beneath the umbrella

Make ‘em Blush (NSFW)

@mirthaculous‘ and my fill for day 3 of mlnsfweek, make ‘em blush :

THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE YOU HAVE N O I D E A

summary: Ladybug and Chat Noir are on patrol for the first time since consummating their relationship as their alter egos, and the tension is getting to them.

(more nsfw in fantasies and makeouts but still)

It was a beautiful day.

The November Parisian sky was heavy and cold, clouds the colour of slate weighing down the autumn air. Every city surface was slick with a drizzle that had started early in the morning and hadn’t stopped since. Citizens scurried from shelter to shelter, huddled beneath umbrellas or in the collars of their coats.

Ladybug swung through the dreary skies above them with a laugh that was breathless and free, veins thrumming with an exhilaration that lent wings to her already weightless feet. An akuma had fallen to that excitement with astounding speed earlier that afternoon, and now she flew through her patrol with the same enthusiasm, showing no sign of tiring. Gravity had nothing on her today.

Everything was wonderful. Everything was fantastic.

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“Sweater Weather” - A Sanvers Fanfic

Post 2X06. (This is what I wish would happen in 2X07, but probably won’t. I have no patience for slow burns.)

Maggie shows up at Alex’s apartment to talk about the definition of “friends.”

Read more at AO3


Autumn had finally come to National City, and with it the rain.

Perfect sweater weather, Alex thought. Perfect hide in your house and don’t come out weather. Perfect cuddle on the couch—but wait, she was still alone.

Alex sighed and leaned against the chilled window pane. She could barely make out the shapes and shadows on the street below, but they were all dark and distant, and she felt like that was somehow the way it was supposed to be.

Silly me, she thought. For daring to hope it might be different.

Just then, a silhouette caught her eye. One shadow did not bustle or breeze by, but paused on the corner below, and looking out from beneath a blue umbrella, seemed to gaze right in through her window. She ran a hand across the muddled pane, but of course she couldn’t clear the water away.

Her heart pounding, she reached down, she pulled the window open, she leaned out.

“Maggie?” she called.

But the shadow was gone.

Read more at AO3.

anonymous asked:

~*~Alexander Hamilton had a pain kink pass it on~*~

listen…this is up to debate depending on how you define the specific parameters of pain kink…it’s mostly self explanatory except that there are certain acts that fall beneath the umbrella of pain kink that i don’t…see…hamilton…enjoying…but…whatever…to each their own…open up some discourse in my ask about the founding fathers’ respective kinks, im here now so we might as well…


Manami: “A person’s voice apparently sounds the most beautiful during a rainy day beneath an umbrella.”
Miyahara: “Oh yeah?”
Manami: “They say that the sound waves of your voice reverberate in the raindrops and resonate with them. Let’s see if that’s true. Come on, share this umbrella with me, Class President!”
Miyahara: “Eh– Wait– Sangaku!”
This was the day a very sodden Greg bounded up to Alan and asked, with all his usual ebullience, how he was.  Long pause as Alan surveyed him through half-closed eyes from beneath a huge golfing umbrella.  Then - ‘I’m dry.’  Sometimes Alan reminds me of the owl in Beatrix Potter’s Squirrel Nutkin.  If you took too many liberties with him I’m sure he’d have your tail off in a trice.
—  Emma Thompson, the Sense and Sensibility Screenplay & Diaries

anonymous asked:

Prompt 4x23 insert: after Alexis' graduation is over Castle is sad and goes to the swings, only to find Kate in there too

He’s starting to rethink this trip. The rain is only growing harder, the thunder more ferocious and the lightning breaking angrily across the sky, but sitting home alone with her on his mind, consuming his every thought, is worse. The idea of taking a walk had been a fleeting one, flashing like lightning through his brain, one that he decided to follow before he could think better of it. Not considering where his feet might lead him.

He recognizes the route, of course, can even see the outline of their swings in the distance through the thickening sheets of rain, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around. He’s a masochist, of that much he’s certain.

He had told her they were over, but he still clung to what he had left of her.

Castle sighs from beneath his umbrella, flinches at the slosh of water through his shoes when he steps foot in the grass of the park, now littered with puddles, but otherwise empty.

That is, until he ventures close enough to what was once a place that had become theirs, close enough to see a lone figure on one of the swings, her swing, and - oh, it can’t be. But he knows her shape, the striking image of her profile, and he may be infuriated with her, but that doesn’t stop him from trudging through the rain and puddles and thunder that rumbles the earth to get to her. 

“Beckett, what the hell?” He has to shout to be heard, and Kate lifts her head, squinting through the downpour to see him, staring for a long moment, as if she doesn’t quite believe he’s truly there. Castle sighs and steps closer, close enough to shield her beneath the roof of his umbrella, even though it means sacrificing the coverage of his back, earns him the cold pelt of water through his shirt. “Kate, this is dangerous, which I know is kind of your thing, but you could get electrocuted, or sick, or-”

Kate rises from the swing, the chains rattling in her wake and the water splashing beneath her feet as she drifts in close, the umbrella creating a barrier from the buckets of rain cascading like waterfalls around them. But she’s only looking at him, her eyes golden and glimmering in the darkness of the storm.

“I was just about to come find you,” she gets out, her voice uneven, soft but trembling, and Castle furrows his brow.

“Why?” The question slips from his mouth, harsh and unbidden, because she had made her choice, and it obviously wasn’t him. But Kate’s lip twitch and her hands flutter at his sides, climbing to the collar of his jacket, clutching loosely. “What do you want from me, Kate?”

His exhaustion is palpable, his bones weary, so weary, he almost drops the umbrella. 

“You,” she whispers, a surge of sincerity in her voice that shoots hope he had long since let go of zipping through his veins, a raw honesty that sets his heart aflame. “Just you. I just want you.”

The fingers curled at his collar rise to cradle his face, splaying at his cheeks as she arches on her toes, seals her mouth over his. Castle freezes, paralyzed by the warmth of her lips against his, the intoxicating taste of her that he’s been so long without, and he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her, feel every inch of her body through the soaked fabric of her clothes. She’s all he wants, all he ever wanted, but-

They part for breath, but Kate doesn’t let him go, noses clashing as her thumb caresses the bone of his cheek, her forehead falling to rest against the slick skin of his. 

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, and he can’t tell when he opens his eyes if the drops of moisture trailing down her cheeks are from the rain or the glittering eyes staring back at him. “I’m so sorry, Castle.”

She leans in to kiss him again and his heart exalts with yearning, but he holds her off, demands what happened, desperate for some sort of explanation, for anything to make this make sense. He needs it to make sense, needs her.

“I almost died,” she reveals once she’s offered a brief summary of her last few hours, of how the guy who shot her had been within reach, but had still slipped free yet again. How she didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything apparently, except- “All I could think about was you.” Her head shakes, a smile that breaks his heart and remakes it all in the same second gracing her lips. “I just want you.”

The thunder growls, another flash of light illuminating the sky, but Castle can’t take his eyes off of her, can’t think of anything but Kate Beckett and this revelation she’s come to, the welcome dust of her mouth over his when she sways towards him once more. 

He drops the umbrella, fills his emptied hands with the dripping tendrils of Kate’s hair, reclaims the warm, wet press of her mouth. He sips the raindrops from her lips, and revels in the glorious sound of her moan drowning out the storm around them. He barely feels the drench of rain through his clothes, his senses shifting into overload at the crash of her body against his, the travel of her hands through his hair, beneath his jacket to ignite fire along his skin despite the barrier of fabric his soaked dress shirt provides.

A particularly loud crackle of thunder snaps through the air and they both jerk, break apart.

“Kate,” he gasps, his thumb following the chilled shell of her ear. 

“Take me home,” she breathes, his face in her hands and her mouth still so close, her lips brushing his and the heat of her breath on his skin. “Castle.”

He snags the umbrella and Kate’s hand, starts off towards the loft in a sprint with puddles splashing beneath their feet. They need to talk before they go any further, cannot continue muddling through a relationship constantly blurred with subtext, but first he wants her in his home, warm and dry and safe. He wants the fit of her hand in his and the way it sparks electricity that rivals the bolts of lightning overhead. He wants this moment to relish in the gentle melody of Kate’s laughter at his back, fighting to be heard over the rain.

i want to skip all of this mediocre high school bullshit and fast forward to the stage where it’s you and i. you and i in our twenties, sitting outside of a coffee shop mid-November, sheltered beneath an umbrella and holding hands, admiring the rain falling against the concrete and asphalt and we don’t care that everything’s getting soaked because it doesn’t matter. because all that matters is we’re together and we are happy and we don’t care because there is so much beauty in a storm.

hundreds gather to picket federal buildings across the nation. “wanting to fuck robots makes us queer!”, they chant, seeking to gain entrance to the secret clubhouse beneath the Queer Umbrella

Emma shivers as she walks along the Main Street. It’s freezing and pouring down with rain. Her patrol car broke down leaving her stranded and her only umbrella was ruined during the last storm to hit the town. 

Now she’s cold, soaked, miserable and she swears she’s starting to dream of cocoa and blankets.

She pauses swearing she can hear someone shouting her name. Emma frowns before turning around to see someone approaching her. Emma squints through the rain trying to see who it is but to no avail. Finally the footsteps ring clearer and Emma smiles knowing who it just from the click of her heels. 

“Regina?” she asks. 

“Emma,” Regina replies from underneath a big roomy umbrella, “Come here.” 

Emma nods shuffling closer to Regina and hiding with her beneath the umbrella, “Thank you,” she says with a shiver.

“You’re welcome,” Regina replies, “So why are you out in the rain?”

“Urgh I was out on patrol when my car broke down so I was stranded. Why are you?”

Regina tilts her head towards Emma’s before slipping an arm around her shoulders and replying, “Well my girlfriend gave me a lift to work this morning but apparently her car broke down…”

“Oh shit Regina, I’m so sorry, I totally forgot to call you!” 

“It’s okay,” Regina replies, “I’m just glad I caught up to you. You must be freezing.” 

“I am,” Emma says, “I’ve been dreaming about cocoa.” 

“With marshmallows and cinnamon?” 

“Don’t tease me.” 

Regina chuckles nudging her playfully with her arm, “Don’t worry dear. I never make a promise I don’t keep,” she says with a wink and a joyful grin that makes Emma forget all about the rain pouring down. 

to grow cold with you

We’ve grown cold in a stranger’s bed.
Mornings start with burnt toast, and night
brings an icy shuffling to the mattress.
‘I’ll come up later.’
'Who turned down the heat?’
We both grind our teeth in our sleep.

I wish I knew how I hurt you.
Maybe it’s the long nights I spend outside,
later and later, cracking beers
with your best friend;
we’re up until the sunrise
so that I don’t have to go to bed.
Maybe it’s the man with shoulders like shadows
and hands like ice
who passes you empty promises at work:
‘Look at everything you could have.’

Your favorite word is communication.
But we stare out opposite subway windows,
studying brick walls.

I wish I could unwind your thoughts like a watch
to see how they work; I wish
I could turn back the clock
to the first day you smiled at me across the street
and we squeezed hip to hip beneath your umbrella:
Rainwater in my socks never felt so good.

But we’ve ended up here,
in a house with no ceilings,
because the realtor said this style was 'in.’
The cracks and stains are deeper in the darkness.
The refrigerator light flickers, and I want to bring you a glass of water,
as if it’s a dry throat that made you so silent.

Our legs bump by accident.
Your hands are too hot and you say my breath tastes sticky.
'Did you turn up the heat?’
Tonight, you are too tired to answer,
so I roll over in the sweat-soaked sheets.

Tomorrow,
as usual,
we’ll wake up early,
and right after the cold morning kiss,
and right before the burnt pieces of toast and yesterday’s coffee, reheated,
we’ll shower.
And when we run out of hot water, like always,
we will refuse to say a thing.