kemi707

[kemi707]

🎬Mark Hamill/Luke Skywalker 💫

[kemi707]

Mark Hamill 👖

[kemi707]

ILOVEUBABY!!!!!

link to the original. i got the idea and audio from that video. and when i first watched it i knew i had to draw them doing that. sniff sniff

[kemi707]

You know that video where a wife asks her husband for 30 pads with wings, and he comes back home with a pack of pads and 30 chicken wings?

That’s something that Simon does, especially in his first serious relationship. The first time his partner asks him to pick up pads or tampons, he takes it incredibly serious. He’s treating this task like it’s a classified mission with no possibility of failure

He’s bringing home 30 pads with wings because reader wanted them dammit. He gets reader a variety of chicken wings because it’s their time of the month and they deserve to get spoiled

And when he shows reader what he got, and reader tries to explain it to him, Simon stares reader down. Not because he doesn’t understand, he gets it, but because reader is on their period and who the hell wouldn’t want wings while bleeding?

This is also the same man who gets reader expensive bath oils and bubble bath when they tell him they’re running out. He’ll gladly be reader’s little errand mule as long as reader is in his bed at the end of the night

[kemi707]

[kemi707]

oh, darling!

Logan sniffs you from your collarbone to the underside of your jaw. You try worming away, he keeps you pressed firmly down. “You smell good.” he croons warmly, you make a noise of protest. “Cut it out! You whine, and he laughs. “Seriously? What’d you do? New lotion?” He asks sighing in between big whiffs of your skin. You’re probably ovulating, he always gets like this just before your period. You got rid of the app on your phone, Logan is way more reliable. Once he gets all touchy like this you know you should make sure you’re stocked with Advil and tampons. “‘S not anything Logan! You’re so weird…” He grumbles at your quip, he is not weird.

Logan steals another whiff, sighing with pleasure. He already chubbing up, and he’s sure you can feel it. “Logan…” You grumble, “Oh c’mon, you were all over me yesterday, don’t say you’re sore.” He’s already grabbing your hips, thumbing over the elastic of your panties, fingers dipping just under the lace just to feel your skin. “That was different.” You’re being coy, he rolls his eyes when he sees that innocent look on your face. Logan looked especially good yesterday, working on his bike, sweaty and sun kissed, it would’ve been wrong to not jump his bones. “Uh-huh, well you’re still wet, want me to take care of that?” His hand dips lower into your panties, collecting your arousal on the pads of his fingers, spreading it around. “Okay….” You shiver, feeling him rubbing your clit, your hips roll up to meet his palm and he laughs.

Logan kisses like he’s going off to war, he puts pressure on your entrance at the same time he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip. You sigh into his mouth when his middle finger breaches your body, the slight burn of your muscle stretching over his knuckle, he makes you take him to the hilt. Logan takes in all your noises, working your open with his middle finger. Prodding your gummy insides, “Lo… ‘nother please.” You hide your embarrassment behind your hand, he swats it away, he likes seeing your face. “Need another baby? Wanna feel full?” He hums, Logan will give you what you need, he just likes giving you a hard time. You nod frantically, he scoffs “Greedy, I spoil you too fuckin’ much, turnin’ you into a god damned brat.” He gives you another anyways, working his fingers in tandem to stretch you out.

Logan keep your mouth occupied as he angles his fingers upward, you buck your hips up and smiles into the kiss. He rubs that spot with consistent pressure, licking up all your drool and swallowing up all your whines. Logan thinks you’re greedy, but really he’s the greedy one, he spoils you so he can soak you up like this. “Close sugar?” He asks tauntingly, pulling away, he uses his free hand to push down on your lower stomach, keeping your hips down but also to make you feel that much better. “Please don’t stop Lo, seriously!” You think you’re close to tears, you lull your head back and it thuds against the pillow, Logans mouth easily chases your neck, slobbering all over your skin. His hot tongue leaves a trail of saliva as the knot in your stomach tightens. You hiccup, toes curling and hips jolting. Logan works you through it, not stilling his fingers till he feels your foot against his hip, trying to push him away. He holds your sole in one hand, removing his fingers from your leaky cunt, smiling at the way his fingers glimmer in the low light.

He shakes your foot lightly, using his cum soaked hand to pull the band of his boxers down, letting his hard cock flop against his hairy abs, “My turn right bub?” He smiles at the cute sound of your whine, Christ you really are too spoiled.

dividers by @diviniyae

a/n: idk how to write smut in a way that doesn’t feel so clinical hahaha

[kemi707]

[kemi707]

"What do you want from a remake" I DON'T WANT THEM. I DON'T WANT ANOTHER SOULLESS NOSTALGIA-FILLED CASH-GRAB. I DON'T WANT ANY OF THEM. I DON'T WANT ADAPTATIONS THAT KILL THE ORIGINAL MESSAGE OF THE THING THEY WERE BASED UPON NEITHER THE SHOT-BY-SHOT DESATURATED RECREATIONS. I WANT ORIGINAL STORIES!!! NOT REMAKES OF MOVIES THAT AIN'T EVEN 30 YEARS OLD!!!​AAGGGGGHHH

[kemi707]

[kemi707]

And here we go again! Оbi-Wan and his dear friend Bant, floating in the pool in the jedi temple. There is not much images with them both. She's a part of the Legend, old dear friend, whom we had lost in the movies (she wasn't invented as s character) and in the Clone Wars series, cause Dave Filoni has his own Canon! This illustration was made for the @sanerontheinside fic Weightless

If you want to know, why this two ended in such of circumstances, go and read the story! I'm on my part must admit I've enjoyed to paint this piece!

You, by the way, have a nice weekend!

[kemi707]

doodle :]

[tip jar!]

[kemi707]

pt. 2!!

I'd like to think their civillian lives are extremely domestic while their vigilante side is- 🤡

And no... there is no inbetween.

-------------- pssst!! BONUS ‼️💥 ---------------

------------ yep. his ass will be there. ------------

(i'm so nervous about the last doodle so... i'll leave it down here-)

[kemi707]

Rue when was this

Credits to whoever I Found these on Pinterest

[kemi707]

The problem with having a child with an attorney that has spoken to the child like an adult since birth is that she's 4 years old and she's negotiating the order in which we're going to complete tasks as a family to best suit her idea of an ideal day.

[kemi707]

𖤐 — mission: pads and patience

pairing - eddie alden ft. fem!reader

summary - what happens when you ask eddie to buy your pads during the red month?

contents - fluff, period talking, suggestive, dramatic eddie, playful banters, established relationship.

words count -  1493 words

zayn's note - heii guys!! sorry for not posting regularly. I just finished my final exams and yippee I'm glad to be back!! hope you guys will enjoy this and more fics will come soon!! <3

Eddie Alden wasn't supposed to be the kind of man who settles down.

He was the punchline to half of your stories. You've heard the stories—hell, you knew some of the firsthand when you two were just workmates. He was the man your coworkers warned you about: silver-tongued, the coworker who never turned down a party, always five seconds from convincing someone into bed. The man who gave advice no one should follow and got away with it because he looked like that and smiled like sin.

But somewhere along the line—maybe during one of those late nights when you were both tipsy and tired of pretending—Eddie stopped looking at other people the way he looked at you.

And he never looked back.

He's still dramatic. Still flirty. Still hopelessly, Eddie. But the late-night phone calls are only ever for you now. His toothbrush lives beside yours. And when he makes coffee in the morning, he doesn't even ask anymore—he just adds a splash of vanilla creamer, two sugars, and kisses your shoulder as he hands it to you.

The infamous womanizer Eddie Alden is someone's else. 

Rain taps gently at the window as you lie curled up on the couch, wrapped in your thickest blanket. A heating pad hums on your stomach, the cramps coming in steady waves. You've given up trying to move. Even scrolling on your phone feels like too much.

Then, your screen lights up.

Eddie: On my way home. Need anything, gorgeous?

You smile, even through the discomfort. Your uterus is staging a mutiny and the pad stash under the sink is depressingly empty.

You type back: Can you grab some pads? Overnight ones with wings pls :3

Three dots bubble on the screen and you could swear it takes him only THREE seconds to reply.

Eddie: OH NO. THAT MEANS WE CAN'T FUCK?!

You choke out a laugh so hard you nearly dislodge the heating pad. Immediately, you hit the call button.

He picks up on the first ring with a gasp. “Sweetheart,” he says, like he's delivering a eulogy. “Say it ain’t so.”

“Hi to you too,” you say, already laughing.

“Tell me I misread that text. Say it was a typo. Say you meant ‘peach wine’ and autocorrect betrayed us.”

“I meant pads.”

He groans. “I had plans tonight. And not just plans, babe. Schemes. Elaborate, x-rated choreography. And now… ruined.”

“They were never confirmed plans,” you say through your giggles.

“They were spiritual plans,” he argues, “plans of the soul. I was going to light candles, touch your thighs like a gentleman, and do that thing with my tongue—”

“Eddie!”

“—and now, because of your cruel and vengeful uterus, I must live in sorrow. And buy pads.”

You press your face into the pillow, shaking with laughter. The fact that you could actually imagine his reaction through the phone call is hilarious. 

“Do you know what it's like to walk into the feminine hygiene aisle with an erection and a broken heart? I'm a man on the edge.”

“You're a man getting pads for his girlfriend. Be brave. Plus, I'm not dying, you know,” you say once you can breathe again. “It's just my period.”

“Exactly!” he replies. “It's the just that hurts the most.”

You groan playfully.

A pause. Then his voice softens just a little. “The same purple pack, right? Overnight. Wings.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks, baby.” 

You're still smiling long after the call ends. The cramps are annoying, your body is betraying you, and the weather sucks—but Eddie's coming home. With pads. And probably way too many snacks.

That's enough.

You must doze off, because the next thing you hear is the soft clicks of the front door and the familiar sound of Eddie kicking his boots.

“Sleeping Beauty,” he calls, voice low and fond. “Your knight returns. Armed with provisions.”

You stir, blinking blearily, as he steps into the living room with the dramatic flair of a man who has never entered quietly in his life. Rain clings to his jacket, and his hair is damp, pushed back like he just stepped out of a rom-com poster.

He pulls out the purple pack like he's unsheathing Excalibur. “Ta-da!”

You squint at the package. “You really got the right ones?”

“Do you doubt me?” he asks, mock-offended. “I walked into that aisle with the confidence of a man who once had a threesome in the office stairwell and came out reborn as your humble pad-bearer.”

You laugh but your arms are already stretching open. It's automatic now—whenever Eddie's around, you want him close. Touch is like oxygen these days.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Ohhh, look at that,” he says, pointing with dramatic flair. “Cling activated. Look at you. Just a little puddle of neediness.”

“Shut up and hug me.”

“Needy,” he whispers, shaking his head like you've disappointed him deeply. “Desperate. Pathetic.”

But he's already walking over. Already dropping the bag on the floor and crouching down to your level. He slides an arm around your waist and pulls you in like he was born for it—like every cell in his body exists just to do this.

His scent hits you instantly. Rain. Leather. The lingering trace of his cologne.

“God, you're cold,” you murmur against his shoulder.

“God, you're clingy,” he retorts, but his hand is already at the back of your head, cradling it like he's soothing something fragile.

“You love it.”

“I do,” he admits easily. “Sick little koala.”

You breathe him in. He holds you tighter and neither of you moves for a while.

A soft, tired sigh leaves your lips. “Ugh, my stomach's killing me.”

Immediately, Eddie's hand rubs slow, calming circles against your back.

“I know, baby,” he says, quieter now. “I got you. We're gonna make it better, alright?”

His voice is warm and low, almost reverent. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and stays for a long beat before whispering, “Stay here. I'm getting your chamomile tea and snacks.”

Then he disappears into the kitchen.

You hear rustling, the fridge opening, and the kettle clicking on. When he returns, it's with a mug of chamomile tea, a snack bag full of chocolate, and—God help you—a duck-shaped heat pack.

“Why is it a duck?” you ask, your eyebrows raised.

“Because love makes you stupid,” he says. “Now take it. Don't say I never spoil you.”

You trade the old heating pad for the duck and the moment your hand wraps around the tea, you sigh. “You're being very sweet today.”

“I'm always sweet,” he says, sitting beside you and pulling you gently against his chest. “You just usually notice it after orgasms.”

You snort. “So noble. So selfless.”

“I know,” he whispers into your hair. “I should get a medal for being denied sex and still being this amazing.”

“You're so brave.”

“I am.”

Hours later, the sky darkened. The rain is softer now, a hush over the city. You’ve migrated to bed in slow, sleepy steps, your body still heavy with cramps, your heart just a little lighter.

Eddie slips under the covers first, stretching out with a content sigh, then opens his arms in invitation. “Come here, you bleeding goddess.”

You groan and crawl into his arms, finding your place against his bare chest like muscle memory. His skin is warm, his touch soft as he runs his fingers down your spine.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mm. A little.”

“I’d offer a back massage, but I fear I’d get too turned on.”

“Jesus, Eddie."

He grins against your hair. “I’m suffering, baby. I can’t even lie. But I’m being good.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He cups your cheek. “Of course not. I mean, am I aroused to the point of spiritual crisis? Yes. But you’re bleeding. And in pain. And you still let me hold you like this. That’s more than enough.”

You blink. His voice is quieter now, the playfulness dialed down to something real.

“Seriously,” he adds. “I used to wake up alone next to people I didn’t even like. And now I get to wake up beside the love of my life. Period or not. That’s a win.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and press your face into his chest.

He lets a beat of silence pass, then says, “Still gonna write tragic poetry in my Notes app about it.”

You groan. “I knew you couldn’t help yourself.”

“It’s called ‘Red Tide of My Despair’—”

You squeak, pushing at him. “No.”

“A River of Lust, A Dam of Sadness—”

“No, Eddie—”

“The Crimson Abyss of Blue Balls—”

“Good. Night.”

He chuckles, then settles down again, arms locked tight around you, mouth brushing your temple.

You feel him relax as you drift. Safe. Warm. Held.

Even with the cramps. Even with the inconvenience. Even with the duck-shaped heat pack between you.

He’s here.

And he's yours.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!!

dividers by: @dollywons

tags!! @princessanglophile @themareverine @wchswift @dimlylittorch @mcrdvcks @briseroyawritingsblog @howlettsangel @flowersforbucky @lubdubology @xxladymjxx @sweetverine @tezooks @loganismybodyguard [lmk if you wanna be added or removed!!]

[kemi707]

𖤐 — mission: pads and patience

pairing - eddie alden ft. fem!reader

summary - what happens when you ask eddie to buy your pads during the red month?

contents - fluff, period talking, suggestive, dramatic eddie, playful banters, established relationship.

words count -  1493 words

zayn's note - heii guys!! sorry for not posting regularly. I just finished my final exams and yippee I'm glad to be back!! hope you guys will enjoy this and more fics will come soon!! <3

Eddie Alden wasn't supposed to be the kind of man who settles down.

He was the punchline to half of your stories. You've heard the stories—hell, you knew some of the firsthand when you two were just workmates. He was the man your coworkers warned you about: silver-tongued, the coworker who never turned down a party, always five seconds from convincing someone into bed. The man who gave advice no one should follow and got away with it because he looked like that and smiled like sin.

But somewhere along the line—maybe during one of those late nights when you were both tipsy and tired of pretending—Eddie stopped looking at other people the way he looked at you.

And he never looked back.

He's still dramatic. Still flirty. Still hopelessly, Eddie. But the late-night phone calls are only ever for you now. His toothbrush lives beside yours. And when he makes coffee in the morning, he doesn't even ask anymore—he just adds a splash of vanilla creamer, two sugars, and kisses your shoulder as he hands it to you.

The infamous womanizer Eddie Alden is someone's else. 

Rain taps gently at the window as you lie curled up on the couch, wrapped in your thickest blanket. A heating pad hums on your stomach, the cramps coming in steady waves. You've given up trying to move. Even scrolling on your phone feels like too much.

Then, your screen lights up.

Eddie: On my way home. Need anything, gorgeous?

You smile, even through the discomfort. Your uterus is staging a mutiny and the pad stash under the sink is depressingly empty.

You type back: Can you grab some pads? Overnight ones with wings pls :3

Three dots bubble on the screen and you could swear it takes him only THREE seconds to reply.

Eddie: OH NO. THAT MEANS WE CAN'T FUCK?!

You choke out a laugh so hard you nearly dislodge the heating pad. Immediately, you hit the call button.

He picks up on the first ring with a gasp. “Sweetheart,” he says, like he's delivering a eulogy. “Say it ain’t so.”

“Hi to you too,” you say, already laughing.

“Tell me I misread that text. Say it was a typo. Say you meant ‘peach wine’ and autocorrect betrayed us.”

“I meant pads.”

He groans. “I had plans tonight. And not just plans, babe. Schemes. Elaborate, x-rated choreography. And now… ruined.”

“They were never confirmed plans,” you say through your giggles.

“They were spiritual plans,” he argues, “plans of the soul. I was going to light candles, touch your thighs like a gentleman, and do that thing with my tongue—”

“Eddie!”

“—and now, because of your cruel and vengeful uterus, I must live in sorrow. And buy pads.”

You press your face into the pillow, shaking with laughter. The fact that you could actually imagine his reaction through the phone call is hilarious. 

“Do you know what it's like to walk into the feminine hygiene aisle with an erection and a broken heart? I'm a man on the edge.”

“You're a man getting pads for his girlfriend. Be brave. Plus, I'm not dying, you know,” you say once you can breathe again. “It's just my period.”

“Exactly!” he replies. “It's the just that hurts the most.”

You groan playfully.

A pause. Then his voice softens just a little. “The same purple pack, right? Overnight. Wings.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks, baby.” 

You're still smiling long after the call ends. The cramps are annoying, your body is betraying you, and the weather sucks—but Eddie's coming home. With pads. And probably way too many snacks.

That's enough.

You must doze off, because the next thing you hear is the soft clicks of the front door and the familiar sound of Eddie kicking his boots.

“Sleeping Beauty,” he calls, voice low and fond. “Your knight returns. Armed with provisions.”

You stir, blinking blearily, as he steps into the living room with the dramatic flair of a man who has never entered quietly in his life. Rain clings to his jacket, and his hair is damp, pushed back like he just stepped out of a rom-com poster.

He pulls out the purple pack like he's unsheathing Excalibur. “Ta-da!”

You squint at the package. “You really got the right ones?”

“Do you doubt me?” he asks, mock-offended. “I walked into that aisle with the confidence of a man who once had a threesome in the office stairwell and came out reborn as your humble pad-bearer.”

You laugh but your arms are already stretching open. It's automatic now—whenever Eddie's around, you want him close. Touch is like oxygen these days.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Ohhh, look at that,” he says, pointing with dramatic flair. “Cling activated. Look at you. Just a little puddle of neediness.”

“Shut up and hug me.”

“Needy,” he whispers, shaking his head like you've disappointed him deeply. “Desperate. Pathetic.”

But he's already walking over. Already dropping the bag on the floor and crouching down to your level. He slides an arm around your waist and pulls you in like he was born for it—like every cell in his body exists just to do this.

His scent hits you instantly. Rain. Leather. The lingering trace of his cologne.

“God, you're cold,” you murmur against his shoulder.

“God, you're clingy,” he retorts, but his hand is already at the back of your head, cradling it like he's soothing something fragile.

“You love it.”

“I do,” he admits easily. “Sick little koala.”

You breathe him in. He holds you tighter and neither of you moves for a while.

A soft, tired sigh leaves your lips. “Ugh, my stomach's killing me.”

Immediately, Eddie's hand rubs slow, calming circles against your back.

“I know, baby,” he says, quieter now. “I got you. We're gonna make it better, alright?”

His voice is warm and low, almost reverent. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and stays for a long beat before whispering, “Stay here. I'm getting your chamomile tea and snacks.”

Then he disappears into the kitchen.

You hear rustling, the fridge opening, and the kettle clicking on. When he returns, it's with a mug of chamomile tea, a snack bag full of chocolate, and—God help you—a duck-shaped heat pack.

“Why is it a duck?” you ask, your eyebrows raised.

“Because love makes you stupid,” he says. “Now take it. Don't say I never spoil you.”

You trade the old heating pad for the duck and the moment your hand wraps around the tea, you sigh. “You're being very sweet today.”

“I'm always sweet,” he says, sitting beside you and pulling you gently against his chest. “You just usually notice it after orgasms.”

You snort. “So noble. So selfless.”

“I know,” he whispers into your hair. “I should get a medal for being denied sex and still being this amazing.”

“You're so brave.”

“I am.”

Hours later, the sky darkened. The rain is softer now, a hush over the city. You’ve migrated to bed in slow, sleepy steps, your body still heavy with cramps, your heart just a little lighter.

Eddie slips under the covers first, stretching out with a content sigh, then opens his arms in invitation. “Come here, you bleeding goddess.”

You groan and crawl into his arms, finding your place against his bare chest like muscle memory. His skin is warm, his touch soft as he runs his fingers down your spine.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mm. A little.”

“I’d offer a back massage, but I fear I’d get too turned on.”

“Jesus, Eddie."

He grins against your hair. “I’m suffering, baby. I can’t even lie. But I’m being good.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He cups your cheek. “Of course not. I mean, am I aroused to the point of spiritual crisis? Yes. But you’re bleeding. And in pain. And you still let me hold you like this. That’s more than enough.”

You blink. His voice is quieter now, the playfulness dialed down to something real.

“Seriously,” he adds. “I used to wake up alone next to people I didn’t even like. And now I get to wake up beside the love of my life. Period or not. That’s a win.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and press your face into his chest.

He lets a beat of silence pass, then says, “Still gonna write tragic poetry in my Notes app about it.”

You groan. “I knew you couldn’t help yourself.”

“It’s called ‘Red Tide of My Despair’—”

You squeak, pushing at him. “No.”

“A River of Lust, A Dam of Sadness—”

“No, Eddie—”

“The Crimson Abyss of Blue Balls—”

“Good. Night.”

He chuckles, then settles down again, arms locked tight around you, mouth brushing your temple.

You feel him relax as you drift. Safe. Warm. Held.

Even with the cramps. Even with the inconvenience. Even with the duck-shaped heat pack between you.

He’s here.

And he's yours.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!!

dividers by: @dollywons

tags!! @princessanglophile @themareverine @wchswift @dimlylittorch @mcrdvcks @briseroyawritingsblog @howlettsangel @flowersforbucky @lubdubology @xxladymjxx @sweetverine @tezooks @loganismybodyguard [lmk if you wanna be added or removed!!]

[kemi707]