#her eyelashes are fantastic

[planet-poptropica]

⋆ My first thought when seeing the Red Queen was, “Slay Queen!” Which is a phrase I never use, I just think it’s funny and she looks amazing. ⋆ ⋆ However, I have a feeling that if I ever to tell her that, she would respond by saying “NOT IF I SLAY YOU FIRST-”, raise her hammer, and that... will be the end of that. ⋆

[ozzgin]

I love your reader insert stuff!! The yandere yazuka series was vvvv entertaining, I wish I had a big scary gangster to scare away my stalker lol

If you are open to requests, how about Idol!Reader x Yandere!Bodyguard. I love the trope so much, and I'm interested and what you'd do with the idea. No worries if you're not interested tho!

Best wishes

-🌟

I just finished writing it and you've got me punching the air with your prompt. It wasn't really my thing but I'm now sold. Thank you for the trope idea. :’)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (I)

Short scenario featuring your bodyguard that takes his duty a little too seriously. Not that you’d mind…

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

TW: violence

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Fantastic show tonight!"

The older man guides you in and closes the door behind him. You smile warmly and seat yourself on the sofa. He quickly follows, although at a terribly uncomfortable proximity. His legs are pressed against yours and he extends an arm behind you, pretending to stretch. You shuffle awkwardly and lock your hands in your lap. You can already tell where this is going.

"With your talent, I'm confident we could triple the number of attendants. We just need a bigger venue." He nods at you and taps your thigh with his other free hand as encouragement. You notice the wedding band digging into his skin. 

"Alas, let us not waste the evening with business talk. I'm sure a stunning lady like you has better things to do." He laughs at his own compliment and ponders for a minute. "In fact, why don't we have dinner together? I know a great restaurant in the area."

You open your mouth to speak, but are distracted by the sudden, mild pressure on your leg. Somehow, his greasy fingers have wandered further up in the time you listened to his shameless offer. You've been in this career for long enough to guess what such proposals entail. If you say no, best case scenario he presses further, calling you a stuck up bitch and reminding you who has the power in this partnership. Worst case scenario, he leaves the room and the calls and invitations to perform will gradually drop. 

Yet your situation is special, benefitting from an additional possibility. A loophole, if you may.

Should you scream? Oh, he always gets so angry when you act scared. It's an immediate trigger. He really has a soft spot for your glistening, frightened eyes. You glance up one final time at the perverted smirk silently disregarding you. If you are to be honest with yourself, you'd very much enjoy seeing it wiped off forever. Why not? You're feeling particularly mean today.

So without hesitation, you release a high pitched yell of help. The door bursts open and the hinges creak. A tall, toned man walks in, and without a word he lunges at the manager, pulling him by the collar of his cheap dress jacket. You hold your cheeks dramatically, and bat your eyelashes at your bodyguard.

"H-he tried to molest me..." you mumble between sobs.

That's all he needs to proceed. Now the real fun begins. You can hear the muffled screams of protest. The bones crack and the flesh bends under his iron fists. Standing before your bodyguard, they all end up looking like ragdolls. Comically limp and weak, folding and breaking with no resistance. It amuses you greatly.

When did it all begin? You can't remember anymore. You were in your early years and this scary looking stranger entered your little backstage room. His explanation was brief and to the point: as your fame increases, so will the threats to your safety. He was appointed as your bodyguard. You couldn't care less, so you just shrugged. 

You've always been on the playful side. Not necessarily rude, just some innocent tease and banter wherever it's well received. Seeing him so quiet and stoic, you couldn't help but try to push his buttons: changing in front of him and requiring his assistance, occasionally asking him to pick you up and carry you because you could no longer walk. Naturally you would've stopped at the first complaint, but that's the strange part: no reaction ever came. He went along with everything. You assumed it's part of the job. Celebrities aren't known for their good manners, so hiring someone that loses their temper easily would be a fast ticket to termination.

Then you had your first encounter with one of the unpleasant fans you've been warned about. You could only stare in terror at your bodyguard's feral, unhinged reaction. The unfortunate fan's face was so disfigured, you wondered if anyone could ever manage to fix it back into shape. The bodyguard was panting and you could see the sweat coating his face and chest. You were rather confident there were many other ways to deal with it and this wasn't on the recommended list. Thus you felt compelled to ask the million dollar question:

"You act like a jealous spouse. Do you have a crush on me or something?"

You kind of regretted your audacity towards a man that had just nearly killed someone. But his features softened instantly and he turned to you, wiping his forehead and straightening his collar. 

"I suppose so. Is that an issue?"

As you stared ahead, processing his unbothered act, you sensed your cheeks feverishly burning. Uh oh. You hadn't anticipated such a nonchalant confession. You thought back to all the times you stood before him, bare and flirty. Was he merely holding back his urges the entire time? Or was he finally paying you back for all the teasing? Then again, his face didn't betray any hint of humor.

"I've never heard you joke before", you decided to test the waters.

"I'm not. Why would I joke about something like this?" He gazed at you incredulously. 

As somber and honest as ever. Well, that would indeed explain why he'd let you get away with the cheeky behavior. The more you considered it, the more entranced you became with the idea of indulging in such a relationship. As a famous idol, you couldn't be seen dating anyone. One rumor of you having a boyfriend and the agency would've had your ass suspended. But no one said anything about messing around with your bodyguard. He has to be with you all the time, so no one would suspect a thing. And you could definitely expand his list of responsibilities. You'd been terribly stressed lately, after all, and an outlet to release your frustrations would be most welcomed. Your bodyguard would never refuse pleasing his beloved.

You chuckled and pulled him towards your dressing room, giddy with excitement. Something about his imposing presence, like a wild animal that had just escaped from the leash, aroused you to no end. You've had your share of crazy fans, but this was the cherry on top. 

"Should we leave?"

You're jolted out of your daydreams by his low, rough voice. Ah, you missed the grand finale. Too bad. The bodyguard approaches you, with the shirt wrinkled and the top buttons popped open under the shuffle of his vicious attack. You can feel the knot forming in your stomach.

"Not yet. You know how I get when you act like this..." You pout and look away. "You need to take care of me first."

He grins at your last statement.

"Of course. Is the sofa okay?"

You nod.

"Then let's get you undressed, miss."

Is this what they call a scary dog privilege? 

[servingrobin]

Monster Trio with a reader who doesn't know how to asl for sex and they catch them masturbating.

I’m obsessed with my sweetie Luffy at the moment so think his got an extra spicy sprinkle but all were glorious to write!

Sanji, Zoro, Luffy

Warnings: nosebleeds, masturbation, oral (f and m receiving), inappropriate wear of a hat, dirty talk, vaginal sex

✨ requests are open✨

Sanji

- you’d had a few fantastically romantic dates so far and some downright smouldering kisses

- But he was a gentleman and would not push you any further

- And you just didn’t know how to say you were ready

- You were getting pent up, constantly buzzing from every brush of Sanji’s fingers or whisper of his lips

- And one day during dinner his hand rests on your knee the whole hour, stroking circles with his thumb, and you can’t bear it any longer

- You squirrel away to your room under the guise of feeling unwell, ruffling Sanji’s hair and giving him a kiss on the cheek goodbye as everyone continued eating

- You threw yourself on the bed and hurried your skirt up around your waist, bunching your underwear to the side

- You dipped your fingers into your folds, collecting the moisture there before slipping an index finger down to your hole

- You set a fast pace for yourself grinding down on your fingers, panting as you bought yourself closer and closer to release

- “Mon Cherie you ran so quick are you o—-“ Sanji trailed off as he opened the door and took in the sight before him

- You spread across the bed, legs wide open fucking into your own hand. Your cheeks were flushed a gorgeous rose and your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks in a way that was captivating

- Sanji groaned out and fell to his knees, nose welling up with blood

- You gasped and flew to pull your skirt back down until Sanji’s whine stopped you

- “Please mon coeur, please don’t stop, let me watch.”

- He crawled closer and closer as you touched yourself, enamoured by the lewd noises filling the room; the wet slick of your pussy creating a symphony of pops and slips that drove Sanji to madness

- He gently caressed along your foot, peppering kisses up the length of your leg and stopping mere inches from your cunt

- Your movements grow frantic as you feel his breath tickling your thigh, Sanji’s gaze never leaving your glorious sex

Luffy

- You were desperately in love with the Captain

- And he felt an equal ferocity for you

- But you were both extremely inexperienced; you too shy and Luffy never really interested beyond the biological urge before meeting you

- You’d spent hours up on the figurehead, smooching and feeling and playing around like teenagers

- But never any further than over the clothes

- And while you ached for the stretchy man you were just too shy to ask to do any more

- And Luffy was completely oblivious, believing you were happy with how it was going and not wanting to push further without your say so, he’d never want to make you uncomfortable

- Which led to the present day situation

- You were on ship watch with Robin for the day, and were alternating shifts whilst the rest of the crew did a supply run

- You were on your break and sat in Luffy’s room (he’d lasted all of five minutes after kissing you to tell you that everything of his was yours too, soul, heart, and comfy couch included)

- You were splayed out on his red linen couch, playing with Luffy’s straw hat that he’d left behind due to the adverse weather

- The scent of your Captain was playing havoc on your body; a heady mixture of warm spices, ocean salt and a unique musk that was just pure Luffy.

- You used the soft straw hat to cover your eyes to the sun and lay back to nap but you couldn’t get comfortable, the scent of Luffy and distinct adventure on the hat keeping you unfocused

- The felt the telltale ache between your legs signalling your need for Luffy spiking once more, and with everyone off the ship (bar Robin who knew how to mind her business) you thought what was the harm?

- And that’s how Luffy found you twenty minutes later, running in excitedly to tell you about some cool turtles they’d found on the beach

- You were laying on the couch, one leg hiked up on the headrest as you strummed at your clit lazily, other hand fondling your breasts, your eyes still covered by his hat

- You were quick to jump up absolutely mortified but Luffy thought he might have just died and gone to heaven

- Thoughts of you wearing his hat were a favourite wet dream of his, and this picture was priceless to him

- Luffy pounced on you, mouth immediately finding your nipples to suck and slurp on as his hands curled and stretched around every part of you

- “So…fuckin….hot….” Luffy mumbled around your breast, having filled his whole mouth in one toothless chomp

- You gasped and giggled and tried not to faint at the sensations, Luffy’s enthusiasm infectious, driving away your embarrassment

- You could feel Luffy’s erection pressing up against you unashamed and couldn’t contain the moan that escaped when you brushed over his hard length

- Luffy was quick, didn’t even undress fully, just did a one handed shuffle to pull his boxers down and looked up at you with lewd Bambi eyes

- “Can I fuck ya please pudding? I really wanna feel yer wrapped around me so pretty?”

- Any sense of shyness and naivety had left Luffy’s body when he saw you, thinking only with his cock

- You let out a shy giggle and with a heavy blush dragged your hips up to meet his cock, haphazardly lining it up with your entrance

- Luffy was mesmerised by the way the reddening blush crawled down your face and along your neck, brightening your chest to a peach around his mouth

- He over-excitedly bumped up into you, not giving you much time to acclimatise to his superior size

- Luffy’s cock stretched you out fully, filling crevices and space you didn’t know you had

- Electricity flowed through you and you felt like lightning personified, every touch and glance sending you into flame

- The whole night passed experimenting with each others bodies, Luffy realising how much he enjoyed making you cum, and torturing you with orgasms

- The man wants you sobbing and screaming in pleasure before the night is over

Zoro

-oooooh boy this guy will kill you with his teasing

-

- he’s waiting for you to be brave enough to ask for it, you’d gone on sweet but casual dates

- You’d kissed and cuddled and given more than a few love bites

- But you were still too nervous to ask for sex

- Zoro was a god to you, all hard muscle and shining golden skin

- It was difficult not to feel self conscious

- So you didn’t say anything, and when he would stop kissing or touching you, or walk you back to your room in the evening

- You would touch yourself, still tasting the sake and musk on your lips, smelling the scent of steel on your clothes left from Zoro’s touch

- And one night you were particularly horny, had barely shut the door and you were shucking off your shorts and throwing yourself on the bed

- You dipped your fingers down to your pussy lips and groaned at the swollen heat there. It had been a particularly tense evening, kisses growing hot and heavy and yearning. But still Zoro stopped before you went any further - and you just took that as confirmation for your insecurities

- You settled for strumming yourself to climax instead, knowing every angle and fold to get yourself there efficiently

- You were knuckle deep in your cunt with two fingers brushing against the spongey wall of your G-spot when there was a knock at the door

- “Just a second,” you squeaked, scrambling to find your shorts

- Zoro misheard you and strode in, stopping short at the sight of your naked ass in the air as you hung over the side of the bed looking for your clothes

- Your thighs were glittering with your arousal and he could see a tantalising peek of pink lips between your legs

- Zoro’s cock rushed full of blood in moments and he could not speak for fear of moaning, gulping breaths of air

- You squeaked hearing the door open and even more so when someone grasped your hips and shoved their face straight between your legs

- You looked down and saw the flash of green hair which relaxed you slightly but set your nerves on fire for a different reason

- “You can’t just wiggle your ass around like that and not expect me to do something…” Zoro said sternly from his place intently staring at your cunt

- You were beautifully red and your lips were puffy, between that and the glistening liquid already gathered, it was obvious to him that you had been playing with yourself

- Your ichor collected at the edge of your pussy lips and Zoro guffawed as it dripped down to his face. He lapped at the fluid greedily before reaching up to press a warm flat tongue against your folds

- You jolted in surprise and unintentionally rocked against Zoro’s face, his nose bumping your clit with delicious pressure

- Zoro was glad for his continuous training as it meant he could easily lift your hips and drag you up and down his face, fucking your pussy with his tongue. He twisted and turned as he licked, and grunted when he felt you tense around him

- “Come for me Princess, want it all over my face,”

- You whined out at Zoro’s filthy words, careening off the edge of pleasure. Your euphoria sent a fountain gush from your cunt, splattering Zoro across the face and wide open mouth

- He caught every drop he could and lapped you up greedily, groaning at the delicious taste of your orgasm

- You still didn’t manage to fuck that evening, but between the several orgasms he gave you and the way Zoro later thrust his cock in your mouth, you felt much better about asking next time

[helen-with-an-a]

I am an adult epilogue

Heyyyy. So who know that I am an adult ending would cause so much debate ahahaha. But real talk, thank you so much for your support and comments - I love them all <3<3<3

Here is the epilogue to I am an adult. It is set at the UWCL final 2025 (getting the manifesting in early) and is fluffy to make up for the angst in the series hehe.

Shout out to @lyak12 for the inspiration and hype on this - lots of love to ya. Also she is the reason this is out earlier than planned <3

Anyways, I hope you enjoy

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 3.5 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Epilogue

Barça Femeni x Reader ; Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Description: R and Lena go watch Barça win the UWCL

TW: Shit do be fluffy as fuck

Lisbon was sunny and welcoming. The gentle golden light spilled into the hotel room, the white curtains dancing in the salty air. It was early, far too early to be awake. The sun filtered through, pulling you from sleep’s embrace. The city outside was just beginning to stir; workmen’s chatter and the clatter of the trams drifted up from the streets below. The aroma of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee wafted through the open window, mingling with the scent of the sea. You lay there for a moment, savouring the peaceful transition from dream to reality. How different everything was from this time last year.

You groaned as you shifted onto your back, stretching slightly to relieve the aches gained overnight. It was warm in bed – the good kind of warm, the type that made you never want to leave its confines again. You shimmied your way across the bed a little more, relishing the source of the heat. Lena’s skin was smooth under your fingers, the muscles soft yet firm as your hands danced around her bare waist. Her face was turned away from you, her dark hair fanning across the pillow, loose pieces falling across her forehead. She stirred slightly at your touch, a contented sigh escaping her lips. You smiled, pressing a featherlight kiss on her shoulder, relishing in her presence, relaxing into the warmth of her body next to yours.

The past year had been a whirlwind. From moving clubs to moving countries to building a life with Lena, but now, in this serene moment, everything felt right. You were in Lisbon with the love of your life. You were about to watch your best friends, your family, compete for their fourth title. You had just come off the back of a fantastic first season at Bayern and had about two weeks off before the Euros preparation began. Everything was so different from this time last year.

You closed your eyes, listening to the symphony of morning sounds mingling with the steady rhythm of Lena's breathing. The faint calls of seagulls, the distant hum of the city waking up, all formed a backdrop to the intimate quiet of your hotel room. You felt the bed shift as Lena rolled over, muttering something in her sleep as she flopped onto you, her breath puffing gently against your collarbones. You gazed down at her, her eyelashes fluttering slightly as she dreamt. There was something magical about these quiet mornings you had grown to love, the world outside moving at its own pace while you and Lena enjoyed the luxury of stillness. You could feel the rise and fall of her chest, each breath syncing with yours in a timeless, perfect rhythm.

Your mind wandered back to the adventures and challenges of the past year. Moving to a new country had been daunting, with the language barrier, the differences, and the new playing style, but Lena had been your anchor through it all. Her unwavering support made the transition easier, helping you establish yourself in the team and navigate the new league. She had encouraged you to return to Barcelona whenever you could. Christmas had been a whirlwind of travel, stopping off quickly to see Lena’s family before spending New Year's in the Spanish city. You savoured your time in the city you once called home, basking in the sun that seemed too rare in Munich.

As the minutes passed, the city outside grew livelier, the sounds of daily life becoming more pronounced; the workers on their morning commutes, the tourists discovering the metropolis. Yet, in your cosy haven, time seemed to slow down. You stroked Lena's back gently, your touch light and reverent. The sun continued to rise, casting a golden glow that bathed the room in warmth and light.

You felt a deep sense of contentment as you lay there, holding each other. Moments slipped past as you reminisced on the season gone by - the highest joys, the lowest lows, and the simple moments in between. Everything seemed so … complete … yet so different from how you would have imagined your life.

Eventually, Lena stirred again, this time her eyes fluttering open. She looked up at you, her gaze sleepy but filled with affection. "Guten Morgen," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.

"Good morning," you replied softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

She smiled a slow, sweet smile that made your heart swell. "Hast Du gut geschlafen?"

"I did. It was perfect," you said, and it was true. With Lena beside you, everything was perfect.

“Wh-what time is it?” she asked drowsily, her hand coming to rub the sleep from her eye.

“Um… a little after 8, I think,” you replied, glancing at the blinking clock on the edge of the TV.

Lena groaned softly, snuggling closer to you. "Do we have to get up yet?"

You chuckled, running your fingers through her hair. "Not just yet. We have some time before we need to head out."

"Gut," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ich möchte noch ein bisschen so bleiben.”

You tightened your arms around her, enjoying the feeling of her body against yours. “Ok, Liebe.” The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment.

The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric. The crowd was buzzing with anticipation, the energy palpable and infectious. Thousands of Culers filled the stands, making it feel like you were back at the Johan for an El Clásico; flags were waved high, scarves were held aloft, and faces were painted in Blaugrana. As the clock ticked down to kickoff, the noise level increased. Chants and songs erupted from different sections of the stadium, each group of supporters trying to outdo the other. Drums pounded rhythmically, creating a heartbeat that pulsed through the crowd. The sound of drums and air horns added to the cacophony, a symphony of support that echoed through the vast arena.

As you weaved your way through the crowd, you felt Lena’s hand skim your lower back, her fingers resting on the bare skin. You looked back over your shoulder, smiling at her as you caught her eye.

“Stay close to me, Schatz,” she called, her body moving closer subconsciously. “I don’t want you to get lost.” You smiled at her concern, switching the half-full cup in your other hand to interlock your fingers with hers.

“Now, you can’t go anywhere either,” you teased, pressing a kiss on the back of her knuckles.

The two of you continued to navigate through the throng of fans, stopping occasionally to take photos of each other and with the fans, the excitement around you intensifying with every step. The smell of food mixed with the fresh scent of the afternoon air, creating an intoxicating blend that was quintessentially football. Vendors shouted their wares, adding to the lively atmosphere, while children darted between legs, their faces alight with the joy of the occasion. This … this is what helped you fall in love with the game as a little girl – balancing high on your parent's shoulders, joining in on the chants until your voice was hoarse, grinning so widely your face hurt.

The stadium loomed large above you, the sun beating down, promising a perfect day for football. As you reached your seats, you felt a rush of exhilaration. The view of the pitch was perfect, and you could see the players warming up, their movements sharp and precise. Lena squeezed your hand, her excitement mirroring your own.

“Starting XIs … go,” she laughed as you demanded her answer. You bickered the time away, questioning the potential lineups, the tactics, the score line.

The crowd's energy reached a fever pitch as the players took their positions on the field, and the referee prepared to blow the whistle. The roar that erupted when the game began was deafening, a collective outpouring of passion and support. You and Lena were swept up in the moment, cheering and clapping along with everyone else, your hearts beating in sync with the rhythm of the match. You had no time to reminisce about the sadness you had felt a few days ago – longing for this to be you on the field. But, as Lena reminded you, there was always next year. And it was your family down on the grass. Your family was preparing for this moment, but there was no way you were missing this because of what? You were feeling a little sad for yourself.

The stadium erupted in a chorus of cheers and chants as Barcelona clinched their fourth Champions League, three consecutive victories. The air crackled with jubilation, fans embracing strangers and loved ones alike, swept up in the euphoria of the Blaugrana victory. You and Lena joined in the celebrations, caught up in the wave of emotion that swept through the stands. Fireworks lit up the sky above the stadium, illuminating the faces of jubilant supporters. You barely noticed the tears streaming down your face until Lena tenderly wiped them away.

“Schatz?” she asked carefully, her lips brushing the shell of your ear to be heard above the noise.

“Hmm?” you sigh, looking up at her. She was awfully close; a slight readjustment and your lips would be on hers.

“Bist du bei mir?”

“Yeh,” you breathed out, leaning into her hand resting on your cheek.

“Do you want to go down to the pitch to see everyone?” she asked. You nodded slowly, still dazed by her closeness, drunk on her cinnamon scent. “C’mon,” she smiled, lacing your fingers together as she tugged you down the steps. You could see the huddle of players doing their lap of the pitch. You spotted familiar faces beaming into the crowd, waving as they found their personal supports.

You didn’t have to wait long before Clàudia spotted you, her eyes lighting up with recognition. "Oh, Déu meu, Oh, Déu meu, Oh, Déu meu," she exclaimed, practically pulling you over the barrier into a warm hug.

“Cuidadosa, Clàu,” you chuckled, reciprocating her tight embrace. Her infectious enthusiasm swept you up, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Help a girl onto the pitch?” you teased, amused as she hoisted you over the metal barrier.

“You too, Lena.” She smiled, offering a hand to your girlfriend.

As you watched Lena gracefully navigate over the barrier, you suddenly felt a weight on your back, causing you to stagger briefly. The arms wrapped around you were pale with light freckles adorned with familiar tattoos. "Usted vino," came the cheerful voice from behind you.

“Of course I came, Oni. Not a chance in hell I would miss this," you replied, twisting awkwardly to reciprocate her hug. You both spun around playfully, laughing at Ona’s delighted squeals. "Vamos, Oni, get down so I can give you a proper hug," you chuckled, patting her forearm gently.

She embraced you tightly, conveying in that moment all the unspoken words and emotions of your time apart and the joy of the occasion. "Felicitaciones, Oni. Estoy muy orgulloso de ti," you whispered in her ear, feeling her hold tighten in response.

"Desearía que todavía estuvieras jugando con nosotros," Ona murmured wistfully, her voice thick with emotion.

"Hey, no tears," you insisted gently, pulling back slightly to meet her eyes. "I miss playing with you too. I missed my favourite defender when I’m over in Germany. But no thinking about that today. This is your moment." You shook your head with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Because my best friend has another Champions League title with her childhood club!" You swayed gently from side to side, celebrating quietly together.

After a few more precious moments locked in each other's arms, you gently nudged her towards her waiting family on the edge of the pitch. Watching her run off, you meandered through the players until you found Lucy.

"What number's this?" you teased, tapping her on the head playfully.

"Fuck off," she laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulder as you leaned into her.

"So, how's Munich treating you?" Lucy asked casually as if you hadn't been catching up frequently over the phone with Ona, her often joining in on the conversations.

"It’s been great; I’m really happy," you nodded to yourself – the circumstances of your arrival might not have been the best, but you certainly weren’t regretting going.

"I’m glad to hear that. Gee mentioned you seem a lot happier now," Lucy remarked.

"Keeping tabs on me, Luce?" you grinned.

“Of course, I have, kid. You’re basically my future-sister-in-law.” she teased. You froze momentarily.

"What?" you exclaimed, briefly stunned. "Have you? You better not be fucking with me, Bronze!"

“Chill, chill. Not yet, I haven’t. But I’ve got a ring, that’s for sure.” Lucy grinned mischievously, her words hanging in the air between you two. Your heart raced with the implications of her statement, and you stared at her in disbelief. You gawked at her, mouth hanging open. You blinked a few times, processing the absolute insanity that was running through your mind. You saw her bite her lip somewhat nervously. Was she anxious that you’d disapprove? You squealed, leaping onto her, joining in with the chorus of laughter.

“She’ll say yes, you know that, right?” you promised her

“That’s the plan,” Lucy joked, and you chuckled, pulling her happily into another hug.

“When?” you moved closer to her, your hand automatically coming to cover your lips.

“Probably depending on the outcome of the Euros. If she wins or we win again, then probably the first chance I get. Assuming it’s not the World Cup all over again,” she laughed a little. “If not, then when we’re on holiday afterwards.”

“Never would I thought I’d see the day,” you mocked, laughing as you brought her into another hug.

“You know … Gee mentioned something about you saving up? And that you’ve been asking Harder and Eriksson about holiday destinations? I think jewellery shops were involved,” she said casually. You blushed at her insinuation, the hue deepening as she snickered at your expression.

“Mind your business, Bronzey. When there’s something concrete to tell you, you know Ona will be the first to know, and by default, you’ll be the second.” You looked over at Lena. The way she had so seamlessly slotted into your life made your heart swell. You smiled as she laughed with Patri and slung her arm freely around Vicky.

“Oi, Lucia. Stop hogging, the pequeña.” Map�� called out, waving you both over to the gathered group of players. Lucy rolled her eyes playfully at Mapí's interruption but kept her arm around you as you walked towards the others. You couldn't shake off the mix of excitement and nervousness that Lucy's revelation had sparked in you. The group looked up as you approached, their smiles widening at seeing you and Lucy together again.

“What’s got you two all giggly?” Keira asked with a smirk, raising an eyebrow in mock curiosity. Of course, Lucy would have told Keira about her plan.

Lucy glanced at you with an impish grin before speaking, “Oh, just discussing some future plans.”

Your cheeks flushed as Lena turned to you, a puzzled expression on her face. “Future plans, huh? Care to share?”

“Nope,” you said hastily,

“All in good time, Oberdorf. For now, let’s just enjoy the moment.” Lucy grinned even wider, wiggling her eyebrows at the confused German, clearly enjoying the moment.

Slowly, you were ushered off the pitch by the officials, their gentle reminders of moving to the changing rooms and family boxes drowned out by the exuberant celebrations around you. The floodlights cast long shadows across the grass, and the deafening cheers of fans echoed through the stadium, but amidst the joy and chaos, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness over the absence of a particular blonde. She was there; you had seen the familiar bounce of her ponytail through the crowd, but every time you tried to reach her, she had disappeared again, swallowed up by the sea of people.

Determined, you stood on your tiptoes, craning your neck to see above the throng, searching for that familiar face. Your heart raced with anticipation and a hint of frustration.

“Buscando a alguien?” Her familiar voice cut through the noise, and you jumped, startled.

“Christ on a bike. Give a girl a heart attack why don’t you?” you grumbled teasingly, turning to face her.

“Lo siento.” Alexia smiled down at you, her laughter bubbling up, making you press a hand to your chest dramatically to calm your racing heart. You playfully shoved her shoulder before she pulled you into a warm hug. God, you had missed these. Alexia’s hugs were safe, comforting like a mother’s embrace, a sanctuary where you could rest for a moment amidst the chaos.

“Proud of you, Ale,” you murmured into her shoulder, your voice thick with emotion.

Alexia chuckled, the sound vibrating through your entire body, grounding you.

“Thank you, pequeña,” she said softly, her accent thick and endearing. Her words were like a balm to your soul. “I’m proud of you, too, you know.”  You felt a flush of warmth at her words, a mixture of pride and affection swelling in your chest. The noise of the celebration faded into the background as you tightened your arms around her waist, feeling her solid, reassuring presence. You relaxed completely when you felt her place her cheek on your head, the gentle pressure conveying a depth of love and pride that words could never fully capture. “You’ve done good, cariño.”

The world around you continued to roar in celebration, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of mutual respect and affection. You felt like you were 16 again, new to Barcelona and needed a steady presence to guide you. She hugged you warmly and promised to always be there for you. You breathed in her familiar scent, a mix of sweat, grass, and a hint of her favourite perfume, and let out a contented sigh.

“Ahora, entonces,” she said letting you go. “Lucy mencionó algo sobre las joyerías en Munich?”

[kagamesayu]

shidou ryusei x bimbo!reader

c/w . implied female reader, implied smut, fluff, shidou ryusei is crazy for you wc: 1 k a/n . shidou ryusei my beloved. literally obsessed with his crazy ass ugh <3 reblogs and comments appreciated ✧*.

pt 1, pt 2

imagine...

shidou who loves every bit of you. your short pink skirt that shows off your panties every time you jump around, your too tight shirts that show off your body and the way you make him feel like the smartest person in the world.

like - no baby, pikachu is not a real animal.

you bounce off each others energies so well, your dynamic is literally popular jock x popular cheerleader. he'd be at games and look for you in the stands, pointing and blowing kisses in your direction. and you'd return them in fervor, shaking your 'ryu-baby you can do it!!!' sign that was decorated with pink glitter and cut-out hearts.

he once flashed his tits to you while sticking his tongue out. you'd almost returned the favour but your friend stopped you. truly lucky for everyone, cause if you had done that ryusei would , firstly, destroy every camera in that stadium and then give everyone concussions because nobody but him could look at your bahonkers.

shidou who adores how your hands look in his. your acrylic nails that leave a delicious sting whenever they touch him beautifully contrast his own dull short nails that you manicured yourself.

"babe you need to look after your nails! at the very least let me paint a base coat!" you'd pout at him, fluttering your pretty eyelashes at him while holding his hands close to your chest.

usually when you went out together he'd hold you by the waist, but every time you get new acrylics he'd hold you by your hands. he loves playing with your nails, feeling the new textures you'd gotten.

he'll let you paint his nails too, makes you promise to get your painted the colour of his tip.

shidou who tells everyone about his beautiful partner. at this point, everybody in the world knew you were together, with how obnoxious he was about your relationship. in every interview he's able to bring you up. doesn't matter if no one asked him, he'll talk about you.

and he almost always gives them a little too much info.

"what i think of the other team? think they all suck. saw one of them lookin' at m' doll and i was gonna knock 'im out! i mean - i get it. they're fuckin' hot but they're mine."

"o-ok, well-"

"ya'll know about us right? i'm taken by her," he shows a polaroid picture of you he put on the back of his phone. "and she's mine. she's so cute too, almost sued dog treat companies cause she thought they were made from actual dogs."

"yes, let's move on-"

"and look - she painted my nails. painted them the colour of m' eyes."

"alright that's cute-"

"she painted hers the colour of my tip-"

"ANYWAYS."

shidou who loves doing makeup with you. yes he only has to do eyeliner, but he loves distracting talking to you while you get yourself ready to go out.

he absolutely adores helping you put on lip gloss. he has you seat on his lap, a hand holding your jaw while the other holds the applicator. he definitely steals a few kisses first though. wets your lips he says and you just nod along, too dumb to realise that the lip gloss does that for you.

that doesn't mean he doesn't kiss you after applying the gloss though. after making you smack your lips together he dives in like he's going for a goal, sucking and biting your bottom lip. you'd get so angry cause you'll have to clean your makeup up, but he doesn't care too much. he'll just sit there, pink smeared over his lips as you fret over your appearance.

he also loves when you help him draw on his eyeliner. he'll have his chin pressed on your fantastic titties, one of your hands on the back of his head as the other held the liner.

when this happens his eyes always seem to take in your features. the wrinkle of your eyebrows or the way your mouth is slightly open, he loves looking at you.

shidou who has to be pulled back by you every time he gets into a fight. it could be for any reason. they were looking at him funny, they were looking at you periodt, they were getting too close, anything and everything gets him riled up. especially if it involves you. his special little doll he loves so much.

he's got to protect what is his after all.

you'd hold him from behind both hands on his chest as you try to pull him away. "baby they're not worth your time!"

"those fuckers called ya dumb doll! ain't no fuckin' way i'd let that slide!" only he was allowed to call you that. he's growling, dangerous smirk on his face as the veins on his arms and neck stand up. this, you think, is when he's the most sexy.

the only way to stop him is to direct his anger into a different place.

you step closer, pressing your plush breasts against his back, the hand on his chest sliding up to his neck as the other moved to hold his shoulder.

"mm...but baby it's getting really hot here, and i really really want you." you stand on your tippy toes, pouted lips pressing against his ear as you whisper into his it.

his anger almost fully vanishes, gone with the guys who 'insulted' you. now his anger changes to something else, something more...dangerous.

to you, that is. cause you won't be walking for the next few days.

shidou who after tussles with people, lets you nurse him back to health. loves when you play doctor cause he get's all of your attention to himself.

doesn't matter if it's a bruise or if its his cut up knuckles, you tend to all his injuries with loving care. of course, you don't really know what your'e doing but it's the thought that counts! and he won't stop you when you use cute kuromi plasters on his wounds.

yes they are glittery, and pink and cutesy. yes everyone at training talks about how lovesick he looks when he stares at his fingers. but does he care? no.

[felikatze]

THE ISLANDER EUPHRASIE THEORY: THE CRACK HEADCANON THAT RUINED ME FOREVER

HI. you might know me as the kingphie divorce guy. or as the guy who wrote the 6k ludonarrative essay. Today i am going to introduce to YOU @the-bitter-ocean's fantabulous ISLANDER EUPHRASIE THEORY!!!

DISCLAIMER

This post contains SPOILERS for ALL of In Stars and Time. INCLUDING THE ACT 6 SECRET!!

You have been warned.

ALSO!!!!

The original headcanon/theory is VERY MUCH Ocean's fantastic work! I am merely rehashing all the arguments for it that have been laid out across various chats into one cohesive thing people can look at. Also citations! Who doesn't love those.

WHAT IS IT?

Well, it's quite simple. It's the theory that Euphrasie, love of my life and Head Housemaiden of Dormont, is from the forgotten island, same as Siffrin and the King.

(Yes, this is why divorce AU exists.)

WHY DO YOU EVEN BELIEVE THIS?

Quite a lot of reasons, actually.

It's really funny

Let us begin with: the basics.

SUPERFLOUS AESTHETIC DETAIL

HAIR COLOR

This is Euphrasie. She's very pretty. I love her.

You might notice several things about her, like her fantabulous white hair.

Well. What other characters have white hair?

You have guessed correctly. The ONLY OTHER white haired characters with actual artwork are Siffrin and the King, both from The Island The World Forgot. Thus we can assume that it's a typical hair color for islanders. Makes it stand out very much that Euphie also has it.

(What about the beautiful one- sh sh sh he's blonde. He's blonde.) (Well, actually, considering that they are the only one who acknowledges that Vaugardians are also weird, what if he's from the island as well? Checkmate atheists.)

EYELASHES

(EDIT!!!!! FINALLY PUTTING THIS ON THE MAIN POST!!!

Turns out I was incorrect in this. Some characters (Mira, Isa) also have eyelashes on SOME portraits. The mentioned chars r still notable for Always Having Em, + the Loop lashes are like, literally intended as plot twist foreshadowing, but, hey.

That's what you get for writing essays at 1am.

IN RETURN!!! Someone pointed out to me [i forgot who sorry] that Euphrasie's capelet.... has stars on it!! It's speckled like the starry sky!! Now isn't that a neat coinkydink.)

(Original text left up because I respect my past self's artistic vision. And his lunacy.)

Correct. Eyelashes.

Going back to our portrait of Euphie, she is drawn with precisely three eyelashes. Why is this notable? Because Siffrin and Loop are.

So much so, that being drawn with three eyelashes, is specifically an element of foreshadowing to Loop's true identity.

(squints at character portraits) literally no characters besides Siffrin, Loop, and Euphrasie have eyelashes? Oh my god. What? Nobody has eyelashes? What the fuck? (okay, some moments later: Mirabelle has eyelashes in some battle artwork, but these three are the only ones specifically with eyelashes in dialogue portraits, which is still incredibly odd.)

SPEAKING HABITS

(EDIT!!! Another Point that is Kind Of Off, in that other characters [e.g. Odile] also do this occasionally. Again, keeping the text for my creative vision.

In return I get to inform you that the King makes the "not so bright, Bright One" pun TWICE in different loops, thus implying the King likes puns. Take this as you will. That's been my psychic damage, buhbyeeee~)

Hey, so, you know when you talk to people in Dormont, a lot of the NPCS will have a nametag that just says "[something] One" right? Daydreaming One, Castle-Loving One, Beautiful One?

And I've seen people wonder, are these titles? Nicknames?

And I bring you this: Siffrin addresses these people with these epithets in his head, because they have no fucking clue what anyone's name is.

So Siffrin just naturally lapses into this style of nicknaming strangers.

Which two other people also do.

Bright one... ...... Do you remember? Traveling one! Are you done talking with your companions? Yes, wonderful, wonderful!

Funny little tidbit that these three characters all speak alike isn't it :)

Okay. With aesthetics out of the way, let's move onto the next tier of this iceberg:

THE MECHANICS OF FORGETTING AND BEING FORGOTTEN

I realize in the process of writing that we must outline the nature of the curse. What gets forgotten and what gets to stay?

The particularity that's important to us right now is: what people get forgotten?

All evidence points toward this: an entire person is only forgotten if they were physically present on the island when it vanished.

I'm pulling up two example cases to prove it: Siffrin and the Daydreaming One.

The thing with Siffrin is: we know he witnessed the exact moment the island vanished. And, very notably, Siffrin was in a boat.

You can get the dialogue that proves this only in ACT 2 in a secret room most people don't find on their first playthroughs, which is both very funny and very evil. Here's the dialogue.

Siffrin: "I ran away from home once!" [...] Siffrin: "And so I took our boat! Got to the beach, rowed away from the shore a bit. I was going to come back right away, I just wanted to scare my parents a bit!" [...]

Siffrin: "I started to row back towards the shore... And then, I... I... ..." Isabeau: ... Sif? Siffrin: (Woah! What?) "Um, yes?" Isabeau: Um... You were telling us how you ran away from home? Siffrin: "I... was?" Odile: You... Were. Bonnie: DID YOU FORGET WHAT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT WHILE TALKING ABOUT IT?!?

Siffrin is from the island, but was not physically present when it disappeared. This resulted in Siffrin forgetting their entire identity, including given name and spoken/written language.

Additionally, this is confirmed via Word of God to be the exact moment the island disappeared, so here's proof I'm not reading into it:

Shoutout to bibliomaniac's insane google spreadsheet for the easily searchable screenshot. god bless. Brinny, ily.

On the other hand, with the Daydreaming One, we have proof of a person who is not originally from the island, but was physically on it at the time of disappearance.

Siffrin: "Don't you have a sister?" Daydreaming One: I... I don't? I just said I'm an only child, silly!

(For her to forget someone like her sister, so easily... Her sister must've traveled to...)

Secondly, we know that remnants of the island were not completely forgotten immediately.

Memory faded gradually, starting with the ability to still speak and think about it with accompanying headaches, until it ramped up in intensity and everything is simply gone.

The Sparkling Diary in the library is more or less proof. Memory of the island was gone, but... people still remembered that they forgot something. People still knew what they were talking about, (an island north of Vaugarde), just without the specifics.

"Urgh. Also, Dad noticed no one can say the name of the island north of here anymore?" "I tried to say it yesterday and I got like the WEIRDEST headache for HOURS."

And Odile also remarks the following

Odile: We also know that people could remember that country clearly, before.

This will be relevant later. Moving on.

CONTRIVANCES

THE HOUSE'S OBSERVATORY

SO. The House of Change of Dormont has this funny little room on the third floor. It's an observatory. To look at stars with. When entering this room for the first time, Mirabelle says this:

Mirabelle: What...? Was there a room like this in the House? Y-yeah, I remember! Someone was working here... Studying... They looked like... ... Um... Sorry, I can't remember.

This reveals to us several things:

This room is innate to the House, and not brought here by the King's weird redecorating

Someone from the House was using it for study

All memory of who or what was studying and being studied was erased alongside the island's existence

Of course we can say, "yo, what if Euphrasie was using this room and just forgot?" but that is. a headcanon. I ADMIT! It is a stipulation

However, I find the general presence of the Island written all over the House incredibly interesting.

Inside the Observatory, there's a pile of papers with messy handwriting. You can't read these in until ACT 4. Even in ACT 4, you can't read them. But you do learn what's written on them.

(A pile of papers.) (It looks like someone was trying to write your country's name.)

Inside the observatory is also a globe. Upon repeated interaction in... act 4, i think, you get this:

(You see a spot on the globe where the paint has started wearing out, like someone kept dragging their finger on it.) (You drag your finger there too.) (Erased. You almost want to look for lightless paint.)

BOOKS

During the various quests to discover the truth of the loops, you run into a lot of books, written in the forgotten language. Now, Dormont is not close to the island. Dormont is not close to the coast.

Bambouche is. That's why Bonnie has heard about the island before and knows it was a big deal - they lived really close to it.

Bonnie (and then1): I think, I think my village was really close to it!!! My sister said it was all everyone could talk about for weeks!!! Mirabelle (anxious1): That's so frightening... I'm glad that whatever happened, she didn't get caught up in it!

As we can see in this map, Dormont is in the southern half of the country, and very centrally at that, meaning it has basically maximum distance from all waters and ports. So why does this landlocked small town have so many books in this language?

These aren't just dry books, either. In Dormont's library, there's actually a translated version of volume 2 of The Cursing of Chateau Castle.

(You take the book out again.) (You can read its title, now...) (Your heart is beating, badump, badump, badump.) (It's...) (... A translated copy of "The Cursing of Château Castle", issue #2.) (You start laughing.)

CONCLUSION OF THIS SECTION

Islanders lived in Dormont. Maybe even multiple! We've established that whoever is in Dormont when it vanished would not simply disapper, instead

they forgot where they're from.

One day, the islanders in Dormont could no longer remember being anywhere but Dormont. Being anything but Vaugardian. The observatory fell into disuse, as the person studying there gradually forgot what they used it for, even as they desparately tried to hold onto it, boring holes into the globe, and scribbling its name over and over until its unintelligible.

And, in all likelihood, eventually that knowledge was just gone forever. They simply became part of Dormont, none the wiser to their own history.

Books slipped into cracks. Rooms fell into disuse. Nobody remembered to clean out the remnants.

Now. The real cinch of this.

Why, in particular, do I think Euphrasie is one of them?

Answer me this, then.

How does Euphie know what Wish Craft is?

1. How could she read it?

Euphrasie knew specifically that Wish Craft exists, when all books on it are written in a language nobody can read.

The book in the storage room? The diary in the room behind the star door? The book in the secret library? None of them are legible.

There are no legible records of Wish Craft.

2. What about the Favor Tree?

Euphrasie knew specifically that Wish Craft is related to the Favor Tree. It's also a Vaugardian practice to make requests of the Favor Tree, but they're just that - requests. Nobody thinks they actually have power.

Only Euphrasie does. She thinks it's the key to defeating the King.

(This is... A list of people who wished to save Vaugarde!!!) (You look around her desk, trying to find out more.) (Why would she record the people who wished to save Vaugarde?) (... There!!!) (It's a little notebook, jammed between random boring paperwork...) (In it, the Head Housemaiden talks about Wish Craft... How in the days before the King attacked, she noticed everyone was wishing to the Favor Tree for the same thing:) (To save Vaugarde.) (And she started wondering if this wish could be the key to the King's defeat, somehow...) (So the Head Housemaiden knew about Wish Craft!!!)

Except, when Isabeau talks about it...

Isabeau: Well, it's just a random big tree. But when you're a believer of the House of Change, the biggest tree in a certain place is called a Favor Tree! It's like, it’s the tree with the most power, so you can ask it things? As a favor?

He struggles a little to explain it. Almost, as though the tradition came from some other culture, imported into Vaugarde, and no one can definetely remember where it came from.

To note, here, is that the Favor Tree is hugely associated with Loop, and wishes in general. Wishing on a Favor Tree is such a hugely powerful ritual when executed correctly, that it caused the entire timeloops.

And I'm not even gonna break out citations to prove that Wish Craft is associated with the island. Come on. You know that. You played the game. It's required to beat the game.

If you haven't beaten the game, what the fuck are you doing here. Go back and play it, baka.

3. Something's breaking, failing, rotting

At the end of ACT 4, when Siffrin confronts Euphrasie about her knowledge of Wish Craft, Euphrasie is distinctly aware of this: the people of Vaugarde are wishing wrong.

It's true. All of Vaugarde wished to the Favor Tree, wished for us to be saved. We wished for a savior. A way for us to win against the King. And Wish Craft gave us the means to do it, didn't it? Made sure it'd work? [...] But... But something went wrong, didn't it? Something goes wrong, every time!!! [...] The only answer I can find... Is it's because we did it wrong. I don't know what happened But we must've done it wrong!!! None of us in Vaugarde knew the exact ritual, but-- But we must have done it so wrong, it broke, and it doesn't answer to us at all anymore!!! [...] I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!!!

There's only one person who knew how to make a Wish correctly. And he made it by sheer instinct. Something they could not place even if they tried. Just... a forgotten ritual, dredged back up by muscle memory. Something he's probably been doing since he's a little kid, something that's so backed into their habits they use Wish Craft to carve figurines out of wood.

To end, I leave you with this. Dialogue you get when you try to talk to Euphrasie again, before you talked to everybody else.

If you talk to me... REALLY talk to me... It's all over. What "it" is, I have no idea... I know... I can feel that... I couldn't change whatever comes next, even if I wanted to. But I know it is the will of the Change God. Or, no, perhaps... The will of something even bigger... ... Something will end, once you talk to me.

There is a way for Euphrasie to know all of this. To know Wish Craft exists, to be aware she's doing it wrong, but not knowing, remembering quite enough to get it right.

If she knew it all beforehand already.

[trashmouth-richie]

⋆·˚ ༘ * eddie x female reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * summary: what happens, when eddie makes plans without you?

⋆·˚ ༘ * tw: 18+ only, unprotected p in v! toxic relationship behavior, choking, reader is kind of crazy but it’s explained at the end, breaking shit, mean!reader, drinking, weed, knife use, pet names, nicknames.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 1.7k words, not proof read, pretend it is.

Saturdays were usually your nights together. Spending the night at his trailer because it was guaranteed that Wayne would be gone. 

But tonight Eddie said he had “plans with the boys”. 

So imagine your surprise when Robin called you up and asked why you weren’t at Steve’s party, but Eddie was?

The ten minute drive felt like sixty seconds of pure rage filled hell. You only saw red, steam shot from your ears like a cartoon. 

And when you pulled up to Steve’s enormous house, Robin was right, because Eddie’s van was sitting out front. 

Your blood boiled and your cheeks felt like fire. Heart hammering in your chest,  you slammed the gear shift into park before the car could even come to a full stop. 

You didn’t care that he was here with his friends, what you cared about was the normal posse of skanky girls who were at Steve’s parties, one strawberry blonde in particular that rubbed you every way of wrong. Chrissy.

She was always hanging on Eddie any chance she got, batting her eyelashes, acting dumb to get his help in math. You’re so smart she’d whisper to him— even though the straight F’s on his paper definitely didn’t stand for Fantastic. 

Jason had dumped her and rumor had it she was looking to get back at him the biggest way she knew how, and that was t getting with the freak. 

Your freak. 

The sharp black points on your heeled boots clicked along the sidewalk as you stalked towards the house whistling an angelic sort of tune, swinging the wooden bat by your side. 

Jonathan was outside the lavish home, smoking a fatty and leaning against the raised brick garden bed. Upon first glance he waved, all drunken smiles and lazy greetings. 

It wasn’t until he saw what was in your hand that he finally pieces it together, and you asked him sweetly to kindly get Eddie because you had a message for him. 

The driver's side window broke with little to no effort, a few swings and it shattered into a pretty spider web of splintered glass, covering Eddie’s driver seat. 

The whistled tune never stopped from your puckered lips. Not when you flicked open the pocket knife and punctured the rubber tires, or when you carved a long jagged scratch into the paint down the aluminum body. 

It wasn’t until you were standing on the hood of the van, crashing the bat into the windshield did you hear the front door to Steve’s swing open, music fading through the night with each body shoving their way through the door, gasping at your surprise gift for your boyfriend. 

Someone, Jeff, you think— hollers for Eddie and you plant your ass on the hood, leaving a dent for sure by the way you plopped down like it was a trampoline. With legs crossed and twisting the bat between your palms, you wait patiently for the man of the hour to finally arrive, a smile on your black painted lips. 

By now there’s a decent sized crowd, all gaping mouths and wide eyes, some laughing but mostly struck with fear out of the freaks girl. 

He walks down the concrete steps, his heavy boots thudding against the hard ground. You can see the muscles in his jaw tense from where you are sitting, his knuckles tighten into a fist and his shoulders broaden and angle back, like he's trying like hell, not to yell out right by the look of the destruction you caused to his van. 

“Hi baby,” you greet, sugary sweet like you just brought him balloons on his birthday, “having a fun night?”

Eddie is seething, nostrils flared as he tries to even his breathing, “what did you do Lil?” 

“What?” You ask, turning your body to look at the glass splintered on the windshield and smashed on the ground, “oh, you mean all this? It’s pretty right?” 

Eddie drags his tongue across the front of teeth, sucking in a breath, “you’re kidding right?”

Unhooking your crossed leg you slam your heel into one of his headlights, the satisfying crunch of the plastic pieces littering to the ground, you smile pretty up at him, but he doesn’t bat an eye, “oh Eddie,” you tsk, “I don’t like jokes… or being,” the tip of the bat hits the other headlight with a crunch, “… lied to.” 

“Fucking Christ, what are you even talking about?” Eddie spits as he looks to Jeff then to Gareth. 

“Really? Then why did Robin call to say you were here with that bimbo Chrissy?” 

The crowd ooo’s as Eddie stomps towards you, his face struck with anger, the browns of his eyes completely black as he glared down at you, his necklace still swaying as he leans forward into your space, only malice in his voice. 

“Time to go,” he grunts, grabbing the bat from your hand and tossing it to the ground, “now.” 

“Nah,” you say, looking past him and waving at Steve, he returns the wave with a confused look at a silent gasp at the look of Eddie’s van, “I’m just getting started.” 

Steve tries to push everyone inside shows over! Let’s go! But nobody budges, waiting for the train wreck, unable to look away. 

Eddie pulls you from the van by your feet, your bare ass skimming the hood as your skirt lifts up, sure to leave a burn, you land on your feet, waltzing over to aforementioned blonde and taking her drink from her, downing the horrific liquid in a gulp. She’s too stunned to speak as you twist back around to catch a glimpse of Eddie, shooting him a wink. 

The knife tucked into the cute holder on your thigh comes out with a flick. Flashing the steel blade to Eddie, you wink before whipping back around to Chrissy just in time to catch her ponytail between your fingers. The knife cuts through her hair like a shear, close to her scalp beneath the emerald ponytail, her golden locks fisted limply in your hand. 

The scream she lets out is blood curdling and ugly, but you don’t mistake the laugh coming from Robin or Steve as Chrissy runs inside, her cheer squad hurrying behind to help their friend. 

“Wait! You forgot this!” You say shaking the blond strands towards the door, “I’m sure some glue or tape will hel—”

You're caught off guard as Eddie’s hand wraps around your wrist and starts dragging you away from the party back to his van. He wiggles the knife from your fingers and closes it on his hip, shoving it into his jacket. 

The smile never left your lips, not even when your shoulder blades rest against the side of the van as Eddie crowds you in. 

“Jesus Christ you’re fucking crazy, y’know that?” his words are mean but there’s a hint of something else on his lips, a smirk.

Your fingers move to his belt buckle, threading it through itself as you look up at him through your lashes, “you love it.” 

His eyes roll tk the back of his head, and he takes a deep breath, animalistic instinct kicking in as you suck his thumb into your mouth. 

“Fuck.”   

Your thighs are wrapped around his waist in two seconds flat. He grunts as his thick fingers glide through your wet heat, finally noticing you weren’t wearing any panties he groans guttural and low. 

His hand wraps around your throat and he smiles as you gasp for a little breath, eyes rolling into your skull as he cants his hips forward and his thick head pushes through your walls, filling you full. 

Your lips attach to his neck, licking and biting hard enough that your teeth marks will bruise a perfect dental record into his skin. A nice match for the red lips tattooed on the left of his neck, an identical mark to yours. 

“Shit,” he groans slamming into you harder and harder, shaking the van on its flat tires, broken glass hitting the ground like hail. “Always so fucking tight for me baby, fuck I love your pussy.” 

You’re mewling into him, inhaling his words as he bites your lip, licking the blood from them and running it over his teeth. 

The front door opens and shuts but neither of you stop, not even when the sobs from Chrissy get closer as her friends bell her into their car, parked right behind Eddie’s van. 

Eddie’s face is buried into your neck and you catch Chrissy’s blue teared stare, horror on her face as you and Eddie both moan. “Mm fuck,” you say to her, eyes boring into hers, “like what you see, Christopher?”

The screaming huff from her mouth is  heard around Hawkins as she slams the door to Heather's car, tires screeching as they tear out of Steve’s driveway. 

Eddie chuckles into your skin and shakes his head. A smile on his face as he kisses you hard, pumping into you harder and before long you're both coming and moaning into the night, completely lost in your own world. 

Later that night in Eddie’s bed, you're tangled naked and fresh from a shower beneath soft cotton sheets. His hands lazily work up and down your back, your arm propped up beneath your chin on his chest, “so, I did good, right?”

Eddie laughs and blows a ring of smoke into the air, “you were perfect my little vixen, I could barely contain myself when you were sitting on the hood like that, looked so fucking sexy, wanted to fuck you right there.” 

You both laugh at the theatrics of the night, and you remember something that’s missing, “gonna need my knife back by the way, feels weird without it.” 

Eddie points to his jacket crumbled on the floor next to a mountain of discarded clothing and leather boots, “it’s in my pocket, just keeping it safe.” 

You roll your eyes with a tease and slither from the sheets, bare skinned beneath the yellow warm lamp, the jacket feels cool in your hands, silk pockets gentle on your fingers as your grab your knife and pull it out. 

Examining it in your fingers it truly was the perfect gift from the man you adored, etched into the handle, a script he cut himself, “to my Lilith.” 

liked this? consider a reblog like and comment! thanks for reading

another story in the same lilith au - here & here

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Hermione Baddeley (Brighton Rock, Passport to Pimlico, Mary Poppins)— An absolute mainstay of British films from this period. She’s an icon who never takes shit from anyone in any of her movies, dresses for the occasion, and has the best line delivery! Also she started out in silent movies, and was a close friend of Noel Coward. In a desperate attempt to appeal to a large tumblr fandom, I will also point out that her first husband and one of her children were both called David Tennant. You like that name, don’t you tumblr??

Glynis Johns (Mary Poppins, The Court Jester)—LISTEN, I'd let that woman's voice with all its gravely hoarseness (positive) wash over me all goddamn day, but if that's not enough she managed to play the straight woman to Danny Kaye's jester, all with her cleavage so plunging it might as well have been catapulted into the ocean right after Basil Rathbone

This is round 1 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Glynis Johns propaganda:

She walks the line between sexy and cute. Her best role for me is in "The Court Jester as Maid Jean. She's fantastic as the soft but tough captain of the outlaw band and she looks stunning in every gown she wears throughout the film. And of course we can't forget her iconic turn as the suffragette mother, Mrs. Banks, in Mary Poppins! Also shoutout to her distinctive and beautiful voice, kind of smoky and husky. Extremely hot and set her apart from many of her peers."

"Listen, listen. I was raised on Mary Poppins and "Votes for women! (step in time)" single-handedly taught me how to be a feminist. Also The Court Jester is one of my favourite movies of all time and she is UNBELIEVABLY gorgeous, charismatic, funny, and clever in it. She knocks several men out. Absolute icon."

"Like Bette Davis she has eyes to die for. Unlike Bette Davis you felt comforted by them, even when she was batting her eyelashes at you. Would glady go to Downing Street with her and throw things at the Prime minister"

"She had this wonderful wit and charm to her no matter the role and the most distinctive, striking voice!"

"She was amazing in Mary Poppins (the Suffragette song is severely underrated) and apparently she was Welsh? National pride! And she advocated for arts funding in Wales, which is very cool. Also, she died recently (RIP) making her one of the last survivors of the Golden Age of Hollywood, according to Wikipedia. Also also, she just has a cheeky energy I like? And her eyes are beautiful!"

"I mean, incredibly beautiful and talented, can do drama can do comedy. And she was a mermaid."

"I love Glynis Johns. Most of the reason is The Court Jester where she's a sensible and capable foil to whatever what going on with Danny Kaye at the time. She was also the first star I based an OC on. An OC that I still have to this day! Anyway here have some YouTube links love u bye"

Mermaid clip: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/1jUEA03mYTk

Court Jester (sharing a bed trope): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5d_qG9i054U

Court Jester (seducing the king): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-GuqFYElKg

"VOTES FOR WOMEN! Well, votes for this woman. Please."

Hermione Baddeley propaganda:

Propaganda for both Hermione and Glynis:

[novaursa]

Hello, thank you, I had a very bad day but your stories are spectacular. I felt a lot of emotion for Fever Dreams, it is a great masterpiece. but all your works are magnificent, a delicacy for the palate I have a couple of doubts 1. Jacaerys actually has very intense feelings for her, maybe Dareon knows it? 2. Jacaerys repeats to Daeron, you don't belong here, she is no longer yours. ,m,,m,m,m. I think there's something else there, I'm not sure. 3.Dareon save something that Jacaerya may not recognize 4. Is there a possibility that you can create a sequence of chapters based on this story, please? thank you very much you are fantastic

Fevered Desires (Continuation)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Daeron stays with you a while longer.

- Paring: niece!reader/Daeron Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The door slams shut behind Jacaerys, leaving only the muffled sounds of the storm beyond the stone walls. The echo of his footsteps fades, and silence descends over your chamber once more, thick and suffocating. The fire in the hearth crackles softly, its light casting flickering shadows across the room, but even its warmth pales in comparison to the heat radiating from your fevered body.

Daeron stays by your side, his gaze never leaving you. His hand, still clasping yours, is a tether to reality, grounding you in the midst of the haze that grips your mind. He leans closer, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles over your knuckles.

“You should not have come,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the fever, but there is no real reprimand in your words. You had always known he would come, sooner or later. He could never stay away—not when the pull between you was stronger than the iron grip of your family, stronger than duty or law.

“Would you have me stay away while you lay here, burning from the inside out?” Daeron’s voice is low, almost a murmur, as though he’s afraid to shatter the fragile quiet that surrounds you. “I would have come sooner if I’d known.”

You swallow, your throat dry and raw, but his presence, his touch, is a balm against the fever’s heat. “Jacaerys will kill you,” you say, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as exhaustion drags at you. “If he finds you here again...”

“He won’t,” Daeron interrupts softly, his thumb still caressing your hand. “Not tonight. And if he does, let him try. It won’t stop me.” His words are fierce, but there’s a tenderness in his tone, a protectiveness that wraps around you like a cloak. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in every detail—the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

You want to protest, to tell him that this is dangerous, reckless, that your lives are already teetering on the edge of a blade. But the words die on your lips as your eyes meet his, and in his gaze, you see the fire that has always burned between you. It is a flame that no amount of distance, no amount of secrecy or shame, could ever extinguish. It is a flame that burns brighter than the fever ravaging your body, brighter than the storm raging outside.

“I dreamed of you,” you admit softly, your voice barely a whisper. “Even in this fever... you were with me.”

Daeron’s expression softens, his thumb brushing against your temple where sweat clings to your skin. “I am always with you,” he murmurs. “Even when I’m not by your side. You know that.”

Your breath hitches, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, though whether it is from the fever or from the weight of his words, you cannot tell. You turn your head slightly, leaning into his touch as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

“How long can we keep doing this?” The question escapes you before you can stop it, and the weight of it hangs in the air between you. “How long before...?” You trail off, unable to finish the thought, because the answer is one you have both avoided for so long.

Daeron is silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he struggles with the same question. Then, with a deep breath, he leans closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. His breath is warm against your skin, and for a moment, the fever’s fire is forgotten.

“As long as it takes,” he says quietly. “Until the world burns, if need be.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, despite the fever, and you find yourself clinging to his hand with what little strength you have left. There is a recklessness in his declaration, a defiance that mirrors your own, and yet there is also something more—a vow, a promise made in the quiet of your fevered chamber, where no one but the two of you could hear it.

The storm outside grows louder, the wind howling against the windows as if the world itself is trying to break into your sanctuary. For a brief moment, the fire in the hearth sputters as a gust of wind snakes its way through the cracks in the stone. But Daeron’s presence remains steady, his hand never leaving yours.

You close your eyes again, letting the sound of his breathing lull you into a state of calm, even as the fever still simmers beneath your skin. “What will happen when he finds out?” you ask, your voice a fragile thread in the quiet.

“He already knows,” Daeron replies, his tone gentle but edged with a truth neither of you can escape. “He’s known for some time, even if he pretends not to. But knowing and doing something about it are two different things. For now, he’ll watch. He’ll wait.”

The thought sends a wave of unease through you, but you cannot deny the truth of it. Jacaerys has always been perceptive, and while he may not have confronted you directly until tonight, there is no doubt he has been aware of the bond between you and Daeron for far longer than he’s let on.

Still, you cannot bring yourself to regret it. Even now, with the fever pulling you under, with the storm raging around you and the threat of discovery looming ever closer, you do not regret the choices you made that led to this moment. The letters, the stolen glances, the nights where you met Daeron in secret—each one was a spark that ignited something far greater than either of you could have anticipated.

“Sleep now,” Daeron says, his voice soft, soothing. His hand cups your cheek, and for the briefest of moments, he presses a kiss to your fevered forehead. “I’ll stay with you until the fever breaks.”

You want to protest, to tell him that he’s risking too much by staying here, but your body is too weak, your mind too clouded by the fever. Instead, you let out a quiet breath, your hand still tangled with his, and you allow yourself to drift back into the darkness.

As you slip into unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is his voice, a soft murmur that lingers like a ghost in the room.

“I’ll always come back for you, Y/N. Always.”

[gabgabwrites]

GREEN EYED PSYCHO | Patrick Bateman

summary ⇝ Patrick wasn’t fond when he found out you were going to Dorsia with Paul, one of his least favourite people ever, so he decided he’d take things into his own hands to scratch that insatiable itch.

warnings ⇝ starts out with Paul like a lot of Paul, language, jealousy drinking, death, murder, gore, blood, literal psychos… reader is kinda ditzy, mdni

based off this ask

dead dove do not eat <- just in case.

please note this fic is triggering, if you cannot handle reading about literal murder happening before your very eyes, then this one isn’t for you! You have been warned.

Paul Allen had invited you to Dorsia, fucking Dorsia for dinner, and Patrick was livid. You and Patrick had a complicated relationship to say the least. You didn't have a label, yet. He was so drawn by your beauty then trapped by your insanity.

Patrick bit down on his bottom lip once you had left to go for this dinner, violent and gruesome thoughts flooded his mind. Yet here you sat, under the twinkling lights of Dorsia, its expensiveness you could barely touch.

Paul sat across from you, a charming smile on his pale, sharp face. He was gorgeous, yes, and he had on a well-tailored and no doubt expensive suit that accentuated his features. It was a dark black with blue undertones, double-breasted as well. His dark brown hair was smoothed back, like a wave of auburn.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said, raising his champagne glass and offering a suave smile.

"Thank you, Paul," you replied, raising your glass before taking a sip. The rich flavors, sweet yet bitter, swirled on your tongue before dipping into your throat.

"You're welcome," he responded smoothly, setting his glass down after drinking. His grey eyes scanned your figure, studying every detail about you. "That dress looks wonderful on you," he complimented. "Who's the designer?"

You batted your eyelashes, a giggle pouring from your lips. "McQueen," you said, your fingers flicking at the lush, pastel blue fabric.

Paul raised his brows slowly, his grey eyes lighting up. "Alexander McQueen?" He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "That's a fantastic designer. Very expensive as well."

"The one and only," you nodded. "It was a gift."

"From a past boyfriend?" Paul guessed, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips as he glanced down at the table to adjust his suit sleeve.

You shook your head. "Step-mother."

"Oh?" The smirk on Paul's face didn't disappear. In fact, it only grew as he propped his chin up on a fist. "Your step-mother?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his tone as he raised a brow.

"Yes, Paul, you know. The woman who married my father?"

"Yes, I'm aware of what a stepmother is," he responded with a chuckle. "But it's not very often that you hear of a stepmother buying her stepdaughter pricey gifts like McQueen."

"What can I say? We just have a great bond," you shrugged.

"That's wonderful to hear," he replied, taking another sip of his wine. Paul seemed to be enjoying himself tonight, eyeing you from across the table like a puma ready to pounce on its prey. "Any other designer pieces in your wardrobe?"

"Just a Hermes bag, but that's all for big brand names."

"Ah, Hermes," he leaned back in his booth, crossing his arms as the smirk on his face widened. "Another expensive brand. It seems your wardrobe is worth more than most people's annual salaries."

You snickered at his words. "Paul, may I ask why you invited me out to dinner?"

The smirk disappeared from Paul's face at your question, his face morphing into a look of nonchalance. He took a sip of his wine, setting the empty glass on the table. "I wanted to treat a pretty woman to an expensive dinner," he responded smoothly. "Is that wrong?"

"No, Paul. Not at all," you smiled, just as the waiter came to take your first order.

"Let's see," Paul grabbed the menu. It was made of brown leather and had golden letters etched into it, like an iron-branded pig, just luxurious. "I'll have your finest steak, and seasonal vegetables, and how about a side of the carbs too, and the lady will have the lobster with the hand-cut potato wedges, and a side of greens."

You didn't mind that Paul ordered for you. You just laced your fingers together and rested your chin on them, watching the waiter walk off with the menus.

"So, Paul," you began, trying to pierce through the polished veneer he always presented. "What have you been up to lately?"

He smiled, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Oh, the usual. Business meetings, networking events, a bit of travel here and there. How about you?"

"Not much. Just trying to keep up with life. It's been hectic," you replied.

Paul reached across the table and took your hand, his touch cool and firm. "You deserve a break. Maybe we could take a trip together sometime," he suggested, his voice low and intimate.

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, though you couldn't help but wonder about his true intentions. "That sounds lovely," you said, trying to keep your tone light.

The conversation continued, flowing easily despite the undercurrent of tension. Paul was a master of charm, effortlessly keeping you engaged with stories of his travels and business ventures. Yet, every so often, his eyes would darken, and you could sense something deeper lurking beneath the surface.

The waiter returned with your meals, placing the beautifully plated dishes in front of you. The lobster looked succulent, and the aroma of the steak made your mouth water.

"Bon appétit," Paul said, raising his glass once more.

"To a wonderful evening," you replied, clinking your glass against his.

As you ate, you couldn't shake the feeling that Paul was studying you, assessing your every move. It was both flattering and unnerving. You tried to focus on the delicious food, but your mind kept drifting back to Paul's enigmatic smile and piercing gaze.

Paul watched as you let your head roll back once you took a bite, a small moan left your lips, the lobster was buttery and fell apart in your mouth, it was silky and one of, if not, the best thing you've ever tasted. Your tongue darted out to lick the corner of your mouth, retrieving a small droplet of butter. "This is so..."

"Insufferable," Patrick grumbled, his fingers digging into the couch to fuck the white fabric in. A strand of his hair dangled over his forehead, out of place, imperfect, uncontrolled. That's how Patrick felt, he didn't feel in a lot of control.

He stood up to admire his handiwork, all couches and the floor were covered in white tarp. He fixed his red tie, straightening it, before walking to his kitchen. At the back, he had a display of artillery, each one shiny metal, and silky black.

The potatoes were just as good, crunchy golden and cooked to perfection on the outside, and soft and pillowy on the inside, tasting like garlic and thyme. "Mmm, why hadn't I come here sooner? Pat would love this place," you hummed.

"Pat?"

You blinked your eyes open and stared at Paul. "Yes, as in Patrick."

"Who's Patrick, and Patrick who?"

"Patrick. Patrick Bateman, we're sorta seeing each other," you dabbed the serviette on your bottom lip.

You watched as Paul's bottom teeth scraped the inside of his bottom lip in slight distaste. "And you didn't tell me? You're dating that asshole in my department?" His fingers curled around the polished silver wear.

"I didn't think it would matter, and Patrick's sweet, deep down. Plus, we're not even official."

Paul sighed. Paul's charming smile returned, though it was now tinged with something darker, a subtle edge that hadn't been there before. "I see. Well, I suppose everyone has their secrets," he said, his voice smooth but carrying an undertone of something you couldn’t quite place.

Back in his apartment, Patrick's mood was anything but relaxed. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the sleek, black countertop as he sipped a glass of scotch. The pristine apartment, with its minimalist design and high-end furnishings, felt like a cage tonight. He couldn't shake the image of you at dinner with Paul from his mind.

"Paul Allen," he muttered to himself, his voice low and dangerous. The name tasted bitter on his tongue. Paul was a rival, not just in business, but now in his personal life as well. The thought of you with Paul made his blood boil.

Patrick picked up a sleek, black knife, feeling the weight of it in his hand. The cold metal was comforting, a reminder of his power and control. He envisioned a hundred different ways to make Paul pay for his insolence, each scenario more violent than the last. But he knew he had to be careful, calculated. Paul was well-connected, and any rash actions could bring unwanted attention.

Setting the knife back down, Patrick took a deep breath, trying to calm the raging storm inside him. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the better of him. Not now. He needed a plan, something that would not only remove Paul from the picture but also solidify his own position.

As he pondered his next move, Patrick's thoughts turned back to you. You were the one bright spot in his otherwise bleak existence, the one person who made him feel something other than anger and emptiness. He couldn't let Paul take you away. He wouldn't.

You felt a flicker of discomfort. Paul's reaction seemed a bit too intense for something as simple as your dating life. Trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, you asked, "So, tell me more about your recent travels. Anywhere exciting?"

He leaned back, his expression softening slightly. "Actually, I just got back from a business trip in Tokyo. The city is incredible—so vibrant and full of life. I had meetings during the day, but the nights were my own to explore. The food, the culture, the energy—it's all so different from here."

"That sounds amazing. I've always wanted to visit Japan," you said, genuinely interested, hoping to keep the conversation light.

"You should. It's a place like no other," Paul said, his gaze softening as he recounted his experiences. "One night, I found this tiny sushi place off the beaten path. It was the best meal I've ever had. The chef was a master, each piece of sushi a work of art."

"Wow, that sounds incredible," you replied, imagining the scene. "I'd love to experience that."

"Maybe we can go together someday," Paul suggested, his eyes locking onto yours. There was a sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard.

"Maybe," you said, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. Despite his occasional intensity, there was something undeniably magnetic about Paul.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and you found yourself relaxing once more. The food, the ambiance, and Paul's charm all worked together to create an unforgettable evening. As you finished your meal, Paul signaled for the waiter and ordered a bottle of their finest dessert wine.

"You've really outdone yourself tonight, Paul," you said, raising your glass in a toast.

"To memorable nights," Paul replied, clinking his glass against yours. "And to more of them in the future."

You smiled, feeling a genuine connection with him despite the undercurrent of mystery that seemed to surround him. As the evening drew to a close, you both stepped out into the cool night air, the bustling sounds of the city wrapping around you.

"Let me walk you to your car," Paul offered, his hand lightly touching the small of your back.

"That would be nice," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch. You walked side by side, the conversation continuing effortlessly. As you reached your car, Paul turned to face you, his eyes intense.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," he said softly, his hand still resting on your back.

"Me too," you replied, your heart racing a little. "Thank you for dinner. It was amazing."

"Let's do this again soon," Paul suggested, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I'd like that," you said, smiling up at him. In the cool night, a vibrant sound cut the silence. Your phone buzzed away in your purse. You fished it out and pressed answer. "Hello?"

"Come to my apartment, now," Patrick demanded, his words were angry and a definite command, but his tone was steady. "Bring Paul."

"May I ask why?"

"You have ten minutes," Patrick hung up on you, leaving you to pout before turning back to Paul.

"Actually, would you mind coming with me?" you asked, gesturing towards your car with a sly smile. Paul, intrigued and slightly aroused by the sudden shift in the evening's tone, smirked back, his eyes glinting with curiosity and something else.

"Oh? Can't get enough of me? Sure, sweet thing, I'll go with you," you gave him a big smile as you unlocked the vehicle. Paul climbed into the passengers side.

It was a seven minute drive, before you pulled up to the fancy apartments. Paul practically cornered you in the elevator, eyes hungry as he stared at you, like a starved lion staring and a lonesome gazelle.

Patrick was no where to be found, the apartment was silent. "How about we sit? Hm?" You asked Paul as you walked over to the couch, throwing your purse on the armrest before sinking into the couch, growing at the slightly scratchy tarp, the floor was also covered, except with old newspapers and magazines.

"What's with the couches? Why are they covered?" Paul asked? Walking over as he took his blazer off, folding it over the couch before sitting down, knees knocking into yours.

"It's a fashion statement, I guess. Whiskey?" You asked, plucking a crystal glass off silver tray that Patrick had on the coffee table. "It's bourbon."

"I prefer Scotch, but yes," you poured him a glass, he took it before taking a sip, rich flavours dancing on his tongue. "It tastes cheap."

"Oh no, no. If there's one thing Patty doesn't like, is cheap alcohol," and suddenly, the drink tasted bitter on Paul's tongue, but he swallowed it down. You lay your head on your hands, your arm resting on the couch as you stared at Paul with a smile.

Paul shook his head, before placing the glass down. He looked at you, blue eyes sweltering, until his breath fanned your face. "You do look beautiful tonight, absolutely breathtaking."

His fingers brushed along the expanse of your thigh. His lips drawing nearer and nearer. Until footsteps were heard from around the house, nearing the two of you. Your lips pulled down in a small frown.

"What is Marcus Halberstram doing here?" Paul asked.

You frowned in confusion before turning to see. However, standing there was Patrick.

Paul had always thought Patrick was Marcus and Marcus was Patrick since they had the same job, dressed the same and went to the same barber.

Patrick was wearing a double breasted black suit, with a red tie neatly tucked into it, a white, mesh rain coat buttoned around his chest. Your eyebrows sunk in confusion as to why the unusual attire and was about to ask, when Patrick started to speak, taking swift strides as he walked over to the wall unit where he had a decent size collection of CDs. "You like Huey Lewis and the News?"

"They're okay," Paul spoke, before downing the rest of his drink and pouring another.

"Their early work was a little too New Wave for my taste. But then Sports came out in 1983, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically."

You watched Patrick ramble, pulling out a disc from a Huey Lewis and the News album and place it delicately in the CD player, 'Hip to be Square' started playing just as Patrick exited.

You turned to Paul, the newspapers under your feet crinkled at your actions. "Why is he here? I thought it was just you and I tonight?" Paul asked.

"I...it's his apartment. I'm sorry, I do hope you'd forgive me," with platonic motives, you placed a hand sweetly on his knee.

Paul chose not to ask why Marcus was in your house when you'd spoken of Patrick, instead he lifted a hand and cradled the smooth skin of your jaw, falling victim to your alluring gaze. "It's alright," his state darkened. "I can think of a few ways to forgive you."

"And how's that?" Your voice was soft and saccharine.

Patrick went to his bathroom and scooped up an axe in his grip. When his eyes settled onto you and Paul, so close together, in what looked like intimate moment, he was furious, anger bubbler under his skin but he plastered on a smile on his tanned skin, his loafers strode against the tiled floor as he swung the axe over his shoulder to rest on the bone.

“Hey, Paul?” Patrick’s voice broke the moment, Paul’s warmth shifted away from yours as he turned to Patrick, sheer horror burst on his features before blood, blood sprayed everywhere as Patrick let out a manic scream.

You shrieked, twisting yourself to get up from the couch. “Patrick! My dress! You’ve ruined my dress!” You gasped, the once pretty, soft blue was stained red, so was your check and a portion of your arm. “You know how hard it is to get blood out?”

Patrick grunted as he let his arms swing the axe into Paul’s limp body once more before chucking it to the side, chest thumping as he let out deep breaths like a savage beast, dressed in a tux. “We’ll get a new one.”

“But Patty, this was a gift from Anne, my step-mother,” you pouted, still frowning at the dirty fabric.

A vice grip found way on your chin, Patrick gripping the bone, forcing you to look at him. An angry storm swirled beneath his brown eyes. “I said we’ll get a fucking new one,” he spat before turning you around to face the very much dead Paul. “Look at him.”

You winced under his hold, staring at the body that still twitched from muscle memory.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Patrick, I didn’t mean—,” you rambled.

“I know,” Patrick sighed before his grip loosened and his arms were around you, your body pressing against his chest as he enveloped you in a hug from behind.

You spun around, no longer caring about the expensive dress and threw your arms around Patrick, a cheery smile spread across your blood coated face. “That was incredibly sexy.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, lifting a hand to your face where his thumb grazed your bottom lip, gathering both the red, slightly purple lipstick from your lips and the bright red blood. “I thought someone with a sick and twisted mind like you would this so.”

You just giggled before planting your lips firm on his, allowing yourself to taste his lips that were always minty, always fresh. You found yourself getting lost in the kiss, both easily forgetting the dead human on the living room floor.

“Mm, I love you, Patty,” you said in the kiss.

“And I love you more, princess,” the kissing slowly died down before you had to help Patrick squeeze Paul into a dustbin bag, holding his hand the whole time he chucked the bag into a dumpster.

“We should do this again!” You squealed.

Patrick let out a breath before looking at you, under the night sky illuminated by a distant street lamp, in the alley. His fingers brushed away some hair on your cheek that clung to the drying blood. “Anything for you.”

[deputy-sennaviste]

Trope Situations that I think would be fantastic with the Seeds

Enemies to lovers - Jacob. Picture this: Jacob pushing you/OC hard always. Snarling orders, merciless teasing, acting like he doesn't care if you're hurting or sick. But he actually does? You are feverish in front of him or bleeding and suddenly he is caring and protective. That behavior lingers even after you are better and slowly you start to show the same to him. Then it's a quiet moment, some tension, then a passionate kiss. Aaahhhhh~

Small Space Together - John. Oooh I love the idea of being stuck in a supply closet or something similar, chest to chest with John. He's snarky, talking about how you just couldn't wait to get close to him. You roll your eyes and shift and he's moaning softly with his head turned away. Now you have the upper hand. 😳 He's breathing hard, heart just slamming against his ribs as you move again, complaining like you don't realize what you're doing to him.

Not Enough Beds - Joseph. I LOVE this trope. Love love love it. Joseph would very likely offer to take the chair or the floor but you insist on sharing the bed. Or maybe it's the other way around and he insists you share. Either way, you are laying in bed with The Father and you turn your back to him to give you both some space but soon his chest is against you. Bare skin hot even through your shirt. He breathes softly, trying not to startle you and he has to fight the urge to wrap his arms around you.

Fake Dating - Faith. Listen. LISTEN TO ME. Faith would absolutely pretend to be your girlfriend if you asked. I see it like this. You walk up, nervous, and say "You're my girlfriend. Please. Just for a few minutes. We are dating, yeah?" And she'd smile and take your hand, replying "Of course we are, silly. I love you." Not an eyelash batted at the request. She'd press her body close, make eye contact, and play along easily. She'd be the best five minute girlfriend ever.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Portia who (like her cat) leaves hair everywhere she's been without realizing it

You bump into Julian in the street and can immediately tell he got a hug from her because there's a single strand of long, curly red hair attached to one of the buttons on his chest

Flying tackle-hugs often involve a stray lock tangling in your eyelashes

She brushes her hair morning and night and takes excellent care of it, but there's just so much of it that it goes everywhere. Pepi thinks the floating strands are fantastic plaything for pouncing on

(CW for another pitiful brainrot attempt at doodling)

[lunarbuck]

Jane!! I'm so excited for you and your 1.5k followers! Thanks for letting me be part of the things. In an effort to help you pick back up with BFB!Bucky, do you think we can see some sexy times? Maybe early on when they're still keeping it a secret?

I'm sorry i've made you wait like over a year for anything from this AU 😭 I hope you enjoy this!!!

moodboard is for vibes only, not what reader looks like

Thinking This Through

pairing: bfb!buck x f!reader (any race)

wc: 1.7k

summary: A secret night with Bucky (from his POV)

warnings: secret relationship, fluff, pet names [pretty girl, baby, boo bear], oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), swearing

a/n: this part takes place before part 2 so it's technically out of order!! it's also in bucky's pov which was fun :)))

series masterlist | au playlist | my masterlist | 1.5k sleepover Title is a lyric from the 1975's song I'm in Love With You

I catch her eye from across the bar and find myself smirking into my beer. No matter where she is, no matter how many people are in the room, I always manage to find her. It’s like she fucking calls to me, a siren singing her beautiful song to lure me in.

Well fuck it, I don’t care if she’s a siren. I want her all to myself. 

Some girl slides up next to me, getting way too close for comfort, and batts her long eyelashes at me. “You wanna buy me a drink?” She asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. I can tell she bleaches it too much; it looks fried. 

“Not really,” I reply, not caring to soften my tone for this girl. Maybe before I would’ve bought her one, maybe I would’ve entertained whatever this girl is trying to accomplish, but not anymore. Not since Becca’s gorgeous best friend turned my world upside down.

“You sure?” I feel the girl’s long, manicured fingers squeeze my arm, and I have to bite back the urge to tell her I’m taken. We’re not telling people yet. Neither of us are ready for the consequences of Becca finding out. 

“He’s sure,” Steve says, patting me on the back. The girl rolls her eyes as Steve shoos her away, but I don’t bother watching her leave. My eyes are back on the only girl I want to see tonight and every night.

She smiles at me brightly before her friend snags her attention again. Steve orders us another round as I text her. I want her with me tonight; I don’t care where we end up. I just want us together.

Bucky: You got plans after this, pretty girl?

Boo Bear: hm… i’m not sure yet

Bucky: Boo Bear? Really?

Boo Bear: i’m surprised it took you this long to notice

Bucky: anyways, i’ve decided you have plans we’re going home together in 20 minutes. 

Boo Bear: becca’s hanging out with ethan tonight, she said she won’t be home until after her class tomorrow morning

Bucky: perfect, see you in a few, boo bear

I try not to smile too hard at my phone, especially with Steve standing right next to me. He’s caught me practically kicking my feet while I text her way too many times. It’s becoming a problem at this point. 

Steve and I shoot the shit for a bit, and I pay my tab, shooting off another text to my girl, letting her know to meet me across the street. A few minutes later, I see her exit the crowded bar. She looks fucking fantastic, good enough to eat. Her jeans are tight in all the right places, and her top shows off enough skin to make my mouth water.

I never get over how perfect she looks, no matter what she wears or where we are. I don’t know how I held off for so long; I’m addicted now. 

“Hey, boo bear,” I whisper once she’s close enough. I tug her close and breathe her in, pressing a kiss to her neck. 

“Hey, Buck.”

The second the door shuts behind us, I’m on her. I press her against the wall, loving how soft she is against my body. Her hands grip my shirt, nails gently scraping against my chest. I kiss her deeply, tasting her.

“You’re gonna kill me, Buck,” she whispers, nipping at my lip. I dip my head, kissing along the soft skin of her neck as my hands trace down her body. I hook my arms under her legs and pick her up, wrapping her legs around my waist. 

“You got it all wrong, pretty girl. You’re gonna be the death of me.” I walk us to the couch and sit, positioning her on my lap, and she immediately grinds her hips against me, drawing a groan out of me. 

I tug at the bottom of her shirt until she lifts her arms, letting me pull it over her head, and I bite back a moan at the sight of her in just her bra and tight jeans. My lips immediately attack her collarbone, biting and nipping a trail down to her perfect tits.

She watches me, lips parted, as my hands find their way to her back, undoing the clasp on her bra. When I pull the garment away, she shivers, and I practically come in my goddamn pants. 

“I love when you look at me like that,” she whispers, fingers tugging at my hair. I take one of her nipples in my mouth, running my tongue over the bud. She gasps, gripping me tighter. 

While I tease her with my mouth, my left hand traces her skin, the metal cool against her heated body, and my right finds the button on her jeans.

“Pants. Off, Now,” I tell her.

“Ooh, Caveman Bucky is coming out to play,” she teases, standing on shaky legs to strip her jeans off. I shift until I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, my eyes level with her belly, and gaze up at her. 

She’d never believe her if I told her, but she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. 

I run my fingers along the band of her panties; she’s ticklish there, before I tug them down her legs. “You’re wearing too many clothes, Buck,” she tells me, reaching for my shirt. I let her pull it off of me, my jeans following soon after, and before I know it, I have her pressed into the couch with my head between her legs. 

I love the way she grips my hair, showing me exactly what she wants while I eat her out. My hips grind against the couch, seeking any sort of friction I can find. I work her up with my tongue and fingers, desperate to feel her come.

Her face twists up, and she makes these beautiful breathy sounds, and I know she’s close. “Come on, baby, come for me,” I practically grunt, circling her clit the way she likes.

She comes with my name on her lips, and I can’t help but smile, knowing I’m the one that gets to do this to her, the one that gets to have her like this. I shift off the couch and pick her up, carrying her to her room. 

I settle her onto the bed, kiss her until she’s breathless one more time, and run out into the main room to grab our clothes. We can never be too careful. Once I’m back, I pounce on her. I’m starving when it comes to my girl. I can never get enough.

“Please, Bucky,” she whines when I settle myself between her legs. She can feel how much I want her, how badly I’m aching for her, but I need her to beg a little more.

“Come on, baby,” I whisper. She knows what I want her to say.

“Fuck, Bucky, please fuck me.” I grin and sit up, watching her writhe on the bed. I fucking love her like this.

“You want me to fuck your pretty pussy?” I ask her, running my thumb over her sensitive clit. 

“Please, please, please,” she chants, giving in to the feeling. 

“Your wish is my command, baby.” I line my cock up with her and slowly press in, gritting my teeth at how tight she is. Once I’m fully inside her, I don’t move slow; I don’t give her much of a warning before I set a quick, deep pace.

I kiss her all over, needing to feel her everywhere. Her hands grip my back, scratching her nails against my skin, and I love that I’ll probably have marks tomorrow. Steve’ll probably give me shit, but I can’t wait. 

I lose myself in fucking her, in pouring myself into the beautiful girl below me. She’s blissed out, loving the pleasure I give her. I press deeply inside of her, making her moan. She clenches around me, and I know she’s close again.

I help her turn over, lifting her hips into the air. She settles her upper body onto the mattress, and I have to groan at how perfect she looks like this. Gripping her hips, I press back into her and fuck her, my dick hitting deeper inside her in this position. 

She’s a bumbling mess, moaning incoherently, and a sense of pride bubbles up in me. I know I won’t last much longer, so I reach around and find her clit again, bringing her back up to her peak.

“Come on, pretty girl.” She presses her hips against me, begging me to keep going. “I know you wanna come again; you wanna come all over my dick, don’t you?” She nods even though her face is pressed into the mattress.

“Yes, Bucky.”

“Then come for me, baby. I wanna see you come on my cock.” I fuck her harder, picking up the pace on her clit, and a few moments later, she comes hard, sending me over the edge right along with her. 

Together, we collapse onto the bed, and I pull her close, needing the skin to skin contact. I know I need to get up and grab a towel so I can clean her up, but right now, this is where I need to be. I need to be wrapped up in my girl.

As we’re catching our breath, I hear the front door click open, and the familiar sound of my sister’s voice rings loudly through the apartment. I roll my eyes as I stand, looking for my boxers. I look over at my girl and see her frantically searching for her phone. When she grabs it, she shows me a text from Becca saying that since Ethan’s roommate is home, they’re coming back here.

I stifle a laugh; we always have shit luck with this stuff. We settle back into bed and wait for Becca and Ethan to find their way into Becca’s room, but in the meantime, I enjoy cuddling with my beautiful girl.

I want to go public. I want to tell Becca. I hate all this secret stuff, even though it’s fun sometimes. Hopefully, she feels the same. I press a kiss to her forehead as she scrolls through her various social media apps and make sure she knows just how much I like being here with her.

please message me to be added to a taglist. must be 18+

general tags: @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @emi11ie @paulasocean @silverfire475 @lovingchoices14 @nekoannie-chan @late-to-the-party-81 @chibijusstuff @midnightramyeoncravings @wickidlady @buckyb-stan @adoreyouusugar

everything bucky tags: @peaches1958 @prettylittlepluviophile @writerwrites @w0nderw0mansw0rld @hawsx3 @meetmeatyourworst @harrysthiccthighss @goldylions @late-to-the-party-81 @luxeavenger @cloudyfeelin @searchf0rtheskyline @keliiiiiiii @urmom4130

series tags: @peaches1958 @prettylittlepluviophile @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @enchantedbarnes @writerwrites @beefybuckrrito @thatblackravenclaw @cloudyfeel @broco8 @searchf0rtheskyline @itsashleektchm @emmabarnes

[ikeromantic]

Ikesen Boys React to a Tattooed MC pt 5

Thank you again to @otomedad for this fantastic idea ^_^ This one has Kennyo, Motonari, and Kicho! Approx. 2300 words of tattoo and MC appreciation!

Kennyo

Kennyo stops, his mouth opening and then closing again. It isn’t often that you get to see the abbot at a loss for words. You file the expression away to savor later. 

“What is it,” you ask, gentle laughter in your voice. You know what it is, of course. Though you hadn’t expected quite this reaction. It’s really quite precious.

“Is that -” His gravelly voice gives out and he takes a moment to clear his throat. “Is that a buddha?” He gestures to your bare shoulder. 

You glance at the tattoo and suppress a grin. “Oh! No, this is a portrait of my auntie.” 

Kennyo’s eyebrows rise and a small divot forms in between. “Your auntie?”

The image is clearly an Amitābha Buddha surrounded by the petals of a lotus flower. While you aren’t the type to randomly tattoo religious iconography, the buddha always meant something special to you. Seeing your ink brings back memories of copying out sutras and meditating with your grandmother. The peace and serenity, the promise of better things . . . but you can’t help yourself teasing the abbot. 

“Mmm. Did I say auntie? Maybe it’s my uncle. What do you think?” You look back at him, entertained by the series of emotions crossing his face. Some find Kennyo hard to read, but you’ve learned his little quirks. The slight shift of his lips or brows, the depths of his grey eyes. 

Kennyo crosses the distance between you and peers at your tattoo closely. His eyelashes brush your skin just a breath before his lips follow. “I think you’re teasing me. Wicked woman.” The air between you thickens with tension from the intensity of his gaze and the subtle humor in his voice. 

“Wicked?” You turn to face him, your eyes wide and pretending at innocence. 

His eyes crinkle at the corners from the wide smile that lights up his harsh features and turns them soft and kind. “You mock me.”

Your cheeks grow warm under his regard. The gentle admonition of his words leaves you feeling a tiny bit guilty. “Ok, yes. It’s not a family member.” You look away, trying to think of how best to explain the tattoo, what it means to you. Why you got it done. Honest expression is hard, especially with someone like Kennyo. 

His rough thumb brushes your cheek. “You need not explain yourself.” His fingertips drift along the curve of your neck to brush the inked skin of your shoulder. “It is beautiful. Unexpected. Like you.”

You cannot help the shiver of pleasure that runs through you at his touch. He is so decently indecent that it is maddening. “I want you to understand though,” you reply, and pull yourself together. “I got it a few years after my grandmother died. She - she wouldn’t have approved of a tattoo but . . . I wanted something special. A way to remember her, and the things she brought to my life. Faith and peace and . . . just that feeling I would get, at the temple with her.”

Kennyo nods, and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Admirable intent.” 

“Do you really like it?” You can’t help the way your insecurity infects your words. You don’t often open up to anyone, preferring to deflect and joke. 

“I do. Though I wonder if it is heretical to find you so . . . intoxicating.” 

You glance over your shoulder to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes sends another shiver through you. “I should probably -” you gesture toward the door and all the work awaiting both of you on the other side.

“Probably,” he agrees, pulling you into his arms.

Motonari

Your head breaks the surface of the water with a splash. You splutter and gag, spitting out the salty taste of the sea as you try to get your bearings. None of which is helped by the smirking laughter of a certain pirate as he bobs in the water nearby. 

“I really hate you sometimes,” you mutter, glaring at him from under the ruins of your wet hair. The weight of your wet kimono is pulling you down, so you wriggle out of it. 

Motonari grabs your floating clothes. “Don’t much care how you feel right now, princess. We gotta swim to shore.” 

“Obviously,” you huff. “But I’m pretty sure we could have taken one of your little boats. You didn’t have to throw me overboard.”

He chuckles. “‘Course not. That part was for fun.”

You sigh, realizing your glare is getting you nowhere. “Fine.” You start for shore with Motonari at your side. Despite saying he didn’t care, you can feel his gaze on you as he stays by your side until your feet touch the sand. And once you arrive, he guides you over to a shady spot to rest. 

“Have a sip o’ this.” Motonari holds out a flask.

“What is it?” You reach for the proffered drink. “Rum?” Afterall, pirates drink rum, right?

“Aguardente de medronho. Try it.” 

Just as your hand reaches the flask, Motonari grabs your arm, gloved fingers wrapping around your wrist. “What’s that, princess?” 

You instinctively pull back, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he turns your arm to look at the inner side. You realize he must have noticed your tattoo, small as it is. There at the crook of your elbow is a line in the shape of a wave. Easy to overlook, as you intended. Something for you, not to share. 

“Would you let go?” You pull again, but to no avail.

Motonari squints at the design, leaning close. “Didja steal something and get caught?”

“What? No!” You can’t help the horrified expression on your face. “I’m not a criminal!”

His gloved fingertip traces the delicate lines and whorls of the wave. The sensation is oddly intimate, and you feel a rush of unexpected warmth. “Nothin’ wrong with being a thief. It’s the getting caught part. Disappointin’.”

“Motonari! I didn’t get caught. I paid for that tattoo. On purpose. From an artist!” 

He turns his head to regard your expression, a playful smirk hiding in the corners of his lips. You realize right then that he’s teasing you. “Huh. I’m tempted to believe ya. Your head’s too full of flowers to be a criminal mind.” 

You find yourself pulled into his garnet gaze, unable to look away. He’s so close, and you are suddenly very aware of how little clothing you have on, and how little it conceals when its sopping wet. You are half naked on a beach with a mad pirate that thinks he owns you. And instead of being afraid or angry, you are enjoying the banter. 

“What’s the matter? All them flowers getting in the way of talking?” The smirk breaks free, turning into a broad, carefree smile. 

“N-no!” You take a breath and look away. “Just trying to find the smallest words I can use to explain a tattoo to you.”

Motonari laughs again, the sound a pleasant and low. “I’ve seen plenty of tattoos. Just never one on a woman.”

“Well, where I come from it’s not uncommon.” You glance back at him and realize he hasn’t moved. If anything, he seems even closer now. 

“Huh. So why’d you get one?” 

You nod, trying to gather your thoughts. Motonari is so frustratingly distracting. It isn’t fair that he is so pretty. And to be honest, you’d rather think about that than explain your tattoo. But he asked.

“I . . . umm. I went through some rough times. Me and my dad. There were times after mom died that I - I felt like we would never be happy. That -” You swallow, remembering the feelings of helplessness. The sense that there was no point to anything. Waking up and just wishing you were still asleep because it hurt to be awake. 

Motonari’s thumb strokes the side of your arm, far more gentle a gesture than you would have expected from the brash pirate. 

“A-anyway, I wanted to remind myself that storms come and go. Something small and just for me, that I would always have. So I could look at it when I feel hopeless and just remember that this will pass and things will get better.” You clear your throat, trying to pretend telling him this is no big deal. Hoping the dampness in your eyes doesn’t give you away. 

“Huh.” 

You catch his gaze again and there is something unexpectedly soft in the scarlet depths of his eyes. The smirk has fallen away, and his lips part as if he is about to speak. Instead, Motonari lets out a slow breath, and then he looks away. For a long moment, neither of you says anything.

There is tension in the silence between you, but also a sense of comfort. A few breaths to give you a chance to get a hold of your emotions. To relax, held closer to the pirate captain than ever before. 

“So . . . anyway, umm, should we keep moving?” You swallow, hoping to move on to a less emotional topic.

He lets go of you and takes a swig from the flask. “To gettin’ through storms.”  He holds it out to you and this time you take it. 

The liquor heats on its way down your throat, the slight bitterness lingering on your tongue. 

Kicho

“Aaah!” You let out a surprised shout as your door slides open. Your kimono is only half on and it’s still dark outside your shuttered windows. You struggle to pull it on as you turn around to see who invaded your room at this ungodly hour. 

Kicho stands in the doorway, his light green eyes almost glowing in the dim lantern light. His jaw is set in a familiar frown, though you aren’t sure why. 

“Sorry for shouting,” you murmur, trying to quickly tie your kimono shut. 

He ignores your apology. “Is that a tattoo?”

You blink, confused for a moment before you realize he must have spotted the ink on your shoulder blades. “Oh. Umm. I’m not a criminal or anything.” You swallow, feeling the full force of his regard as he crosses the room to close in on you. 

“I did not suggest you were. Yet.” He raises one, perfectly arched brow. “Let me see it.”

You nod, realizing a refusal would not look good about now. “So, if I can ask, why did you come to get me? Do you . . . normally wake the maids?”

His response is a soft, impatient sniff. A dismissal of your question as silly. “Stop delaying.”

With a sigh, you lower the back of your kimono again to show your upper back. Three sunflowers cluster just below the nape of your neck, spreading their bright petals over your shoulder blades. “See? Clearly not irezumi kei.” You start to pull your kimono back up, but his cool hand on your shoulder stops you.

“These are . . . I haven’t seen tattoos like this since -” You feel the brush of his hand along your spine, and the accompanying shiver isn’t from the cold. 

“They are common where I’m from. More or less.” You turn your head to see his expression. Is he suspicious, you wonder. But his gaze is softer than you’ve seen since coming to his manor, his lips curved in a smile more sensual than cynical. 

Kicho’s hand rests between your shoulders as if trying to grasp the inked blossom. “And where is that? There is no village with a horishi so skilled.” His eyes snap to yours, the gentleness gone behind an icy wall. 

You can’t tell him the truth, but a lie might get you in as much trouble. “It’s, umm, I . . .” Panicked, you try to look away to give yourself a moment to think.

His other hand catches your chin, holding your head still. “Where?”

“I - I told you before. A small village. It’s not important. I didn’t get it there. A nanban trader did it for me here, in Sakai. Because I - I saw one like it and I thought it was pretty.” You swallow, unsure if he’ll buy it. 

Kicho’s eyes narrow as he studies your expression. “A nanban trader?”

You realize that you need to say something to derail this line of questioning. Your eyes go wide. “Does it look bad? I was so worried and since it’s on my back . . . but I thought . . .” Your panic helps bring a damp teariness to your eyes and a genuine worry to your voice. 

“It -” He looks down at the tattoo again. “It is very lovely. On you.” His voice carries an unexpected gentleness, and you feel the touch of his finger tracing the line of your jaw. “Lovely.”

The touch and his words bring heat to your face, and you feel your pulse take off at a gallop. You remind yourself again that Kicho is the enemy, but it’s hard to keep that at the forefront of your thoughts in this oddly intimate moment. “Thank you.”

“Why did you get this? Merely for the look of it?”

You didn’t particularly want to have this discussion, but he’s asked and you see no harm in admitting the reason. “Well . . . someone told me this flower means admiration. And that three of them together are a - a confession. Of love.” You can feel the heat in your cheeks as you speak, though you aren’t sure if it’s because of how close he is, or what you’re saying. “The colors and type of sunflowers give them additional layers of meaning but . . . I got them to remind myself I am loved. And that I love myself.” 

“You are . . . a strange woman,” he says after a moment. “And we are late. Finish dressing and meet me at the entrance.” Despite the sharp words, he seems reluctant to let you go, only doing so when you step away. 

“I’ll see you there? It won’t take me a minute.” You hurriedly pull up the kimono and finish tying it off. 

He nods, still focused intently on you. “Don’t dally.” His gaze flits to your now covered ink. “And don’t be ashamed of something you should that has such meaning and beauty.”

[queenofsquids]

I feel incredibly guilty as if I'm cheating on the Candy Light Up Talker head. But I found a bobblehead that has a profile with a chin as well as fun sculpting. (Look at those crunchy stitches!)

And here's the thing, I need my dolls to be easy to photograph or I never take them out. The Candy Talker is extremely difficult for me, mostly cause whoever modeled her to fit the holder part seems to have cut her dang chin off (and the tip of her nose).

The bobblehead has all her own problems. Namely a gaping hole where the spring went in. And no headcap since I cracked the glued-on hair part off (huge thanks to Adam for getting it apart enough that I could wedge our biggest screwdriver in there).

For that gaping neckhole I've done some filling with Apoxie sculpt this morning and need to wait another 12hrs to finish curing.

Now that made her quite heavy already. I was tentatively planning to make a headcap in Apoxie too, but now I'm considering some lighter options.

The Candy Light Up head was such a flawless mod for stringing onto a body. Just super serendipitous structure to work with, which made poseability fantastic in the end. I'm not sure how this bobblehead will come out.

I also did a lot of carving to get the sculpted eyelashes off and I'm not sure how badly it will show after I paint. I did my best but even sanding needles seemed to just run out of tooth against her immediately. I had such high hopes for using them for the first time, too! Anyway, what's left is a bit hamburgered.

I thought I was completely out of gas for this project but somehow keep finding the drive to go a little further. If I stall out before finishing this head, I guess I'll always have Candy Talker to fall back on.

[mouwrites]

Hello, I was wondering if you could do like a fic about the future where Lloyd and fem reader are getting married? Please.

Sure thing! I tried to keep descriptions pretty vague so that y'all can imagine your special day however you like. Also some Nya content in here bc we can never have enough of her <333 okay I'll shut up now

Word count: 1k

Ninjago - Your Wedding Day with Lloyd

You leaned in closer to the mirror, turning your head this way and that, scrutinizing every inch of your face. Pursing your lips anxiously, you focused so hard on your own reflection that you didn’t see Nya approaching from behind you.

“Here,” she said, startling you. She placed her fingers under your chin, turning your head so you were face-to-face. She cocked her head as she examined you. Then, with a smile, she plucked a stray eyelash off your cheek. Holding it up to your lips, she waited for you to blow it off.

You puffed, launching the eyelash into obscurity. 

“Did you make a wish?”

You nodded.

“What was it?”

With a coy smirk you turned back to the mirror. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

“Hmm… did you wish that you won’t have a wardrobe malfunction?” She tugged at your clothing, making sure everything was fitting as it should. You remembered going out with her, buying the clothes that you were to be married in. How your heart soared when you saw yourself in them for the first time. If you were flying then, you were floating in space now. With each miniscule adjustment Nya made, your image in the mirror somehow became even more perfect; no, it surpassed perfection. 

“Thanks,” you said as she gave one last tug on the fabric near your waist. “But that wasn’t my wish.”

“Did you wish away your pre-marriage jitters?”

You looked at the ceiling, chewing your cheek thoughtfully as you assessed your own feelings. Your reflexive response was “I don’t have jitters,” but you slowly realized that you did have jitters. The fluttery feeling in your stomach wasn’t just excitement. You were afraid, too.

What if things went wrong? What if you had a wardrobe malfunction, or you tripped while walking down the aisle, or if you accidentally said “I don’t” or—oh. Oh no. What if this was all a mistake? What if you were left at the altar, or abandoned on your honeymoon? What if one of you wanted a divorce after two weeks? A year? Ten years?

The image of your soon-to-be husband flashed in your mind suddenly. The vision of him in his neat tuxedo, smiling, telling you it would all be okay, chased your worries away. Funny how he could comfort you even when he wasn’t in the room. Yes, he was perfect for you. And, as he told you almost too often, you were perfect for him. You two were made for each other; nothing else mattered.

With a sigh, you felt your muscles (which you hadn’t realized were tense) relax. “Didn’t wish for that, either. One more guess.”

“Really? Ooh, I’ve got it!” She placed her head endearingly on your shoulder, making eye contact with your reflection. “You wished for a long and happy marriage.”

You clucked your tongue, shaking your head. “I don’t need to wish for that.”

Nya’s eyes sparkled. You knew she was a sucker for romance; she must’ve been absolutely feasting these past few months. But her obsession with your wedding wasn’t a one-sided relationship; actually, she had proven to be a fantastic planner. There wasn’t one detail she didn’t think of, and she wouldn’t settle for anything less than fairytale-esque sublimity. Without her, this day wouldn’t be the happiest day of your life.

“Humph,” she straightened herself, putting her hands on her hips. “Well then, you’ll have to tell me after your honeymoon. Now come on, I hear the music starting.” She took your hand eagerly and hurried you out of the room.

The aisle was lined with arrangements of your favorite flowers, their scent filling the venue. You felt your cheeks darken as everyone stood, their eyes fixated on you. For a second you were frozen there, bouquet in hand, air trapped in your lungs. You felt a little silly as you realized that these were all your friends, your family, the ones most important to you. The looks in their eyes—proud, overjoyed, a little misty—brought a smile to your face.

You proceeded slowly, the (f/c) petals on the ground getting crushed under your pristine shoes. You weren’t looking at your shoes, though. You looked each guest in the eye as you passed, doing everything you could not to cry as they shot you the most heartfelt looks.

You finally made it to the altar. Lloyd held his hand out. You felt your heart skip a beat when you took it, as if it were the first time you’d touched.

You remembered that day. You remembered the first time you held hands, the first time you kissed, the day he asked you to be his partner—and, more recently, his spouse. 

He looked just as beautiful as the day you met. Thick platinum hair framing his angular face, green eyes brimming with wonder, he was your dream boy. And the way he smiled… Now you were really trying not to cry. He gave your hands a reassuring squeeze as the officiator read his script. You smiled back at him, blinking your tears away and preparing to say your vows.

He was first. “I do.”

The words hung in the air, surely keeping the audience in suspense, but all you felt was bliss as you waited for your chance to echo him. “I do.”

“You may now kiss.”

The audience erupted into applause as your lips crashed together. Your eyebrows jumped high on your forehead when Lloyd surprised you by dipping you low, prolonging the moment.

You broke the kiss, bursting into laughter. You stood there for a few more seconds, holding each other’s faces, laughing, foreheads pressed together. 

As your laughter died down but the audience still hooted and hollered, Lloyd whispered, for your ears only: “I can’t believe how lucky I am. How beautiful you are. I’m going to treasure you forever.”

“As I, you.” You brought your lips together again, delight flowing through you electrically. 

But what about your wish? I wish that this will truly be the happiest day of my life. Well, it’s safe to say that it came true.

Thank you for this wonderful request!! Also, thanks for reading! Take care of yourselves my flowers <33

(divider by saradika)