head pasties

Smoulder Chapter 33

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Marinette: For the last time- it was NOT a walk of shame.

Adrien: Well…technically… ;)

Marinette: Number 1. You didn’t walk, you- like- jumped home or whatever. Super-hero style! Number 2. Walk of shames happen after a hook-up and we literally fell asleep and nothing else. Number 3. Even if we did do *that*- it wouldn’t be anything to be ashamed of.

Adrien: T^T

Marinette: :P XxXx

Adrien: Ok you have a point. No way could I ever be ashamed of you. But I still think it was a walk of shame! I left your house in the same clothes I wore the day before! <3 <3 <3

Marinette: Did you take them off though? Xx

Adrien:…No my lady ¬_¬

Marinette: THEN IT WASN’T A WALK OF SHAME! Why do you even want it to be?

Marinette: Wait… I know why…how many puns have you come up with about this?

Adrien: None… ;3 <3

Marinette: Kitty -_- Xx

Adrien: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to live up to the slutty blonde model stereotype ;) a slutty blonde model who sleeps with superheroes lolololol.

Adrien: But only superheroes they love of course. XxXxXx

Marinette: Not buying it.

Adrien: Ok eight puns. Nine! Nine! I just thought of a ninth!

Marinette: Knew it! Also you thought the birds and the bees was a literal fairy tale until you were sixteen years old so you aren’t living up to any slutty model stereotypes any time soon I hope! Also-also you already sleep with superheroes. You ARE a superhero, silly alley cat, you sleep with yourself every night ;) Xx

Adrien: T^T I don’t like what you’re implying and Plagg is sitting right behind me cackling. You two are mean! XxXx

Marinette giggled, accidentally bumping against the wall as she typed her response, making sure to delete all the texts referring to their secret identities (as a necessary precaution).

Adrien was on the way to her place, having luckily avoided any confrontations with his carers or father. The pair had been playfully arguing since they’d miraculously gotten away with their accidental sleepover and, as Marinette had predicted, she hadn’t been able to sleep a wink since Chat Noir left.

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The reason why I don’t pick up hitchhikers anymore is also the reason why I need a new car.

(Story by unsettlingstories)

Keep in mind, I’d never even considered giving a ride to a stranger before. All my life, I’d been told that’s how you get killed. “Only crazies hitchhike,” they’d say. “They’ll cut your throat and steal your car and you’ll be dead in a ditch.”

I didn’t want to die in a ditch. And I liked my car. But after I’d left the gas station and I saw the poor guy sitting in the gutter on the I-95 onramp, feebly holding out his thumb, I made my choice. I’d be a good samaritan.

The storm in the distance looked pretty threatening. If I let that guy sit there, he’d have to bear the brunt of it. From the looks of him, he didn’t appear to be able to bear much at all. I pulled over to the side and rolled down the window.

“Where you looking to go?,” I asked him.

“Baltimore,” he replied. His voice was stronger than his sickly body had suggested, and that gave me pause. I looked him over again. Dirty jeans, baggy red t-shirt. No bag, no bulges in his pockets. I sighed.

“I can get you as far as Philly.” He nodded. “Hop in,” I told him, unlocking the door.

In he hopped.

“I’m Colin,” I said.

“Frank.”

We didn’t talk much for the first few miles, aside from me asking if he wanted some of the Fritos I had left from my lunch stop in Rhode Island. He took them and crunched away as I drove. He caught me studying him out of the corner of my eye a few times, but he didn’t say anything.

As the miles ticked away and rain started hitting the windshield, Frank fell asleep. The open bag of Fritos was on his lap. I wanted a couple, but didn’t want him to wake up thinking I was trying to grab his dick. I had absolutely no interest in his dick.

Frank snored like an orgasming Pratt and Whitney jet engine. In the confines of the car, since I had to close the windows once the rain had started, I noticed Frank had an unpleasant odor. Nothing overwhelming, but still obvious.

Over his snore, his stomach growled and burbled. “Gross,” I thought. Lightning flashed and wind buffeted the side of the car. The traffic ahead of us slowed to a crawl.

One of the annoying things about my car is the climate control only works properly when the car is moving. God knows why. The air conditioning we were enjoying up to that point cut out, and hot air started to blow out of the vents. The windshield began to fog up.

I cracked my window, hoping the outside air might clear the windshield. It did a bit, but visibility was terrible. The rain was heavy and my wipers weren’t doing a good job. All I could see was fog and the brake lights of the cars stopped in front of me. Frank’s stomach kept gurgling. I looked over. He was awake, staring straight ahead.

“You okay buddy,?” I asked. No response. He just stared at the fog-shrouded glass of the windshield. The smell I’d noticed before had intensified.

“Hey, Frank, what’s going on? You sick?”

Still nothing. Thick, humid air poured from the car’s vents despite the AC being set to max. Rain and small chunks of hail pelted the choked highway.

Frank retched. “Shit,” I said, and I frantically reached in the backseat for a bag or bucket or anything that might catch what I thought was about to come blasting out of my companion. My hand settled on one of the canvas shopping bags I used at Whole Foods. “God damn it,” I mumbled, as I placed my favorite shopping bag on Frank’s lap.

He moaned and turned to look at me, his eyes swimming back and forth with what I knew had to be intense nausea.

“Frank, please open the door and puke on the road or at least use the bag. I’m begging you.”

More silence punctuated by gurgling and retching. A boom of thunder caused us both to jump. For Frank, that was all it took. He didn’t open the door. And he didn’t aim for the bag.

A heavy wave of yellow vomit exploded out of his mouth and splashed against the windshield. I screamed. Another projectile torrent erupted from the man, dousing the ceiling, the dashboard, and the center console.

“Get out!,” I shrieked, the smell of the stomach contents invading my nose and threatening to force my own contribution to the mess. Frank sat back with his head down, pasty slime drooling from his mouth into the Fritos bag in his lap.

Cars behind me were leaning on their horns. The traffic in front of us had cleared. I poked at the hideousness on the console to turn on my emergency blinkers, then steered onto the median. On my right, I heard Frank choking. I got out of the car and stood in the rain, watching him. If you told me the following 30 seconds actually lasted 3 hours, I would’ve told you you were way off. It felt like a day.

Frank’s throat bulged as something was forced upward and into his mouth. I saw the something a second later. A colossal, writhing centipede as thick as my wrist began sliding out, its passage eased by the vile lubrication from minutes before. Inch after inch, foot after foot crawled out until it was free. It skittered under the passenger seat.

I’d already dialed the “9” in “911” when the solid matter entombed in his vomit began to move. Frank groaned and I distinctly heard him mutter, “not again.” As the rain soaked me, I watched as small centipedes crawled through the sludge all over the car, leaving trails as they went.

My dialing complete, I waited through seven rings before a dispatcher answered. As I told her about the medical emergency and tried to estimate where we were on the interstate, Frank abruptly opened the passenger-side door and stood on the side of the highway. He was gripping another massive centipede and pulling it out of his throat. I watched it bite his hand over and over until its two-foot length was exposed. Frank flung it into the dirt.

“Sorry about your car, man,” Frank called over the sound of rain and traffic. “I haven’t had an episode since I was a kid.”

I was speechless. I just looked at him as he walked down the side of the median, the torrential rain washing his clothes of the filth and bugs. And as centipedes crawled throughout my car and ropes of stomach contents dripped from its ceiling, Frank stuck out his thumb to flag down another potential ride to Baltimore.

anonymous asked:

Hi, lovely! I was wondering if you could do a MGG imagine where the reader and him have to film a sex scene but they both end up turned on (but no smut) and they realise they have feelings for eachother? Just ultimate fluff & angst. Your writing is amazing!

Oh, I can do this!  Here is your one-shot, comin’ ‘atcha!


“Alright, now remember.  The two of you are hesitant about each other’s feelings, so this should be bumbling at first, but ultimately end in a very passionate sex scene where the two of you finally tell the other you love them.”

Nodding at the director as you take in Matthew out of the corner of your eye, you find your hands shaking as the costume direction taps you on the shoulder.

“Let’s get you set up in your gown,” she says as she leads you over to a dressing room, your head craning back to take in Matthew staring at you as you walk away.

“Hey,” the director says as he elbows Matthew lightly, “You ok, cowboy?”

“Huh?” he asks, his head whipping over, “Oh, yeah yeah…I’m alright.”

“I know she’s nervous because she’s never done a scene like this before, but you look like you’re about to go on stage for the first time and dance the Macarena.”

Chuckling lightly as he shakes his head, the make-up artists urge him to sit down as they put the finishing touches on his face, his eyes drifting over to the bedroom set as his heart begins to race.

“So…what happens if I actually get aroused?” he asks, his eyes panning up at his director.

“It’s a natural reaction,” he says, brushing it off as he walks over to his assistant, “And she’s a grown woman.  She’ll understand.”

“I just don’t-”

“Don’t what?” you ask as you walk around the corner.

Whipping his head around as the make-up artist curses under her breath, Matthew’s jaw drops as his eyes slowly pan up and down your body, taking in your silky nightgown with your hair big and curled.

He always loved your hair down.

“I’m just worried about you, is all…with how awkward this scene could get…”

“It’s alright.  It might need a few takes, but we’ll get it,” you say reassuringly, coming over and patting his shoulder as he smiles weakly up at you.

“Alright!” the director claps his hands as the two of you take in deep breaths, “Let’s get this show on the road.  Once this scene is over, you guys have your weekend!”

As Matthew goes over and sits on the bed, you stand off-scene as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for the director’s cue.

“Aaaand…action!” he whispers.

As you watch Matthew perform his monologue, supposedly talking just to himself, a camera pans around your face as you stand off screen, your character taking in his profession of love as you smile lightly graces your cheeks.

“…but how could a woman like her ever love a monster like me?”

That was your cue.

Slowly slipping in to the room, you clear your throat as you stand there, the lights dim and the cameras panning in every direction as Matthew’s character whips around, a startled expression giving way to one of shock as you feel your cheeks physically flush.

What the…?

“You’re not a monster,” you say, shaking your head as you slowly walk towards him, your fingers trailing over the comforter of the bed as you catch his gaze, “At least…not to me.”

“You should be frightened,” he says, jumping up as his tall stature careens over you, his eyes fierce as his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

You felt your knees begin to tremble.

Stay strong, Y/N.

“Just because you say so?” you question, your eyebrow cocking playfully.

Watching as he slowly bends down to you, his hand slipping lightly around your waist, his lips dip lowly in to your ear as you hear a camera roll close, panning in to his lips as he mutters, “Yes.”

And that’s the cue for the scene.

Rubbing your cheek lightly against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a sigh in the crook of your neck, his character’s hand grips your waist, his hand fluttering up your spine as he braces the back of your neck, his lips finding yourself as he buries his face into your warmth, your tongue quickly dancing around as you cock your heads to the side.

You could feel a burning sensation churning within you.

Leaning back lightly as you gasp, his character leans his forehead against yours as his breathing becomes shallow.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, his voice low and his hands trembling.

Looking up in to his eyes, the strings of your gown slowly slipping off of your broad shoulders, a playful grin plays on your lips as your hands slip down his chest.

You never realized how strong he was.

“No,” you whisper.

And that was the next cue.

Feeling his hands cup your ass as he throws you on to the bed, he rips his shirt off as his body dips down, his large hands hiking your legs around him as he shoves your silky nightgown up, your hands fumbling with his belt buckle as your breathing becomes ragged.

Frantic, the script said.

Clumsy, the director had instructed.

Lustful, the end of the scene had designated.

Shoving his pants down off of his legs, his character kicks them to the floor as his mouth attaches to your neck, his hands sliding your gown over your head as your breasts bounce free, your red pasties covering your nipples that were threatening to stand erect underneath.

As you close your eyes and press your head in to the pillow, his lips traveling down your torso as his lips stop shy of the flesh-toned hem of the panties covering your sensitive areas, you feel him linger a little longer than he should have before looking up and giving you his predatory stare that was written in the script.

Rearing up as you catch his gaze, the cameras panning in on you both as you try not to lose yourself in the moment, you watch as his body surges back up, a growl emanating from his lips as he crashes them in to yours, your hands throwing themselves in to his hair as you hear the whooshing of the cameras all around you.

Feeling him wiggle himself in between your legs, you slowly rake your hands down his back, trying not to pay attention to the camera that has emerged above the two of you as your hands run over his smooth, tight rear, your fingertips grasping him as he starts to thrust in to your hips, the fuzzy sock covering his manhood tickling the side of your leg as you bite down in to his shoulder, trying desperately not to laugh.

That is, until the fuzzy sock started to grow stout.

Feeling his muscles twinge with panic as your teeth let go of his shoulder, you bring your lips to his ear the two of you thrust and buck your bodies against each other.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper quietly as you feel his head relax in to the crook of your neck.

After a few more bucks, you see the director whirl his thumb, signaling the two of you to wrap it up.

Throwing your head as as your mouth hangs open, you feel Matthew’s character sink his teeth in to your throbbing vein as you gasp, your eyes flying open as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“I love you,” you character whispers desperately as his character stops thrusting, his eyes slowly coming over to meet yours.

“You what?” he asks, his hot breath panting on your face.

“I…I love you,” you say, tears lightly cresting your eyes as the camera above pans off to the side and moves closer.

And as his character slowly brushes a piece of hair out of your face, his hips begin to roll in to yours again as your fingertips dig in to his back, your body writhing underneath him as his lips encompass yours once again.

Climaxing together for the camera, the two of you shudder as he collapses on to your body, the two of you panting as he peppers kisses from your shoulder to your cheek before settling his eyes on yours once again.

“I love you, too,” he character says, a light smile crossing his face as he slowly leans his forehead on to yours.

“Aaaaand…cut!”

Hearing everyone bustle around you, congratulating everyone on a job well done, you continue looking in to Matthew’s eyes as he gazes in to yours, a genuine smile breaking across his cheeks as the flush in your face deepens.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, his thumb lightly gracing your cheek as you giggle in your shyness.

“We should probably do that aga-’

As one of the cameramen puts his hand out, stopping the director in his tracks, he nods over to the two of you still on the bed, your legs still wrapped around him, as the two of you giggle and converse lowly to yourselves, oblivious of the commotion going on around you.

“I-I’m…I’m sorry, you know…for the uh…”

As his eyes motion downwards, you bring your hand to his cheek as you shake your head.

“It’s alright.  These pasties were hiding a bit of a surprise as well.”

As the two of you giggle self-consciously, Matthew starts to move as he shifts his body over, sinking down on the bed beside you as he pulls the comforter over your scantily-clad bodies.

“Could I ask you something, Matthew?”

“Anything,” he replies, his fingers finding yours as he slowly interlocks them within his.

“If I were to…say…ask you out for coffee, hypothetically, of course..”

“Oh, of course,” he says, nodding mockingly as you shake your head.

“And…that were to, say, lead to dinner…” you trail off.

“Uh huh,” he says, his fingers letting go of yours as they slowly make their way up to your face.

“Would you…how would you…”

“Y/N?” Matthew asks.

“Yeah?” you respond breathlessly, your heart pounding in your stomach as his eyes lock on to yours.

“Would you like to go get coffee with me after work?” he asks.

Sighing with relief as you bury your face playfully in the pillow, you nod your head as you peek out, a smile playing on your face.

“I would love to,” you say.

“Ahem,” the director says, clearing his throat, “We should probably do it once more…you know, for good measure.”

Closing your eyes as you smile to yourself, you nod your head as you turn towards him, pulling the comforter higher as he gives the both of you playful glances.

“That is probably for the best,” you say, swinging your legs over the side as Matthew helps you wrap the rest of the blanket around your body.

“Alright,” the director says, nodding as he turns his back, “One more shot!” he yells as he thrusts his finger in the air.

And as the two of you scramble out of bed, the make-up and costume designers coming over to prep you one more time for the scene, you glance over to Matthew, his gaze lingering on your form before letting the make-up artist grab his chin and whip his head forehead, leaving your stomach in knots for the evening to come.

M.C. Imagine

I saw this line: “I know you don’t love me, but please, just lie to me once more.”   and wanted to write something on it. SEND ME FEEDBACK!!! 


Knock Knock. I look at the door of my apartment, which I can see from my sofa, and wonder who it is that is on the other side of my door because I sure wasn’t expecting anyone. After about two seconds there are two more short and impatient knocks on my door. I uncross my legs and trudge over to the door. I really wasn’t in the mood to see anyone lately and, using the pouring rain outside as an excuse, have shut myself in my apartment with a gallon of cookie dough ice cream and a broken heart.

I look through the peep hole in the door and fail to see anyone, but against my better judgement, still open the door; and to my surprise I see who I was most dreading to see at that very moment.

Michael… My mind suddenly ruptured. Everything that I had been trying to push to the back of my mind came rushing back and bombarded my senses. Looking at a Michel soaked through by the rain, I just stared, taking all of him in.

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  • Well it's St Davids day so I thought I'd honour it with this!
  • St Davids Day,
  • Patsy: Morning (Patsy walks into Delia's room,putting a cup of tea on the bedside table and sitting down on the edge of the bed)
  • Delia: (still half asleep) Morning
  • Patsy: Guess what day it is?
  • Delia: A Thursday (Delia sits up and picks up her tea)
  • Patsy: Almost, it's March the first
  • (Delia looks up from her tea)
  • Delia: It's St. David's day! You remembered?
  • Patsy: Yes I did and I picked up these on the way home last night, well I say last night more like 3am this morning (she smiles and picks up the daffodils)
  • Patsy: I also attempted to make these yesterday
  • (She pulls up a plate of Welsh cakes)
  • Delia: Oh Patsy how very...Welsh of you (Delia takes a Welsh cake and begins eating)
  • Patsy: Yes well thank you, and these cakes I know they're not your mamgu's but I did try and copy the recipe
  • Delia: It doesn't matter Pats anything you make is always going to be wonderful
  • Patsy: (she blushes) You flatter me
  • Delia: Yes well I'm allowed, Dydd Gwyl Dewi hapus
  • (She leans forward and kisses Patsy)
  • Patsy: Dydd Gwyl Dewi hapus
  • Delia: Well well look who's speaking Welsh too
  • Patsy: That's pretty much all I can say...well that and rydw i'n hoffi coffi
  • Delia: Everyone can say that Pats, but I guess I could teach you a song or two today to celebrate
  • Patsy: Yes please do, I do love it when you sing, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait until later because we have work,
  • Delia: How fun....
  • Patsy: Now I think we have 5 minutes before we have to get ready for work
  • (Patsy moves closer to Delia)
  • Delia: hmm...5 minutes, what shall we do?
  • Patsy: I have a few ideas....
  • ........
  • Sister Julienne: Nurse Busby! Welcome home
  • Delia: Thank you Sister,is there anything the matter?
  • Sister Julienne: No not at all Nurse but As It's St. Davids Day I asked Mrs B to make...Cowl?
  • Delia: Cawl, Sister
  • Sister Julienne: yes Cawl, I have asked Mrs B to make a pot of Cawl for us to have for super tonight and she said it's also traditional to eat a special fruit bread?
  • Delia: Yes Bara Brith, Thank you very much Sister. It's today that I always realise how home sick I get
  • Sister Julienne: Well I hope we can ease you homesickness tonight.
  • Delia: thank you again Sister, and please thank Mrs B for me
  • Sister Julienne: I will Nurse Busby, now if you excuse me I have business to attend to,
  • Delia: of course Sister
  • .......
  • (Patsy and Delia are back in Delia's room, both of them sitting under the covers listening to the wireless)
  • Delia: so what did you think of the Cawl?
  • Patsy: it was lovely and the fruit bread wasn't that bad either,
  • Delia: Bara brith
  • Patsy: Sorry...
  • Delia: the Fruit bread....it's called Bara Brith
  • Patsy: your feeling home sick aren't you
  • Delia: Maybe just a bit
  • Patsy: Come here (Patsy lifts her arm and Delia moves to lean against Her. Patsy puts her arm around Delia and kisses the top of her head)
  • Delia: But as long as I have you I could never be completely home sick
  • Patsy: what do you mean?
  • Delia: When I'm with you I feel like I'm home.
  • Patsy: Your my home too Deels (she lifts up Delia's chin and kisses her)
  • Delia: Bydwch lawen a cadwch eich ffydd a'ch cred,a gwnewch y pethau bychain a glywsoch ac a welsoch gennyf i
  • Patsy: (she lets out a little laugh)I knew I spoke some Welsh this morning but I'm not that good
  • Delia: "Be joyful and keep your faith and your belief,and do the little things,that you heard and saw from me." You did the little things today by trying to bring a small bit of Wales here today, so thank you Patsy.
  • Patsy: Your very welcome Delia, but you know I would do anything for you,
  • Delia: (Delia puts her head against Patsy's chest) Anything?
  • Patsy: Anything, (Patsy kisses the top of Delia's head again) Now! I was promised a song this morning.
  • (Delia laughs and looks up)
  • Delia: Well what song would you like? Calon lan, Hen Wlad fy nhadau or Umm...Pan daw yfory?
  • Patsy: Anything as long as your singing I don't care
  • Delia: well then umm.....how about Calon Lan then...
  • (I forgot the name of one of the songs I named so I don't know if it is called Pan Daw Yfory but its a really nice song, and "Bydwch lawen a cadwch eich ffydd a'ch cred,a gwnewch y pethau bychain,a glywsoch ac a welsoch gennyf i." Is a famous quote from St David that everyone that goes to a Welsh Language school has probably had drilled into their head like me...)