Tom taking you out to dinner with some of the castmates of his recent film and fingering you under the table during dessert without the others noticing. All you can do is bite your tongue and hope not to moan.
“You’re looking kinda green around the gills, Spock.”
“That would be due to my Vulcan blood, doctor.”
“No, I mean you’re growing gills.”
At first, Spock thinks, surely McCoy is joking. But the assumption quickly fades when he sees the look on McCoy’s face. He touches the side of his neck and his fingers come away slightly slimy. He looks at his hand and see scales.
There’s the usual panic whenever unexplainable phenomena occur. He winds up in the isolation ward with Chapel, who is in full hazmat gear and is carrying a bottle of water with a spray top. She spritzes him occasionally and that helps with the itchy, dry skin, but it doesn’t stop the slow progression of the disease. If it is a disease.
It takes only a week for his legs to fuse together, skin growing first dry, then rough, the scaly. He forgoes pants and mourns the fact he can no longer wear his favorite boots with the little black heel. His feet flatten and shift into flowing fins. The scales are smooth to the touch now, and match the pale green scales on the back of his hands. Thankfully his upper body remains relatively the same, but now he’s heaving trouble breathing.
McCoy discovers the diseases isn’t communicable and then spends four sleepless nights in his room, along with Scotty and Chekov, and together the four of them build a tank that Spock can submerge himself in. At least he won’t suffocate in the meantime. It takes days for them to get the salinity right and meanwhile Spock is sluggish and tired all the time. Sulu transplants some seaweed and rocks into the tank and Spock tells him it’s illogical, but secretly he feels better anyway.
After the tank is complete McCoy refuses to leave, even though Spock is fine for the time being. Spock curls his tail up to his body and watches as McCoy eventually passes out, slumped against the glass. The glass is warmer where his body is, and Spock presses against it. He thinks he can feel McCoy’s dreams through the glass, but they are muddied by the water. Fuzzy and disjointed. Like passing through a haze.
Work on a cure is slow. Or perhaps a cure will never come. Spock has trouble parsing McCoy’s increasingly vague updates. He finds himself growing isolated. Alone. He can’t even work, because he can’t bring the electronics into the tank with him.
He calls McCoy in and demands to be let out.
He touches his hand to the glass as McCoy lists all the reasons that he shouldn’t be out and about. Spock neatly negates them all and finally McCoy stops and sighs. Spock thinks he’s smiling.
“Got something for you.”
It’s a breathing device.
He still has to be fully submerged once every four hours, and he needs to use a wheelchair to get around, but now he’s free. He tries to go to his quarters but McCoy stops him.
“Oh no, no more slacking. You’re fit for duty.”
McCoy wheels him, protesting, to the turbolift. He’s shocked to find that ramps have been installed along the way. And on the bridge Jim’s chair is gone, and in its place is a sunken wading pool.
“Sulu and Chekov already love it,” Jim tells him with a grin. “They’ve been competing to see who can get the most ridiculous swimwear past dress code.”
Spock looks over to where Sulu is at the helm in a command-gold bikini and Chekov is wearing three pairs of Bermuda shorts, one pair on his legs and another on each arm. He’s fairly certain none of that meets dress code, but he says nothing. He’s too thankful.
He feels McCoy standing by his workstation. When he looks up, McCoy is smiling.
“I’ll get back to work on that cure.”
“Take your time, Doctor,” Spock says, his voice accented now with the sound of popping bubbles. “There is no urgency.”
He curls his tail up to his body and gets to work mapping the stars.
Also, imagine once John was really comfortable with Sherlock knowing about his piano playing talent and they’re lying in bed together, all naked and tangled together, and John starts tapping his fingers against Sherlock’s back, playing a soundless tune on his body, and Sherlock manages to guess what John’s playing, and after that it becomes a sort of game for them. :D
So obviously Adam can do The Growl™ and he can probably grow hair much faster than most humans can
Also though he becomes overly aware of his surroundings because of the resonating animal instinct and whenever Belle tries to sneak up on him while his half asleep in front of the the fire, he knows she’s there before she’s even entered the room
As was shown in the film, lumiere has the tendency to suddenly be alight whether it’s when he dances or as he clicks his fingers
Although he’s no longer a candelabra, as he enters a dark room, he emits a slight warm glow and rarely feels the cold
It had been suggested that Cogsworth has the ability to tell the time at any given moment due to his time living as a clock
But as well as that, he becomes skilled in working with cogs and mechanisms, often helping Maurice with his new inventions when he arrives. As he grows older and less able to complete manual work, he builds little contraptions to do it for him, loving each one dearly
Plumette becomes strangely light on her feet and once, as she skipped through the halls, Belle could swear she saw her hang in the air just a little longer that gravity normally allows and when she dances, she appears to float like the feather duster she once was
As well as being the best tea brewer in France, Mrs Potts finds herself increasingly aware of Chip’s location after worrying about him breaking for such a long time
Chip, on the other hand, without the worry of smashing, becomes even more reckless than before and, after being a cup for many years, he detests tea and won’t go near it
Garderobe, despite retaining her main focus of singing, spends much more of her time making dresses and other outfits, especially now since there’s a “noble woman” for her to clothe
Every morning, before the couple awake, she sets out colour coded matching outfits for Belle and Adam and fusses over their appearances constantly
Even though he lost his teeth defending the castle, Cadenza, through living as an instrument for so long, seems to never stop making music. Either he’s playing or humming a tune wherever he may be and it’s always something different that he’s composed himself
Although froufrou has returned to his dog form, he’s often restless in the evening unless someone props their feet up on him by the fire.
What if after the proposal, Emma takes out Liam's ring and takes Killian's rings off his hand so she can put Liam's ring on his finger to remind him that "all sins can be forgiven as long as someone loves you"?
Who are you nonnie? You who come into my house and hit me in the feels?
If Harry was a pornstar, he'd be so fucking dominant. He'd pull your hair, choke you, slap your ass, make you ride him even harder when you're cumming, degrade you, nibble your skin, fuck you until you're shaking, make you suck his fingers like you would his cock, plough into you with his fingers on your clit, telling you not to cum. "Is that what you like, huh? You like having my cock deep in your tight wet cunt, you little slut?"
How do you feel about Mark selling shirts with fanart of you?
“I see no issue in it.”
Dark smirked and shrugged promptly, the motion cascading the thick tresses of his fabric along his arms and causing them to ruffle only slightly. It was just enough to gain his attention, and he swiped his fingers down the material in order to smoothen it down.
“Perhaps it is a motivator for causes I don’t have much a care about. Perhaps he used it as a trick to get people to donate more money, but it expands their knowledge of me one way or another. Besides, the design was rather flattering, wouldn’t you agree? Charmingly intimidating, the perfect combination of striking and shadows. I wasn’t upset by it, I’m more flattered that Mark is far more open about the whole idea of my return.”
A finger tapped once against the wood, so subtle it was almost unnoticeable.
“I do wish I wasn’t a source of money making, however.”
You look up, and there he is–Victor Nikiforov, in all his glory. His hair is silver, like a silver coin, and his eyes are blue, like the ocean on a sunny day. “Oh, h-hi Victor,” you stutter, and your heart is racing like a racehorse.
Victor puts his fingers on your chin, grips it lightly. Instinctively, you move closer, until your chests are just inches apart. “I see you bought some fresh strawberries today.”
You nod, not sure of what else to say. His gaze is captivating, pulling you in like gravity. His breath ghosts across your lips. “They’re supposed to be extra sweet this time of year,” you exhale.
With one hand and the dexterity of a renowned figure skater, he uses his right hand to grab a strawberry from the basket. He puts it between his teeth, then moves forward and presses it between your own. You catch it, just barely, and a smile begins playing on his lips, which are as red as the berry itself. “Sweets for my sweet.”
There’s a pause as you silently eat the strawberry.
His finger drifts to your cheekbone. “Look at your pretty Y/E/C eyes.” You can’t tell if you’re seeing stars or strawberry seeds behind your eyelids anymore.
LOLOLOL I can’t even keep going I was getting uncomfortable
Dean was on his way home from a hunt, Sam riding shotgun and already trying to find another case for them. The younger Winchester didn’t notice when Dean took a slight detour, passing by the house he’d spent many a night in, tangled in sheets, sweaty and grinding against her.
They pulled up to the bunker and climbed out of the car, Sam heading straight for bed while Dean popped open the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass. Pulling out his phone, he began looking for a distraction, anything to get his mind off of her.
Scrolling through his phone, he found her name again, his finger hovering over the highlighted words.
“Fuck it.” He muttered, the pad of his thumb gently tapping the contact, phone dialing her number.
When she answered, the conversation was short. Two words from him, in the form of a question, followed by a single, simple word answer from her. The he was on his way to her place. Again.
As his headlights bounced off her house, he caught a glimpse of her shadow through the curtains upstairs. Shutting down the Impala, he ripped the keys from the ignition and headed for the door. He didn’t need to be let in, he knew where the key was - hiding under the mat.
“Not safe.” He mumbled, making a mental note to tell her to move it later.
Another week rolled by, and he found himself at the little dive bar where they’d met. He knew she’d be there. She always was.
“Hey there.” Her voice came from behind him.
Spinning, he saw her grinning at him, hair pulled half up and the rest billowing down over the cut shoulders of one of his shirts.
Damn, she looked good.
“How much longer are you planning on staying?” She sank onto the stool beside him.
“Finish this drink, then I’m heading out.” He lifted his bottle.
“My house?” She smirked, sipping her own drink.
“I… I don’t think so. Not tonight.” He shook his head, licking his lips and waiting for the worst.
“Did I do something wrong?” She leaned back and looked him over, furrowing her brow.
“No, no. Not at all. I just… Maybe we should stop?” He winced at his own words.
He didn’t want to stop. Of course he didn’t. But he was afraid of what was happening. He was falling for her, and that terrified him.
“Stop? Stop. Okay…” She fished in her pocket and dropped a few bills on the counter, enough to cover her only drink, and then strutted toward the door, catching the eye of a few men on her way out.
One of them followed her before Dean had the chance to go after her. Then he heard her yelling through the open doors. He sprinted for the parking lot, running to her and catching her as the ugly son of a bitch who went after her shoved her to the ground.
“You better get the hell out of here, buddy. If you know what’s good for you.” Dean glared up at the man.
He scoffed and spun on his heel, heading back into the bar to go after some other poor girl.
“Didn’t have to follow me.” She mumbled, pushing herself up off and away from him, then brushing the gravel from her hands and backside.
“I heard you yelling. I wasn’t just going to leave you out here on your own.” He explained.
“Well… you should have. I thought we were stopping.” She mocked his tone.
Dean crashed his lips into hers and pushed her back against the trunk of his car. Between kisses, he murmured against her lips, “Does this seem like I want to stop?”
She reached around and fumbled for the handle of the back door, opening it and climbing inside, pulling Dean with her. As she arched up into him, he rolled his hips against her, the two of them knowing exactly what the other needed.
Waking up next to her, Dean leaned over and kissed her forehead before leaving the bed.
“Stay for breakfast.” She groaned sleepily.
Dean flinched, his whole body jumping when she spoke. He knew he shouldn’t, knew that if he stayed, he would only come to love her more. When he turned back to look at her, the tiny smile on her face was enough to pull him back. So what if he got burned? So what if this could end at any second and he’d be crushed? Right now, this was what he wanted, and he’d be damned if he was going to let one more good thing get out of his grasp. He’d fucked up enough times to know that playing with fire will get you burned, but maybe he liked the scars.
If you have the time, I'd absolutely love to read about Yuuri and Viktor on Cupcake Wars or something like mentioned in a previous ask. The other couples scrambling, and Yuuri, being used to serving rooms of people just sits Viktor down on a chair and tells him to mix the frosting. He makes a great taste tester. There's this one moment when Viktor holds out his finger with frosting on it for Yuuri and everyone in the studio blushes as he sucks it off, nbd. They win easily, with time to spare :)
I can’t really think of a good enough plot to write it out in full but it would definitely involve Yuuri ‘Kitchen God’ Katsuki and Viktor ‘Could Burn Water’ Nikiforov and Yuuri staunchly refusing to play Viktor’s games with the icing until right at the very end where he’s like ‘you have a bit of icing on your mouth Viktor’ and instead of wiping it off with his hand he kisses it off
I'm always weak for Scott and Reyes so you successfully baited me congrats. What about Scott doing something incredibly stupid on Kadara and coming back to the slums with a pissed off and worried Reyes? Cue Scott being super endeared yet annoyed since he's usually the one stressed out over the others stupid ideas.
This was cute. It’s about 1200 words so I’ll put most of it under a read more. Thanks for the prompt!
Reyes hunched forward, his elbows on his knees and his brow creased in concentration. He touched a finger to his earpiece, “I repeat: Aguila 1, do you have eyes on the objective?”
Again, only static answered, punctuated by the stutter of distant gunfire. Reyes willed himself to remain calm but before he could broadcast again, there was crackle of distortion, “Copy, Charlatan. I have eyes on the prize but it’s getting pretty hairy out here. We’re about a click, click and a half east of the base, it’s– it’s an ambush set up but–”
“Aquila, I’m losing you,” Reyes said. More shots. His hands curled into fists as he tried to stuff down the rising swell of panic in his throat. He couldn’t let his scout hear it, “What’s the Pathfinder’s status? Aguila, can you read me?”
“Ryder looks like he’s– and there’s another drop ship arriving, I can see it coming over the–Roekaar, definitely—” the connection was getting worse, Aguila’s voice was barely audible over the static. The Roekaar must have been using jammers, or they were on the other side of the spiny ridge of mountains near the base and the signal was blocked. Either way, Reyes was struggling to get the full picture. What he did know, sounded bad.
He swore under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. His mind raced as he tried to pull enough threads together formulate a plan, but there was nothing he could grasp for; he didn’t know exactly where they were, couldn’t pin down Aguila’s transponder location, and didn’t have any patrols in the area east of the rebel base that could immediately assist.
“The turian– down, it looks like– going after her, that dumb son of a bitch is going to–visual confirmation has been lost, I repeat–”
“Stay with him, Aguila. I need eyes on the Pathfinder, don’t let me down,” Reyes urged. His pulse was jumping, his heart hammering at his ribs.
“Negative, Charlatan–too hot, I’m pulling back to point–” the line crackled for a final time, “–see you back in port. Try not to hate me too much.”
I don’t know if this has be headcannoned already but
Lefou being so used to changing everything about himself for Gaston that he starts changing for Stanley. Stanley can tell something is different about Lefou, but can’t put his finger on it. Later he finds out and assures Lefou that no matter who he will love him, and that he loved him before he began to change himself
Ignis tastes absolutely exquisite against your lips…warm, soft, and just the right of pressure to show you just how much he needs you. He moans again, and you greedily swallow it, vibrations from which make hast throughout your body and hit you directly in the core. You take advantage of his current vulnerability, threading your fingers through his tawny hair as your tongue makes its home inside of his mouth, exploring and snaking its way throughout it. Hunger and eagerness took over you, wanting to take in all of him, wanting to watch him become undone underneath you. You capture his tongue in your lips, giving it a slight suck before jerking his head back, eliciting a gasp from him as you found that delicate area between his jaw and neck. That’s when you strike, biting down and laving your tongue repeatedly against his flesh, relishing every buck of the hips and every utter of your name. It was a wonderful sight to behold, the normally stoic strategist succumbing to every touch like he’s been deprived of it for years.
You continue your journey down his lithe body, peppering his chest with kisses taking his nipple into your mouth and rolling it against your tongue before attentively taking it within your teeth. Ignis’ hand found ownership amidst your hair, unable to decide whether to pull you off or let you go even harder on him. It didn’t matter regardless, as you had already moved on, lips trailing towards the light trace of hair leading down to your goal. You briefly part ways with Ignis as another mouth captures yours in a deep kiss, the other pair of lips already slick and well-used. The taste and smell of Ignis was all over Gladio, and you ravish his lips once again, unable to get enough of him. The both of you descend down down conjointly, and Ignis stifles back another cry as you and Gladio return back to your endeavors.