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vorfreudevortex · 4 months ago

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a portrait of us - eight

a nanami x reader smau

masterlist

warnings: angst lol, slow burn, swearing, a little ooc, a typo or two

notes: ngl i am starting to hate this story but it's okay!! also I'm drunk but I'm posting this anyways idc. also - written portion - 1.3k words (?!!). i'm finding it impossible to not write long ass parts. also pls feel free to request or ask me anything bc i don't like this smau and need something to distract me in between writing it <3 love u bye

as the car pulled up to the museum’s front entrance, you shakily smoothed your hair and dress with one hand, the other clutching a crumpled sheet of paper with your speech.

you couldn’t decide which was more pitiful. the frizzy flyaways escaping your hastily curled hair? or the piece of stationary, painstakingly flattened but still creased, one of the thirty-two drafts you’d written, retrieved reluctantly from the hotel floor?

the driver parked as an attendant opened the door, offering a hand to help you out. the museum director approached with a reassuring smile, and a suit probably worth more than thirty of your paintings combined.

the driver parked an attendant opened the car door and offered you a hand to help you out. the director approached you with a comforting smile and a suit that probably cost more than 30 of your paintings combined.

“welcome! how are you feeling?”

“to be honest,” you replied with a nervous smile. "I'm terribly anxious.”

he chuckled, holding the front door open for you. “that’s perfectly natural. don’t worry! the patrons will love you and your work. anyone would be foolish not to.”

“thank you, director…” you murmured, his words doing little to calm your trembling hands.

the head assistant joined your walk to the gallery hall, peppering you with one question after another.

“the catering service has just finished setting up. would you please take a final sample of the gyoza and ohitashi? they don’t look quite the same as they did during the original tasting…”

“we have a very important guest from malaysia… would you like me to introduce you two when she arrives? it would be a shame if you didn’t at least find time to say hello…”

“are you absolutely certain about the painting for the final reveal? i know you said it’s special to you but the other assistants and i agreed that the other one would-”

“alright, that’s enough questions,” the director interjected as you neared the gallery hall. you let out a small breath of relief. you thought you might burst if another word came out of the assistant’s mouth. “please go make sure the waiters have the champagne chilled and poured.”

“thank you,” you whispered to the director as the assistant walked away.

“please, don’t thank me. they can be so overbearing. sometimes, it’s better to just let things flow as life means them to,” he replied with a smile.

“yeah…” you replied, glancing at your paintings, their eyes seemingly judging you.

“i can see you’re terrified, and that’s okay. you’ve never done this on such a big stage before!” he laughed. “but truly, it’s not all that different than a smaller exhibition.”

“i don’t think i deserve to be here.”

“if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be.”

you looked at the director, letting his words calm your nerves a bit. your gaze wandered to one of your paintings, a vibrant reinterpretation of jeanne: spring by édouard manet, now alive with bold reds and yellows.

it was both different and familiar, evoking nostalgia even in those who knew the original. the abstract strokes depicted a striking dark-skinned woman you had met in the park, with bright orange braids cascading down to her waist, her skin glowing against the polka-dotted umbrella she carried.

upon meeting her, you had eagerly asked to paint her, offering what little savings you had left in return. she had given you a sideways smile and agreed, letting you capture her portrait for free.

over the next week, you posed her in your small apartment, finding moments between both of your busy schedules. when you finally showed her the finished piece, she grinned again and said, “oh sweetie, you’re gonna be big one day.”

though she couldn’t be here in tokyo, her spirit was with you, embodied in the painting with that sideways smile even the umbrella couldn’t overshadow.

"onee-san!"

your attention shifted from the painting to the other side of the room, where a group was led by itadori yuji and his toothy grin.

"itadori-kun!"

“and me! hello?” satoru added playfully.

“of course, you too,” you smiled. “thank you for coming, i'm so thrilled you’re here. you all look amazing!”

“no, you look amazing. and i wouldn’t miss this for the world,” satoru said, hugging you. "onee-san, i want you to meet all my students!”

as he finished introducing you to the first and second years, a warm hand rested on your shoulder. you turned to see an old classmate, now with long hair and a familiar pair of boots.

“shoko ieri, take my shoes off right now!” you laughed, throwing your arms around her.

“um, no way. you never even wore them when you had them,” she teased.

shoko's expression softened as she noticed the tears welling in your eyes. she looked just the same, but you couldn’t help noticing the worry lines between her brown, evident even with her smile.

“i didn’t think i'd see you again,” she said quietly.

“me neither… i'm so-”

“-stop talking,” she interrupted. “we brought gifts for you!”

you let go of shoko while yuji held out a large bouquet of blue and pink daisies.

“oh, stop it!” you exclaimed, taking the flowers. “they’re beautiful. thank you all so much!”

“we’re not done yet! there’s more,” satoru said slyly, holding out a small black box.

your heart nearly stopped when you pried the lid open to reveal a large pearl pendant on a gold chain.

“you-”

“-there’s more. look under the velvet,” shoko urged. you carefully lifted the padding to reveal a check with the note “a commission for the staff and students” made out for…

“ten million fucking yen?!”

“whoa, language!” satoru laughed. “kids, go run and play or something.”

“shoko, did you know about this?” you panicked as the students filed away with quiet giggles. “i seriously can’t accept this!”

“yes, you will,” shoko retorted, crossing her arms.

“a commission for what?”

“girl, did you even read the check?” satoru huffed playfully. “you’re gonna paint a portrait of the staff and students at jujutsu high. and hopefully, instead of ignoring us, it’ll cover a plane ticket back so you can visit us next year.”

tears welled up in your eyes again, spilling down your cheeks.

“no. seriously. i-no! i can’t accept this! this is an insane amount of money for a commission like that. i'll paint for you guys for free. and you’ll return this necklace because i know you spent too much money on it, too.”

“stop talking and just accept the gift,” shoko urged.

“but i don’t deserve it.”

“now you’re just spouting nonsense,” satoru said as he placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you toward the gallery entrance. he pointed at the large banner bearing your gallery information. “what does that banner say?”

“it says my name,” you sniffled, still clutching the flowers and box.

“no, idiot. i'm talking about the quotes.”

“um…” you blinked away tears. “someone truly exceptional…?”

“and?”

“a modern-day van gogh…?”

“one more.”

“art that every being should hope to be privileged enough to experience.”

“good job, you can read!” satoru smiled, giving your shoulders a slight shake. “some snobby rich art critics said that about you. now, stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself and make sure everyone has their attention on you tonight.”

“and deposit the check when you get home,” shoko added.

“yes, please deposit the check,” satoru agreed. “if you lose it, i'll be pissed.”

you wrapped your arms around satoru and shoko, squeezing tight in tearful appreciation. they had no idea… the check would cover over a year’s worth of rent, premium canvases, all fine-haired brushes you could ever want, and even a payment on a car. you swore to yourself that you’d pour your soul into painting them a fucking masterpiece.

“now let go,” satoru said, pushing you away. “and go impress all these high-class art people.”

“okay, okay, i'm going!” you smiled with a sniffle.

wiping your tears away, you waved at your classmates as you walked further into the gallery to greet the small crowd that had arrived. sometime during your conversation, your hands must have stopped trembling.

“you’re gonna be just fine,” you thought to yourself with a grin.

next: part nine

tag list // @bubybubsters @sad-darksoul @corvid007 @kenqki @ikon-teen

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m1ssunderstanding · 10 months ago

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 18

Staring John Lennon, as that kid I should’ve been nicer to in first grade who always smelled like PB&J and was never to be seen without his pokemon cards

The dancing is really too cute. They’re just absolutely giddy. Making each other laugh AND an excuse to touch? John and Paul’s heaven.

John saying he was too excited after yesterday to go to bed. Like a fucking kid on christmas.

Everybody is serving today. While the candy-land suit is fun, I actually just love that vivid purple so much that I think it’s better without the coat over it. Billy looks extremely suave and classy. And those red polka-dots on Ringo. Red suits him, and I think with his very frank, masculine aspect, he looks so beautiful and bold in feminine fits. Paul and John are both just wearing what they wore yesterday. Yeah. But John is still a cutie, and Paul, well, you all know.

The advice chain about finishing a song while you’re working on. Paul → John → George

Paul honestly does a great job being supportive of George and his work. Coming over and grooving with him, then hopping on drums then guitar (right-handed, may I add). Just to give George musical atmosphere to flesh out his song and start thinking of arrangement ideas, I assume. Then letting him bounce ideas around. And the whole time being overly-enthusiastic to build George up. Look how happy George is with the love and attention.

John helping move some equipment in. We love a man who sometimes doesn’t think he’s too good for manual labor.

Yes, clean that homeless man’s palm sweat off your instrument. Probably smart.

TFW you made Paul McCartney jealous of your musical abilities.

John really knew so well when to be his little impish self and when to be hard and intimidating. Exhibit A, going from, “Can we have our microphones, oh, mister, can we please?” to “And get one for Billy too.” In a matter of seconds.

George Martin stepping in when they’re all getting panicky about the sound and they need an authority figure to reassure them in ways that someone like Glyn Johns never could. Just, perfectly cool and collected, puts everything right as they’re all shouting at him like school children who’ve just had a terrible time in PE.

“Believe me, when I tell you.” “Oh, I do.” Oh, good. He did put it in. That’s nice. Right, and this is the moment Yoko decides to tell John her divorce has come through and pull him in for a big smooch. Honestly, it just shows how threatened she feels by Paul. Nevermind her whole, “good thing Paul isn’t a girl or he would have been a great threat,” quote. Clearly, he just is a threat regardless of sex.

And then John, “I’m freeeee.” At Paul. Honestly, the amount of things they direct specifically and aggressively at each other that should’ve just been general statements if there wasn’t some weird thing between them. It’s really something. Normally, you’d announce something like that to the whole room. But it seems John specifically wants to impress upon Paul that he and Yoko could get married right now if they wanted to. I mean, it’s a little difficult to make the point, because John and Paul almost aways seem to be talking only to each other. But through the whole discussion of Yoko’s divorce, John does not take his eyes off of Paul.

Oh my gosh, Ivan Vaughn is here? How many emotional support boyfriends does Paul need to make up for John having Yoko? Glyn, Linda, George Martin, Dennis, Robert Fraser, and now Ivan? Fuck’s sake, Yoko, you’re a powerful woman.

Paul’s Strawberry Fields piano. Let me be as vulnerable and broken as possible in my singing, since I can’t show you any other way that you’re killing me. Do you remember this song? That you wrote when we were at the height of our partnership only two years ago? How happy we were then? How beautiful the world seemed for that one brief moment? And John can’t look at him, because, yes he fucking remembers and yes he knows he’s hurting Paul. But for whatever reason, (my theory is he wanted something more Paul couldn’t give him. What that was and whether it was ever specifically vocalized I don't have a guess) going back to that time would be more painful to John than this has been.

So they’ve been goofing off and Paul gives this little speech to get them back on task. “Alright Chawn Love. I’ve gotta call order, John, now, valuable time, here, son. Cool down, son.” But John’s response, “Don’t let me down, babe” completely switches Paul’s gears. He now thinks it’s important enough to get in this little snatch of a *meaningful* cover, “Take these Chains from my Heart,” reversing the course of productivity he’d got them on and ignoring the fact that they were about to do a take on two-shilling-a-foot tape. My interpretation of this moment is a bit tin-hatish and long, but suffice it to say, John is not happy with the message.

Everyone convincing Paul to do another take of his song is surprising, considering everything we always hear about how Paul was a tyrant task-master who just forced everyone to keep doing his lame muzak over and over when they all clearly hated it. Mal, “You can always go back to it.” Paul, “Do you want your head kicked in?” John, “We’ll never get a chance to do it again.” Paul, “Okay, honey bunch. Let’s hit it one time, tutti-frutti.”

Yoko watching Paul check out her boyfriend’s ass. Classic. Also the fact that she literally copied his outfit? I get so much second-hand embarrassment for her, and it’s not when she’s being a weirdo and a statement-maker. It’s the having to physically stick the gum you were offering your boyfriend into this hand because he won’t take his eyes off his boyfriend for two seconds to look at you.

Everyone laughing at Perfect Paul being out of tune is so funny to me. Like when the nerd finally gets a question wrong and the whole class is all “ooooohhhh!”

Ringo having a grand old time on the drums. I love that he just knew that’s what he wanted to do from such a young age and he never wanted to do anything else. And why would he? He’s a genius at it.

Paul. “John’s got something at 1:30 and so have I.” Smirk emoji. Side-eye emoji. George is with me. “Yeah we've got something too. I’ll do Ringo at 1:30.” I'm dead.

This moment right here hurts me. Paul’s enjoying a nice cuddle with Ringo until he remembers the camera. You’re not going to get in trouble for having your friend’s arm around your shoulders, Paul. Why are you like this?

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back

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accidentally-in-fictional-love · 6 months ago

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📖🤹‍♂️🔞, pretty pleeeaasee ?

Collared But Untethered - Abner Krill/Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N, gender-neutral reader, slowburn, slight exhibition (Belle Reve), touch-starved induced desperation, making out, sudden smut, handjobs.

Wordcount: 2970

Summary: Even with every personnel in Belle Reve questioning why you wanted him, you kept coming back for more so long as they kept letting you touch him just out of sight.

Notes: Even when I try to drabble I still can't resist the buildup cause I love him so much oop- This is the first request I've ever gotten/filled so here we gooooo :'D I hope you like it, thank you so much for sending something in 💗💗💗

You were 100% certain that everyone had caught on by now to what you two were doing, but it was hard to care when orange fabric was bunched under your hands and the sound of his poorly quieted voice was in your ear. Belle Reve was well known for its lack of care towards its residents, so at first you’d both assumed that someone would barge in at any second to tear you apart, ban you from ever returning, but you were going on your fifth visit now with no one disturbing you, so even if you weren’t as perceptive as you’d thought and they were watching on a camera you’d missed no one made it known.

You’d first seen him on TV, shakycam footage barely capturing him as he and the other prisoners briefly designated as ‘Heroes’ made quick work of the current bigger threat destroying the city, and the way his powers had lit up the area in a rainbow of colours had instantly drawn you in, made you forget all about the danger as you hid in your apartment and waited in terror for it to be over, trembling hands clasped together in front of your heaving chest as you prayed you’d be safe. He’d destroyed that threat singlehandedly the second he was sure no one else was in his way, the others chiding him in the footage as he’d closed up on himself and apologized, having forgotten their goal of taking the villain alive so he could join them in their home.

He was so unlike anyone you’d ever seen before, a timebomb of danger wrapped up in a polka-dotted bow, hands fidgeting and head downturned nervously while the destruction of what he could do showed all along the street up to where gory remains decorated the open main road.

As the reporter took over the submitted shakycam with her own live footage, people circled the villains to thank them, albeit keeping their distance even as they reached out to shake hands, pat backs, give gifts that would definitely be confiscated as soon as they returned. No one thanked him for killing their target, everyone too afraid of the gauntlets holding back bright lights and coloured dots, worried that he’d turn them on the crowd next even as the infamous Harley Quinn herself showed off the gun she’d stolen from one of the fallen policemen to a couple kids who’d wandered up to praise her without their parents’ permission.

That wasn’t fair at all, he’d needed some thanks too.

So you’d left your apartment and hurried down to them, the fight just a couple blocks away, the still burning circles in the buildings and pavement growing in number the further you got. They were already starting to get into the armoured vehicle that brought them there by the time you’d arrived, and you didn’t know his name so you could only call past the gathered guards making sure they didn’t run before he disappeared out of sight. He turned to face you, one of his teammates elbowing him to go when it became obvious that you were there for him; he walked back down the lowered ramp to approach, looking apprehensive that you’d want to talk to him when the others were right there, so you’d extended your hand to shake his, prove that you weren’t afraid but rather thankful for his help as you reached as far as you could between the two guards keeping you at a distance for your own safety.

The moment his hand touched your own you knew that you could never let him get away again.

Visitors to Belle Reve were always heavily inspected and supervised, no one ever allowed to meet face to face for fear of what could happen to either party as well as those around them, and they made that explicitly clear to you as you passed their inspections and were ushered down the hallway to the partitioned phones. The moment you told them that you were there for the Polka-Dot Man so they knew who to get they’d hesitated, turned halfway down the hallway to look at you like you were crazy, some weird thing to be studied for wanting to see him of all people. You’d just simply shrugged and told them you wanted to thank him for the other day.

He’d never had a visitor in all his time being there, and the moment he’d seen you holding the phone opposite of his own he’d gone red in the face, a mix of embarrassment for the continued support and obvious confusion as to why you’d sought him out a second time. It was cute, and while the conversation had been short, his voice low and answers coming out in single worded sentences as he thought about what to say, it still brought butterflies to your stomach until your time was up, your final question asking for his name before you were forced to hang up.

‘Abner…’ he’d told you, like he hadn’t said it in a long time. ‘Abner Krill.’

The second time you visited you asked for permission to talk to him face to face, as his voice barely carried over the phone and he had a tendency to forget he was holding it as he talked to the desk. Request denied, but they’d think about it for the right price, it wasn’t like he was going to escape his birdcage when it kept him safe from himself, the shiny collar around his neck stopping the kaleidoscope from painting the walls in cinders. That conversation had come easier, the guards getting bored and pulling out their phones as you talked about everything and nothing at all, his words flowing a little more freely.

The third time you’d gotten your request with the handing over of a few steep bills slid under the table, Abner looking around at the room before seeing you and smiling. There was a little more space between you compared to the phones but the wall was gone, and you almost missed his questions about your life as you watched his mouth speak, hands rubbing and fidgeting on top of cold metal in his persistent nervousness. The moment you’d started talking about yourself the guard watching over you had sighed loudly in annoyance and walked out, leaving the two of you alone to both of your surprise, the camera whirring in the corner telling you that they were still watching from afar at least.

You shook his hand again when time was up, and he trembled a little less as he stood before you, your bodies dangerously close for a quick moment before the guard rushed in to put a little space between you with an utterly confounded look shot in your direction.

The fourth time you looked around to see if there were more cameras than just the one over your shoulder before he was brought in, his eyes instantly brightening in your presence as they’d recently started to do. He looked more alive, his face less sunken like he was taking better care of himself so you wouldn’t worry, and you longed to hold him as the table became a deep crevasse between you. He wasn’t chained to it this time, they didn’t care enough and he knew better, he was well trained by now, and the moment you were left alone again you’d moved your chair to the empty space on the side, a little closer but not touching, testing the waters as you shot a glance to the camera to see if this was okay.

Nothing happened. No one came. Hands rested in sight as they reached but never touched, the crevasse a little smaller as the space between turned from feet to inches, then centimeters.

When your pinkies linked together it was like a bridge formed instantly, the two of you meeting in the middle as he closed his eyes and just breathed, completely calm as his free hand ran over his arm to make sure the gauntlets were gone, make sure he wouldn’t hurt you. He was touch-starved, that much was apparent as long fingers crawled over your own to create more points of contact, Abner fully holding your hand and forgetting that you were supposed to be talking. Your heart raced as you wanted more, wanted to see what other reactions you could pull from him if just this was enough to make him lean towards you, eager to invade your personal space, or perhaps invite you to invade his.

It was a space he guarded dearly, you’d learned as much over your visits as he told you about how the other inmates treated him, your touch so gentle compared to their punches, both of your chairs sliding over the floor as you closed the gap even more. Still no one came, your eyes going to the door to make sure they weren’t watching you through the wire-meshed glass to see what would happen next but the space on the other side was empty, the camera blinking red high above you as your legs made contact, a buzz of electricity shooting up your spine.

He tried to pull away, surprised by his own brazenness, or maybe it’d been an accident since he was so much taller than you, but you refused to let him, your leg pressed into the cold table leg almost painfully as you pulled him right back. The knowledge that you wanted him close, wanted to touch him even though he could burn right through you in an instant without the collar controlling him, made his chest start to heave then, eyes searching your face for fear but finding none.

Your hand unlinked from his before sliding up his arm, feeling the way he shivered as you reached his elbow, his bicep, muscles tensing under loose fabric just out of sight, a sigh leaving his lips as your fingers carefully trailed over his collar up to his cheek. He leaned into you, slowly at first, like you might change your mind and pull away at any second, his eyes closed tight as chair legs scraped over the ground. The gap closed more and more as you stood, leaned in close enough to see the scars of his time in this place, the way his lips parted ever so slightly as he let out shaky breaths, how long his lashes were as they fluttered in anticipation of what you were going to do next.

The door opened before you could make that final leap, the men who rushed in looking just as confused to your actions instead of angry, and while they weren’t rough with you they did tease him all the way down the hallway as he tried to hide the fact that he’d wanted you in those last seconds, your face flushing as pure longing rushed right to your gut at the sight of something hidden behind shaking hands as he was led to the showers to cool off.

The fifth time you’d come in you’d stared down everyone you passed as they whispered and nodded in your direction, not caring as you headed for your visiting room, no one stopping you even as they shook their heads and questioned your life choices. They still let you wait by yourself, your heart pounding as he was brought in and the door was closed behind him, the guard locking it muttering to himself about how he didn’t get paid enough for this. Abner didn’t even get a chance to sit down as you stood up and grabbed onto his shirt, pulled him down to continue what you’d started with a chaste kiss, testing the waters as he let out a surprised noise against your mouth before it turned into a moan, his hands hovering over you as he tried to decide what to do.

‘Touch me,’ you told him as you parted for a breath, the end of the collar pressing into your own throat as he groaned and kissed you back, dry lips parting to let you in as you ran your tongue experimentally over his bottom one. His hands wandered all over you, touching whatever he could now that he knew you wanted him to, his back hitting the wall and the collar scraping against the brick as he arched against you wantonly. It was like the floodgates had been opened, touch-starved desperation making him want more before you were separated again, your body ready to follow his every command should he ask, wanting nothing more than to make him feel good before he was forced to go back to his solitude.

You palmed him over his pants and he keened needily, hips moving to feel you more before he stopped himself with a choked whine, he was asking too much too soon, surely you couldn’t want him that badly, surely now would be the time you’d come to your senses and see him like everyone else did. You nipped at his bottom lip, got him to look at you before you glanced up at the camera; it was facing the table, the two of you probably just in frame, so you led him to the corner directly underneath it, in its blindspot as you played with the hem of his pants.

‘Do you want this?’ you whispered, voice low so anyone outside wouldn’t hear, Abner’s eyes shut tight again as he nodded his head, slowly at first and then a little quicker as you made contact against his bare stomach. He was breathing so heavily, the growing tent just under where your hand rested making you lick your lips; they were bound to stop you before it got too heated but you could at least give him this, all your fantasies from the past month coming to life as you felt hot skin under your fingertips.

He sighed and let his head fall back, hands gripping you like a vice as you touched him, and you couldn’t help but wonder when the last time anyone else had touched him like this had been, if anyone ever had; it made you a bit jealous to think about the former, of someone else making him look this way before you, so you couldn’t help but selfishly wish you were the first as you wrapped your hand around him. His knees shook, he wasn’t used to it, your name falling from his lips as he started to buck desperately into your hand.

He was beautiful as his jaw went slack, so open with what he wanted as he held you close, your own pleasure building just from watching him come so easily undone like it was the strongest aphrodisiac. His quiet voice came in handy as he moaned out his desires, how good it felt, how he needed more, pleas to not stop sending shockwaves all the way down to your toes as the words started to cut off the closer he got. You felt your throat tighten as his tongue peeked out to wet his lips, needing to taste him again as you swallowed and leaned up to capture him in a deep kiss, his tongue dancing over your own and refusing to let you get away in such a lewd way that it made your head spin.

He didn’t last long between your kisses and your hand attacking him at the same time, his hips jutting with a broken cry of pleasure into your open mouth as he came into your fist, palm gathering as much as you could for his sake. You didn’t realize you were panting as well with how turned on you were as his expression softened into one of pure bliss, a need filling your gut and making you burn with desire unlike anything you’d ever felt before as you wanted more. You pulled your hand free, mouth watering as you felt the sticky substance leak through your fingers, Abner just staring at you through half-lidded eyes as you raised your hand to your mouth, tongue darting out to taste when the door suddenly opened, two guards rushing in.

‘Alright, that’s enough of that,’ one of them said, your fist held by your side as you were pushed out of the way, Abner letting out an actual whine at not being able to return the favour before he was dragged out the door. Once he was out of sight you were led to the nearest bathroom, the guard not fooled at all by your attempted nonchalance and letting you wash up, your hand shaking as you still felt his heat against your wet skin. You wouldn’t do anything about your own situation until you were home, the guard just shaking his head as you rejoined him and followed him to the front doors, the detour allowing you a glimpse of Abner as he walked down a connecting hallway.

Despite the cuffs around his hands and the collar around his neck he looked relaxed, free, not even reacting as one of the inmates passing by tried to insult him, sharp canines biting his lip as he just stared the men down. You grinned, proud of him as you walked out of sight of him again, the highly protected doors leading to the outside world coming into view moments later. You didn’t leave right away, turning to talk over your shoulder as your escort waited impatiently for you to go, a gleam in your eye as you stared into his mask.

‘I’ll be back again next week,’ you promised, everything that came with that unsaid but understood, and he sighed before giving you a shove, everyone around you already whispering about the day’s visit as you just grinned and walked out into the warm Louisiana sun.

#Ray's Readers #Ray's Requests #david dastmalchian #abner krill #Abner Krill x reader #literally woke up and instantly wrote this in a few hours I was so happy QwQ #as soon as I got to the actual smut I stretched and looked up and saw my Abner collection on my desk and just instantly started blushing lo #one of these days I'll write something short and without exhibition I swear I promise I can do it guys trust me #was listening to Dark Speed as I wrote this one that song is so damn good

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tangerinesgirl · 7 months ago

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Used

***Spoilers for Abigail (2024)***

Fem!Reader x Frank/Adam Barrett (Abigail)

Word count: 1.2k

Rating: 18+, explicit

Synopsis: Frank corners the reader when he is turned, his animalistic urges take over.

Warnings: holy moly where to begin...

DEAD DOVE, non con, yandare, Frank is a literal monster, p in v, blood as lube, spit kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, degradion, exhibition, Stockholm Syndrome, creampie, lots o' body fluids, squirting, major character death, hanging, asphyxiation

Notes: PLEASE note this is a dark fic and to proceed with caution! I can't emphasise this enough. I apologise in advance. This is also so much porn with very little plot. Spoilers: it's a bad ending for reader (or is it, maybe they get turned, who knows, it's ambiguous, it's up to your imagination)

The person who walks in on you and Frank doing the dirty can be anyone you like, gender is non specific, so have fun with it.

A lot of this is inspired from the Theatre des Vampires in Interview With The Vampire (1994) and also Fright Night (2011) where Jerry kills Doris in his basement.

🦇

Frank starts walking quickly towards you, throwing the stake he just used to kill Lambert to the ground. You trip and fall as his sudden movement makes you jump, not thinking or looking where you're going. You scuttle backwards into a wall, helpless, as Frank looms over you.

"Gotcha". Is is all just a sick game for him now? What happened to the Frank you met earlier? He bends down to meet your eye line and tuts.

"Why are you fighting this? I mean...I've seen the way you look at me...and look at the way you're dressed. It's like you're asking for it." Frank rips off your short black polka dot dress, and aggressively shrugs you out of it. He hooks his fingers into your underwear and removes them roughly too.

You clench at your breasts trying to find some decency. Frank leans down to shush into your ear, as he reaches down behind your back to remove your bra. A tear rolls down your face as he does so. He bites the corner of his lip as he wipes it away with his thumb. He looks at his thumb then to you as he takes it and wipes it around his lips. His eyes on you at all times, he tilts his head like he's calculating his next move.

Suddenly Frank lunges towards you, you startle backwards and are pinned to the wall. He stops and takes your hands at your breasts. He removes them and takes one of your fingers around his face, lips, and into his mouth. You kick and flail out, hitting Frank in the shin. He looks down then at you, the kick doing nothing with his new found strength.

He pins your hands above your head with a grunt. You can hear him breathing heavily into your ear, the occasional growl like a wild fucking animal. Everything Frank was is gone.

With his other hand, Frank traces his fingers down your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His fingers trail down towards your breasts as he massages a handful. Your body betrays you and you let out a small moan as he starts to roll your nipple between his thumb and index finger. He notices and looks at you with a smirk as he sinks his fangs into your chest.

You wince in pain at first, but as Frank settles down, your body starts to relax, your heartbeat lowering. Pleasure starts to mix with the pain as the excess blood Frank hasn't ingested travels down your body, lower...lower...pooling at your entrance.

Frank grabs your hip as he drinks deeper, getting more and more messy as he does. His hand slides down your body and notices the puddle forming at your core. He uses it to swirl around your swollen clit. Frank notices how wet you're getting and laughs, "dirty girl..."

He swipes two fingers along your folds, collecting blood and your juices. He holds them out to you for you to lick. You scrunch your face and turn away. Frank grabs your neck forcefully to look at him as he wipes the liquid over your face. "You're going to look at me as I claim you as mine, kill you, and then all your friends", he threatens you. He holds your mouth open and swirls his digits on your tongue. He tilts your head up and slowly spits into your mouth. As the drop of sputum enters into your mouth, he closes it until you swallow the concoction. While he waits squeezing your mouth shut, he undoes his belt and trouser buttons.

His penis bounces free, pre cum already leaking out of him. He's quite well trimmed, average girth wise, but longer than average...but oh so veiny. You swallow, and Frank catches you staring. He smirks at you as he starts palming himself at the sight of you.

You wine as he does this, even though you hate Frank's guts right now, you're desperate for him to be inside you. A touch of Stockholm Syndrome maybe, you think. Or your mind is just broken from bloodloss.

Frank starts swiping himself between your folds, using your blood as lube. Suddenly he slams into you and you jerk against the wall, your fingernails clawing at the floorboards. Frank, still inside you, moves your legs to give him a better angle. One on the floor, the other up and bent, giving him somewhere to lean on and forcing you as wide as possible, as he aggressively fucks into you.

You look towards the door and see one of your friends, standing agape at the sight and frozen in fear. You look towards them, putting a finger to your lips, telling them to be quiet. They back away slowly, nodding.

Frank is too busy to notice as he throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing deeper into you. He moans as he looks down at your stomach, seeing the bulge of himself.

You can feel yourself closer to orgasm, arching your back, as you come undone. Your walls start to clench around him, but his aggressive thrusts force out extra liquid from inside you. Your toes clench as you feel yourself squirt, your cheeks growing bright red. It's bad that you've orgasmed with the creature that was Frank, but squirting??

You curse yourself as you look down at Frank who is quietly laughing manically to himself, knowing his power over you, as he starts to reach his climax. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he groans out his orgasm. Your liquids mixing with his seed. Frank continues to thrust into you, feeling the bulge in your stomach as he somehow continues to release into you.

As soon as he's satisfied you're full enough, he starts to spill into your stomach, mixing with the blood from your breast. It seems to last forever. You look at him, his body twitching, milking himself of every last drop of cum, as he continues to stroke himself. He places a palm on the wall behind you to give himself some leverage and to remain somewhat standing up as his cum leaks all over your naked body, going up towards your face. He starts to slow, coming down from his high. He can't help himself but to try some of his cum mixed with your blood and licks up your stomach, some of his strength coming back to him. He moans audibly, "Fuck, we taste so good. It's a shame I'm finished with you now".

As Frank stands up, you look at him, pleading to stop. He looks around the room and finds a nice length of rope, and starts to wrap it around your neck. He drags you to the top of the stairs, the floorboards grazing your back, your hands clawing around your neck trying to escape. But Frank is too strong. He starts tying the rest of the rope around the bannister as you're crying at him, unable to speak. He then lifts you like you weigh nothing, to sit on the rail of the stairs. He takes one last look at you, with a hint of disgust, as he pushes you off the rail.

Your neck instantly snaps, your blood and his cum that was on your chest starts dripping onto the floor. Frank disappears into the house as the remaining survivors run to the lobby to see what all the noise was. They stop in fear, one person slips over, one throws up. Another takes a step back to see the message written in your blood on the floor: "I'M COMING".

#abigail #fanfic #reader #frank abigail #adam barrett x reader #frank (abigail) x reader #frank x reader #frank #vampire #dead dove fic #yandare #abigail 2024

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turbulenthandholding · 4 months ago

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Sydney's polka dots and Yayoi Kusama

I wrote about it a little bit here, in a reblog of @thoughtfulchaos773's really excellent post (and ongoing thread) about Carmy's polka dots in his sauce but I have wondered since my first watch of S3, if there is some reference in all of the polka dots (Sydney's except for Carmy's sauce) to the Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama.

Pumpkins and Fruits (1993)

Kusama is an artist who works in a number of mediums, including sculpting and painting, but who is primarily known for her works featuring polka dots, both paintings as well as installations of polka dots in mirrored rooms (as well as even live art installations with naked people painted with polka dots).

There's two threads in her art that I think are particularly interesting, if all of Sydney's polka dots are at all referential to Kusama's work: mental health and sexuality.

Mental Health

The genesis of polka dots in Kusama's art came from her childhood, where as early as age 10 she had hallucinations of spots.

“I translate the hallucinations and obsessional images that plague me into sculptures and paintings."

And from Wikipedia:

Kusama has been open about her mental health and has resided since the 1970s in a mental health facility which she leaves daily to walk to her nearby studio to work. She says that art has become her way to express her mental problems. "I fight pain, anxiety, and fear every day, and the only method I have found that relieved my illness is to keep creating art," she told an interviewer in 2012. "I followed the thread of art and somehow discovered a path that would allow me to live."

I think Sydney's polka dots, viewed through the lens of Kusama's art, could be an indication of the healthiness of using creativity and collaboration in the kitchen as a way to process and work through past trauma as well as anxiety. As Kusama's art has given her a path allowing life, as she said, Sydney's polka dots could represent that Carmy has a path to improved mental health and a better place through his collaboration with Syd and their mutual inspiration. Carmy spends a lot of season 3 doing things for Sydney instead of with her, and his reflection of her polka dots in his sauce stands out as a reflection and a growing recognition in him of the full depth of her importance to him.

Sexuality

Which brings me to the second potential reference to Kusama's work in the polka dots, which is a reference to sexuality.

Sexuality has played a very complicated and, even at times disturbing, role in Kusama's life and she has used her art as a way to process it and reconcile her sexuality with herself. She was traumatized early by an abusive mother who sent her to spy on her cheating father as he conducted his affairs, which led to a reaction towards anything sexual filled with a lot of disgust (understandably). Over the course of her career, she grappled more and more with her feelings on sexuality in her art, with many representation both of female and male genitals in her work. As one article says:

Her works often depict phallic shapes and repetitive patterns, which she has said are meant to represent the human obsession with sex and desire. Kusama’s art also explores themes of self-obliteration and the loss of self in the face of infinite repetition.

Phalli's Field (1965) - first mirrored room installation, filled with phallic shapes made out of fabric and cardboard, covered in polka dots.

From Stir World:

While the work circled back to the phallic motif, the design intervention of using mirrors created an architecture of infinite space. This was the beginning of what revolutionised her career so much so that in 2016, she was chosen as one of the world’s most influential people by TIME magazine. Since then, her exhibitions of infinity rooms like Love is Calling have had waiting lines of over five hours for a few seconds of viewing time.

Especially when Kusama combines polka dots with mirrored infinity rooms as she calls them, there is very much a sense of both reflectivity and reflexivity that happens. An interesting example in terms of this discussion, Infinity Mirrored Room - Love Forever (1966/1994), the polka dots in this room being represented by round, colored light bulbs:

A description of the installation (emphasis mine):

Infinity Mirrored Room—Love Forever is an iteration of the second mirrored environment Kusama created. Sculptural, architectural, and performative, the installation blurs the lines between artistic disciplines and is activated by audience participation. Hexagonal in shape and mirrored on all sides, Love Forever features two peepholes that invite visitors to peer in and see both themselves and another participant repeated into infinity.

Kusama used her polka dots, especially when integrated into more phallic shapes in reflective rooms, to process and come to grips with her sexuality. And if there was an intentional reference being made to her art in Sydney's proclivity towards polka dots in season 3, I think it's in Carmy's coopting of the imagery in his sauce. The reflective and reflexive gesture indicates his observation of her (in that he noticed her repeating the pattern over the course of months in her clothes and scarves) as well as his desire for her. At their best, they are vibrantly collaborative and we see each of them let the other in more than anyone else. And this isn't entirely comfortable for Sydney, seen in the way she deflects his questions about her parents and her apartment at different points. But she does eventually tell him more and let him in more - and I think the polka dots could also be a representation of her coming to grips with her feelings and ultimately desire towards/for him, as well as the importance of their collaborative relationship, especially with the difficulty of Carmy in S3 as well as her offer from Shapiro.

(Also as an aside, Yayoi Kusama's art comes up as a rather regular inspiration/collaboration in food and fine dining, so it feels like her art may at least have been on someone's radar as they thought about Syd's polka dots this season. See here and here and here and here and here - as created by a former chef from the French Laundry.)

Sources for info and pictures:

Yayoi Kusama's website

Understanding Sexuality in Yayoi Kusama's Art

Accumulation (MoMA)

Wikipedia

The Alchemist of Polka Dots

Love Forever

#sydcarmy #polka dots #the bear season 3 #yayoi kusama #polka dots in the bear #am I onto something? who knows #but it made my brain itch when I kept noticing Syd's polka dots #note: I am not an art historian #just a former english major who dabbled in art history courses once or twice #sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney

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chic-a-gigot · 9 months ago

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La Mode nationale, no. 45, 5 mars 1887, Paris. Nos. 13 et 15. — Dos et devant d'une robe d'intérieur. No. 17. — Costume de voyage. No. 20. — Robe de ville. Maison Vidal sœuers. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Nos. 13 et 15. — Dos et devant d'une robe d'intérieur en molleton crème. Jupe unie, froncée derrière, ouvrant devant sur une sous-jupe plissée, volant en bas. Tout le davant de la robe est garni par une dentelle légèrement froncée. Une longue ceinture de velours vient se nouer négligement à la taille. Le milieu du dos est garni par des bands de pékin, formant pointes, alternées avec de la dentelle. Plastron et manches en pékin formant chevron.

Nos. 13 and 15. — Back and front of a cream fleece house dress. Plain skirt, gathered at the back, opening in front onto a pleated underskirt, ruffled at the bottom. The entire front of the dress is trimmed with slightly gathered lace. A long velvet belt is tied casually at the waist. The middle of the back is trimmed with strips of pekin, forming points, alternating with lace. Chevron-shaped pekin bib and sleeves.

—

No. 17. — Costume de voyage en tissu pékin prune et héliotrope, et en cheviotte unie. Jupe plissée à larges panneaux, garnie dans le bas par un petit plissé. Longue draperie, très froncée à la taille, formant pointe devant et pouf drapé derrière. Corsage-veste, très ouvert, à revers, ouvrant sur une chemisette bouffant en faille à petits pois. Manches longues et plates, à parements de pékin. Grand chapeau de feutre, garni d'une longue plume amazone, dont le pied est caché sous un large nœud de ruban.

No. 17. — Travel suit in plum and heliotrope pekin fabric and plain cheviotte. Pleated skirt with large panels, trimmed at the bottom with a small pleat. Long drapery, very gathered at the waist, forming a point in front and a draped pouf behind. Very open bodice-jacket, with lapels, opening onto a puffed shirt in polka dot fault. Long, flat sleeves with pekin facings. Large felt hat, trimmed with a long Amazon feather, the base of which is hidden under a large ribbon bow.

Métrage: 5 mètres tissu pékin, en 1 mètre de large; 5 mètres cheviotte unie, 1 mètre faille.

—

No. 20. — Robe de ville en faille noire. Le devant de la jupe, encadré entre-deux darperies droites, plissées, est ornée par une broderie au passé. La jupe, très froncée derrière à la taille, retombe en pouf droit. Le corsage-veste, à très longues basques est également brodé au passé sur la poitrine; il croise sur un long gilet en velours noir. Parements également en velours.

No. 20. — City dress in black faille. The front of the skirt, framed between two straight, pleated darperies, is decorated with embroidery in the past. The skirt, very gathered behind at the waist, falls in a straight pouf. The bodice-jacket, with very long basques, is also embroidered on the chest; it crosses over a long black velvet vest. Facings also in velvet.

Métrage: 14 mètres faille noire, 1 mètre velours.

Capote béguin en tulle perlé garnie sur le devant par une fantaisie en plumes.

Beaded tulle bonnet trimmed on the front with feather decoration.

—

Nous rappelons que tous ces élégants costumes sortent de la Maison Vidal sœurs, 104, rue de Richelieu, dont les expositions de robes et de manteaux ont toujours un si grand retentissement et un réel succès. Ce succès est si grand, qu'il nécessite un agrandissement d'ateliers et de salons, pour lequel les sœurs Vidal préparent une magnifique exposition des nouveautés d'été, à laquelle elles convient toutes nos lectrices, dès que la date en ser fixée.

We remind you that all these elegant costumes come from the Maison Vidal sisters, 104, rue de Richelieu, whose exhibitions of dresses and coats always have such a great impact and real success. This success is so great that it requires an expansion of workshops and salons, for which the Vidal sisters are preparing a magnificent exhibition of summer novelties, to which they invite all our readers, as soon as the date is fixed.

B.V.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1880s #1887 #on this day #March 5 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #house #bustle #suit #Modèles de chez #Maison Vidal #devant et dos

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play-my-game · 1 year ago

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#Exhibition #Polka dots #Twirling dress #Outdoor

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nyc-looks · 1 year ago

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Jenn, 35

“I’m wearing a red vintage jumpsuit I bought for a disco party, vintage leather jacket, shirt and scarf, old Kate Spade bag, and Carel Paris mary janes. The annual tulip bloom in the city has me gravitating toward bright colors. I wore this to the new Kusama exhibition in Chelsea because wearing something colorful (or in the past, polka dots) to her infinity rooms makes me feel like I’m another dot on the wall, heightens the experience! Art and costuming in films and ballets inspire me to have fun, add a little drama, and play with silhouettes when getting dressed.”

May 13, 2023 ∙ Lower East Side

#nyc looks #street style #new york #street fashion #style #outfit #vintage #ootd #fashion #new york street style #red jumpsuit #kate spade #carel paris

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imtotallynormalmhmyes · 1 year ago

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Simon in a Speedo??

Ghost x Transmale!reader

Chapter 1:

The beach. Awesome. Sand everywhere, lobster-red skin, and stares. It's always the stares, but who couldn't stare when you have two jagged scars framing the bottom of your pecs. Every time your shirt comes off, you seem to become a spectacle to grandmothers and toddlers alike.

Your older brother, Johnny, had lured you in with promises of margaritas and shirtless men, but as he rolls into the driveway of his captain's beach house, you begin to feel nerves fluttering in your stomach. You're meeting Johnny's team. Big, tough, military men and totally not intimidating at all. Especially when you feel like you're hiding a secret under your shirt.

Deep breaths. You're determined not to let what others think dictate your life.... or at least your beach trip.

Johnny interrupts your train of thought when he thumps your chest with his hand, "Just gonna sit here?"

"I might," you deadpan.

"Get your arse out of the car."

You huff and open the passenger door, and your nose is met with the mingling of the salty Yorkshire air and a distant barbecue down the road. Each step towards the house made that nervous fluttering grow, and it reached its peak when Johnny swung the door open and presented you to his team. Your eyes take in the imposing group, first seeing the older, warm-faced man who introduces himself as "Price." You then shake hands with a dreamy, brown-skinned man nicknamed "Gaz" and almost melt into a puddle at the touch. Maybe this trip won't be so bad after all.

"And, this is ol' Ghost," Johnny redirects your attention, having to hold back laughter at how you so easily swoon. As you turn, you're met with the tall, stoic figure of Simon "Ghost" Riley. Johnny had talked about him before, how skilled he was, how cold he could be, and how much liquor he could handle, but none of that could prepare you for this. His impressive physique was intimidating enough, but the way he seemed to pick you apart with just a glance made your stomach lurch. The man observed you in a way that made you feel like an exhibit rather than a new acquaintance. His appraisal is abruptly ended with a curt nod. A nod of approval? Hopefully.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a few hours of lounging around the beach house, Johnny knocks on your door, pulling you out of the light nap you were taking, "We're goin' arsehole, get up." He leaves before you can give him a snarky reply, leaving you to ponder what you would wear. Summer clothing was never your thing because of the dysphoria that made any slightly revealing tee shirt feel like a torture device.

Staring down at your open suitcase, you cringe at your clothing choices. Floral button-up shirts? Pink board shorts? Polka-dotted pajamas? Truthfully, you loved those clothes, but the prospect of dressing like a toddler on his first vacation in front of fucking soldiers? Not the best idea. However, you have to make a choice, so you don a blue Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts: the least obtrusive pairing you could come up with.

Everyone meets outside before piling into the rental car. The fit was tight, and you find yourself squeezed between Ghost and the absolute dream boat, Gaz. And here comes the butterflies. Everything from the way his shirt contours his massive biceps, his amber skin that glows in the sunlight, his-

"Oi, Y/N, stop ogling," once again, Johnny snaps you out of your daze, "You're cool with the local pub, right?"

"I- um, yeah, sure. Yeah," you sigh before cursing at the burning heat in your cheeks as the fire is fueled by the chuckles of the other men. The little shit just had to say "ogling" didn't he? You soon realize that the embarrassment wasn't the only thing prickling your skin. You felt it again. That gaze slices you open like a scalpel, and you can't help but feel that he knows precisely what's running through your mind.

#fanfiction #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #ghost fanfiction #trans!male reader #trans reader #ftm reader #there won't be an actual speedo im sorry

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superego-imagines · 5 months ago

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OMG it was so nice to read about your blog! I'm on my knees praying to you like a god for some Polka-dot man x reader headcanons. preferably romantic or smut (whatever you feel comfortable writing) I just wanna give him the love he deserves <3

((He's my fucking MAAAAAAAN! I'm so glad other people like him!

Polka-Dot Man Relationship Headcanons SFW + NSFW

SFW Headcanons

So I’m not going to get too into the weeds of how you guys got together because I already covered that in OT3 fic. But suffice is to say that it’s gotta be slow-burn friends to lovers 30k words 40 chapters. So when you finally do start dating you’re already pretty comfortable with each other. In a lot of ways that makes things easy. But knowing when to take it slow and how exactly to transition your relationship from a platonic one to a non-platonic one takes time. You spend the first week or so dancing around each other trying to bait the other into making first moves, like him nudging his hand against yours during a movie, or you leaning in so you can “get rid of an eyelash”. Eventually he breaks and asks to hold your hand and you both hopefully learn that you have to use your words to get what you want!

Living with the virus outside Belle Reeves is difficult. He can’t go more than six hours before the initial symptoms start to show. There's very few safe places for him to expel his dots without major property damage. The safest option, albeit not the most environmentally friendly, is a backyard or a private place in a local park. Anywhere where large amounts of matter can be displaced with little damage to infrastructure. Maybe you can cut a deal with the city's waste management department lol. There's also the physical side effect. As much as he desperately wants to fit in, it can be hard when there's a big glowing hazard sign threatening to burst out of his face. It can make going out in public anxiety-producing, which doesn’t help anything. He was given a more subtle power dampening collar as part of his parole. This helps him sleep through the night but comes with its own unpleasant side effects like headaches and nausea. Not to mention that any sort of medical equipment or restraints are mildly triggering. Like a lot of chronic/long term medical problems, there's no easy fix, you just have to establish care plans, stick to what works and try to be patient when things don't work out.

For related and unrelated reasons, dates can be kind of hard. So many years of only seeing the same four walls until eventually seeing a different same four walls have left him desperate for any and every experience he can. But that can easily swing back the other direction, leaving him overstimulated from all of the noise and bright lights and people all bearing the face that haunts him. He wants to do all the things he could only read about in books or watch on TV when he was younger. He wants to try new foods and go to new places and just have fun for once. But sometimes it’s just too much, especially in particularly loud, crowded, or otherwise overwhelming places. And then that leads to a new wave of frustration and anxiety because he wants so badly to do normal couple things with you but it feels like he always ruins it. He doesn’t of course but it’s hard to not feel frustrated. Though that isn’t to say there aren't plenty of fun things to do together, you just have to work your way up to the big stuff. His favorite date you’ve been on was probably the trip to the aquarium. It was so beautiful and peaceful! Although he did insist that you just move on past the Echinoderm exhibit. Also fun pseudo/at-home dates include Mystery Meal Nights in which you try to find a new take-out place or at least a new food from one of the classics. And, while he won’t instigate it, he does really like dancing with you. He likes it in general, but unless he’s mildly to majorly drunk he won’t dance in public. So you can have little living room dance parties with just the two of you~ He doesn’t dance particularly well, but that just makes it more fun. Dance comes from the heart and that, he has plenty of.

So sort of paralleling the sensory issues I’ve already mentioned. He is simultaneously extremely touch-starved and desperate for affection, but will also sort of out of nowhere get touched-out and just kind of need space. For the first half of his life he was pretty much exclusively around family, and then was put into solitary for most of the rest of it. And now he has you! Someone he loves so so much and wants to hug and kiss and cuddle and all the other things boyfriends are supposed to do. Sometimes it’s just still too foreign and overwhelming, although the longer you two date, the easier it gets and the less often these moments occur. But on the flipside, when he does feel touchy, he might as well be made of Velcro. Every time you cross a new line of acceptable relationship behavior (hand-holding, kissing, etc.), he just adds that to the list of things he’s constantly trying to do. Sometimes he’s just so happy it doesn’t feel real, like he’s going to wake up and it will all be some crazy dream. Nothing in his real life could actually be this nice. He doesn’t articulate it when he feels like that, but you’ll know it by the way his breath shudders when he holds you close, or he holds you extra tight, murmuring an apology in your ear but not letting go. Not yet. Just in case.

NSFW Headcanons

(Under the Cut)

So related to the above, that touch starvation definitely translates sexually. While he eventually mellows out, especially early on in the relationship there's a sort of barely restrained desperation in everything he does. He doesn't ever instigate or suggest something new but the second you suggest or okay something he jumps on it. He just doesn't want to scare you off or push you, even if you want him just as badly. Whenever you're making out, he tries to press as close to you as humanly possible. His kisses are uncoordinated and a little sloppy but his eagerness is sexy in its own right. He's just been so pent up with no outlet or even privacy until now. And he was pining after you for so long. Can you blame him for trying to make up for lost time?

This man is sooooo desperate to please. He's just head over heels in love with you. You've brought so much joy and love to his life, he wants to show you how much he loves and appreciates you. (At a less sexy time, it'd probably be good to talk with him about that feeling of debt and how you love him for who he is, not what he can do for you. But that’s a whole other demon.) So that being said, he’s pretty flexible. While he’s not exactly adventurous, he is open to suggestions. If you want him to take charge, he’ll do his best! Or he’s happy to follow instructions and let you take the lead. Service-Vers. Though, while he’d never ask for it because pleasing you is at the forefront, he’d really enjoy getting to be a pillow prince every once in a while. Just smothered in affection while you take care of everything and spoil him. He’d probably die of happiness.

To be perfectly honest, he’s pretty vanilla. But that’s not a bad thing! He likes gentle, romantic love-making in a bed with the lights dimmed. While he’s not opposed, per say, to trying something new every once in a while, he doesn’t really need anything other than you to make him happy. No matter how many times you two have sex it never gets old or feels less special. If anything it just gets better the more familiar and comfortable he becomes with your body and his own. He likes missionary best but is also a fan of really any position where he can hold you close and see/kiss your face. The one sort of kink he has is praise, though I’d argue everyone likes praise a little. Please tell him how he’s doing and how good you’re feeling. That he’s handsome and good and most of all: that you love him~ He never gets tired of hearing you say it~

#dc imagine #polka dot man #gender neutral reader #abner krill #abner krill x reader #polka dot man x reader #dc headcanons

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