#3400 Series

[kidlit-queen-competition]

Poll: The Sea Train from Spirited away vs the "I like trains" train from asdfmovie

(IDs in alt text)

[prosourcediesel]

Duramax enhances electrical charging systems, optimizing starting performance for reliable vehicle operations.

https://prosourcediesel.com/duramax/electrical-charging-starting/

[skzdarlings]

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Sure, you are a little insufferable. 

But Lee Minho is worse. 

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally.  Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night. 

You were content until this fucker came along.  Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals.  Ugh.  You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you.  The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women.  You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.    

He arrives with his usual entourage.  A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle.  He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches.  He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance.  His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say.  “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer.  He laughs sarcastically. 

“Not worth the mileage,” he says.  He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim.  “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.”  He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him. 

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot.  Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too.   It was inevitable.  You were hostile when first meeting.  You challenged him to a few too many personal races.  You were a sore loser and even worse winner.  What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry. 

You won the last couple races.  You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again. 

“Sure,” you say.  “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.” 

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back. 

You decide to keep your distance tonight.  If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm.   So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings. 

But, ugh.

He is right there. 

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air.  When you are looking at him, he captivates you.  When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again.  You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters. 

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy.  Not a single race has satisfied you.  You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough.  It is never enough.  You already know how good you are.  You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded. 

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho.  The only victory that matters is that one. 

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him.  He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming.  He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away. 

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face.  When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation.  He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car.  He shakes his head as you stomp up to him. 

“One race,” you say. 

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.”  He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” you say. 

You heart is racing.  Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night.  Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs.  Stupid hottie.  You will have him and his attention.  You will get the better of him, one way or another.  It was all leading to this. 

“One race,” you say.  “A bet worth the mileage.” 

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply. 

Finally, he closes the car door.  He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth. 

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you.  The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body. 

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking.  Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize. 

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue.  It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing.  You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way.  But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings. 

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut.  No, lower.  Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess.  Heat that is curious about the look in his eye. 

Then you shake your head.  You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off.  You were in control and now you are flustered. 

“Not me,” you snap. 

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up.  He meets your gaze eventually.  Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality.  “I bet my car.” 

He blinks at you.  Long, slow blinks like a cat.   It takes him a second to find a sentence. 

“Your car,” he says.  He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy.  “And what do you want if you win?” 

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say.  The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth.  You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy.  You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered.  “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides. 

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone.  It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead.   You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other.  It is intense and all-consuming.   

You hold out a hand.  He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says.  “Since it’s the truth.  You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock.  You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind.  Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual.  He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car. 

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention. 

The heat rushes back in a hurry.  You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs. 

-

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words.  You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other.  You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed.  Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight.  You bet your car.  What were you thinking?

You weren’t.  And it was all his fault.   

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him.  You smack the steering wheel with frustration. 

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline.  Thoughts like that are not like you.  And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want.  Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want.  He is always the highlight of your night. 

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser. 

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car. 

He is not gloating because he is not the type.  He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you.  He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. 

“You got in my head on purpose.” 

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist. 

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt.  “I bet myself.” 

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again.  Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat. 

“You,” he finally says.  His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?” 

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy.  It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate. 

You cross your arms stubbornly.  You look away.  You even stomp your foot. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap. 

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone.  “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer.  You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.   

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch.  Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy.  Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite.   It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his.  You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes. 

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says.  He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil.  “I don’t have to make bets.  I make love to people because they want it.  Sorry.”  He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat.  “You can keep your car.  I don’t want or need it.  Good night.” 

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it.  He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely. 

“Now, now,” he says. 

“I’m a big girl,” you snap.  “I don’t need you protecting my honour.  I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.” 

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes.  He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says. 

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels. 

“I heard you,” you say. 

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time.  You take a step back. 

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step.  Step by step across the tarmac.  The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours. 

You find it difficult to catch your breath.  Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady.  He is intoxicating. 

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek.  He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer.  You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little. 

“So,” he says.  “If you win, we fuck.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?” 

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say.  You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation. 

It seemingly works.  His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there—”  He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder.  He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.   

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you. 

“Fine,” he says.  “We’ll race.” 

Your heart is already revving like an engine.  You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly.  You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise.  It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head.  You hold your breath. 

“You have to pass my test first,” he says. 

“Excuse me!”  Your own incredulity resounds.  You smack his chest but he does not move. 

“It’s just two questions,” he says.  “You’re a smart girl.  You’ll figure it out.” 

He is tormenting you.  You hate him.  You hope he never stops. 

“Fine,” you snap.  His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation. 

“Good,” he says, then stands back. 

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness.  At least you can catch your breath in the space between you. 

Then he says, “Get on your knees.” 

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race.  There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle.  Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road. 

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response.  You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you. 

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.  He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth.  You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his.  His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy.  Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows. 

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips.  Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath. 

“Well?” he says. 

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.” 

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin.  “That’s one out of two.  How about this one?” 

He drops to his knees.  You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night.  There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets. 

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable.   Your breath stutters before he even moves.  He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch.  He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste.  Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take. 

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second.   He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more.  Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets. 

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers.  He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you.  You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.   

The suggestion makes you throb.  You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright.  “Now we can race.” 

-

It is a perfect draw. 

You are both distracted.  When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind. 

Doors slam.  You meet in the space between your vehicles. 

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative. 

He is shrugging out of his jacket.  It his the ground.  He does not break his stride, already going for his belt.  Your knees nearly buckle again. 

“Fine,” he replies.  “Then get over here.  I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.” 

Fucking you is exactly what he does.  It is not making love.  He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra.  Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine.  You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you. 

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood.  He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him. 

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline.  It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you.  You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own.  He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line. 

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss.  It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off.  He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure.  He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.” 

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.   

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says.  “You sounded so good getting fucked.  I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that. 

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand.  He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?” 

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 21 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley hadn't really celebrated Mother's Day since Carole passed. It was a strange thing, trying to wrap his head around all of the emotions he felt as he watched you and Rose together. He wanted these feelings to last forever.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, smut, DILF Roo

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

You thought your first week back at work went pretty well. You only cried five times. Bradley only threatened to retire early seven times. You only called your parents in a panic twice. And you only fell asleep in your office once.

"That could have been a lot worse," you said on Friday night while you sat on the couch and ate pizza while Bradley walked Rose around, trying to get her to fall asleep.

"You're right," he whispered, kissing her hair. "I only cried twice." You laughed as Rose's eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way. She already looked so much bigger to you than she did a few weeks ago, even though she still looked tiny compared to your husband's biceps in his undershirt.

"You're killing this dad thing, Roo," you told him as he slowly headed for the hallway to put her in her crib with Tramp at his heels. There was still some room temperature pizza left for Bradley to enjoy with you before it was time to head to bed yourselves, but when he strolled back into the living room, you could tell exactly what he wanted.

When you offered him the pizza box with an innocent smile, he shook his head. "I already had four slices," he whispered. "I'm not trying to get a dad bod already."

You pressed your lips together and said, "I have a mom bod."

"You're perfect."

He spoke with conviction and finality, and you weren't going to argue with him about it. "Are you ready for bed?" When he shook his head again, you asked, "What do you want to do then?"

"Are you going to make me ask for it?"

You watched his gaze dip down to your chest and stay there for a beat. It was unbelievable how much he could turn you on when he wasn't even touching you. Every fiber of your being was telling you to take your shirt off and give him what he wanted, but the reassurance he readily gave you was too hot to pass by.

"Yes. I want you to ask for it."

Bradley took a step closer to you as he grunted, his hand flexing at his side before inching toward the fly of his jeans. "Okay," he rasped before licking his lips. "I want to undress you." He swallowed hard, pupils blown wide. "And I want you to warm my cock with your perfect pussy while I suck on your tits."

"Oh my god," you gasped, already squirming with need as his words washed over you. "That was a lot more descriptive than I thought it would be."

His cheeks grew pink as he took another step in your direction. "You wanted me to say it."

"I did," you said as you wrenched your shirt over your head. Then you reached for his zipper, and as soon as you had his cock free, you took him between your lips.

Deep, guttural grunts filled your ears as you licked and sucked, enjoying the feel of his big hand at the back of your head while he said, "Now you're just giving me a bonus, Baby Girl."

You pulled him free, saliva strands landing on your chest. "I can stop if you're not into it."

His eyes went wide before narrowing. "Get that smart mouth back on my cock."

You did as you were told, overwhelmingly turned on by him, but he didn't let you give him head for too much longer. He knew what he wanted. It was what he always wanted now. He wanted your breasts.

"Let's go, Sweetheart," he coaxed, pulling you to your feet and stepping out of his jeans. His undershirt was the next thing to go as his cock bobbed, glistening with your saliva. "Let me have it."

He sat down on the couch, staring at you as you took your time removing your shorts and underwear. You watched him rub his thigh as he panted your name, voice laced with desperation as he reached for you. Then you let him have what he wanted. His cock was thick in your hand as you guided him through your wetness until you were sinking down around him.

"Oh fuuuuuck," he breathed as you came to rest on his lap with him fully seated, and then his mouth found the bead of milk leaking from your nipple, and you let yourself enjoy every sensation. Soft lips, eager tongue and harsh mustache. "You're so warm," he muttered, burying his face between your breasts before sucking on the other nipple. "So fucking warm."

You raked your fingers through his hair as your pussy pulsed around him. The delicious feeling of being so full was punctuated by his tongue licking sloppy stripes along your chest like he couldn't get enough. When he wrapped his hands around your waist and held you tight so he could push himself even deeper, your head dipping back in pleasure as you whined.

"I'll make you come," he promised, circling your nipple with his tongue. His thumb found your clit and started stroking you as he sucked you dry. You were exhausted now, but you were so close, and you couldn't help yourself from bouncing in his lap. "Fuck," he growled, and you knew he was done. He came inside you, still rubbing your clit, and soon you bounced along through your own orgasm with your husband's face buried between your breasts.

"Jesus," he groaned, finally pulling his body a few inches away from yours. You wobbled a bit when he helped you stand, and you could feel his cum dribbling down between your thighs. "That looks so pretty. I can't believe you wanted us to use condoms."

"It was just a suggestion!" you laughed. "I don't mind taking the pill."

He shook his head and muttered, "The creampies are just too nice." Then he opened the pizza box, stacked up the last two slices and devoured them as he followed you to bed.

-----------------------------

"I can't thank you enough for this," Cat said as she handed Jeremiah to Bradley. The two and a half year old was still waking up from his nap. Bradley was so used to holding Rose, it was shocking how much heavier and bigger Jeremiah was than his own child.

"Don't mention it, Lieutenant Commander," he replied with a wink as Jake set down an overstuffed diaper bag and some toys. While Cat was wearing her dress whites, Jake opted for a tuxedo, and frankly it was startling to see him dressed that way.

"Where's Angel?" Jake asked, bypassing Bradley altogether. "And where's my goddaughter?" 

"She's feeding Rose," Bradley replied with a grunt.

"I'm coming!" you called from the nursery, and everyone perked up, including Jeremiah, because Tramp ran out of the room behind you.

"Dog!" Jeremiah said, pointing down at the floor.

"Hey, little dude! Good job!" Bradley told him, kneeling so he could pet Tramp. "Since when did he start talking?"

"Not very long ago," Cat said with a smile. "Just a few weeks. His first word was 'Mum'."

"His second word was 'Dad'," Jake added, giving his girlfriend some side-eye.

"It was," Cat said quietly as Jake took Rose from your arms.

Bradley knew the other pilot wanted to be Jeremiah's dad in the worst way. He talked about the little boy all the time, spent as much time with him as he could, and bought him more stuff than he could ever use. Maybe once Cat and Jeremiah moved in with him, she would start to budge on the rest of it.

"Careful," you told Jake as he started to bounce Rose. "She didn't burp yet."

Bradley smirked, because burping the baby was his job, and he loved when you saved that task for him to do. But Rose had a bit of a reputation now. "She'll spit up," Bradley warned, eyeing Jake's pristine tuxedo.

"She would never spit up on her godfather," he drawled, tickling her belly until she made a cute gurgling sound. Bradley silently goaded his daughter to do just that, but to no avail.

"We need to leave," Cat informed Jake. "The ceremony starts in an hour, but I need to be there before that. And you need to find a place to sit with Uncle Bernie." 

She kissed Jeremiah in Bradley's arms, and then she headed for the front door as Jake sarcastically muttered, "Fantastic. Uncle Hondo still hates me on principle." Then he handed Rose to Bradley as well so he was left juggling both kids. "Thanks for watching him, Bradshaw."

Then he was gone, and Rose promptly spit up on Bradley's shirt. "Are you joking right now?" he asked his daughter as he knelt again to set Jeremiah down. "Nugget. We've had these discussions. I'm your dad. You're supposed to like me more than you like your godfather."

But you were all worked up now as Jeremiah said dog repeatedly and chased after Tramp. "Did you hear that, Roo? Jer calls Jake his Dad!"

"Yeah, I heard," Bradley replied, mopping up Rose's mess at the same time he tried to burp her so she didn't do it again. "I'm just in the middle of a huge betrayal at the moment."

"You're so dramatic," you told him, tossing him the burp cloth you left on the island earlier. Then you took Rose and said, "Go get changed, and I'll read everyone a story."

Bradley had to chase Jeremiah around for almost an hour before he started to show signs of fatigue. He knew quite a few words now, and when Bradley tried to teach him how to say Rooster, it came out as Woo. He was currently reaching for Bradley and saying, "Woo, up," which was actually the cutest thing.

"Does this mean we're finally ready for story time?" he asked, picking up one of Rose's storybooks that ended up on the coffee table. "Book?"

"Book," Jeremiah confirmed, and Bradley settled on the couch with both kids. 

Listening to you read about a spy princess with magical powers was something new for him, but Bradley loved your voice so much. As soon as you finished he whispered, "Will you read it again?"

You looked up to see both children sound asleep on him and smiled. "You really want me to? Because neither of them are listening."

"I want you to."

So you humored him by reading it out loud a second time and doing all the voices. Bradley yawned as you finished.

"It looks like all three of you need to go to bed," you mused, standing and stretching.

"Babysitting is a breeze," he murmured, patting Jeremiah's head gently. "It's like I know what to do now. Oh, and Rose is going to need to eat soon."

Like clockwork, she started squirming a bit, and you plucked her out of his grasp before she could really start fussing. Then you whisked her away to the nursery while Bradley watched an episode of Real Housewives with Jeremiah snoozing and thought about how nice it was to have two kids around. Eventually he stood up to get your Mother's Day gift ready to go.

------------------------------

When you woke up on Sunday, your breasts hurt so much, you could hardly stand it. You reached for Bradley, but he wasn't in bed. Squinting, you were able to see the alarm clock, and you sat up in bed so quickly, you were dizzy.

"Ten o'clock!" you gasped, shoving your glasses on your face. You jumped out of bed, holding your chest as you ran into Rose's nursery to find that room completely empty. "What is going on?" you called out as you made your way to the kitchen.

"Hey, Sweetheart," Bradley said calmly with a smile. He was wearing Rose in the carrier on his chest, and there was some delicious looking food on the counter. The room even smelled nice. "Happy Mother's Day."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" you asked, rushing to check on Rose, but she looked completely content. "Isn't she hungry?"

"I fed her a bottle of your breast milk from the fridge," he said, leaning down to kiss you. "Ready for breakfast?"

You stood there, taking deep breaths as your heartbeat started to slow back down to normal. "Yeah," you whispered. "I need to nurse her soon, because my nipples feel like they're on fire, but I'm starving." You realized, not for the first time, that your husband had absolutely everything under control. "Did you make those?"

There was a plate of slightly misshapen muffins, and another with avocado toast. There was fresh coffee and a yogurt parfait and a vase of yellow roses.

"Yes," he replied, clearly proud of himself. "Your mom sent me a foolproof recipe for blueberry muffins, and I think I fucking nailed it, Sweetheart."

"Don't swear in front of the baby," you murmured, kissing him a little awkwardly with Rose strapped to the front of him. "Thank you. This is really sweet."

"I just want you to have a perfect first Mother's Day. I've been thinking about it all week. The roses are from Rose, obviously," he said, gesturing to the vase.

"Homemade breakfast and flowers. Sounds pretty perfect to me, Roo."

"Well, I have something else for you, too." When you looked up at him with a muffin in your hand, his cheeks were tinged a little pink. "Eat first. It's nothing that exciting."

But you knew it would be. Everything he did was exciting. Or at the very least, abundantly sweet. Even the avocado toast had a little ramekin of hot sauce next to it, because he knew you liked to drizzle it on top. And you realized the muffins were arranged in a heart.

After you took a few bites of food, you asked, "What's my other gift? I can't wait. I really want it."

You watched him run his fingers through his hair a little nervously before he turned toward the refrigerator which was still covered in ultrasound photos. "It's not fancy or anything like that. I didn't even know you could make them fancy when I started it the other day. Which is just silly, because there's a whole aisle dedicated to it at the craft store, but I didn't realize that until I got there, and then it seemed too complicated."

Something was hidden on top of the refrigerator, and he reached for it as you asked, "What is it, Bradley?"

"Uh," he whispered, handing you a yellow binder, "it's a scrapbook." The cover said Happy Mother's Day in silver letters with your name at the bottom, and when you opened it, the first page was covered in photos of you holding Rose. Tears welled up in your eyes as Bradley said, "Like I said, it's not the best, but I tried. I think I should have found a prettier binder-"

"Stop it," you gasped, setting it on the counter so you could kiss him again. "It's the most wonderful thing."

Your fingers were in his hair, lips working against his, and Bradley's big hand trailed down along your back. "You like it?" he managed between kisses. "Seems like you like it."

"I love it," you promised him, "and I only saw one page."

You gave him one more deep kiss before Rose started to squirm and fuss. "I think she's hungry again," Bradley murmured, starting to unfasten the carrier. "I'll change her diaper and get her ready for you while you look through the rest of the scrapbook."

Then they were gone, and you were left with hot sauce and muffins and page after page of photos and little notes. It felt like your daughter had been here for so much longer than seven weeks. Bradley had made copies of all of the ultrasound pictures and put them in order. "She really did look like a cute chicken nugget," you mused before turning the page to find Rose's handprints and footprints.

You ran your fingers along them as Bradley flew Rose back into the kitchen like a fighter jet, and you had tears in your eyes that you didn't even try to hide. "When did you do the handprints and everything?" you asked him. "And what are all of these little notes from?"

"I had to get sneaky last week with the ink pad," he said with a shrug. "And I always wrote little things for and about you in the Nugget Notebook. I just copied some of them."

They were the sweetest musings. 

I hope my daughter is as smart and pretty as my wife.

I can't believe how lucky I am.

My wife makes me want to be an amazing dad.

You looked at him with the baby cradled against his chest and said, "There's nobody else in the entire world who would treat Rose and I as well as you do." His cheeks immediately turned an adorable shade of pink.

"I just love you," he whispered, kissing the top of her head and then your forehead as the baby started crying. "She wants her mommy."

Bradley sat on the couch with you and fed you bites of breakfast while you nursed Rose, and then when she eventually took a nap, he sent you back to bed for a nap as well. When you got up, the entire house was clean, and Bradley was playing on the living room floor with Tramp while Real Housewives was on in the background.

"She's still sleeping?" you asked, and he turned to look at you as he nodded. "Perfect. How about you give me the last thing I want for Mother's Day?"

Bradley's brow creased as he got to his feet. "You wanted something else today? Why didn't you tell me? I'd give you anything you asked for."

"I know you will," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and taking him back to the bedroom with you. Then you undressed and got on your hands and knees on the bed, and he was right there with you.

-----------------------------

Bradley was halfway through the Mother's Day FaceTime call with your mom when he realized his undershirt was on backwards. All he could do now was try to act natural, like he hadn't just fucked his wife until she was screaming into his pillow. He bounced Rose on his knee and smiled, thanking your mom again for helping him with the recipe for breakfast.

"Today was perfect," you said for the third time while you lounged on the couch after the call ended. Rosie was cooing and giggling as you tickled her, and Bradley had never seen anything he loved watching more than the two of you together.

He took a few candid pictures on his phone before saying, "Smile." You looked at the camera the same time Rose giggled again, and it was perhaps the cutest photo ever taken. "We can keep adding pages to the scrapbook."

"Take a selfie of the three of us," you told him, scooting closer. "And then tell me what you want for Father's Day."

Your words hit Bradley in the chest as he took the photo. He had never celebrated a single Father's Day in his life. Well, none that he could remember. Certainly Carole had made a huge fuss over her husband with Bradley when he was tiny, but he had no memory of any such things. As far as he could recall, there was nothing related to the holiday in any of the boxes you and he sorted through in his storage unit in Virginia. There was no tangible evidence.

Then when he met you, suddenly your parents were part of his life. Sure, he wished your dad a happy Father's Day every year, but it wasn't the same thing as having his own dad around. But now he would get to celebrate for real. For the first time. And he'd be able to remember it. 

Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pressed his lips to Rosie's soft cheek over and over again as he tried not to start crying. He'd become an overly emotional mess since his little girl arrived, and sometimes he wasn't sure he was well equipped to handle all of these feelings.

But it never seemed to bother you. All you did was make it easier for him when you didn't rush him to try to process everything that he was feeling for the very first time. As he inhaled Rose's sweet scent and kissed her one last time, he whispered, "I just want a day with my girls."

---------------------------------

I might just go right to Father's Day in the next chapter, and then his birthday after that. And then their mini vacation when her parents come out again. He deserves all of the sweetness! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

If you're reading this, thank you! I posted part one of Is It Working For You? almost two years ago! I've enjoyed writing this pairing so much, they just own my heart.

PART 22

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[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [14] - Wedding

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A wedding can be a good place for clarity.  

Word Count: 3400

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, stabbing, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Well, this was going to be fun.

The wedding was tonight and your phone already had way too many text notifications. You would be meeting Becca and Sarah today to get ready, so you had woken up way too early just like Bucky. After taking a quick shower, you made your way downstairs to see him in the kitchen, making coffee.

“Morning.”

Bucky's head snapped up and he turned around to look at you better.

“Whoa,” he said, “This is a surprise."

You pulled your brows together.

“Um, we've been staying in the same honeymoon suite for a while now, in case it has escaped your notice.”

“No no, as in— am I allowed to see you?”

You blinked a couple of times. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean—” he said, motioning between you. “Isn’t it bad luck? If I see you before the wedding?”

You shrugged your shoulders, then jumped to sit on the kitchen island.

“We’re going to get a divorce anyway,” you said. “That whole tradition is for actual couples, not us.”

Bucky pursed his lips and cleared his throat before holding up a mug.

“Coffee, my romantic wife?”

“Stop calling me that, and yes.”

He chuckled, filling the mug with coffee before handing it to you.

“There you go.”

“Thanks,” you said. “So, we’re getting married then.”

“Mm hm.”

“So I’ve been thinking,” you said. “There’ll be a lot of important guests there as well as alcohol. A good way to start alliances.”

“You’re going to use our wedding to make business deals?”

“You’re not?” you asked back and he thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah I see what you mean.”

“And I need to talk to Stark tonight.”

Bucky grimaced.

“I did that earlier this week,” he said. “Would not recommend, it’s not a nice experience.”

You stifled a laugh.

“Well, we need him,” you said. “As much as I hate to admit.”

“I mean—” he started but was cut off when someone pounded on the door, making both of you turn your heads before Becca’s voice reached inside.

“You’d better not be seeing each other right now!”

Bucky threw his head back and you made your way to the door to open the door, smiling already. When you opened it, you found Becca and Sarah standing there and Sarah looked amused already while Becca let out a gasp.

“Just as I thought!” she said, walking past you to step inside and you hugged Sarah when she stepped inside.

“Hey!”

“Hey there,” she said. “I held her back as long as I could.”

“Appreciate it,” you said and pressed a kiss on her cheek, then turned around to see Becca who made her way to Bucky.

“Are you trying to get bad luck? Why are you seeing the bride?!”

“Ask the bride,” Bucky said and you rolled your eyes.

“Come on, everyone in this room knows that this is more of a business deal than a wedding.”

Sarah shook her head slightly and you stole a look at her.

“It is,” you insisted and she held up her hands.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“And where is my coffee?” Becca asked and Bucky nodded at the coffee machine.

“It’s right there, help yourself.”

“Did mom teach you nothing?” she asked while you leaned your head on Sarah’s shoulder, watching them bicker. “Is this your first time interacting with a guest in your place?”

“We don’t have the time to get coffee Becca, we can get it on our way to the weekend house,” Sarah stated and you checked your phone when you received another text, then heaved a sigh.

“Why is everyone texting me?”

“It’s just my theory but maybe because it’s your wedding day?” Sarah asked and motioned at you. “Give me your phone, you’ll be busy the whole day.”

“Oh my God thank you.”

“I already talked to Steve and Sam and I know when exactly you’re supposed to arrive there,” Becca said. “Which means, if you’re late as you like to be all the time—”

“It’s my own wedding Becca, I couldn’t be late if I tried.”

“Well forgive me if I don’t trust you,” Becca said. “I’m serious, my brother or not, I’ll shoot you if you’re late.”

“Does this have something to with the fact that you don’t know if your girlfriend is coming to come to the wedding so you’re channeling all your anger to me?”

“Bucky!” you hissed and he shrugged his shoulders.

“What?”

“Maybe worry less about my relationship and more about yours since we’re still not sure your wife who happens to be my best friend won’t kill you in your sleep,” Becca said airily and Bucky scoffed.

“She won’t kill me in my sleep.”

“She might.”

“She won’t— Y/N, tell her.”

“My dad raised me better than that,” you pointed out. “You don’t even kill enemies in their sleep, let alone allies.”

A happy smile lit up Bucky’s face as if you had just proclaimed your undying love to him on a bent knee and he motioned at you.

“See?” he asked Becca, pride clear in his voice. “We’re allies.”

“You’d have to be awake for it,” you added and Bucky’s head whipped around so that he could see you better.

“Come again?”

“Because honor—”

“Alright!” Sarah cut you both off. “Let’s go. Bucky, Sam and Steve are on their way here.”

“Yeah they just told me on group chat.”

“You have a group chat?” you asked and shook your head. “Of course you do.”

“Come on,” Becca said as she walked outside and Sarah followed her. You lingered there for a moment before you nodding at Bucky.

“I’ll see you at the wedding then.”

“See you, wife.”

“Stop calling me that!” you said and quickly left the suite before he could reply, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

                                                                       *

The majority of the day had gone pretty fast. Thanks to your wedding planner, everything looked exactly how you described her. Barnes weekend residence and its huge yard were already gorgeous, and as the night fell, it looked almost magical. All the guests were seated, Becca and Sarah were already by the altar and so was Bucky, Steve and Sam. Even though you had tried to keep this wedding simple and with as few people as possible, it still looked like there were too many people and you brushed a hair over the skirt of your wedding gown, shifting your weight from one foot to other.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up and you smiled at your father.

“I’m fine,” you said before he could ask, leaning your back to the wall, waiting for your cue. He kept his gaze on you before giving you a teary smile.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.”

“I haven’t done anything to make her proud yet,” the reply left your mouth before you had a chance to stop it and he pulled his brows together.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything.”

No.

No you did have to.

You hadn’t done anything at all to prove yourself yet thanks to your father pushing you out of the picture so that Ian could be his heir instead of you, but you were going to fix that.

Whether he liked it or not.

“Right,” you managed to say. “Sorry. I’m just kind of nervous, that’s all.”

“That’s understandable,” he said. “But I assure you, tonight will go the way you’ve always dreamed of.”

Well, you had dreamt of actually being in love with the groom when you dreamt of your wedding but your father didn’t need to hear that.

This was going to be yet another thing you would keep from him, along with the car chase incident.

“Your aunt texted me by the way,” he said. “She sends her apologies for not making it to the wedding but she’s going to visit soon, she says.”

You tried not to roll your eyes and nodded your head.

“Great.”

“Y/N, I know things haven’t been great lately but I—” he started but was cut off when the music started and you pushed yourself off the wall, rolling your shoulders back. He offered you his arm, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your wild heartbeat down.

“Ready?” he asked and you bit inside your cheek, then took his arm.

“Ready,” you said and you both started walking down the aisle.

It was alright. This whole marriage was just going to last until you took over, and then you were going to get a divorce and you and Bucky would go your separate ways.

Bucky, who was now looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had seen.

You averted your gaze from his as your father and you reached the altar, and he squeezed at your arm before nodding at Bucky, then took his seat. You let out a breath and stole a look at Becca and Sarah, then turned to face the priest, forcing yourself to focus.

Fine, from an objective viewpoint he did look very handsome today.

Not that it changed anything. He was still the most arrogant man you had ever met.

Your heart was still beating so fast that you could hardly focus on what the priest was saying. You and Bucky had informed him earlier on that you would skip the speeches, considering that you had nothing to say other than lies, and you didn’t want to risk people seeing through your lie.

You could swear your head was spinning but you tried to see through the nervousness making its way through your system. You just needed to do this to take over, and then you’d get a divorce and you were hardly going to think about Bucky after that point, except for—

Well.

Technically you were going to have to do business with your ex-husband but that slight detail aside, it was going to be fine.

Blood was muffling your ears as you heard Bucky speak and you dug your fingernails into your palms, then your head shot up when you heard your name.

“Y/N?” the priest said and you blinked a couple of times, then cleared your throat.

“I—I do,” you said almost automatically and Bucky let out a relieved breath as the priest smiled calmly.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he said. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Fuck.

Fuck, this right here had escaped your attention while planning the wedding and from the look of surprise on Bucky’s face, it had escaped his attention as well. He stared at you for a moment as if he didn’t know what to do, and the priest coughed as if trying to signal him.

“You may kiss the bride,” he repeated and you gave a small nod of your head, making Bucky swallow thickly before taking a step to you. Your heart skipped an excited beat as his arm sneaked around your waist and he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, then he dipped you slightly backwards, then leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss.

…Oh.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t dreamed about this before. Back when you still had the biggest crush on Bucky, you would spend hours thinking about how it would feel if he kissed you, even imagining your wedding sometimes but—

You hadn’t thought that his kiss would feel this good.

Before you could even stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours like he wanted to make the moment last. You exhaled, your breath mixing into his but when the applause started, you both snapped out of it. Bucky helped you gain your balance as you tried to catch your breath, then rolled your shoulders back and stepped back from him to smile at the crowd, ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes were glued to you.

                                                           *

You were quite certain you were the first bride who was going out of her way to avoid the groom on her wedding, but in your defense, you had a lot to think about.

Not that kiss.

You had to think about anything and everything except that kiss.

You passed through the huge garden to approach the bar, stealing a look at Leila and Becca who seemed to be in a deep conversation but judging by the small smile on Leila’s face, it was going well. Bucky was talking to Steve and Sam by the corner and Sarah was listening to Winnifred who seemed very enthusiastic to tell her something, motioning at the garden.

Probably something about the wedding.

You ordered your drink and smiled at Ryan who was sipping his drink by the bar and he smiled back.

“Ma’am.”

“Hi Ryan,” you said and looked around. “Please tell me Ian left early.”

“He’s in the bathroom ma’am,” Ryan said and you rolled your eyes.

“Great,” you said. “So are you having fun?”

“I am, thank you,” he said and looked down to his glass. “It’s a nice wedding and you…you look very nice if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh thank you!” you said. “You know, if you ever—”

“Mrs. Barnes,” another voice cut you off and you looked over your shoulder, then turned around to see him better.

“Mr. Stark,” you managed to say and the bartender put your glass on the counter. You took it into your hand and leaned back to the counter.

“Tony is alright.”

“Y/N is alright,” you quipped and Tony smiled at you.

“Very well.”

Ryan’s phone beeped and he cleared his throat, then put his glass down and walked away from you to make his way to the house.

“How do you like the wedding so far?” you asked and Tony thought for a moment.

“No one is shooting at anyone,” he said. “I’d say it’s going well.”

“The night is still young,” you said and he chuckled.

“I suppose,” he said. “But the drinks are pretty good.”

“Food is gonna be better,” you said. “We just figured people shooting at people would be less of a possibility if we made them drink first.”

“Your idea or Bucky’s?”

“Mine.”

Tony hummed and ordered his drink while you sipped yours.

“My father says you’re not exactly happy about this wedding,” you told him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m thinking about how it will affect the balance of things now that you mention it,” he said. “Your father is a very powerful man, and you and Bucky uniting families…”

“I understand your concern perfectly,” you said in a calm tone even if your heartbeat sped up. “But I assure you, this will change nothing.”

“Is that right?”

You clicked your tongue.

“In your business it will change nothing,” you corrected yourself. “I’m quite familiar with your deals with my father, and the Barnes family. I’ll make sure they remain as they are.”

“As Bucky’s wife or as your father’s new heir?” he asked back and you arched a brow, but managed to keep your expression straight as the bartender gave him his drink as well.

“Is that what people say?”

“Well you’re marrying into Barnes family, your father still hasn’t announced his heir, and you have a way of making people talk about you lately,” Tony pointed out. “Not to mention, Natasha seems impressed with you.”

Your eyes found Natasha who was drinking with Clint before you turned your glances to Tony again.

“But you are not?”

“I don’t know you enough yet,” Tony said. “I mean I’ve had the time to figure Ian out and let me tell you, I am absolutely not impressed. But you? You’re a mystery.”

“I’m not,” you told him. “I want the same thing as you do. To keep the truce going, and to keep the town safe.”

“So you claim,” Tony said. “Even you can’t admit, this wedding gave you a huge advantage in power and allies.”

“Let’s be serious here Tony, it didn’t give me any advantage over any of the bosses here.”

“Yet,” Tony added and you hummed, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Yet.”

“But you want it to.”

“I want to make sure my family continues the truce after my father retires,” you stated. “I think that’s what we all want, no?”

Tony huffed out a laugh and raised his glass slightly.

“It is,” he said. “But we also want to make sure your fight for the crown doesn’t hurt the town.”

You opened your mouth to say it would never happen, but heard Pepper calling out for Tony so you both turned your heads before Tony cleared his throat.

“I should go,” he said. “I’ll be in touch. Maybe a dinner with the newlyweds?”

“We’d love to host you and Pepper,” you said and he downed his drink, then put it on the counter and walked away. You let out a breath, then finished your drink as well before motioning at another.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with your husband?” Ian’s voice reached you and you rolled your eyes, then leaned sideways to the bar.

“What do you want?”

He held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “I come in peace.”

“As if.”

“Come on Y/N, it’s your wedding,” he said. “I would have thought you’d be in a better mood.”

“I was, then you started talking to me,” you said and he hummed.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m being completely serious here. Congratulations for the wedding, I’m happy for you. I know we’ve had our differences but we both want your father to be happy, and this wedding is a huge relief for him.”

You pulled your brows together.

“A relief?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a relief for me as well. Now you can just be happy with Barnes and focus on your marriage and your family.”

That bitter taste climbed up your throat but you managed to scoff a laugh and motioned for another drink.

“Is that what you think will happen?” you asked him. “Me and Bucky get married and… then what? I get out of your hair?”

“We’re family,” he reminded you. “That’s not what I—that’s not it. You’ll just have different priorities.”

“Did you give the same speech to Bucky or is it just for me?” you asked and he rolled his eyes.

“You know how the business works Y/N, you don’t need me to tell you.”

You bit inside your cheek hard enough to hurt, then reached out to grab your glass of drink the bartender just placed on the counter.

“You’re the daughter of one of the most important men in the business,” he said. “This marriage will be good for the family, uncle knows that. Not to mention…”

You lowered your glass and tilted your head.

“Not to mention?”

“You’re a wild card,” he said. “It’s hard to play you.”

Your grip around the glass tightened and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Maybe I’ll play you.”

“Spouses don’t get involved, you know the rules,” he said with a snort and your smirk widened before you took a sip, keeping quiet. That confident look on his face faltered when you didn’t reply and he pulled back slightly.

“You can’t,” he said as if trying to convince himself. “You wouldn’t.”

“Here you are!” Bucky’s voice cut through the momentary silence between you and Ian and you turned your head to give him a smile. “Was wondering where you were sweetheart.”

“Time for the food?”

“Mm hm, let’s go.”

Ian gawked at you in silence while you narrowed your eyes at him, dragging the tip of your tongue over your teeth.

“You wouldn’t,” Ian repeated, making Bucky looked between you before he casually stepped closer to you without saying a word, as if making sure you knew he was there to interfere at the slightest sign of you wanting him to. Your stomach did a pleasant flip and you downed your drink, then put it on the counter to turn to Ian.

“Enjoy the wedding, Ian,” you said, grabbing Bucky's hand. “And make sure to rest tonight, will you? Tomorrow will be a new day for both of us.”

With that, you walked away from Ian with Bucky right behind you, a proud smile warming your face.

Chapter 15

[tj-dragonblade]

Dreamling Fic Masterpost

In honor of Dreamling Week, here's an updated masterpost of everything I've written for them so far, split into SFW and NSFW. Each section is arranged oldest to newest. Links go to Tumblr posts, and each Tumblr fic post has the direct AO3 link also.

You can also find me HERE on AO3.

(Read More for length so it's not ridiculous when pinned)

💕🌼The Fluff and Assorted Other Offerings🌦️❤️‍🩹 If it's rated M there is a brief spicy passage somewhere in the fic but not enough to warrant the full E

Use Your Words Rated T, ~2500 words Hob finds mistletoe hung in the bar. Dream is. Insistent. That they adhere to tradition.

Old Acquaintance Rated G, ~800 words It’s New Year’s Eve at the New Inn, and Dream and Hob are on the same page

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: velvet Rated G, 165 words One of Hob's favorite things about Dream

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: memory Rated G, ~230 words Dream is distracted by a memory

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: thread Rated G, ~200 words Hob loves his grey hair

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: daydream Rated T, ~800 words Hob's daydreams are not the only distracting ones

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: enthusiasm Rated G, ~200 words Enthusiasm is one of Hob's defining traits

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: trust Rated T, ~1500 words Dream finds Hob cooking for him (aka The Spicy Omelettes one)

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: grass Rated G, ~330 words A date in Fiddler's Green

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: fireplace Rated G, ~170 words Generic hearth metaphor

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: strong Rated T, ~3400 words Dream helps a drunken Hob get home (aka The Drunken Confessions one)

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: teach Rated T, ~520 words Dream teaches Hob how to summon him; self-immolation discouraged

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: vague Rated M, 465 words Sometimes Dream speaks vaguely. Sometimes he is Very Direct

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: glasses Rated T, ~330 words Sometimes Hob wears Glasses

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: yesterday Rated G, ~470 words Time works different in the Dreaming

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: recovery Rated T, ~2900 words Dream is dating; Hob works hard to just be a good friend while watching it fall apart (aka The Thessaly Breakup fic)

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: friend Rated T, ~1800 words Dream contemplates friendship, Hob, and the blurring of boundaries

In the Morning Light Rated T, ~1960 words Dream visits Hob on a rainy morning

Anticipation Rated T, ~700 words Dream chooses Hob’s Halloween costume (spoiler alert: it's the Wavemother's robe from BG3)

Untitled Knight Hob/King Dream Scene Rated M, ~1300 words A synopsis-plus-scene-draft of a potential Knight Hob and King Dream AU that in all likelihood I will never actually go back to, but I like what's here so it goes on the masterlist

The Keeper and the Traveler Rated G, ~1700 words Not-Exactly-Human AU. A campfire folktale about finding what you didn’t know you were searching for, or something like that. Inspired by Nightwish's 'The Islander'

I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm Rated M, ~6900 words It’s winter in London and Hob is interested in sharing various cold-weather human experiences with his distinctly-not-human boyfriend

Shampoo Rated G, ~550 words Fluffbruary 2024 prompt 'Scent'. Big changes also mean small changes, and sometimes a loss can bring gain as well

London Fog Rated M, ~3500 words Sequel to Caribbean Sunset. Human AU. Dream does his best to ignore Possibilities while he copes with returning from holiday

Before I Go Rated G, ~850 words Fluffbruary 2024 prompt 'Evening'. A Season-of-Mists-style leave-taking visit, some time later in their relationship

Vogue Rated M, ~750 words Fluffbruary 2024 prompt 'Photography'. Human AU. Dream comes home and Hob greets him with a camera.

☂️The Umbrella Boys series, a Human AU☂️ A Sweet Romance Beginning in a Queue Rated T, ~4500 words 🎶Bus stop, wet day, he’s there, I say, ‘Please share my umbrella’🎶 Love Rain Down On Me Rated M, ~2300 words 5 times those Three Little Words go unspoken, and one time they do not.

Chaos and Calm Rated G, ~1550 words Searching for rain boots and meeting friends in the park. No real plot, just meandering domestic parenting vibes.

🔥🌶️The Spice and the Smut🌶️🔥 (aka The Stuff You Hide in the Pantry at Work For) 😉😘

Fluffbruary 2023 Prompt: snack Rated E, ~1800 words Hob comes home to find Dream waiting from him in the traditional murder-widow robe

Built For You Rated E, ~820 words Hob questions Dream on some particulars of his waking world anatomy

Insatiable Rated E, ~3100 words Dream gets rimmed and railed within an inch of his life

Of Cutoff Shorts and Classic Cars Rated E, ~4300 words Hob has made some very distinct wardrobe choices on a hot day. Dream approves.

Little Indulgences Rated E, ~1000 words A spot of fun with lingerie and sex toys

Caribbean Sunset Rated E, ~5500 words Human AU. Hob hooks up with a beautiful stranger on a Caribbean cruise

My Song Can But Borrow Your Grace Rated E, ~6800 words Fanfic for Flatter the Mountain Tops by Teejaystumbles (linked in the post). Dragon AU. Hob wants Dream in dragon form to fuck him while he stays in human form; Dream is beginning to see there’s more to it than just a size kink.

Appreciation Rated E, ~4300 words Sequel to Anticipation. Hob wears the costume (the Wavemother's Robe from BG3); Dream has his fun.

On the Edge of a Waking Dream Rated M, ~3900 words Monsterfucktober Bingo Square 'Ghost'. Human AU. Dream never believed in ghosts until his boyfriend became one

The Beauty of the Beast Rated E, ~3100 words Monsterfucktober Bingo Square 'Were-creature'. Recently-turned werewolf Hob wants to protect Dream from this new side of him. Dream is. Not interested in being protected.

Ambrosia Rated E, ~4000 words An exercise in celebrating the human messiness (and messy humanness) that Dream finds so attractive in Hob

Customer Service Rated E, ~4500 words For the Dreamling Week 2024 June 5 prompt 'Dirty'. Human AU. Mechanic Hob's just trying to fix the rich guy's Porsche but the rich guy is looking at Hob like he's a five-course meal

[rebeccathenaturalist]

If you've been following me for a while, you'll know I'm a sucker for stories about species reintroductions, rediscoveries, etc. And this one might be my favorite this year.

The kākāpō is this delightfully odd bird--a nocturnal, ground-dwelling parrot. Because New Zealand historically didn't have any predators apart from birds of prey, their camouflage was generally sufficient to protect them in the forest. Unfortunately, Europeans brought with them weasels, rats, and free-roaming cats, all of which hunted the kākāpō to the brink of extinction. Invasive species of deer additionally competed with the kākāpō for food.

By the 1980s, the birds had all but disappeared from the main island, and the world population bottomed out at 51 birds in 1995. Since then, breeding efforts and conservation on smaller, predator-free islands have brought the population back up to 252, but this is still a critically endangered species.

The reintroduction to the main island involved setting aside 3400 acres in which all mammalian predators had been eliminated. That would allow the kākāpō a safe place to breed and recover. Right now the four birds released into this sanctuary are all male, to allow conservationists a chance to observe them in this habitat. With time, though, we'll hopefully see females added as well, so that the population can begin expanding.

(By the way, yes--this is, in fact, the species in the infamous "shagged by a rare parrot" clip from the BBC's "Last Chance to See" series some years back. Don't worry, it's less NSFW than it sounds, and it is absolutely hilarious!)

[ikeromantic]

That Foolish Organ

A Chevalier Michel fanfiction. Approx. 3400 words. This scene takes place in Chapter 18-19 of the main route and is told from Chevalier’s POV. Part 16 of a series.

Chapter List

Newly carved memorial stones reflected the afternoon sunlight, the sheen on their surface a contrast to the worn stones from older conflicts. There were hundreds. Knights that gave their life to the service of the royal family. The Hill of Remembrance. Chevalier watched as the families and friends of the dead placed their tokens beside the memorial for their loved ones.

Some of the mourners spoke a few words, others only knelt in silence. The prince stood with his head bowed. His presence was the only acknowledgement he could give. What use, words? Tears meant nothing. He had no regret for his actions. 

He was not unaware of the looks directed his way. Awe and hate in equal measure. These deaths were on his head. The grieving knew it as they knew the beat of their heart. Every tear shed for the lost, held in his cup. The weight of it would be too much to bear, for anyone else. The ceremony ended, and the last of the mourners went home. 

He could have left then, perhaps should have, but his eyes lingered on the most recent memorial stone. Each name, a life ended in his service. He would carry them into the future, etched on his soul. No sacrifice without purpose.

Chevalier saw her before she saw him. Walking up the hill with a bouquet of white roses clutched tight in her hands. At this distance, he could just make out her expression. Her lips were set in a small, thoughtful frown, eyes damp, but her shoulders were squared and her chin held high. Emma. The Belle came to honor the dead. Yves stood by her side, his prim expression set in lines of disapproval. 

He turned away from them. 

“This is unusual. Prince Chevalier never . . .” The words drifted across the hill to his ears. 

“I wonder what he’s doing here?” The Belle’s voice carried to him, though he wished otherwise. Yves’ reply did not. Then, “Prince Chevalier!”

He was tempted to ignore her. To pretend he had not heard anything. After their conversation the previous night, there was no purpose to wasting more words. But he turned, his body obeying the dictates of his heart over those of his head. Chevalier steeled himself for the onslaught of her tears. “Did you two come here to pay your respects?”

“Yes.” Emma nodded emphatically.

“What about you, Prince Chevalier? Did you also come to mourn the fallen knights?” Yves cocked his head, causing a lock of hair to fall into his eyes.

Chevalier snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never do something so unproductive.”

Yves narrowed his eyes. “Unproductive? That’s hardly how I would put it!” The anger simmering below his voice was impossible to miss. “If I recall correctly, the knights who were mourned today swore their allegiance to you.”

“What of it? That is all the more reason it is unnecessary to mourn them.” He glanced down at the memorial stones. “Most likely knew when they began their service that they might die in battle. Standing here grieving and moaning over them is the height of stupidity.”

The fifth prince clenched his hands into tight fists, knuckles white. 

Chevalier was expecting an emotional outburst from his younger brother, but the Belle intervened. “Yves, thank you for showing me to this place.”

“Emma?” Yves’ expression shifted to one of uncertainty.

“If it’s ok with you, I’d like to have a few words with Prince Chevalier, alone.” She patted his arm reassuringly, and Yves’ hands relaxed.

Chevalier turned away, feigning disinterest. 

“But . . .” The fifth prince hesitated, the indecision audible in that one stammered word.

Emma took a deep breath, shifting a step away from Yves. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll do as you ask. But don’t hesitate to shout for me if you want, ok?” 

The ability of this plain, foolish peasant girl to turn the hearts of even more foolish men irked Chevalier in a way he could not quite put a finger on. Even haughty Yves was willing to - what? To fight him? It would be laughable if it were not so earnest. 

“Thank you Yves.” Emma said nothing more. Yves’ retreating footsteps were the only sound for a long moment.

“I think it would have been in your best interest to leave with him,” Chevalier said softly. He did not turn to look at her. 

“I still have something I need to do,” she countered. There was that familiar steel in her voice. He heard her walk slowly toward him until she stood at his side. Her head was bowed, eyes fixed on the memorial stone. “Prince Chevalier, what is it you are doing here?”

Chevalier glanced at her from the corner of his eye. In profile, her expression was one of curiosity, concern, and deep, inner conflict. “I have no obligation to tell you.” He paused, then, “If you have the time to engage in idle conversation, maybe you should do whatever it is you came to do instead.”

He turned abruptly, only realizing he was leaving when his feet led him away. His thoughts felt disorderly around the Belle these last few weeks. His actions and his mind out of alignment. An interference between them in the shape of a heart.

“Wait!” Her slim fingers grasped his cloak.

Chevalier turned his head to regard her with an icy gaze. “What? Your business is with the monument, not me. Correct?”

“That may be true. But -”

“Then don’t waste my time. I thought I told you last night to stay out of my sight.” He watched her reaction, emotions spilling across her face and form in turbulent sequence. 

She nodded, but did not let go. “If we part now I - I’ll never know what you were doing here.”

Chevalier raised a brow. “Is that a problem?” This went beyond her duty as Belle. Beyond whatever . . . relationship? . . . acquaintance they had.

“If you don’t like it, shake me off.” Emma’s defiant gaze met his, fire to his ice.

He pulled the cloak from her grasp and turned to fully face her even as she shrank back from the violent rejection of her touch. “I dislike speaking to someone with my back toward them. That said, why do you want to know the reason I am here so badly that you would physically stop me from leaving?”

Emma’s lips parted, then closed, as she decided how best to respond. Finally, “There’s no deep meaning to it or anything. It just doesn’t seem like you’d be in a cemetery without a reason, so I got curious.”

Chevalier snorted again. “If it was mere curiosity, you wouldn’t have such a serious look on your face.”

“I- I do not-”

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, daring her to keep up the pretense. “I’ve told you before. Your thoughts show on your face.” Chevalier watched another internal battle in her eyes. A slight smile lifted one corner of his lips. “You’re the only simpleton who’s ever decided that I am a person. My guess is that you’re in low spirits because you know now that I am a merciless beast. But you can’t bring yourself to completely write me off as such. You want to know why I’m here because you hope to find my nonexistent human heart.” He took a breath, ignoring the way his heart drummed in his ears. “Am I wrong?”

She let out a shaky breath, unable to reply. 

Chevalier let her go. He poked her forehead ungently. “You are incredibly foolish.” And stubborn.

“Ha.” Emma rubbed the spot on her forehead. “I agree.”

“Yet you still want to ask?”

“Absolutely.” Her gaze was serious and solemn. Troubled waters.

It would be so easy to dismiss her. To walk away. End this . . . whatever it was between them. Prove once and for all that he was only the Brutal Beast. Only. Chevalier wanted her to see him, the truth of him. To decide, when he was laid bare, whether or not there was any heart beating within his chest. 

He knelt in front of the stone monument, eyes downcast. “I wanted to see these names.” He traced the sharp edges of the letters with a fingertip. A sudden skirl of wind ruffled his hair, tossing white rose petals into the air to drift in the space between them. “Remembering the names of those with no value to me is unnecessary, but I make sure to memorize the names of every single person who has worth.”

Emma took a sharp breath. “What? Why?”

“The responsibility for every death in battle lies squarely on the royal family’s shoulders. It’s the duty of royalty to carry on the will of those who died before they could see it fulfilled.” Chevalier heard the words from his own lips, the first time he’d bothered to say it aloud for someone. “Allowing their deaths to be in vain would be an affront to those who utterly devoted themselves to the kingdom. That holds true not just for the knights who died, but the citizens as well.”

He glanced up at her then. “And that is why I memorize their names. To carry their legacy into the future.”

“But, but you said - before, you said that the dead weren’t useful to you.” Emma’s voice sounded small and lost.

“What I meant was that time spent mourning them was better spent doing something useful. I have no business with the dead but carrying on their legacy is essential.” Chevalier awaited her judgement.

The Belle’s mouth firmed, her shoulders rising. “Prince Chevalier, you only dismiss the human heart as unnecessary. That doesn’t mean you don’t have one at all.”

“Hmph.” He stood, a slight smile on his lips. “Even if I do have a human heart, it is meaningless.”

“How so?”

He looked down at her, wondering what it meant that the pure-hearted, clear-eyed Belle would say such a thing. A heart was a weakness. A flaw. Like a crack in castle walls, it could not be allowed to stand. “I may have a heart, but it’s never felt necessary to me. If I cast it away, the result is the same as if it  never existed in the first place. The core of the Brutal Beast won’t change.” Chevalier brushed a bit of hair back from her face. “The miracle you’re hoping for won’t happen.”

Emma trembled under his light touch. “What miracle?”

The truth lay in the depths of her gaze. A truth neither of them could acknowledge. He turned it aside, a half-truth. A partial lie. “As Belle, you wish for me to meet the people of this kingdom halfway, don’t you?”

“I, well . . .” She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “So, from here on, you’re not going to change the way you are? As a ruler?”

“Correct. It would be a different story if I saw necessity in meeting the people halfway, but there is no logic in doing so currently.” He let his hand fall away from her. “If you can’t stomach the way I do things, just choose a different prince to be king. The fact that you haven’t, and what’s more, have pinned your futile hopes on me . . .”

Chevalier paused. The truth faced him still. He could not ignore it. “Even for a more foolish reason.”

“What? What are you even talking about?”

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Her heart was beating so hard that he could feel it against his chest.

“P-prince Chevalier! What are you -”

“There’s a reason that is even more important to you.” He watched the heat spread through her cheeks, sparking in her eyes. 

Emma tried to feign indifference. “And that reason is?” Her body gave her away, every line of her molding itself to him.

“You don’t know?” He leaned toward her, letting his lips graze her ear. Desire pounded through his veins. “You want me to love you. That’s why you’re searching so hard for the human heart in me.” Chevalier could not help the smirk that turned his lips up at the corners. “Am I wrong?”

“I - I -” The tension in her eased as she took a breath. “It’s . . . really short sighted of me, isn’t it?” Her gaze met his as she leaned back to regard him. “You’re royalty. You live in a completely different world. And, after the rose loses its last petal, we’ll never see each other again. But still, I -”

Chevalier studied her. The mixture of love and loss. Hope and regret. “Even while fully aware of the foolishness of it, you can’t separate your mind from your heart. It’s difficult to be a decent human being, isn’t it?”

She looked away. “I wish I could live my life as skillfully as you do, Prince Chevalier.”

“No one would call someone with the ability to detach themselves from their own heart a ‘person.’ The way you are right now suits you more.”

Emma placed her hand lightly on his cheek, though she still would not meet his eyes. “But, Prince Chevalier, you are a person.”

“This? Again?” He frowned.

“Look. If you can completely detach yourself from your heart, as you’ve said, then how do you explain yesterday?”

Chevalier could not reply. She was right, of course. Seeing right through him, to the heart he denied and the emotions he eschewed. Which of them was truly the fool now?

Emma’s gentle smile returned to her lips. “At the very least, it didn’t seem to me that you were able to separate yourself from your emotions.”

“Back then,” he cleared his throat, “for a moment, only, unnecessary emotions manifested themselves.”

“Unnecessary emotions?” It was her turn to raise a brow.

“The most unnecessary emotion of all, which I, as a ruler, ought to cut myself free of. And I’ve failed.” The confession took the breath from him. His skin felt tight, and too hot. His chest hurt as if bruised. 

“You mean . . .”

Chevalier interrupted her before she could continue that line of thought. “I can cut myself free of it now, though. It’s not that powerful.”

“Oh.”

He let go of her and took a step back, searching for that icy calm he needed. “It’s pointless to get your hopes up. There are many different emotions, but among them, love is especially unnecessary.” Memories of his mother’s tears, his father’s hopeless rage, welled up in him. Chevalier crushed them down ruthlessly, as he had learned to do. 

“Nothing good came of it in that book about King Arthur you brought me, right? A knight gone mad with love brought the downfall of the kingdom.” He paused, wondering if she understood. If she saw through his words to his heart. “Something like this happening in reality, a wise king being swayed and corrupted by love? It is no laughing matter.”

Emma nodded slowly. “That may be true but -” The words seemed to still her lips, unable to agree or disagree, though the desire to argue with him was clear.

“I think your viewpoint is opposite mine.” Chevalier’s smile turned bitter. 

“So you remember?”

“Indeed. I’d never heard a woman utter such nonsense as you do. When I look at you, I can assert that love really does have no value.” The pain Emma’s love caused her was written in the dampness at the corners of her eyes, and in the desperate rhythms of her heart. It brought her nothing good. 

She gasped. “What? Why?” 

“Tell me, what do you gain by loving me?” Chevalier wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to hear. “Because of your position as Belle, any feelings you have may affect your ability to judge with impartiality when choosing the next king. And if I’m not mistaken, Clause 99 of your covenant warns against harboring these feelings.” His eyes narrowed. “Despite all of that, you still believe there’s value in love?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, a gentle, sad curl of her lips. “I do.”

Chev frowned. This was irrational, even for her. “Is that so? Then can you demonstrate the value of holding onto these feelings you clearly should not have? Can you show me the grounds on which you can say that it is better to feel these emotions that to cut yourself off from them?”

He waited for an answer, but she was silent. “If you can’t reply, that itself is my answer.”

“No. Wait.” She held up a hand. “Just as you said. I don’t know the value of my feelings yet. And I know the correct thing to do is to forget them because they are prohibited for the Belle.”

“Indeed.” Chevalier nodded.

“But my firm belief is that holding onto them is worth more than letting them go. There’s no way these feelings that make you so precious to me are worthless.” Her expression dared him to disagree. “I can promise you this. Even if it takes me until the day we say goodbye, I will find an answer to your question.” Her eyes held his gaze. “Will you stay by my side and watch over me as long as time permits us?”

Silence stretched between them for countless heartbeats. Chevalier did not know what to say. She was proposing madness. Setting herself up for more pain and sorrow. And for him, what? What use, this love? But he could not simply say no. His mouth would not form the words, nor his breath give them voice. 

“Supposing you do . . . demonstrate its value. And I accept this love. The time will still come when we will have nothing more to do with each other. It should be irrelevant to you if I remain a beast who cuts himself off from love. Knowing this, would you still want to search for an answer?”

“Yes. I will.” She sounded so certain. Sure of herself. “When you smile in a human way, that’s the Prince Chevalier that I love. Even if I am not there to see it.” Her voice was thick with emotion, heavy with the weight of it.

“I don’t recall ever smiling like that.”

Emma’s gaze pinned him in place, piercing him. “Sometimes you do. It’s such a gentle, happy smile.”

Chevalier looked away. He could not see her like this, overwhelmed by this senseless, foolish, mad love. This was no novel with a happy ending. Emma would only end up hurt, and for nothing. 

“That’s why, even after we part, I hope for a future where you will still smile like that. A future where the Brutal Beast is also a man.” She still held onto her small, sad, smile, but her breath shook with the effort.

“You’re far too devoted to this. I can’t understand it.” He shook his head, trying to dislodge her voice from his thoughts. 

She gave a slight shrug. “Doesn’t that happen in a lot of love stories? A character wants the person they care about to be happy. They want them to smile.”

“Even if you’re not there to see it?” 

Emma did not hesitate. “Yes. I have no doubt about that. Even after we part for the last time, my feelings won’t change.”

Could she truly mean it? There was only one way to know. It was the practical choice, or so Chevalier told himself. The only way to see if perhaps . . . maybe . . . there was some value to this warmth that filled his heart - that foolish organ - to bursting. “Very well. Prove to me that love has value. Maybe I will change my mind.”

“Thank you. I know I can prove it to you. Just wait and see.”

He hoped she was right, even if his mind told him logically this could only end in tears for her, or worse. “I hope you know, I still think this whole idea is foolish.”

Her voice was tight with held emotion, her feelings slowly overcoming her composure despite her best efforts. “Do I exasperate you?”

“Indeed. More than you ever have before.” He sighed and lifted a hand to her. “You really are so . . . foolish.” His fingers caressed her cheek and found a tear there that had slipped free from the corner of her eye. “Your smile does not fool me.”

“I . . .” She struggled to control herself, and failed.

Though he knew he should walk away, he pulled her close again, and let her hide her face against his shoulder. He did not know how to comfort her, but he tried. Stroking her soft hair, rubbing her back as she sobbed against him. “No one will ever be as much a fool as you are.” Making herself cry. Making his chest ache.

This could only end in tragedy. 

[live-emotion]

Today is Utapri's 14th Anniversary!

On top of the other announcements, there were also a few for Live Emotion. Log in today to receive 1400 Wish Tones!

New MVs:

Starting with Dekiai Temptation on July 1st, more MVs will be added sequentially for the Quartet Night and Heavens solo songs currently in the game!

More new MVs are also currently being worked on.

New Piece Gacha:

A limited time Piece Gacha series titled "Stage for Myself" will be added in the future and available one after another. According to the announcement on the anniversary website, in this gacha you'll be able to "obtain live costumes that match each idol's solo song."

Login Bonus:

Available today only, players who log in will receive:

Wish Tones x1400

EXP Score Drop UP x14

Sing Stone (S) x14

Sing Stone (M) x14

Dance Stone (S) x14

Dance Stone (M) x14

Charm Stone (S) x14

Charm Stone (M) x14

Life Stone (S) x14

Shop Update

The shop underwent a maintenance today and has added a special "Uta no Prince-sama 14th Anniversary set." This can only be purchased with real currency, and is likely not possible to buy internationally depending on your location and payment method.

The 14th anniversary shop bundle is available until the the 8th of July, and costs 3400 Yen. It can be bought 14 times per player. It contains:

Wish Tones (Paid) x1700 Wish Tones (Free) x900 EXP Score (S) x140 EXP Score (M) x14 Sing Stone (S) x140 Dance Stone (M) x14 Dance Stone (S) x140 Charm Stone (M) x14 Charm Stone (S) x140 Life Stone (M) x14 Life Stone (S) x140 Live Skip Ticket x14

[kidlit-queen-competition]

the sea railway from spirited away!

Beautiful train! Thank you for nominating :)

[ID: a still from the animated movie, spirited away. A train waits at a station in the middle of still, open water, beneath a blue sky with puffy white clouds. The train is a streamlined, electric two-car set with a cab at each end. The cars are light brown with darker brown accents, but they look yellow and pink in the lighting of the scene.]

[humanpurposes]

From Eden

Chapter 2: Some part of me came alive

Danes attack Wincombe Abbey and a young novice crosses paths with a group of mercenaries and their Baby Monk // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Osferth x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+, suggestive themes, religious guilt, pathetic yearning

Words: 3400

A/n: I did not spellcheck the names. Also available to read on AO3.

Since joining Lord Uhtred, Osferth had seen enough of the back of his horse’s head to make him sick. They moved constantly, never settling anywhere for long. So he savoured each stop, and every night he spent in a bed rather than a forest floor or a field, he made sure to express his gratitude in his prayers.

Only the ride from Wincombe was anything but dull. The girl from the abbey, Bridget, was rather impossible to ignore, pressed tightly against his back and shrouding his cloak around his shoulders to keep them both warm.

He slowed the horse once they had caught up with the rest of the group. She settled then, holding her hands on his shoulders, turning her head and resting her temple at the base of his neck through the thick material of his tunic. A thrill ran down his spine, one he hardly allowed himself to feel. 

The snow was starting to settle now, crunching under the hooves of the horses. The sky was overcast with grey clouds, yet the world seemed so bright. Bridget marvelled at the sight of the land beyond the abbey, letting out breathless little gasps at hills and woodlands.

“When was the last time you were this far from the abbey?” Osferth asked, turning over his shoulder a little.

Her wide eyes glanced up at him before she lifted her head. He suddenly felt cold with the absence.

“I haven’t been beyond the woods in over a decade,” she said, her voice was light, finding its place between wonder and sadness. 

He had much been the same, hardly venturing from the walls of the minster in Winchester, until he decided to seek out Lord Uhtred.

“Is that how long you have been at the abbey?” he asked.

“Yes,” is all she said. He had half expected a tale of her life, of her mother and father, but she simply sighed and looked ahead, peering over his shoulder to the others riding in front of them.

He told her of their company, of Lord Uhtred, a man born to a Northumbrian Lord and raised by Danes, hoping to reclaim his home. He told her how he had found himself tied to other matters. He was a warrior, a loyal servant and friend of King Alfred, but most recently he had become intent on his pursuit of the seer, Skade.

“What is his interest in her?” Bridget asked.

Osferth tutted to himself. Uhtred’s obsession with Skade had brought them nothing but misfortune and death thus far. “He believes himself to be cursed.”

“And do you believe that?”

“She is of the devil,” he said, “sent to tempt the hearts of men. That is all I care to know of it.”

And yet Uhtred remained intent on finding her.

As they rode on, he told her of the other men, Finan, the Irishman, and Shitric, the Dane, the greatest and the bravest warriors he had ever known– save for his Lord, of course.

“And what of you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She nodded ahead. “Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan the Irishman and Shitric the Dane. Where do you come from?”

He frowned and suddenly his cross felt heavier around his neck. He had been left to the monastery with no name, no title, just the weight of his father’s sins. “I am simply Osferth,” he said. 

“That can’t be true,” Bridget said. “What was it Finan called you? Baby Monk?”

His body went rigid. God, he hated that name, even more so now that she had said it.

She chuckled softly. “That makes you something,” she said.

He doubted she would soon forget the topic. “I was born in Winchester,” he said with a reluctant sigh.

“And how did you come to serve Lord Uhtred?”

“My uncle said he was a great man. I sought him out, to join him.”

“So you do have a family?”

Hardly. He had few memories of Leofric, even less of his mother.

One of Bridget’s hands slipped from his shoulder, resting against his arm. “I can stay silent if you’d prefer, seeing as you’re so intent on remaining mysterious,” she said.

“No– no,” he insisted as he cleared the tight feeling in his throat. “My life is anything but mysterious, I assure you.”

“A simple man, formerly of the cloth,” she mused.

He sounded painfully dull with the way she put it, but what was the alternative? Bastard… coward… boy.

“I suppose so,” he muttered.

As the sun slipped below the hills and night crept into the sky, Lady Aethelflaed at last decided they would make camp for the night, despite Uhtred’s determination to press on to Saltwic.

They found cover under a grove of trees where they could tie the horses, gather firewood and seek some shelter from the snow.

Osferth dismounted first, swinging his leg over the horse’s head before he turned back to Bridget. She braced herself on his shoulders as he put his hands on her waist and guided her down. Perhaps the fall was further than she anticipated; her hands tightened their grip on his shoulders and she took a sharp breath before her feet touched the ground.

“Are you alright?” Osferth asked.

“Yes, of course,” she mumbled. Her eyes flittered between his face and the ground. He had an awful feeling he had done something wrong and quickly released his hands from her.

He made quick work of unloading the canvas, bedroll and furs from his horse before he went about his usual duties, building the fire, beginning on the broth to feed the men. Bridget stood restlessly, fiddling with her hands in front of her skirts, reaching for her hair to fix a habit she no longer wore. He watched her in the corner of his eye as he worked, and gestured for her to join him by the fire once the flames came alive.

She still had his cloak on her and when she moved to take it off he stopped her. She smiled in thanks and pulled it back over her shoulders.

Even then she was unsettled. Her head turned everywhere, watching Uhtred setting up a tent for himself and Lady Aethelflaed, Finan and Shitric as they sharpened their swords and poured themselves cups of ale. 

“Your first night away from the abbey,” Osferth said and bit his tongue immediately after. It was a rather obvious thing to point out.

She cautiously eyed the other men around them, setting up their own beds and fires.

“You needn’t fear them,” Osferth said. “They will not harm you.”

As she turned towards him, her eyes and skin caught the light of the fire. In that moment she was golden and radiant, the very image of the angels he praised in his prayers. Suddenly his mouth felt dry– perhaps he needed a drink of ale.

She smiled softly. “I am not afraid, Osferth.”

His eyes were drawn to her lips and her teeth as she said it. He had never known his own name to sound so pleasant.

Lord Uhtred appeared from the tent to fetch a bowl of broth for Lady Aethelflaed, before he, Finan and Shitric joined them by the fire to eat and drink.

Finan handed Bridget a cup of ale. “The more you drink the easier it is to fall asleep,” he said, “you’ll need it with the cold.”

She winced at the first sip but laughed it off with the others. “Stronger than I’m used to,” she said.

“Does she have a bed?” said Uhtred.

“She’ll have mine,” Osferth said without hesitation. 

Finan and Shitric shared an amused look. Bridget tilted her head at him. There was that strange feeling in his stomach again, like he’d done something wrong.

“I’ll just sleep on the ground,” he clarified.

The fire kept them warm enough for an hour or so, but as the night grew darker it brought heavier snow and wind, nipping at the bare bits of Osferth’s skin, his face and fingertips. Without his cloak he felt the cold seeping through to his very bones.

He was as quiet as usual, while Finan and Sihtric reminisced back on battles and nights spent in alehouses. Bridget watched them with wide eyes and wonder.

He hardly noticed Lord Uhtred’s departure and subsequent return with a bedroll, dropping it at his feet.

“Lord?”

“You’ll sleep better with it,” Uhtred said. “Now retire, all of you, we leave at first light.”

Osferth pointed Bridget towards the tent he had set up and told her to use as many furs as she needed.

Once he had taken the broth pot from the fire and gathered Lord Uhtred’s bedroll, he made towards the tent. Until a firm hand stopped him by his shoulder.

“You’re a better man than I, Baby Monk,” Finan muttered into his ear with an audible grin. “I’d have her sharing my bed.”

He brushed Finan’s hand away and clenched his jaw to stop himself smiling.

Was he truly being that obvious? He wanted to think that he wasn’t, but with every step he took towards the tent, the more he thought of her, lying on his bedroll, wrapped in his cloak and his furs to keep out the cold, the more he began to doubt himself.

She only caught his attention back at Wincombe when she approached him in the hall– the girl from the woods who had directed them towards the abbey. She seemed curious, fascinated at the prospect of him having left his order in Winchester, and when Haesten had attacked, she had acted courageously in spite of her fear. Heaven above, she had killed one of the men, which was one more than he could claim from his first battle.

He was acting by the guidance of the Lord, he told himself, in offering her his care and protection. He intended to honour his word. 

He was glad to be out of the snowfall and under the canvas. His cloak had been left on the branch of a tree, hanging within the tent, and Bridget had settled on the bedroll, huddling in a single layer of fur. He could see her shivering.

He laid out Lord Uhtred’s bedroll, in what small space he had. He fastened the cloak around himself, leaving his boots and his gloves on as he settled. It was too cold for anything less.

Bridget was on her side and facing him, fur pulled up to her chin, eyes squeezed shut, teeth chattering and lips trembling as she let out shaky, icy breaths.

Even as the snores of the other men sounded from the other tents, she was still shivering.

He whispered her name, and she responded with a short “hmm.”

“You’re cold,” he said.

She opened her eyes. “Finan’s trick with the ale didn’t work,” she grumbled.

He smiled. “Don’t trust everything Finan tells you.”

She angled her brows in a helpless expression and smiled back.

An idea crossed his mind, one that would have Finan grinning like a devil, but he couldn’t just leave her to the cold. He adjusted the fur around him and held it out. 

“May I?” he asked at the questioning frown on Bridget’s face.

She shuffled closer to him, dragging the fur with her as she settled herself under his arm and against his chest.

Osferth brought the fur around her, pulling her in a little closer, her head fitting perfectly under his chin. He felt the gentle force of her breath against the collar of his cloak, leaving his skin feeling deprived of her. 

She fell asleep quickly. A subtle feeling of pride swelled in his chest, but sleep did not come as easily to him. He could hardly rest, he had to make sure the furs were wrapped around her, that his arm wasn’t pressing in too harshly to her body, but that his hold was firm enough to keep her warm.

And then there were her little hums and heavy breaths. They were soft sounds, unobtrusive, soothing in a way, and his heart leapt at each one.

He tried to think of the last time he had been this close to someone. He and Finan and Shitric had found themselves in uncomfortably close proximity, finding sleep where they could on their travels. Having Bridget by his side, nestled against him, her face delicately fallen and a picture of peace in his embrace, was entirely different.

He let his hand trace over the curve of her waist and settle against her back. He liked the feel of her under his touch, their breaths moving together, her body pressed against his.

But what was it the holy book preached? The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.

He clenched his jaw and tucked the edge of the fur under his hand so his palm would not touch her, not directly at least.

Bridget insisted she was used to rising early, especially after she had slept so well– a detail which had earnt Osferth a smug look from Finan, which he met with another frown.

The mind governed by the flesh is death.

He recited those words in his head over and over again, as he helped Bridget into the saddle, as she put her hands around his waist, as her hips gently rocked against him with the movement of the horse, but he kept his head high and his hands tight on the reins.

It took a matter of hours to reach Saltwic. The men were all glad to be under a roof with some more substantial food in their bellies; spit-roasted meat, bread and more than a few mouthfuls of ale. 

Though before long, Osferth found himself being dragged out of the hall by his shoulders and Finan’s insistence that they should make use of their time to train.

Bridget was already waiting for them in the courtyard. She had shed her nun’s robes now, dressed in garments she must have been given by Lady Aethelflaed; a shirt, tunic and breeches. Modest, but he doubted her sisters at the abbey would approve. She wore them well. 

By her side she held a sword, shorter and slimmer compared to the blades wielded by Lord Uhtred and his men. Osferth looked down at his own weapon, long and slight, made to match his body.

“Which would win in a fight, a Baby Monk or a Little Novice?” Finan said cherrily, striding between them.

Osferth and Bridget shared a look of confusion.

Finan held his arms out as though he were expecting an answer. “Let's find out, shall we?” Then he withdrew, leaving nothing but empty space and a few settled snowflakes between them.

Surely he did not mean for them to attack each other without even showing Bridget how to properly wield a sword. Not that Osferth was a well seasoned fighter himself. He had seen battle, but he often let himself fall into the background unless it was necessary. 

Bridget had a fighter’s instincts at least. She had hardly hesitated to slay one of the attackers at Wincombe. He might have been dead if she hadn’t. With that he felt a little less guilt about taking a single step forward as he adjusted the grip on his sword. 

She reacted sharply, like an animal to a hunter. In a heartbeat her posture had completely changed. She was poised, her eyes wide and alert, her feet in a fighting stance and her sword at her side.

It was easy to pick up on her movements, the little signs of instinct in every reaction. Finan had often told him this was a weak point of his, the inability to read his opponent, but with her, he was acutely aware of where she was putting her weight, where her eyes were looking, each little intake of breath as they stalked around each other.

When she moved first, he raised his blade to block her, then matched her again when she took a swing at his middle.

Their swords met with a ringing clash. The metal hissed as he drew his blade along hers until they fell apart.

His heart was racing and his breaths shallow. He was becoming impossibly warm under the weight of his robes and chainmail.

Bridget was poised again, a gleam in her eyes and a small smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

“The girl’s a natural,” Finan called, “she’s picking this up faster than you did, Baby Monk!”

Osferth meant to shoot his friend a glum glare until he saw a flash of movement, her hair and the wave of her sword. He looked back to Bridget in time to parry her strike, but not before she moved around him and delicately placed her blade on his shoulder, over his chainmail, close enough to his neck to affirm her victory.

She was close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin. 

She smiled, proud of herself but without cruelty. It made his chest ache, not unpleasantly.

“Where did you learn to fight?” Finan asked.

A small part of Osferth died as she turned her eyes away from him. She lowered her sword and stepped away.

“I learnt a little from my brother,” she said.

“Good man himself,” Finan said, drawing his own blade and nodding for them to follow his lead as he brought them through a few stances.

“Yes,” she said softly, “yes he was.”

Osferth hardly let himself look upon her as they trained, unless Finan asked them to spar. They became less evenly matched each time they did so. He found himself slipping further and further into his own mind. Each time she smiled at him it awakened something bright and unnerving within him. He clasped at the memory of having her waist in his hand, her breath against his neck, her body pressed into his.

He excused himself once Finan decided they were done and decided to forgo the suggestion that they replenish themselves in the hall with more meat and ale.

He went to the chapel, tucked away in the corner of the estate within Lady Aethelflaed’s private apartments. It was far from the noise of the stables, the rowdiness of the hall, the heat creeping under his skin every time his eyes met Bridget’s.

The chapel was small, cold and dark, lit only by a collection of candles at the altar. He came to his knees on the stone floor before it, clutching his cross in his hands. 

He asked for peace of mind, for clarity, for an answer.

Why her? Why had the Lord seen fit to guide them to Wincombe and urge her to join them? Why had his mind become so utterly consumed by her, not some lewd temptress of cruel intention or evil spirit, but a woman of beauty, warmth and courage? Perhaps it was a tempting of faith, a lure to sin and depravity.

“The mind governed by the flesh is death,” he whispered to himself, “but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.”

A breeze blew through the chapel, ceasing when the door was quietly closed.

Osferth froze, stroking his thumb over his cross.

Soft footsteps moved against the flagstones until a figure stood at the altar. She was still in her training clothes, her hair flowing freely down her back. Most of her face was obscured in shadow, save for the edges of her cheek and her nose. He watched her hands as she lit a taper and brought it to the wick of a new candle. 

She bowed her head in a silent prayer, the flames lighting the curve of her lips. She whispered something to herself but the words eluded him. He wondered what she might be praying for, if she felt the same turmoil as he did.

The room remained silent, save for the hum of the flames. Ordinarily he found peace in silence, but now it felt unbearable.

Bridget turned around, still bathed in darkness, an intangible vision, like a ghost, untouchable. The colour of her eyes were lost to darkness but he felt them boring into his.

She took a step closer to where he knelt. He held his cross a little tighter as traced the shape of her slightly parted lips, and felt a restless urge rising in his gut.

“What are you praying for, Osferth,” she said.

Without thinking he flexed his hand to regain some feeling in it. He might as well have been a lifeless entity otherwise.

The mind governed by the flesh is death.

“Strength,” he uttered, desperately keeping his eyes on her face, not the curves of her body and the belt cinching in her waist. “And courage also.”

Bridget suddenly retreated into herself. She kept her hands clasped in front of her and smiled. “I pray for that too.”

Tags (comment to be added to either)

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[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 13 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley contemplates just staying in Mexico with you forever. Vacations look good on him, and you seem happier than ever before. But a return to San Diego means the final countdown to the baby is on.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, oral sex, adult language

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

There were no alarms set for work, no meals to cook, and no interruptions of any kind. Other than the occasional text from Cam letting you know that Tramp was being the best boy imaginable, you were solely focused on your husband and your daughter.

"She's kicking up a storm," you said from your lounge chair on the beach, and Bradley almost fell out of his own seat where he'd been dozing off and on to get his hands on your belly.

"Where's my little Nugget?" he crooned as he knelt in the sand. You felt her do a somersault as he looked at you over his aviators, and his smile grew. "There she is. I swear she knows when I'm nearby, Baby Girl."

You ran your fingers through his wavy, sandy hair and down along his scarred cheek. "She absolutely does." He kissed your arm without moving his hands, and then he pressed a sassy kiss to your chest through your bathing suit. "Vacations look good on you, Roo. You look very relaxed."

The dark circles under his eyes were virtually gone after a few days in Mexico. He was still chasing you down with the blood pressure cuff several times a day, and he was constantly trying to get you to eat or drink something, but he was obviously feeling very good at the moment. 

"Yeah, well what do you expect when my wife lets me cum all over her tits as soon as I wake up? And then I get tacos and margaritas for breakfast? Honestly, I'm thinking maybe we could just stay here? Rose could grow up bilingual. I could fly some charter planes back and forth to the peninsula. You can lounge in your bathing suit and look pretty. What do you think?"

You were cackling as you reached for the tube of sunblock that you never let out of your sight when you were with him. "Let me think about it while I reapply." You sat up, and Bradley sat on your chair between your legs, and you smoothed the lotion all over his broad back and shoulders before continuing down his arms. "We did just finish the attic at home," you mused as you massaged his bicep. "But moving to Mexico does sound lovely."

Bradley grunted as you kissed the back of his head. "You're right. One of those rooms will be Rosie's someday. Can't let that shit go to waste. Gimme," he said, holding out his hand, and he had you sit on his lap while he put more sunblock on you as well. You bit back a moan as his hands smoothed down your back to the top of your bikini bottoms, and his fingers dipped deliciously into the fabric.

"Do you ever think about how you put sunscreen on me at the cliffs beach? The day we had our first kiss?"

"All the time," he replied easily, rubbing circles along your shoulders. "Best day of my life up to that point. But don't forget, we didn't kiss, Sweetheart. You kissed me. And then I reciprocated with enthusiasm."

You looked out at the water and smiled. "You were pretty enthusiastic. And you were so sweet and sexy. How was I supposed to keep resisting you?"

"You weren't."

When you turned to face him, he was smiling, and you put a dollop of sunscreen on his nose. "Vacations really do look good on you."

He shrugged and leaned back in what used to be your seat. "Well, you would know better than anyone else. I never really took them before you." He coaxed you back so you were curled up in his arms, and he ran his thumb reverently along the valley between your breasts. "Can't wait to go somewhere with both of my girls. Maybe Disneyland? Rose can get one of those fancy princess dresses."

You moaned at his touch and his voice. "You're going to spoil our child rotten, aren't you?"

"Haven't I already made that abundantly clear?" he asked with a laugh. "Nothing's too good for the Nugget."

"You're as bad as my parents," you muttered, letting your eyes drift closed. 

"Okay, they might actually be worse than me."

"It's a tie," you whispered as you fell asleep.

--------------------------

"I don't want to go home tomorrow," you complained with a little pout. 

You looked like an absolute goddess at the moment, and Bradley wished the two of you could stay in Mexico longer. He watched you get dressed from the bed where he was lounging in his shorts and tropical print shirt. His stomach was growling loudly for dinner, but he was very distracted by how you looked as you pulled your dress over your head.

"Jesus," he groaned as you wiggled it over your bump and down your hips. "Could that thing be any tighter?"

"It's a bodycon dress, so no, probably not."

He had no idea what a bodycon dress was, but he really liked this one. "Fits you like a damn glove," he muttered. He could even see your nipples peaked against the fabric, and he started to sit up in bed.

"That's the idea. It's stretchy and comfortable, which is good, because my belly feels tender today," you said as you smoothed the dress over your body.

Everything was exciting to Bradley. You looked smoking hot. And a tender belly was just a reminder that the baby would be here soon. And he was about to eat more tacos and give you a little surprise after dinner. He just kept winning.

When you slipped your feet into your high heels, Bradley jumped up from the bed. "I don't want you walking around in those unless you're holding my hand."

"Why not?" you asked, looking at him with concern.

"I don't want you to trip. No more falls. And we're not going to dinner until I check your blood pressure."

He led you to the edge of the bed, got you seated, and kissed your belly before going to retrieve the blood pressure cuff. With a sigh, you held out your arm and said, "I've been eating and drinking plenty, Bradley. And getting some sun has been really good, too."

He grunted and got you all set up. "Maybe I just want to be sure my girls are alright. It's February now, Sweetheart. The Nugget will be here next month, and the last thing I want is for you to have to go back to the hospital any earlier than is completely necessary. But if your blood pressure isn't holding up, we need to know about it right away."

You reached for his face as he knelt in front of you, and he looked up to meet your eyes. "Rosie is the luckiest baby in the world. And you're already such a DILF. The gray hairs are definitely helping with that."

Bradley ducked his head in embarrassment. "Your blood pressure is normal. You ready for dinner?"

You moaned as he helped you back to your feet, and you let him hold your hand the whole way to the restaurant. "I need more tacos drenched in hot sauce," you said.

"I can make you tacos when we get home, and we can use the hot sauce you made," he promised.

"Oh," you gasped, wrapping your arms around him as he gave his name to the host. "I almost forgot you can cook things now."

He wasn't about to remind you that he was going to have to follow up with your mom again to be sure he remembered how to brown the ground beef. Not when you had that hazy eyed look on your face with your tits practically exploding out of your dress. He was suddenly so horny, he was considering skipping dinner, but he needed you to eat. He needed you to have energy for later.

As the host called out Bradshaw, Bradley leaned down to kiss your ear. "I need you to stop looking at me like that. At least until after dinner," he whispered. But you had been correct when you said that this vacation was doing something good for him. He felt incredible. The hotel room was comfortable, and you'd been wearing him out just enough that he was getting some solid sleep and waking up very refreshed. 

"Literally as soon as we get back to the room later, I want your pants off," you informed him in your bossiest voice. You didn't care who heard, because a second later, you were accepting a menu from the waiter with a smile.

------------------------

Your belly was full of tacos, and you just watched your husband eat roughly his body weight in seafood, but he still looked sexy. He always looked sexy. Maybe it was your hormones, or maybe you were high on quality hot sauce. Or perhaps you were just hopelessly in love with him. But when he paid the bill for dinner and tucked his wallet back into the pocket of his snug shorts, you wanted nothing more than to fuck him. 

"The moon looks pretty," he mused as you left the restaurant hand in hand. "Let's walk down to the water."

"But it's pitch black outside," you told him when you realized there was barely even a crescent moon visible.

"Humor me," he said with a little laugh. You didn't argue when he started to tug you in the direction of the beach while he played with your rings. Before you got to the sand, Bradley knelt down to help you out of your shoes, and then he carried them for you. The soft sound of the waves mingled with music playing further up the beach. The pitch of the guitar was pretty, and the closer you got to it, the more familiar the song sounded. 

"Hey," you said as your steps slowed to a stop. "It's our wedding song. They're playing Everything!"

You could hear Bradley in the darkness more than you could see him, and his voice made you shiver. "It sure is. Nothing's too good for you."

Your lips parted in surprise. "How did you get them to play it?" Just then, the song changed to a slower guitar rendition of Roses by Outkast, and you bounced on your feet in excitement. "Bradley!"

"Sweetheart!"

"How did you do this?" you asked again as your cheek settled against his chest.

"I asked very nicely."

You laughed, because that was such a typical answer from him. If he wanted something badly enough, he'd go to the ends of the Earth for it, but he could usually get his way just by asking. 

"Do we have to go home tomorrow?" you whispered as he wrapped his big hands around your biceps, keeping you warm against the chill of the night air. "This is more fun than going to work."

He kissed the top of your head and said, "Spending time with you in any capacity is more fun than going to work, but we do need paychecks so I can spoil our kid."

You buried your face against him as you laughed. "It's all about Rosie."

"No," he corrected, giving your arms a little squeeze. "It's all about you and me and Rosie. Us against the world. A new era for the Bradshaws."

His words made you warm inside. "We're officially out of the honeymoon phase and in the baby phase."

"Well," he rasped, "I don't think we'll ever be completely out of the honeymoon phase, Baby Girl. Let's be real here." His hand slid down your backside over the tight fabric of your dress. "Not when you wear shit like this with your magic tits."

"You wanna see them?" you asked.

An hour later, you were in bed, sweating and whining Bradley's name. Your dress was pulled up above your hips and also down below your breasts, and he was absolutely worshipping you. You could feel the fabric of his discarded shirt and shorts next to you as you tried to wrap your fingers in the bedding to keep you grounded, but it was no use.

"Roo," you gasped, letting yourself get completely lost in the feel of his mouth on your pussy. He had one big hand splayed on your belly like he was protecting both of you, but his other hand was keeping your thighs spread wide for him. The wet sounds were delicious as he ran his nose over your clit.

"You've got the prettiest pussy," he crooned. "So fucking tight." His tongue slipped down until it dipped inside you, and he groaned as he sucked before pulling his lips free. "My god, you're perfect."

Your thighs were shaking slightly, and it kind of hurt to arch your back. All you could do was whine and hold onto whatever you could reach as you sucked in shallow breaths. You needed to come, badly. But he kept you right there on the brink as if he was trying to decide exactly how to finish you off.

"Roo," you whined.

"I know," he replied softly. "Me too." You were convinced he could read your mind by the way he shoved his cock inside you a minute later. It was such a different sensation, and then his mouth was on your breasts as he fucked you. His voice was aggressive as he whispered, "Your nipples are fucking delicious right now. I can't get enough."

If you weren't already pregnant, you were convinced you would have been tonight. He toyed with your breasts, rough hands and mustache everywhere. You were sore and tender, and he made everything feel better and also more pronounced at the same time. Your orgasm was building now, and while part of you wanted to crawl away, the rest of you couldn't get enough of him.

"Fuck," he grunted, his hard abs pressing against your belly as he buried his face to your chest. "Come on. Come for me!"

He pressed himself against your clit as he fucked you hard enough that your breasts were bouncing, and you closed your eyes as you finally clenched around his cock. The relief was immediate, and you let the needy sound of his orgasm wash over you.

Sticky cum coated up your thighs as he sprawled out next to you, his chest rising and falling rapidly from exertion. "You'll be the death of me, I swear," he muttered, eyes closed while you worked your dress up and over your head. He cracked one eye open and peeked at you. "Let's go skinny dipping."

You laughed as he helped you down into the private plunge pool a few minutes later. It was late, but you knew the two of you would have hours to nap on the flight home, so you let him hold you and talk to Rose. You let him tell you for the millionth time how excited he was while you could barely make out his face in the moonlight.

-----------------------------

Bradley jerked awake as the plane touched down with a bumpy landing in San Diego. "Pilot must be retired Navy," he muttered to himself as you woke up next to him with a little pout on your face. The sky outside looked dark and cloudy for southern California, and he already knew what you were going to say.

"I don't want to go to work tomorrow. I want to eat tacos."

"I'll make tacos for dinner if you're well behaved," he promised as he turned his phone on again. A flood of texts from Nat came through just as it started storming outside. He scrolled through them and said, "Nat wants to know what you're doing on February fourteenth."

You stretched your arms over your head and gave him a funny look. "I don't know, Roo. You tell me. That's Valentine's Day."

"Oh," he replied. "Right." It wasn't like that day was particularly important to him. Other than the fact that he liked the color red, he could do without all of the chalky candy hearts and overpriced cards. The date never stuck in his mind like your birthday and November 28th did. That was the most romantic day of the year for him. His wedding anniversary was more important than pretty much anything else. "Well, how do you feel about having a baby shower on Valentine's Day?"

"A baby shower?" you gasped, a bright smile breaking out on your face. "I get to have a baby shower?"

"My god, you're adorable. Yes, you get to have a baby shower. I know your mom said she and your dad would rather wait until the Nugget is born to come out and help, so Nat is planning it."

You burst into tears, and Bradley's eyes went wide as rain pelted the airplane window as it taxied along. "What's wrong, Baby Girl?" 

He was already reaching for your belly as you wiped your eyes on the sleeve of his tee shirt. "Nothing's wrong," you sobbed. "That's just so nice of Phoenix to do that. Especially since she's really your friend."

Bradley kissed your forehead and swiped away your tears. "She's a lot more likely to do something nice for you than for me, and you know it, Sweetheart." Now you were laughing as you cried. "And keep in mind that you'll have to deal with Jake and Javy and all the guys being there. So is it really all that nice? It'll honestly probably be a shitstorm."

You nodded. "But it'll be our baby shower shitstorm."

"You're the only person I want to share a shitstorm with," he promised, helping you to your feet as the plane finally stopped at the gate. "Pretty soon we'll have literal diaper shitstorms, too."

You giggled as you wiped at your remaining tears while he reached down the carry-on bag. "You need to stop saying shitstorms."

He shook his head and reached for your hand. "I can't. I got started, and now I just can't."

It was nice to arrive at San Diego International and have you by his side for once instead of waiting at baggage claim. You and he walked slowly through the airport while you counted up how many times he could use shitstorm correctly in a sentence, and then Bradley drove home where Tramp was waiting.

"I heard you were a good boy," you crooned, scratching him behind the ear while Bradley made you a snack of hot sauce and carrot sticks. When you turned to him and asked, "Can you look at your calendar? We have a lot to do in the next few weeks."

He knew you meant the calendar on his phone, but he just smiled and said, "Absolutely," before heading out the back door toward the garage. He grabbed the dirty calendar you made for his birthday last year and brought it back inside where you were casually dipping a carrot into the hot sauce.

"Seriously?" you asked with a laugh when he held it up.

"This is the only calendar I use," he said, turning the page to February where the photo of you smiled back at him, mostly naked. "Holy shit. Six weeks until Rosie!"

"That's what I'm saying!" You had your hand resting on your bump while you poked at your phone calendar. Tramp was begging for a snack while you crunched on your carrot, and Bradley had the urge to go sit quietly in the nursery for a while. Every time he thought about his daughter, he got more excited, and it just made sense that she would be here soon.

"We've got a baby shower, maternity photos and last minute shopping to do," you muttered. "We should probably go to Costco soon."

"You get horny at Costco," he replied. "Block off a whole day for that. And block off a whole day for you and me to snuggle on the soft rug in the nursery. And block off another day for me to organize all of the cute board books on Rosie's shelf. I want everything to be perfect."

"It will be."

---------------------------------

Roo is a sunny golden retriever husband even on a rainy day. They are well rested just in time for the baby shower and the Nugget's arrival. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 14

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[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [33] - Stinging Nettle

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: The hours before an important ball can be very tense.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of trauma and violence.

Word Count: 3400

Series Masterlist

Though attending parties hadn’t been a habit of yours up until you got married, you’d grown quite fond of them fast. Maybe it was the entertaining conversations, the company of your friends, drinks, or perhaps the overall free atmosphere that one could not have at a ball but now that you were here, you were now beginning to realize how much you had missed it.

“You seem to be in deep thought.”

Your head shot up and you turned around to see Lord Easton at the entrance of the balcony you were standing in. You smiled at him, then lifted the glass in your hand a bit, the chatter and the music coming from inside reaching the balcony as well.

“I may have drunk a bit too much,” you admitted. “Wanted to get some fresh air.”

“May I join you?”

“Of course,” you said and he closed the balcony door behind him, then approached you as you turned again to watch the beautiful view under the night sky. He placed his glass on the marble railing of the balcony and you stole a look at him.

“They’re having some sort of a sketching competition back in there.”

“Oh I saw it,” he said. “I think I will sit that one out.”

“You don’t want to practice?” you joked and he chuckled.

“I probably should, now that you mention it.”

“Mm hm,” you said. “I mean who else should practice if not the famed artist with thousands of admirers and many credits to his name?”

“No one is ever too good to practice,” he told you. “Especially an artist.”

You thought for a moment, then turned to him.

“Lord Easton—”

“Gordon,” he corrected you. “Your husband is a good friend of mine, and I consider you and I friends as well.”

You smiled slightly.

“Very well,” you said. “May I ask a favor of you, Gordon?”

“Of course.”

“My aunt is throwing a ball tomorrow,” you said. “And if you dropped by even for a short time, it would make her very happy. Not to mention the ton admires you so much and…you know how it goes.”

He smiled and bowed his head slightly.

“It would be my honor and privilege,” he said, making you beam.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

A giggle escaped from your lips.

“Oh thank you!” you said. “She will be so happy. I’ll um— I’ll send you the invitation tomorrow?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “And there’s no need to thank me, I assure you.”

You sipped your drink, then stole a look at him.

“Does it ever tire you?”

“Attending balls?”

“No, the…” you motioned with your hands. “The attention from the ton, all the time.”

He hummed, reaching out to grab his glass to swirl the drink in it.

“Occupational hazard,” he said with a smile, making you laugh. “I mean it has its moments. I don’t mind it most of the time, balls are a way of socializing for example so that’s expected, but sometimes when I’m by myself on the street, I simply want to observe the crowd in quiet.”

“I could never be an artist,” you said, shaking your head and he raised his brows.

“You don’t enjoy attention?”

“I hate it,” you admitted. “I experienced it when I first debuted, with the suitors and such and I’m just…It’s not for me.”

“You might have to get used to some attention though,” he said, making you frown.

“How so?”

“Have you seen your husband’s works?” he joked. “Once he gets into the Academy and people start seeing how talented he is…”

“Benedict is good with all that,” you said. “No issues there, people already pay lots of attention to him, he’s used to that.”

“You’re his ultimate inspiration,” he reminded you. “People will be curious about you as well.”

You paused for a second, then shrugged your shoulders.

“That’s different than being an artist,” you said, trying to ignore the way your cheeks were burning and turned your head to check out what was happening inside. They seemed to have finished with their competition judging by the familiar faces in the room, so you nodded in the direction of the room.

“I’ll go back inside,” you said. “Are you coming?”

“In a moment,” he said and you clinked your glass with his, then made your way back inside. Your gaze fell on Benedict and Margery who were having a conversation at the corner of the room and your stomach did an unpleasant flip, but you shook your head at yourself and made your way to them. Margery cleared her throat when she saw you out of the corner of her eye and gave Benedict a warning look but it was gone so fast that you couldn’t even decide whether you had actually seen it before Benedict turned his head.

“Hello darling,” he said, but his soft tone did nothing to soothe the insecurity shooting through you.

“Am I interrupting something?” you asked, making Benedict shake his head. “Because I can just—”

“Oh you’re not interrupting anything,” Margery said with a laugh. “I was just giving Benedict a hard time because he had the audacity to badmouth Byron’s poetry in front of me.”  

Benedict made a face. “I cannot believe you actually like his poetry.”

Margery heaved a sigh and turned to you.

“I give up,” she announced, making the corners of your lips twitch. “I’m going to need more drinks, excuse me.”  

She walked away from you both and you pursed your lips together, then looked up at Benedict.

“Are you sure I didn’t interrupt?”

“Not at all,” he assured you with a small grin and entwined his fingers with yours, making your heart skip a beat. “Are you having fun?”

“I am, and I kind of missed it actually,” you admitted. “Coming to parties and such.”

“Did you?”

You nodded. “One would think you’re a bad influence, you hedonist artist.”

He gave you that lopsided grin. “Me, a bad influence?” he asked. “You’re the one with the knife.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yes but you’re the one with the debauchery.”

“Fair point,” he said and you repressed a laugh.

“Who won the sketching competition by the way?”

“Felix,” he said. “Lucy gave him full points.”

“Of course she did,” you said, stealing a look at Lucy who was now talking to Margery. “So Byron hm?”

“Huh?” Benedict asked before frowned. “Oh yeah! Margery admires his lines a lot for some reason.”

“Right,” you said, that uncomfortable feeling twisting at your stomach again but before you could say anything else, Benedict pulled at your hand gently.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll show you the winning sketch, Felix is very proud of it.”

                                           *

You and Benedict had returned home around dawn and Benedict had an appointment with Gordon in the morning and Anthony in the afternoon, so by the time you woke up, he had already left home to meet Gordon. You had asked to take your breakfast in the drawing room as you tried to decide what the best time would be to drop by your uncle’s home before tonight’s ball to see if they needed any help.

Perhaps afternoon?

You sipped your tea while reading your book and as you bit into your toast, Paula entered the drawing room.

“Ma’am, Miss Harlowe is here.”

“Oh?” you said, putting down your toast and dusted the crumbs off your hands before standing up. Lottie stepped into the drawing room and made her way to you to pull you into a hug.

“Good morning!”

“Hello there,” you said with a smile and pulled back to look at her. “You look happy.”

“I am happy!” she said. “I have news for you.”

“That’s wonderful!” you said “Paula, can you bring Lottie some biscuits and tea?”

“Of course ma’am,” she said and walked out of the room, and you and Lottie sat down on the sofa.

“What’s the good news?” you asked and she squealed, shifting her weight.

“I wanted to tell you before the ball tonight,” she said. “And Tony will tell Benny and Colin this afternoon but I couldn’t wait until then.”

“Couldn’t wait for what?”

“We’re getting married!” she exclaimed and your eyes widened, a gasp getting caught in your throat.

“What?!”

“Yes and we will tell the rest of the family tonight—”

“Wh-how?!” you asked as a happy laugh escaped from your lips and you hugged her. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you!”

“You must tell me everything from the beginning,” you said as you pulled back. “How did he ask? When did he ask?”

An abashed look crossed her face and she cleared her throat.

“Well, um…” she said, nibbling on her lip. “It’s sort of—you must first promise me you will never tell anyone.”

“Of course I will not,” you assured her as a maid walked in with a tray of biscuits and tea. You thanked her, and watched her walk away before turning to Lottie. “Tell me.”

“A week ago.”

“A week ago?!” you asked. “And you didn’t tell me? Wait, is this payback for—”

“No no, it isn’t!” she cut you off. “Of course not.”

“Then?”

She took a deep breath, then sipped her tea.

“Do you remember how Tony and I left Bess’s ball early?”

You tilted your head. “Yes.”

“Well we wanted to talk more you see, and I’m very familiar with sneaking into Bridgerton House because I used to do that a lot when I was little, and everyone was either asleep or at the ball,” she said, making you raise your brows. “And we…we did talk.”

A small smirk pulled at your lips.

“Oh?” you asked. “You sneaked into his house just to talk?”

She repressed a smile. “At first yes.”

“Then?”

“You and I had a conversation earlier that day,” she said, shyness apparent in her tone. “And you said that it felt divine, and I already knew Anthony and I are in love, and…”

Your jaw dropped and you let out a laugh.

“Oh wow.”

“And then he asked me to marry him.”

Alright, this was official; you were the only one who wasn’t consummating her marriage.

“But a week ago?” you asked, trying to focus. “You’ve been engaged for a week and neither of you told—”

“It was my idea,” she said. “I asked him to wait for a week.”

“Why?”

“Well…” she heaved a sigh. “I wanted to tell all of you yes, but Colin was still very heartbroken over what happened with Miss Marina and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings accidentally. You know, first Benny, then Daphne, now Tony finding love and not Colin, at least yet.”  

You stared at her, warmth filling your chest. “You waited for a week so that Colin wouldn’t feel bad?”

She nodded.

“He’s like a brother to me,” she said. “We all grew up together.”

You reached out to squeeze her hand. “Oh Lottie…”

“But we will tell our families tonight!” she said. “And Tony will tell them beforehand, and I’m telling you now.”

“I’m glad you are,” you said with a laugh. “Well I’m so happy for you! I told you he would propose within the season.”

“I still cannot believe it,” she said. “I’m the happiest person in the world.”

You grinned at her.

“And I take it your night was divine?”

She gasped, a giggle escaping from her lips. “Y/N!”

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence. “I mean you’re marrying him so—”

“It was more than divine,” she said, biting on her lip in embarrassment. “It was perfect.”

Oh well, you were going to take her word for it.

Hers and Daphne’s and your aunt’s and Benedict’s, to be more specific. Considering everyone else had experienced it but you, you could only believe them instead of seeing it for yourself.

“I’m glad to hear it,” you said, a smile warming your face and she shifted on the sofa.

“The ton will not be very nice, I think,” she said. “They weren’t nice when they thought Benny and I were in courtship, or when I was in actual courtship with Tony, and now that we’re engaged, I can’t help but think—”

“Lottie,” you interrupted her. “What the ton thinks does not matter at all. Let them speak, they do little else anyway.”

She nodded slowly.

“I just…” she trailed off. “I just wish they knew how in love we are.”

You waved a hand in the air.

“They will,” you said. “Never mind them. Now, tell me what you’re planning for the wedding.”

                                          *

By the time Benedict got back home from his meeting with Gordon, it was nearly noon and Lottie had already left. You had promised her you would be her maid of honor and help her with everything concerning the wedding, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t excited for it. Lottie had asked for your help with her wedding bouquet and the flowers for the wedding breakfast, and you were trying to come up with different combinations when you heard a knock on the door and lifted your head to see Benedict.

“Oh hello,” you said, closing your notebook before he could see the flower arrangement ideas you were writing down. He gave you a happy smile.

“Hey,” he said and stepped inside. “Working on something?”

“Maybe,” you said with a smirk. “Scared I will become your artistic rival?”

“Mm, I wouldn’t stand a chance against you,” he teased, making you giggle. He walked towards you to fling himself on the sofa next to you, then reached out to grab a biscuit from the plate on the small coffee table.

“How is Gordon?”

“He’s fine,” he said. “I think he’s working on a painting. The gala should be fun.”

“The gala?” you asked. “They hold galas for only one painting?”

“When it’s the painting of that big of an artist, yes.”

“Are you looking forward to your own galas?” you asked, making him grin.

“Let me get one painting into the Academy first, and we’ll build from there,” he replied and you shot him a look.

“I’ll remind this to you on your gala,” you mused and tilted your head. “I’m assuming I will be invited?”

“You’ll be the guest of honor,” he told you and you let out a laugh.

“I like the sound of that.”

“How about you?” he asked. “How was your day?”

“Rather interesting,” you said. “Are you meeting Anthony and Colin after this?”

He nodded, biting into his biscuit.

“Apparently Anthony has something he wants to say to us.”

“Wonder what that might be,” you muttered, trying to keep a straight face. Benedict shrugged his shoulders.

“Who knows?” he said. “And you? Any plans before the ball tonight?”

“I’ll visit auntie to see if she needs any help before people arrive,” you said. “I’ll get back around the evening, get dressed here and then we can go together.”

“Do you need any help before that?”

You bit back a smirk. “I can handle auntie,” you said. “Besides, I think today will be hectic enough for you.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling,” you said and he narrowed his eyes, his whole attention on you.

“Wait, what do you know?”

“Nothing at all,” you said, feigning innocence. “It’s merely a hunch. Speaking of, shouldn’t you be on your way anyway?        “

A chuckle climbed up his throat. “Are you trying to get rid of me, dear wife?”

Your jaw dropped.

“No!” you exclaimed. “I’m just saying, Anthony isn’t exactly known for his endless patience.”

He popped the rest of the biscuit into his mouth. “He should learn, I heard people say it’s a virtue.”

“Oh is that so?” you said with a huff of laughter spilling from your lips. “You know a lot about patience then?”

“Is this the part you call me the ton’s horizontal refreshment again?”

“If you’re going to claim to be a patient person, yes,” you pointed out, making him clutch at his chest as if he was heartbroken.

“Ouch,” he said. “I am a patient person.”

“You are the perfect picture of hedonism, that’s what you are.”

“Well hedonism is a bit of a—”

“Drinking, partying,” you said, counting with your fingers. “Being very intimate with a lot of ladies…”

The tips of his ears went pink and he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You know what, you’re probably right,” he said after a pause. “I shouldn’t keep Anthony waiting.”

“You’re going to avoid this conversation just like that?”

“Judging by how our earlier conversations on this went, I’m taking my leave before you ask me—”

“Before I ask you how exactly it was like during those parties?”

“That yes,” he pointed out and pushed himself off of the sofa as you repressed a laugh. He leaned in to kiss the top of your head, making your heart skip a beat.

“See you in the evening,” he murmured and walked out of the room. You were painfully aware of the smile on your face, and you dragged the tip of your tongue over your bottom lip before you heaved a sigh and slipped a little on the sofa, leaning your head back.

                                       *

You knew that Teddy had stayed at Josie and Andrew’s house last night because your uncle’s house was absolute chaos because of the upcoming ball, people working day and night. Not only that, the last you heard Andrew was letting him ride his pony inside the house so you were quite certain Teddy had no issues with the preparations of the ball.  

You wouldn’t have been surprised if he began insisting on staying there half of the week to be honest.

With the way your aunt had been working to make this ball perfect, you could only hope that everything would go well tonight. Almost everyone you knew was going to be there, so you were sure that it was going to be fun.

Now all you had to do was to convince your aunt of that.

The carriage stopped in front of the house and you made your way past the gate, but instead of going into the house you figured you could check on your garden first. So you passed by the house to reach the backyard, then tilted your head when you saw your aunt there, talking to the gardener.

“Auntie?” you called out and she turned around, a look of surprise flashing over her face.

“Y/N my dear!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to see if you needed any help before tonight,” you answered. “And to see the garden while I’m at it.”

“Oh that’s sweet of you,” she said and came to hug you, then pulled back to look at you better. “No need for that, almost all the preparations are finished.”

“In that case, can I see the ballroom?” you asked with a laugh. “I’m curious, you’ve been working on it for so long.”

She hesitated for a moment, then waved a hand in the air. “What would be the surprise then?”

You huhed.

“That’s fair,” you said. “Anyways, I have a surprise guest for the ball, you will lose your mind when you see him and so will the ton—”

“Y/N, perhaps you should go home and get some rest,” your aunt cut you off almost in a distracted manner. “It’ll be a long night tonight, you know?”

You tilted your head in confusion.

“Are you sure you’re alright auntie?”

“…Of course,” she said after a pause. “Just—you know, preparing a ball is rather stressful.”

“I can imagine,” you said. “One of the many reasons why I will never throw a ball I think.”

She smiled at you, but it faded when her eyes found something over your shoulder. You pulled your brows into a frown and turned around to follow her line of sight, but as soon as you did, you froze. You could feel your whole body stiffening, your heart leaping to your throat as you stared at the familiar face who had the audacity to smile at you, that throbbing pain in your wrist coming back in full force.

“I hear congratulations are in order?”

You weren’t sure how you found your voice, but somehow you managed to speak through frozen lips.

“Hello father.”

Chapter 34

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Elvis Presley Fics Masterlist

Promise Me? Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2622 Rating: Explicit

The Way I Loved You Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader, Austin Butler x Reader Word Count: 4348 Rating: Mature

Treat Me Like A Fool Pairing: Elvis Presley x  Female Reader Word Count: 7950 [2 Parts] Rating: Teen

He’ll Have To Go Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2555 Rating: Mature

Better Man Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2717 Rating: Teen & Up

Trading One Heartbreak For Another Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3192 Rating: Teen & Up

Trying To Get To You Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2464 Rating: Explicit

Lonely In a Crowded Room Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 11279 [3 Parts] Rating: Mature

Santa Bring My Baby Back To Me Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3208 Rating: Mature

Wrapped Around My Finger Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3492 Rating: Teen

Made For Each Other Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2982 Rating: Explicit

Late Birthday Present Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3197 Rating: Explicit

Last Past The Post Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader x Memphis Mafia Word Count: 3951   Rating: Explicit

Hide and Seek [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 3170 Rating: Explicit

The Needs of a Man [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x  Female Reader Word Count: 1776 Rating: Mature

Details [Requested] Pairing:  Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 1466 Rating: Gen

A Girl Like That [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 1986 Rating: Explicit

Every Step of the Way [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3227 Rating: Mature

It’ll All Come Out in the Wash [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 1765 Rating: Mature

The Best Place To Be [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2660 Rating: Mature

Ever Since Germany [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 4029 Rating: Explicit

A Few Good Men Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 10735 [3 Parts] Rating: Mature

Elvis Fuckin’ Presley Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3509 Rating: Explicit

Does He Love You? [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader, Elvis Presley x Ann Margaret Word Count: 3225 Rating: Explicit

Helping [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2435 Rating: Gen

In Your Arms [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 1024 Rating: Explicit

The Art of Gift Giving [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 2110 Rating: Mature

The Price of Loving Elvis Presley [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 2256 Rating: Mature

Shut Up and Kiss Me [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 3400 Rating: Teen

Made For The Mafia [Series of Fics] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader x Memphis Mafia Word Count: 34,000 [In 8 Parts] Rating: Explicit

His Bird With The Broken Wing Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Teen Word Count: 5128

Tennessee Orange Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 2407 Rating: Teen

Die From A Broken Heart Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 1837 Rating: Teen

You Ain’t Woman Enough [To Take My Man] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 4107 Rating: Mature

It Hurts Me Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader, Reader x Jerry Schilling Word Count: 7849 Rating: Teen

I��m Not Going Anywhere Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 6734 Rating: Mature

Don’t Ask Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 4483 Rating: Teen

Birthday Boy Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 1248 Rating: Teen

Love In Trouble Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character, Austin Butler x OFC Word Count: Ongoing Rating: Mature

Elvis & Addison

The Girl He Left Behind Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Word Count: 126,532 Rating: Mature/Explicit

Here You Come Again [Sequel To The Girl He Left Behind] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Word Count: 127699 Rating: Mature/Explicit

Untethered  Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 4319

Little Bird Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 4553

Fractured  Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 15430 [In 2 Parts]

Our Little Secret Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Teen Word Count: 5012

Closure Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 7145

Top of the List Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 9639

Meant To Be Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 3120

[littleseasiren]

Fight for me - Part 3

Summary: After years in an abusive relationship, you finally get out. When the Avengers decide to raise awareness for your Battered Women's Home, you bump into Bucky Barnes, the hottest, most complicated man you've ever met. He thinks you're too good for him, but when your abusive ex reappears, Bucky knows he has to keep you safe - by any means necessary.

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky x reader

Warnings: Language, kissing, drinking

Words: ~ 3400

A/N: Grammarly is my beta reader, so any mistakes are my own. If you want to be added to my tag list, please comment or send me a message. Thanks for reading!

Series Masterlist

The next evening you find yourself in a similar situation at the gym. Bucky and Natasha wave at you before they continue with their conversation, Natasha seeming to softly practice her moves on Bucky.

They both greet you in unison when you get closer.

"Hey," you give Natasha's hand a short squeeze before giving her a large container. "I made some peanut butter clusters. That's for the team," you gesture to the big container before taking the two smaller containers out of your bag and handing them to Bucky. "I made you and Steve a couple different clusters, just in case. It has extra protein powder for a boost."

"You're too good for us, doll. You don't need to keep feeding us, although it is highly appreciated."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to start working on my discipline when it comes to your sweets. Soon, I'm not going to be able to fit into my suit. But everything you make is just so delicious," Natasha says winking at you. "Oh, I'll be right back, just need to check on the tools for the class."

"Sure," you say as you turn to face Bucky. You notice he's wearing a long-sleeved shirt and gloves again. 

"So, are you learning a few things from the class?" Bucky inquires, his eyes focused on you.

"Yeah, definitely, Natasha is a great teacher! So, is Natasha practising the moves on you first?" 

"Yeah, kind of," Bucky smiles shyly. "Um, before someone kicks me out, I have something for you... I was hoping you'd stop by early again." He reaches into his gym bag and pulls out a silver cell phone before handing it to you.

You look at the phone and back at him. "I'm not following. You want me to hold it for you?" You take the phone from him, your face full of confusion.

"It's yours. I know I shouldn't, but I heard what you said about not having a phone. This phone is registered on my Stark account - that way the asshole won't be able to trace it to you."

"You... you got me a phone?"

"Of course. You are making us sweets and cookies, and in return, we keep you safe, right? Having a cell phone for emergencies is part of keeping you safe. Everyone's numbers are already programmed in it. Steve's number is on the speed dial. All you have to do is long press the number 1."

"Bucky, I don't bring baked goods to the Tower so you would all keep me safe. I do it because I want to - it's a gift." 

"Yeah, because you want something, right? Our protection?"

"You're breaking my heart, Bucky." You run your hand through your hair, trying to think about how to explain it to him best. "That's not what this is..."

"Sorry," Bucky stares down at his feet, shifting his weight from one side to the other. 

"Ok, think about it this way... Were you ever happy about something someone did for you? And you wanted to repay that kindness?"

Bucky bites on his lower lip as he thinks back. "I was happy when Steve found me after Hydra captured me, both times. He saved me so I could help him fight." 

"The fighting was a coincidence, Bucky. He found you because he cares about you. You're his best friend."

"He found me because I'm useful, even more so after everything with Hydra. I killed people - I can kill monsters too. That's the only reason the others accept me. I'm one of the only two super soldiers in history. Like I say, I'm useful." 

He says it so matter-of-factly, that you know he honestly believes Steve saved him just so he could use him. "What about you, Bucky? Why do you keep fighting? If you really think that, why not leave? Why not stop fighting?"

"I don't have a choice, doll. It's a condition of my pardon. I have to keep fighting, or they lock me up forever. And for someone like me, forever is a really long time..."

"What!" You shriek, your heart pounding as your anger rises. "That's complete bullshit! What happened to you wasn't your fault! I don't know your complete story, but I know they forced you to do what they wanted. That wasn't you!" 

Bucky shoves his gloved hands into his pant pockets. "Yeah, but I still did them Y/N. If I have to fight to condone my sins, then that's what I have to do. I'm sorry for making you angry - I'll leave you alone." He starts to reach for his gym bag, but you tug his shirt on instinct, pulling him back. When he straightens, he's closer to you than he's ever been before. 

"Bucky, I'm not angry with you. I'm angry for you." So close to each other, you look up at him and you both get lost in each other's eyes.

"Um, is everything ok here?" Natasha whispers next to you, making both you and Bucky startle. You weren't surprised that you didn't notice her, but it seemed Bucky was so focused on you that she managed to sneak up on him, as well.

"Yeah, everything is fine, thanks." You blush, tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear.

"Um, I should go before the rest of the ladies get here. You two have fun," Bucky gives you a half smile as he slings his gym bag over one shoulder and grabs the two containers. "Thanks again for the clusters." He points at the phone in your other hand. "Keep that on you, ok?"

You nod in earnest as he walks out of the gym, staring at his retreating form.

You and Natasha watch him walk off. "So... anything you want to tell me?" Natasha walks you to the centre of the gym.

"Oh, me? Um, no..." You pray that she won't pry into the situation too much, not even you knew what had just happened.

"Huh, ok. Just remember, anytime you want to talk, I'm here. No judgments. So, are you really enjoying the class?" Natasha asks as you wait for the other ladies to get comfortable.

"Yeah, I do. I talked to a few of the ladies last night and they are also loving it. You're so full of knowledge. Thanks for teaching us." You gently hold Natasha's arm, "I've been meaning to ask you, why did you start giving the class? Was it because we had the conference in the tower?"

Natasha stares at you, seemingly hesitant. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to answer if you don't want to," you add quickly.

"No, it's not that... Can you keep a secret, Y/N?" she asks softly.

"Um, sure I can. I'm not very close to anyone at the shelter, so no one I can gossip to anyway. You're the closest I have to a good friend. If you want to tell me a secret, no way I'm going to spill it." You clasp your hands together nervously. 

"Ok, good," she mumbles seemingly to herself. "It's not a big deal, but he asked me not to tell anyone. The idea for the self-defence class? That was Bucky's idea. He even gave Tony the idea for the conference. And he's the one teaching me the moves so I can teach you all in class."

"What? Why would he do that? And why would he keep that a secret?" you gasp.

"He had a sister when he was younger. He told me she would always get into trouble, always pushing her luck. And, of course, Steve was a lot smaller before he had the serum. So, I guess Bucky taught them a lot about self-defence.  And he's been reading up on new moves and letting me practice on him to make sure everything is good before I teach you all. Why keep it a secret? Well, Martha still thinks he's the Winter Soldier, but even if she would allow him close to the other ladies, he's still huge. He intimidates a lot of people and he doesn't want the ladies to be uncomfortable here too."

"Yeah, the others won't be too fond of him. But surely it will be better to learn your moves from you? After all, you fight men every day..."

"You would think that, but my fighting style comes from years and years of practice. It's not something you learn in a few weeks. Remember, the more complicated a move is, the easier it will be to forget it when you're afraid. That's why, for self-defence, it is best to keep everything as simple as possible. Even though he might not have all his memories, Bucky still remembers what it's like to fight like a normal person and he knows how to fight like a super soldier. I'll deny I ever said this, but he's our best fighter, too. So you lot are learning from the best." 

She looks at her watch, "Shoot, we need to start the class. Before we go, Wanda came back from her mission this morning, so I was thinking, if you're up for it, we could have a girl’s night after class. We could even do a sleepover." Her eyes are full of excitement, "Please?"

"That sounds like a dream, Nat, thanks!" It has been so long since you've had the chance to just hang out with friends, that you couldn't wait for the rest of the evening.

"Ok, so we have the movies ready on Netflix, we have a couple of different sweets, we have popcorn, we have a pitcher of Cosmopolitans... What else do we need?" Natasha asks as she starts to get the first movie ready. 

"We need ice cream! I'll go check what flavours are available," Wanda says as she jumps up and runs to the kitchen. You two had hit it off instantly, becoming friends minutes after meeting each other.

"Uh, we have a problem. The ice cream is finished!" She shouts as she runs back to the TV room. "Oh, Steve and Bucky are still out. I'll call them and ask them to buy us some!" 

You and Natasha glance at each other before smiling in unison. Wanda had just returned from a tiring mission that morning and was already running around like a child who forgot to take their Ritalin.

Call made, all three of you get comfortable on the couches and start watching the first movie, the most delicious Cosmopolitan cocktail in hand.

"Buck, that was Wanda. They're having a girl’s night with Y/N and are out of ice cream. So we need to grab some on our way back to the tower." 

"Oh, she's at the Tower too?" Bucky mumbles, watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. "That's good, she needs some time just to be happy. Away from everything..."

"Yeah, she's a sweetheart," Steve adds in agreement.

"Uh, should we buy some flowers... to uh,  brighten up the place, or some extra sweets in case they don't have enough?" When Steve stares at him, he barks out, "What?"

"It's alright if you like her, Buck..."

"What? No, I don't..." When Steve just continues staring at him, he adds, "It's irrelevant how I feel anyways. There's no way she'd like me."

"I'm not so sure about that, Bucky. It seems like she's making an effort to get to know you."

"Yeah, she wants to be my friend. No way she would want something more with me, not after having an abusive ex. She needs someone good, someone who will take care of her, lead her into the light - away from all this darkness." He kicks a stone at his feet. "Violence is all I've known for the past 70 years. She won't want someone like me, someone violent. I'm no better than her ex."

"Bucky, look at me," Steve says sternly, making Bucky meet his eyes. "You are not violent, Buck. You've just had a fucked-up past, and now you're getting better." When Bucky starts to disagree, Steve interrupts him. "Can you honestly tell me that if Y/N was your woman, and she pissed you off, you would hit her? Make her feel small?"

Bucky flinches and pulls back in shock - the idea of hurting Y/N makes him feel sick to his core. "Of course not, there's no way I would hurt her on purpose."

"Then you are nothing like that abusive ex of hers. Don't you dare compare yourself with him, alright? Now, pull your head out of your ass, and let's go buy the women as much ice cream as they can ever eat." Steve tugs him by his shirt, pulling him in the right direction.

"Jeeze, Steve. If only the others know how much you cuss when you're angry. So much for being the Golden Boy- Captain America." Bucky teases him, knowing that Steve hates bad language but could swear like a sailor when needed to get the message across.

"Shut up, Buck. Come on, let's go."

By the time the boys arrive, the first movie has already ended. You are on your second Cosmo and an obscene amount of popcorn has been eaten between the three of you as you giggle and talk about stupid things and hot guys.

"Ok, so we all agree, Henry Cavill is a prime specimen of manhood. If he magically appears and asks us out, we drop everything and go. The world be damned if it needs us," Natasha says in her sultry voice as she winks at the two of you.

"Agreed, his ass is out of this world," Wanda shouts as she takes another drink.

"Totally. Just imagine drinking shots and licking salt off the abs of...Bucky," you gasp as Bucky enters the TV room, Henry Cavill's name being forgotten when you spot the super soldier.

"Um, uh... hey, doll," Bucky says as he drops a bag full of candies, chocolates, chips, and other delicious items on the table. "Just brought you guys some supplies. Steve's putting the ice cream in the freezer for later."

"Huh, I can't say I've ever imagined taking shots off of Bucky's abs, but come to think of it, I think I can be persuaded, right, Y/N? Right, Wanda?" Natasha smirks at Bucky.

You moan to yourself as you try to disappear on the couch, cheeks hot from embarrassment as you gasp a pillow and hide your head, lifting it once more when Wanda hoots in agreement.

"Hate to break it to you ladies, but I'm not that easy. You need to buy me a drink before you lick me all over," Bucky grins as he winks at you. "You ladies have fun tonight," he says as he leaves the room.

It’s three in the morning and you're still awake. Your mind simply won't switch off and let you rest. You, Nat, and Wanda had watched movies, shared gossip, and eaten until your stomach felt like it would explode. 

Two hours ago, the three of you had called girl's night a success and promptly went to bed. Between the two of them, they had managed to find a silk nightdress that fit you, albeit a bit short for your liking, but still decent. They had set you up in a spare room in the Tower, the sheets on the bed the softest you had ever felt. So why couldn't you sleep? You tiptoe to the kitchen, trying your best to be quiet.

As you round a corner, you notice a soft light coming from the kitchen. As you enter the kitchen, you hear a faint, "Oh shit," and find Bucky pressed into the corner of the kitchen, the left side of his body hidden from you. "Uh, hey, Y/N," he mumbles softly.

"Hi, Bucky," you move further into the kitchen, walking slowly to him. Beautiful blue eyes look you up and down, following your every move as you walk up to him. You smile to yourself, happy that you are in the silk nightdress, the heat in his eyes making it known he finds you beautiful. 

"I'm not afraid of you, Bucky. I won't run screaming if you show me," you say, pointing to his left side. 

"I-I'm... defective. I don't want you to see me that way. I just want to be a normal man with you..." His brows furrow as he gazes down at you. 

"I hate to break it to you, Sarge, but you're not a normal man. You're a beefy super soldier. You're tall and you have a hell of a lot of muscles. There's no way I could see you like a normal man. You're Bucky... and I like that." You softly touch his chest, his t-shirt blocking you from touching naked flesh.

You see the switch in his stare the moment he decides to trust you. "I lost my arm when I fell off the train. I have a bionic arm." He says softly as he takes a deep breath and shifts his stance, bringing his arm up for you to see, watching you intently.

Silver is the first thing you see, the colour seemingly vibrant against his black t-shirt. Now that you are standing so close to him, you hear a soft whirring sound when he moves the bionic arm. "It's vibranium," he mumbles. 

You softly trail your hand down his bionic arm, watching as he shivers at the touch. "You can feel that?" You whisper to him.

"Yeah, don't ask me how it works, but I feel everything with this arm. Hurts like hell when people shoot at it too..."

You take his left hand in yours, clasping it between your hands, rubbing softly. "I'm sorry, handsome. I take it this is another reason for the crappy terms of your pardon, right? Because vibranium is so expensive, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yeah, that's one of the reasons." He watches you intently as you play with his metal arm. 

His gaze moves to your lips, then back up to your eyes. Biting his lip, he mumbles softly. "I really want to kiss you, doll."

"I want that too, Bucky." When he doesn't move, you worry that he's changed his mind. "Are you going to?"

"I don't want to scare you. I don't want to push you either. Tell me how to make you comfortable first."

You bite on your lower lip, thinking about his question. "Just don't grab me, ok?" He nods at you, putting his hands in his back pockets. 

"Better?" He asks as he slowly lowers his lips to yours.

"Yeah, handsome." 

You have had your share of kisses in your lifetime, but the moment Bucky's lips touched yours, you swear you feel fireworks in your chest. His kiss is both gentle and passionate at the same time, a dichotomy in a kiss. Your hands move up of their own accord and grasp onto his t-shirt, stepping in closer to him. His body curls around you as he leans down even more for the kiss, hands firmly rooted in his pockets. 

When oxygen becomes a necessity, you break the kiss, watching his lust-filled eyes open. You smile and lean in again, grasping his full lower lip in between yours as you suck on it softly. His groan of desire makes you weak in the knees before he captures your lips again, tongues softly meeting each other as the kiss deepens. "God, you taste good, doll," Bucky says in between kisses, his hands curling into fists in his pockets to stop him from moving them. 

Bucky slowly tapers the kiss down, leaning his forehead against yours softly before pulling back, a huge smile on both your faces. 

"Will you go out with me tomorrow night?" Bucky asks you, eyes unsure of your answer. 

"Of course, I'd love to." 

"It's a date doll." His eyes shine with anticipation as he gives you a soft kiss in farewell before walking you to the spare room you are sleeping in.

"Sweet dreams doll," he whispers as you enter the room, his bare feet not making a sound. 

"Night handsome," you whisper knowing he will hear you. You fall to the bed, unable to stop smiling before you fall into a deep sleep, full of dreams of a super soldier with a metal arm.

Tag list: 

@dottirose​ @cjand10​

[chunkypossum]

Come Hel or High Lord: Ch 8

Chapter 8: Liar Liar Wielder of Fire

Words: 3400

Reminder: This is a crossover between all SJM series. So spoilers for TOG, ACOTAR, and CC

Summary:

hehe, my main jam. Azris and angst!

Snippet below the cut. Read on Ao3

Azriel grit his teeth against the pain in his chest. He had gotten a few minutes of fitful sleep late in the afternoon but woke with tear stains glistening down his cheeks. He didn’t have to wonder what he had been dreaming about, only whether or not it was actually a dream. Between that and Nesta and Cassian’s … activities, it had been impossible to rest. After walking around without purpose for a few minutes, wondering why he hadn’t yet moved his bedroom away from Cassian’s, he found himself fighting the urge to fly off and go directly to the source of his nightmares. Ignoring it hadn’t worked, maybe if he faced it head on, something would change…. No. No, that was a terrible idea.  Instead, Azriel somehow ended up in the open air training ring just as dusk was settling in across the horizon, bruising the redstone mountain and the city below him in smokey rose and purple hues. He took long, unhurried strides over to the practice swords, letting his thumb make lazy, slow circles at the spot under his rib cage that had been aching since he opened his eyes. Those … dreams had been vexing him more and more often lately, leaving him pained and conflicted. He wished he could blame the anxiety on anything else. It would make sense that his brain was being over active at the mission Rhys and Nesta were about to embark on but he knew he couldn’t blame it on that. He tried and it hadn’t worked.  The wall of shadows wrapped tightly around that spot inside him stayed intact, so why wasn’t he able to let go of this uneasy feeling? That barrier should have cut off any lingering emotions. His first instinct was to blame it on his shadows. They had a strange sentience about them. Unless he sent them away for a specific purpose, they lay relatively dormant, like house cats in the sun without a mouse to chase. That rule only seemed to apply to when he was awake, when he was sleeping they tended to be more active, restless even. Sometimes even going a bit rogue and acting in what they seemed to think was his best interest. Maybe they had done something …  A groan of frustration rumbled in his chest as he chose a sword and began a methodical demonstration. It was a simple, quiet set of movements that focused more on precise placement rather than the heavy throws of sword play. Something he hadn’t done in a while and supposed now was as good a time as any. Each step took careful concentration and kept his muscles so tight that 30 minutes in he was already sweating. After 45 minutes he was ready for a break. Unable to focus, Azriel strode to the little table by the weapons to pour himself a glass of water. The pitcher shook slightly as his hand trembled, he grasped his wrist with his other hand and looked up into the night sky loosing a breath he had been holding tightly in his chest.  Encrusted with stars, the night had adorned itself overhead while he had been working. The sounds of the city far below drifted up to him occasionally, pleasant background noise as Azriel worked to calm his overactive nerves. This dream had been the worst in a long, long time. He knew it wasn’t really a dream, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing he wanted to do, he reminded himself.  His eyes fell closed and, at last, he got the relief he had been seeking. The shadowed wall inside him had solidified and the pain and worry etched in that spot had ebbed away completely. A moment of pure bliss. Just a moment, before a storm began raging inside of him. The soft smile that had bloomed on his mouth twisted into a violent grimace as that spot flared back to life burning him alive. Pain and fear and sadness and longing, emotions so hot that everything inside him began to melt and it took everything he had not to scream out as his knees slammed into the rock surface of the training ring, cracking the very foundation.

This is a cross over fic so a giant cast of characters and a big stupid storyline but Azris is my main bitch in this fic so ...Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @pathfinderofnight @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @yanny-77 @skyesayshi