[identity profile] finkpishnets.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] ivoryandgoldd
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LET'S MAKE OUT
(or: a comment ficathon about kissing)



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FILLS


THEME:
making out! anything that involves kissing, in all it's circumstances, forms, and variations.

RULES:

• all fandoms/rps welcome
• one prompt per comment
• multiple fills welcome
• (as are multiple art types - it doesn't need to be fic)
• if kissing leads to nc-17 action then that's a-okay with everyone involved, i'm sure
• play nice, kids!
QUESTIONS/COMMENTS

NOW ALSO PIMPABLE ON TUMBLR (because [livejournal.com profile] badblood is the greatest human)

Date: 2013-08-20 09:22 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] theviolonist.livejournal.com
This is so great and much-needed now that school/work is starting again. Thanks!
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Date: 2013-08-20 09:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] theviolonist.livejournal.com
Hollywood RPF, Ellen Page/Kristen Steward, Ellen visits her friend on the set of Snow White and the Huntsman and there is kissing that tastes like cigarettes with Kristen still in her suit of armor and I WILL STAN THIS UNTIL THE DAY I DIE

Date: 2013-08-21 10:02 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] salvadore-hart.livejournal.com
don your amour (because yes, omg kristen was hot in armour :'))
Ellen didn't understand fairytale fascination with knights and damsels. Maybe because she wanted to kiss girls even as a kid, instead of boys who weilded swords (however make-believe).

But with Kristen standing between her legs, dressed in armour and looking like a dark knight from the best wet dream? Ellen more than sees the appeal.

She leans back against the truck, memorizing the way Kristen looks with her eyes and her hands, feeling the contours of the amour, the way it shifts when Kristen moves. Kristen smiles down at her, it's almost a smirk, like she knows that she's shifted some of Ellen's paradigms.

"So you like the costume?" Kristen asks between exhaling smoke and stamping out the butt of her cigarette beneath her boots. Ellen makes a gutteral sound, because "like" doesn't cover it.

Kristen laughs, still smiling as she reaches out and combs her fingers into Ellen's hair, tipping Ellen's head back and leaning over to kiss her hard. Ellen holds onto the armour as Kristen kisses her, tasting smoke, and feeling the ripple of Kristen's strength as she crowds Ellen in tighter, the bulk of her forcing Ellen's legs wider.

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Date: 2013-08-20 09:24 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] misprinting.livejournal.com
lydia/&allison, in which friendship means kissing friends in dirty club bathrooms to protect them from things that go bump in the night

Date: 2013-08-22 12:03 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] salvadore-hart.livejournal.com
bangarang!
allison pulls lydia into the stall with her; lydia falls into allison's arms, and a hand covers her mouth before she can protest this treatment. there's something allison's not telling her and a frightening sound like something sharp dragging across the tile just beyond the stall door.

"lydia, i need you to trust me," allison whispers against lydia's neck, her warm breath making lydia shiver. then the hand is replaced by allison's lips, coaxing her own to part, and lydia thinks allison's lip balm tastes nice just as the stall door bangs open behind them.

lydia would flinch but allison's fingers are sliding over her bare skin, and she's being pushed against the grungy stall wall as allison kisses her deeper, searching almost. lydia whimpers at allison's fingers on her hips as the scraping sounds, and whatever came with them, become distant.

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Date: 2013-08-20 09:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] theviolonist.livejournal.com
Battlestar Galactica, Kara/Lee, kissing isn't cheating

Date: 2013-08-22 01:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] callmeonetrack.livejournal.com
Past Resistance, NC-17, 1/2

The morning after they meet, Lee's guilt swells as his hangover recedes.

He tells himself it was only an indiscretion, fueled by alcohol, but he still can't help the shame he feels every time he gets together with his brother and Kara.

The third night of dinners and drinks at Zak's favorite bar, Kara finally hisses at him when his brother hits the head. "Gods, would you just stop?!"

"Stop? What--"

"Stop with all the hangdog looks!" He blinks and Kara scowls harder. "Nothing happened!"

"Nothing? Nothing!" Even as his gut churns sickly at the spoken reminder of what they--what he almost did--gods, betraying his own brother!--his temper flares at her blithe, scornful dismissal. The shame is momentarily superceded. "You call inviting me to frak you practically under my brother's nose 'nothing,' Kara?!"

Incongruously, she grins, her smile glittering dangerously in the dim bar as she leans into his personal space. She's so close he can feel her breath on his skin, and Lee's pulse revs into overdrive. "Didn't exactly hear a lot of 'no' when you were straddling me on my kitchen table, Lee."

He clamps his jaw shut--tight enough that he can feel a muscle in his cheek twitch--so that he doesn't say anything he'll regret.

Or maybe just so he's not tempted to haul her onto the table for a repeat performance.

After an awkward, rigid minute of Kara staring expectantly, she pulls back, slumping against the cracked leather of the booth. "It was nothing," she mutters again, managing to sound both petulant and defiant at once. "Kissing isn't cheating, so stop guilt tripping about it and just act normal!"

She gets the last word, because Zak returns suddenly, shooting them suspicious glances. And Lee tries, he really does. He tries to laugh at his brother's bad puns and tell his own funny story about that blowhard instructor at War College. He tries to act the way he would if it were just him and his brother grabbing a drink, the way they have hundreds of times before when he came home on leave. Before Kara.

Then she laughs at something, long and loud, her head thrown back and body shaking. The sound sizzles through his veins, and it occurs to Lee that he has no idea what his definition of "normal" is anymore.

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Date: 2013-08-20 09:30 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] theviolonist.livejournal.com
Sons of Anarchy, Tara(/Jax), a kiss for the road / sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough

Date: 2013-08-20 09:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] misprinting.livejournal.com
young justice, artemis/kaldur, underwater

Date: 2013-08-20 09:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] paperclipbitch.livejournal.com
Hollywood RPF - Sebastian Stan/anyone - boys are too refined

Date: 2013-08-20 09:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] theviolonist.livejournal.com
*sobs into hands* SOMEONE ANYONE

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Date: 2013-08-20 09:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] misprinting.livejournal.com
young justice, jaime/bart, college

Date: 2013-08-20 09:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] paperclipbitch.livejournal.com
Once Upon A Time - Red/Snow - baby you were my picket fence
Edited Date: 2013-08-20 09:35 pm (UTC)

Date: 2013-08-27 03:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] femme-slash-fan.livejournal.com
Alrighty, obviously I'm going to fill this... once I build a pile of prompts.

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Date: 2013-08-20 09:37 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] misprinting.livejournal.com
game of thrones/asoiaf rpf, emilia clarke/kit harrington, dating for publicity ("i don't kiss on the lips for money")

Date: 2013-08-23 08:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] paperclipbitch.livejournal.com
(I think this might be ridiculous and OOC and it took me like three days for some reason? IDEK. MAYBE IT IS TERRIBLE. But hey, I filled this one!)

headlines and flash flash flash photography
(1/2)

“I’m pretty sure this counts as trolling, you know,” Emilia remarks, all legs and eyeliner and a really, really nice dress, so much so that it takes Kit a moment to register what she’s saying.

“‘Trolling’?” he echoes, and Emilia laughs, the laugh he knows from photoshoots and promotional interviews but not from facing one another before a camera because Jon and Dany have never met and maybe never will. They’ve never actually acted together, one of those things that catches in Kit’s lungs from time to time, when his scenes involve trudging through ice and Emilia’s show her golden and bleached and sunlit, polarised.

Kit has maybe a tendency to overthink things, even with Emilia slipping her heels on, tossing her hair, and giving him an expression that’s nothing short of challenging.

“Fake-dating,” she says, deliberately making it over-patronising, fluttering false eyelashes, though her perpetual smile is tugging at her lips anyway, “it’s mostly to make the fans explode one way or the other, you know this. So: trolling.”

Kit can’t actually remember what sparked this; half dare, half bet, it’s possibly Richard’s fault, a drunken Comic Con promise or something they told the producers they’d do for this event and nothing more, well, possibly something more.

His phone beeps; John, telling him that he and Rose are downstairs already, they have a car to get into, has Kit chickened out already, and he can hear the laugh behind the words, a joke they’re all in on. Maybe Emilia has a point.

“You’re making your Jon Snow face,” Emilia tells him, and Kit makes an effort to hoist something else onto his face, something that hopefully looks more like a smile.

“It’s actually just my face,” he tells her to make her grin, murmur something about method acting, and he pushes himself up from where he’s been perched on the edge of the bed waiting for Emilia to decide that she’s ready.

“Your tie’s wonky,” she says, smoothing the lapels of his jacket with light, competent hands, straightening his tie for him, and she realises the cliché at the same time Kit does, a giggle peeling out of her mouth even as she rolls her eyes at both of them. Even in her heels she’s tiny, and for some reason this all seemed like a better idea when the others were around, cheerfully clamouring tips and ideas and the possibilities of hilariously incriminating photographs. Now, Emilia’s looking at him thoughtfully and Kit doesn’t know what she’s reading in his face.

“Well,” he says at last, wondering if there’s an open bar later and hoping like hell that there is, “tonight should be interesting.”

Emilia grins, all teeth and bright lipstick and it’s familiar and yet a different smile when it’s just them in a hotel room about to go on something that isn’t a date but that might look like one on the outside, if they do this properly.

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Date: 2013-08-20 09:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] misprinting.livejournal.com
perks of being a wallflower rpf, emma watson/logan lerman, that kiss scene that will tie them together forever (~ emma's words)

Date: 2013-08-20 09:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] misprinting.livejournal.com
the avengers, steve/nat/clint, stolen, given

Date: 2013-08-20 09:42 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] misprinting.livejournal.com
teen wolf, stiles/lydia, stop pretending

Date: 2013-08-21 12:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tellcincinnati.livejournal.com
1/2

“You’re useless, get out of the way, let me do it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, Lydia pushing past him, huffing. She crouches to get at the lock, jiggle her bobby pin back and forth, and the little noises it makes, tapping and scraping, are all Stiles hears beyond his own breathing. He looks at the back of her calves, the tops of her boots, tries not to feel frustrated, to panic.

Lydia pauses, her head turning a fraction.

“What? What, did you get it?” Stiles breathes out.

“No,” she says, and the corner of her mouth turns down a bit. “You’re breathing really quickly, did you even notice?” Stiles hadn’t. “Are you all right?”

He thought he was a second ago. “Why would you even say that?”

Lydia gets up, brushes her hands against the front of her skirt. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to handle this, all right?” She sounds tense. She sounds mad at him.

“Yeah, well me neither, and this isn’t my fucking fault.”

“I never said it was,” she snaps, glaring at him.

He thinks about anxiety and the tightness in his chest, the way his stomach is seizing up from hunger, the small room with small amounts of oxygen, the dark blue starting to creep under Lydia’s eyes. Thinks about the last time he couldn’t calm himself and her skin and her lips and holding his breath. He tries to hold his breath.

They look at each other for a moment, Lydia’s hands still fidgeting, until she sighs in annoyance, turns back to the door to kick it. Stiles moves back against the other wall, sits down against it, the cement floor cold and uncomfortable. “How long do you think we can survive in here? What if we run out of oxygen?”

Lydia turns to give him a withering look. “Don’t be stupid, there are gaps around the door, we’ll be fine.”

“And water?”

“We can drink our urine if we have to,” Lydia says, not a hint of irony.

Excuse me? You’re crazy. You’re actually crazy.”

“I’m something,” she mumbles. Stiles huffs out a surprised laugh, smiling up at her.

“Come here, I need some banshee heat.”

Lydia rolls her eyes but does so, moving to sit beside Stiles against the wall. She crosses her legs, pushes the material of her skirt between them. Stiles rests his head against her shoulder, sighs when she puts a hand on his thigh.

“Lydia.”

“No, hey, don’t use that tone with me. All of our friends are goddamn supernatural creatures, and we both know this is hardly the worst situation we’ve been in. My mascara hasn’t even started flaking yet, so you just cool it.”

“’Kay.”

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Date: 2013-08-20 09:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] paperclipbitch.livejournal.com
RPF - Jennifer Lawrence/Nick Hoult - i would go out tonight/but i haven't got a stitch to wear

Date: 2013-08-20 09:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] paperclipbitch.livejournal.com
The Hunger Games - Finnick/Johanna - put on your war paint

Date: 2013-08-20 09:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] paperclipbitch.livejournal.com
Skyfall - Bond/Moneypenny - not your secretary

Date: 2013-08-21 12:45 pm (UTC)
ext_69460: (GKill Kiss)
From: [identity profile] zeffy-amethyst.livejournal.com
Long Live The Queen

Every M deals with the Double-Os the same way. It must be something that comes with the mantle, or something learned at the feet of their predecessor. At some point, a switch flips in their head and they realise there is only one method to avoid insanity by Double-O.

James has outlived two Ms--the record is held by the Double-O Three in the seventies who survived four leadership turmoils--and he feels he's become an expert on the bloody lot of them. If he had to put words to it, it's somewhere between parental indulgence and steely schoolmarm.

"Out of my chair, Double O-Seven," Moneypenny says, undeniably an order though her voice remains serene

James yields the field with a gracious smirk and pushes away from the desk. He stands and slides past Moneypenny, smells honeysuckle and imagines the scent of gunpowder threaded through. It fills his nose. Settles at the back of his tongue. Steel and silk and blood and everything nice.

Moneypenny smiles at him. It's a slow, vicious curl of the corner of her lips and James wonders, not for the first time, if Ms can also read minds.

He leans back against the desk as Moneypenny sits down. She crosses her legs, proper posture maintained even as her back touches the chair's. In her dark blue dress and even darker jacket, she looks like she belongs there, bears the weight of history with panache, with gravitas. James wouldn't mind dying for her. More importantly, he wouldn't mind killing for her. Might enjoy it even.

"Well now, the king is dead," James says.

Moneypenny doesn't finish it for him. She wraps his tie around her hand instead. Once. Twice. Pulls.

James goes.

Because it pleases him to. Because it pleases her. James is, in the end, a bulldog looking for a master. An orphan desperate to belong. Maybe his shirt collar feels tighter. Maybe it's harder to breathe. Maybe he doesn't mind that at all.

"On your knees," Moneypenny says, without inflection. As if she is commenting on the state of the weather. James doesn't try to stop that flare of something hot and sweet low in his belly. He revels in the fiction of cloth against his hardening cock, brought about by the act of going down onto his knees. A pass of tongue over lips as he thinks about how she'll taste. It's equal parts desire and the need to tear away that perfect facade. Somethings are better broken, and Moneypenny is one of them.

She smiles. "Good boy."

She pulls again but this time James resists. It would be good for her to remember he wears this leash willingly. Their eyes meet over Moneypenny's clenched fist, and he waits, the smirk sitting comfortably on his face.

"Don't make me shoot you," Moneypenny says patiently.

James decides he likes this part of her the best, the part that makes sick, morbid jokes and reminds him that he's as mortal as the rest of them. He likes it enough to give in.

On her lips he tastes steel and honeysuckle and blood and a promise.

-

Uuuum, I hope you like. I also hope it's not OOC. First time trying Bond fanfic. In my headcanon Moneypenny eventually becomes M, but if that's not something you enjoy/believe is possible I'm very, very sorry. I can write something else!

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Date: 2013-08-20 09:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] misprinting.livejournal.com
hellcats, marti/savannah, in five year's time you might just prove me wrong

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