. His favorite position is doggy style, when he can grip at the plush of your hips and ass as much and as hard as he pleases. He loves the fact that he can regulate the speed and strength of his thrusts, cock getting even harder (if thats even possible) at the sight of your fucked out face pressing further into the matress with each merciless, rough snap of his hips against yours. But, when he feels more affectionate and wants to make love to you instead of fuck you senseless, he prefers positions like missionary or “G-whiz” (GOD I HATE THESE NAMES). They allow him to see your face in all its glory as he pounds his length into your tightness, this way, he can also plant kisses along your collarbones and neck <3

MANSK: 

I feel like Mansk is a very sensual and gentle guy. He seems rough on the exterior but really he’s just a BIG CUDDLY CATBOY (he most definitely is not, he is quite literally a marine killing machine but my delusions are stronger). In this context I think it’d make his favorite position the “Face off”, he likes being close to his partner/mate and loves being able to see their pretty face contorted in pleasure. It boosts his ego immensely knowing he’s the cause for the erotic, fucked out expression adorning your beautiful features. Bro also loves the idea of being in control of your orgasm and movements, but not in a super dominant way, he loves you so much and wants to give you all the pleasure he possibly can. (Extra points if you manage to reach behind his head and massage his braid hihi)

JA/Alexander: 

Mmm bro Ja is so yummy JEEZ. I haven’t seen very much of him AT ALL in the movies, but the few scenes where he's in the background have me HOOKED. His favorite position is probably some more freaky shit like reverse cowgirl or fucking you dumb against a wall. He is obsessed with your ass, always gripping it like a madman, especially during his rut. Loooooves hearing your soft mewls and moans as he literally obliterates your cunt with his massive cock HA, i love him.

LYLE: 

(I don't really see the appeal LMAO but that's just bc he's bald and I love men with long long hair) ANYWAY, be prepared for a week without the ability to walk properly. I’d say his favorite is the (WTF) pinball machine (I CAN’T WITH THESE NAMES.) He likes being able to pull you closer to him and gets so turned on by the way you grip at the sheets like a maniac with each frenzical thrust of his cock.

Z:

It’s so obvious that her fav position is cowgirl LMAO. She’s canonically a strap user in my mind so she loves seeing you ride her. My girl loves being able to run her eyes over every inch of your exposed body, literally imprinting the image into her head. She isn’t one to enjoy doing all the work, she’d rather sit back and watch you bounce and try your hardest to take her enormous strap. (Also loves keeping eye contact, she relishes in the way you squirm and blush)

HOPE THIS MADE YOU SOMEWHAT SATISFIED I LOVED YOUR REQUEST!! KISSES!!

[chirpycloudyrobin]

call me insane or delulu but i want rebel!ivan to be an arsonist. the demolitions guy. the dude everyone goes to to get shit obliterated.

his special talent is apparently making fire using rocks. he's probably at least competent in alien tech or just tech in general bc he does the collar thing for till consistently since anakt garden days. combine those two together and u get a dude who can theoretically make things that make other things go boom :D

imagine he DOES get rescued by the rebels. death gives ppl new perspectives, and he presumably has already given himself closure from till ("tyfbtvomse", iykyk). he needs something else to make himself FEEL something again after living a life of complacency, malleability, and obedience that was only brightened by chasing after till's flame. imagine he finds it in the warmth of literal fires 👁��👁️

also it could be really sick to have scenes in r7 where ivan is scuttling around planting bombs in the area but we don't figure out it's him until we reach the climax of the vid and he makes shit go KABOOM as a distraction and we finally see a shot of him grinning like a pyromaniac, glowy red pupils and glinting snaggletooth and all

anyways i need to go touch some grass