#and those are supposed to be flies around her

[leavemetoplaythesims]

a pond creature (x)

before:

[tootiecakes234]

Katsuki’s POV:

I fucking hate myself. I was never supposed to become this type of sick idiot.

But here I am, across the room staring at her because she’s laughing, and it’s one of those full body laughs. She’s not trying to cover her face or stifle it at all. Sometimes she gets self conscious about her laugh being too weird or too loud but she couldn’t give two fucks about that right now and I physically cant tear my eyes away from her.

I’m aware that Eijirou is talking to me, but I’m not hearing anything he’s saying. It’s not until Denki’s face pops up in my line of vision that I finally snap out of what ever fucking trance the temptress had put on me.

“Baku-bro you should really close your mouth before something flies in it.” Denki says with a goofy grin on his face.

“Yea well, you should close your mouth before I shove my fist in it dumbass.”

“Hey, leave him alone. He’s in love.” And Eiji bumps his shoulder up against me. “It’s super manly.”

“Do you idiots ever shut up and mind your business?” I shout because I hate being called out about her. I swear I’m trying my best to not follow her around like a lost puppy but all that does is have me tracking her around with me eyes like a goddamn stalker.

“Dude, no one is saying it’s a bad thing. She’s super hot. Sometimes you can’t help but stare at her.” Denki says with a smirk on his face. He’s goading me. “ but you know what’s better than staring… touching. I might just run over and give her a big old hu- woah dude. I’m kidding calm down.”

My hands grabbing the front of his shirt and I can feel the sparks about to start flying from my hand. Then I feel a soft hand on my forearm and the effect she has on me is immediate.

I cut my eyes over and catch her smiling at me and just like that the sparks stop because I’ll be damned if I ever do anything that might end up hurting her.

“Kats… what have we said about hurting our friends….. they may be stupid but that doesn’t give us a right to kick their asses right???” She’s speaking slowly like she’s trying to talk down a jumper.

“Yea Kats. Don’t beat up your friends.” Denki’s smug voice caused my hand with his shirt to clench a little tighter.

“Denki dude. You’ve gotta cut it out before he murders you.” Eiji says that like he’s trying to help but the asshole is also snickering.

Then the hand on my forearm slides up my arm, across my chest and ends up wrapping around my neck and that’s it. She’s got me.

“Come on bub. I’m hungry, let’s go get food. Leave the evil men to cause chaos amongst themselves.” Then she’s pulling me away and all I can do is follow.

I turn my head quick tho and shout, “watch your back dunts face. I still owe you an ass whoopin!”

“Yea yea lover boy.” And his friends chuckle behind him.

And that’s what i am now isn’t it? It’s what she’s turned me into. A man so deep in fucking love that all she had to do was say the word and I’d fall to my fucking knees for her.

This shit is so embarrassing🙄

Katsuki Masterlist

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[p0orbaby]

It Doesn’t Get Any Easier

summary: you’re the new physio, tasked to help leah one on one with her recovery; but lines start to blur the longer you spend with one another

warnings: none

a/n: i enjoyed this one. also trying out a slightly different style so let me know what you think

word count: 2.8k

-

Leah comes in every morning just after 7:30, always a little earlier than the rest of the team—well, what’s left of the team—who roll in around 8, give or take. You start noticing her patterns by the second week. It’s not intentional. It’s just that she’s hard not to notice. The way she slips into the room quietly, moving like a shadow, like she’s trying not to be seen even though she’s Leah Williamson and there’s something impossible about Leah Williamson going unnoticed. You’re not sure she’s aware of it, or maybe she is, maybe it’s part of the act, something people like her learn over time—how to balance being seen and unseen simultaneously. Either way, she always acknowledges you. It’s a brief nod or a soft “Morning” that comes out like a sigh. But it’s there. And you nod back because it’s professional, it’s polite.

You’re the new physio, brought in because someone higher up decided that ACLs are the new pandemic, and Arsenal’s hit hard by it. One by one, players dropping like flies—tears, rips, stretches that aren’t supposed to stretch. Someone needed to focus on rehab, on these slow and tedious one-on-one sessions. So, here you are. Your life has become a revolving door of knee braces, resistance bands, ultrasound machines, and cold compression therapy. A strange, repetitive kind of intimacy.

Leah is assigned to you. "Take care of her," they say. She’s a captain. She’s the face. There’s an unsaid urgency that comes with her, an invisible asterisk by her name. You feel it in every briefing, every passing mention of her progress. Everyone’s waiting for her return. Waiting for her to be fixed.

Your first session with her is awkward. Stilted. You’re overly conscious of how she sits, her knee elevated, her eyes on the ceiling, like she’s counting the tiles instead of looking at you. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and that weird plastic-y scent that medical equipment always has. You ask her the standard questions: pain level, range of motion, any stiffness. She answers with one-word responses, tight-lipped. There’s a distance between you that you can’t quite figure out if it’s professional or personal. Maybe both.

-

Weeks pass, and the routine becomes muscle memory. You know when to push and when to pull back. How to make her laugh, how to coax her into stretching just a little more without her getting defensive. You start to notice the little things about her. Like how she always wipes her hands on her shorts after you adjust the brace on her leg, or how she clicks her tongue when she’s frustrated, a soft noise that barely registers unless you’re paying attention, which you are. You’re always paying attention to Leah.

It’s in the middle of a session that things shift. You’re guiding her through a series of exercises—balance work, stuff that’s boring but essential—and she’s sweating, biting her lip as she focuses on not wobbling. You’re right there, hands out, ready to catch her if she stumbles. She doesn’t, but the proximity is there. Too close, maybe. Your fingers brush her waist as you correct her form, and she inhales sharply. You freeze, but she doesn’t move. Neither do you.

"Is this okay?" you ask, your voice lower than usual, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the weight of her stare, those sharp blue eyes locking onto yours.

"Yeah," she says, but her voice sounds strained, like she’s not sure it’s the right answer. She’s not looking at you anymore, her focus now on the floor, her hands gripping the sides of the bench like she needs to anchor herself. The room feels smaller, the air thick.

You pull back, step away, putting space between you, but it doesn’t feel like enough. You can still feel the echo of her skin under your fingers, the heat of her proximity. You clear your throat, force a smile. "Let’s take five”

She nods, doesn’t say anything, just grabs her water bottle and takes a long drink, her throat working, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck. You turn away, pretend to be adjusting something on the ultrasound machine even though it’s perfectly fine, just to give yourself something to do, something that isn’t thinking about how her skin felt under your hands.

-

The next time around is more tense. There’s an unspoken tension now, like a line has been crossed, or maybe it hasn’t, but it’s close. You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every brush of skin. Leah doesn’t mention it, but there’s a change in her too. She flirts, subtly at first—offhand comments, jokes that land just a little too close to something more. You laugh, play along, because it’s harmless. It’s nothing. Except it’s not.

You catch yourself watching her more. The way her muscles ripple under her skin as she moves, the way her lips part when she’s concentrating, how her eyes flick to you when she thinks you’re not looking. You wonder if she notices you doing the same. You wonder if she feels it too—this thing simmering between you that’s becoming harder to ignore.

One day, after a session, she lingers. The rest of the team has filtered out of the gym, and it’s just the two of you, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound.

"Thanks for today," she says, her voice soft. She’s sitting on the edge of the bench, her knee still wrapped in the brace, but she looks more relaxed than she has in weeks. There’s something in her eyes, something you can’t quite read, and it makes your chest tighten.

"It’s my job," you say, but the words feel hollow. You’ve been telling yourself that for weeks now, trying to convince yourself that this is just work, that this is just another injured player, another knee to fix. But it’s not. You’re not sure when it stopped being just that, but it has.

"Is it, though?" she asks, and her voice is lighter now, teasing, but there’s an edge to it. A challenge.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. "What do you mean?"

She stands, slowly, her movements careful, deliberate. She’s close to you now, too close again, and you don’t step back this time. "I think you know what I mean," she says, her eyes locked on yours, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous.

You don’t have an answer, or maybe you do but you don’t trust yourself to say it out loud. The air between you crackles with something electric, something that feels inevitable.

She leans in, just a fraction, and you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You could close the distance. You could kiss her, right here, right now, and no one would know. It would be easy. Too easy.

But you don’t.

Instead, you step back. You force a smile. "We should stick to the plan. Don’t want to push the knee too hard too soon”

It’s a cop-out, and you both know it. The shift in her expression is almost imperceptible, but you catch it—the brief flicker of disappointment before she masks it with a shrug.

"Right. The knee," she says, her tone casual, but the tension is still there, hanging between you like a thin thread ready to snap. She doesn’t push it, though. Instead, she grabs her bag, slings it over her shoulder, and heads for the door. But just before she leaves, she glances back at you, her eyes sharp, like she’s trying to figure you out, trying to decide if this is a game or something else entirely.

You stand there for a long time after she’s gone, the gym feeling too big, too empty. You can still feel the weight of her gaze, the heat of her body close to yours. You tell yourself it’s just work, just rehab. But deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

It’s never that simple.

-

The sessions after that are different. There’s a push and pull now, a tension that neither of you acknowledges but is impossible to ignore. Flirting turns into something sharper, more pointed, like you’re both testing the limits, seeing how far you can go before something breaks. But nothing breaks, not really. Not yet.

Then one night, you cross the line. It’s late, the training ground is empty, and Leah’s the last one in the gym. You’re both exhausted, worn down by weeks of slow progress, of frustrations mounting. The conversation starts off innocuous—something about her recovery timeline, how she’s feeling. But it shifts quickly. There’s an edge to her voice, a sharpness that cuts through the usual banter.

"Why do you keep pulling back?" she asks, and there’s nothing light in her tone now. It’s serious. She’s serious.

You blink, thrown off. It’s late, the harsh fluorescent lights above cast everything in this sterile, washed-out glow that makes you feel like you’re in a hospital, or some kind of waiting room where nothing feels real, nothing matters. Leah’s standing in front of you, close but not too close, not like before, but close enough that you feel it—the weight of her presence, the space she occupies, the air between you vibrating, charged with something neither of you is willing to name but it’s there. It’s been there for weeks. Maybe longer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, but it’s a lie and you both know it. You’re tired, too tired to come up with something convincing, and it’s the way she’s looking at you now, like she’s seeing through every excuse you’ve built up, every wall you’ve thrown up between you because you know you have to, because you’re the physio, you’re supposed to be the professional, the one who stays detached, clinical, objective. You’re supposed to care about her body, her knee, not the rest of her. Not this.

But the truth is, you do care, too much, and it’s bleeding into everything. Into the way you touch her during sessions, the way your fingers linger just a little too long on her skin when you’re adjusting the brace, or the way your pulse speeds up when she leans back on the bench, sweat glistening on her forehead, the tendrils of her hair stuck to her neck, and you wonder what it would feel like to brush them away. You know you shouldn’t, that it’s a line you can’t cross, but the line’s blurred now, so faint you can barely see it anymore.

Leah narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s wearing an old Arsenal training kit, the fabric worn and soft, the logo faded from too many washes, and you notice that she tugs at the hem of her shirt when she’s frustrated, twisting it around her fingers like she’s trying to keep her hands busy, like she doesn’t know what else to do with them. “You’re not stupid,” she says, and her voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it—something vulnerable, like she’s exposing a part of herself she doesn’t want to, but she can’t help it. “You know exactly what I mean”

She’s right. Of course she’s right. You’re not stupid. You know why you’ve been pulling back. Why you’ve been keeping your distance. It’s because this—whatever this is—is dangerous. It’s complicated. It’s wrong in a way that’s hard to define but easy to feel, like a low hum in the back of your mind that you can’t shake. And yet, the more you try to stay away, the more you find yourself drawn to her. Like gravity. Like something you can’t control, no matter how hard you try.

“It’s not that simple,” you say, and your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. You’re aware of how this looks—two people alone in a gym, the air thick with unspoken tension, the kind of tension that feels like it’s been building for a long time and is about to spill over. You glance at the clock on the wall—it’s almost 10 a.m.—and you wonder how it got so late, how time seems to bend around her, how hours slip by when you’re with her but still, its never enough. There’s always more, always something unsaid hanging in the air between you.

Leah uncrosses her arms, taking a step closer. You can see the faint scar on her knee, the way the skin’s still a little pink, a little raw, and it’s a reminder of why you’re here, what your job is, but all you can think about is the way her eyes are locked on yours, unflinching. “I’m not asking for simple,” she says quietly, and there’s an intensity in her voice that catches you off guard. “I’m asking for honest”

The word hangs in the air, heavy, and you feel something in your chest tighten. Honest. You think about what that would look like. What it would feel like to stop pretending, to stop playing this game where you act like you don’t notice the way she looks at you, the way your body reacts to hers. You think about what it would mean to cross that line, to give in to what’s been building between you. The consequences. The fallout. The way it would shift everything irreparably, and yet, the thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

You take a breath, slow, steady, trying to collect yourself, trying to find the right words, but they’re all tangled up in your head, a mess of things you can’t say, shouldn’t say. “Leah,” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence, because there’s no good way to say what you’re thinking, no good way to explain the way your heart speeds up when she’s near, the way your skin prickles under her eyes, the way your mind drifts to her at night when you’re lying in bed, staring into the darkness, replaying moments in your head that shouldn’t matter but do.

She’s watching you, waiting, and you can feel the weight of her expectation, the way she’s daring you to say something real, something that matters. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re tired of pretending, tired of holding back, but something inside you cracks, just a little, just enough.

“I’ve been trying to keep this professional,” you say, and the words come out in a rush, tumbling over themselves like they’ve been waiting to escape. “Because I have to. Because I don’t know how else to do this without—” You stop, shaking your head, because it sounds ridiculous, it sounds like an excuse, and maybe it is. “It’s not just about your knee,” you say finally, and it feels like a confession, like something you’ve been holding onto for too long. “It’s about everything else”

Leah’s eyes widen, just for a moment, and you see something flicker across her face—surprise, maybe, or relief, or something else entirely. She doesn’t say anything right away, but she steps even closer, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of her sweat mixed with the scent of her shampoo, something clean and floral, and it hits you like a wave, overwhelming in its simplicity. You feel the pull again, stronger now, undeniable.

“You think I don’t know that?” she says, and her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that cuts through the haze in your mind. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

The words hang between you, suspended in the air, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the gym, the team, the world outside this room. It’s just you and her, and the weight of everything you haven’t said, everything you’ve been too scared to admit.

Leah reaches out, her fingers brushing against your arm, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites something deep inside, something you’ve been trying to suppress for weeks, months. You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you disappears, and her lips are on yours, and it’s like everything snaps into focus all at once.

The kiss is rough, urgent, like it’s been building for too long and now there’s no stopping it. Her hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of her body against yours, the way her breath mingles with yours in the small, stolen space between kisses. It’s messy, frantic, like neither of you can get enough, like you’ve been starving for this and now you’re finally letting yourself have it.

You don’t think about the consequences, about what happens when this moment ends. You don’t think about the power imbalance, the lines you’re crossing, the mess you’re making. All you can think about is the way she feels against you, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.

[t1oui]

@jegulus-microfic | may 3rd: rush | 727 words

“Do I look alright?” James asks for the hundredth time. His voice sounds funny. “Merlin, do I sound alright? What am I even supposed to say?”

Sirius marches over to him, forcefully grabbing his shoulders and turning him around, away from the mirror.

“You say nice things,” he says sternly. “Because he is my baby brother.”

Sirius has been very supportive, James thinks.

“Right,” he agrees. His voice sounds a bit better now. Sirius nods.

“Don’t worry, Prongs,” Remus says, wandering over from his desk by the windows. “He’s crazy about you already.”

Sirius punches him in the arm. “My baby brother,” he says, an aggressive reminder. Remus holds his hands up in surrender. He turns back to James, waving his wand to cast a tempus. “Best get going,” he says. “You don’t want to be late.”

James checks the time: 10:53. Fuck. He’s supposed to be in the entrance hall by 11.

“Fuck,” he says out loud. Remus snorts. Sirius narrows his eyes.

“You better make this good, Potter,” he almost snarls. Remus places a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Peter rolls his eyes. He’s behind them, so only James can see.

“Bye,” James calls. It’s still warm enough out that he doesn’t need a coat. A little chilly, sure, but James has always run warm. He knocks on one of the wooden columns of Peter’s four-poster. “Bye, Pete.”

“Good luck, Prongs,” he replies, not looking up from his book.

James flies down the stairs and careens into the common room. He’s halfway to the portrait hole when someone grabs him for the second time today. He whirls around to find Lily smiling up at him, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding a pink rose.

“James,” she says softly. “Hey. Calm down.” She holds out the rose, and he takes it hesitantly. “Dora brought me a bouquet the other day,” she explains. “Thought you might want one?”

James stares at her for a moment. Then he nods. “Thank you, Lils.”

She waves him off, stepping away. “Don’t mention it,” she says. She nods to the portrait hole. “I’d get going if I were you.”

He nods, shouting one last thanks over his shoulder as he steps out. Lily shakes her head with a smile, heading back to her room.

James is going so fast that he nearly falls through a trick step. He stumbles, shakes it off, and continues running through the castle. He trips over a group of first years playing exploding snap on a landing. “Sorry!” he calls over his shoulder. The first years watch him with bewildered, confused expressions before going back to their game.

James steps into an alcove once he’s reached the bottom of the stairs, casting a tempus. 10:59. He has one minute. He flattens down his hair and regulates his breathing as much as he can before finally putting on a smile and stepping out. He spots Regulus almost immediately, standing in the entrance hall right where they agreed to meet. He’s got a book in one hand. As James approaches, he looks up from an expensive-looking watch, aristocratic features spreading into a warm smile.

“Right on time,” he says. James stutters to a stop taking him in. Regulus is wearing a dark blue button-up over black slacks and boots. His hair is neatly parted in the middle, pushing his short curls to either side of his face, hanging over his ears. He cocks his head to one side. “Are you alright?”

And it’s those three words, the way Regulus’s mouth moves around them, that inspire James to rush forward, closing the distance between them by swooping Regulus into a hug and pressing a kiss to his temple. Regulus laughs, tossing his arms around James’s shoulders. His laugh is so beautiful.

“Jamie,” he snorts. James presses their foreheads together and stares into Regulus’s eyes. They’re the color of clouds on a winter day. James could get lost in them. Regulus smiles at him. “This is a bit of a strong reaction for a first date, don’t you think?” he asks softly. James thinks. Thinks about the months of wanting, of loving, of needing. Thinks about Sirius gagging as loudly as possible when he kissed Regulus on Platform 9 ¾. James grins.

“No,” he says. “I don’t think.”

Regulus snorts, and James kisses his smile.

[leonsdolly]

Wicked Game

Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

Synopsis: Leon leaves you for her, and you're not sure what to do now.

CW: nsfw 18+, infidelity, angst, suicidal thoughts, comparing yourself to her, masturbation, mentions of p in v

WC: 1.5k

“What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you…” You murmur along to the melancholy words that are floating around your room like butterflies. Actually, more like flies nearing the end of their life span - movement transitioning from an erratic flight to a lazy, almost purposeless dwindle until they’re on their backs with their legs sticking up in the air. That’s exactly how you are now that Leon’s done with you. A dead fly - no one could save me but you. Chris Isaak gets it. He gets it so well that he’s been looping for God knows how long.

Was it only last week that Leon left you for the ghost from his past? The one in red, haunting him in ways that you were oblivious to. Always bleeding red, like Bloody Mary or something. Maybe it was better if you’d feigned ignorance to the evidence. Maybe you’d still be able to call him yours if you played your role of a cross-eyed Mary jumping right into his arms with no protests, always playing it clean.

It was all because of a letter that was carefully tucked away in his desk drawer, folded and sealed with a kiss. No, literally a kiss. The bitch left her lipstick imprint in lieu of her signature. YSL, shade R1. You’d always been a Dior girl anyway. 

You swore up and down that you weren’t purposely snooping through his belongings, that you were just looking for Scotch tape. The offensive document shook in your hand as you fearfully inquired about its contents. He was stuttering and ashamed and apologetic and all the things a good man is when he’s sinned. He let you cry and scream and sink to your knees with your head in your hands like you were never going to come back up, like you could die in this position and be encased in marble. A new weeping angel.

You know in your heart that you could never equate to her in his eyes. The knowledge that he’s probably been comparing you to her throughout your relationship makes you so damn ill. Maybe you should slit your own throat in front of him and let the crimson flow over your body so you can match with her. Bleeding red all over the place, letting him see nothing but that cursed color, the way he did all those years ago in the city where it all started. The way he’d still continued to do so after meeting you and promising all sorts of things you weren’t accustomed to hearing. You suppose you can’t fault him completely, it wasn’t like he intended on hurting you; he’d tried to overcome his adversities and forge a new home for himself, one that was pink and frilly and covered him in glossy kisses after a long day at work. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough. His allegiance lay with first red, then white, then blue. 

You just miss him so damn much. You’re desperate enough for him that if he were to walk through the door right now, you’d take him back in a heartbeat. Sure, maybe you’d have difficulty meeting his eyes for a while, deep pools, murky with guilt and who knows what else. Your vision would be limited to the freckles on his neck, the ones resembling a vampire bite, but that’s alright with you. You’re familiar with the area, having kissed it so many times. You shouldn't be thinking about those little spots or anything else about him for that matter. He made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. With her. Pressed up against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Oh God, now you're the one seeing red. Is there really such a thing as a red string tying two people together, keeping them bound for eternity? Hopefully not, because you're nauseous at the concept that it's always been her. She was right there beside his former bright eyed and bushy-tailed self, the version that had a vague understanding of how the world worked, before he was your solemn Leon. They trudged through the abyss together, leaning on one another for strength in the midst of a plague. You wish God would just deliver armies of locusts to devour you and him and her and the rest of the world. The end is here anyway now that he isn’t. 

Your last memory of him is that pitiful look in his eyes as he gazes at you one more time. You said I was your baby. He said a lot of things, promised you the world, and look how things turned out. It’s sickening really, how cruel fate can be. Was this fate? You’re going to tie their disgusting red string around your neck and squeeze until your head pops off like a rocket. A blazing glory, capable of stealing his attention.

The thoughts of needing to be better so that he’d be with you again swirls around in your brain, filling up your entire being until you can’t bear it any longer. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to put a ring on your finger and give you his babies and hold you close on your deathbed. Your hand twitches, muscle memory activated from all the times you slipped your hand into his, anchoring you to him. I’m so sorry… Ada and I… We’ve been through a lot together. You can’t take this anymore. But I love you more than anything in the whole world… How am I supposed to live without you? He never did give you a proper response to that, silence encompassing the air between you.

You shuffle to the bottom drawer of your dresser and fish out a wrinkled shirt that had been shoved towards the very back, away from prying eyes - navy blue with the letters “RPD” emblazoned in white across the front. You slip it on and inhale the fabric draped over your frame, protecting you, hugging you as you crawl back into your bed. His arms really were the loveliest place to be. Firm and gentle, wrapped around your torso like your very own bullet vest. Shielding you from horrors you would never have to experience, he’d make sure of that. Or at least he had, anyway. His lingering scent fills your senses like whispers in an abandoned chapel. Something familiar, a sense of comfort in your hollowed out state. It takes over your grief for a second, and when you shut your eyes tight, everything is alright again.

You yearn to hold onto this feeling, but it dissipates once your eyes open, and you're isolated yet again. Your bottom lip trembles as you squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, gripping onto the hem of his shirt. His arms are around you again, and the smell of him is welcomed. It elicits a natural response from your body, begging for his touch, forming a silent prayer to any divinity who will listen. Your thighs involuntarily part as you reminisce on the feeling of his face in between them, tongue lapping at everything you have to offer. Whimpers fall from your lips as your other hand travels down to slowly stroke your clit the way he used to do it. There’s my baby. You’re his baby, still so good for him. You rub your clit faster and faster as the hand that was clutching onto his shirt for dear life comes up to squeeze your tits and pinch your nipples. 

You realize that tears have been running down your flushed cheeks as you grind down onto your fingers faster in an effort to chase your high. Just like that… Sweet baby, my sweet baby. 

He's probably fucking her at this exact moment. Cock buried miles deep inside her perfect cunt, perky tits bouncing at every thrust while she moans for him. You’re going to blow your brains out. What kind of sounds does she make when she’s getting the railing of a lifetime? Something more refined than your own little whines. Is she kissing those precious freckles on his neck, giving them all the attention they could ever ask for as he lets out his own delicious noises? You weep as you continue to rub your clit while slick leaks from your neglected pussy, begging for only him to fill it up.

You’re sobbing as you feel the release building up in your core, and you're bawling as you feel your pussy clamp around the ghost of his cock. You let out a cry of both pleasure and agony as you frantically cum all over your fingers. My perfect baby.

Shallow pants escape you as you simply lay motionless, eyes trained fixedly on the ceiling of your melancholy prison. You shakily bring your other hand up to wipe away the tears that have forged new paths for themselves on your cheeks and down to your pillowcase. I love you. You’ll always be my girl.

This world is only gonna break your heart. How are you supposed to live without him? Nobody loves no one. Chris Isaak needs to shut up.

[partywithoutsmiling]

Another AU that has been knocking around my mind for a while XD I call it Moonlit AU

It can be summed as such: Pop Trolls are pretty wild bunch when it comes to looks, varying in colours, flocking/fur patterns, glitter, freckles, hair, you name it

It got me thinking, what sort of thing would they find attractive in prospective partner? While singing/harmonizing could be a part of it (and ngl, that did made me think of the Happy Feet movies, as silly as those were), my mind turned towards more physical attributes

Thus, this AU was born- where one of the reasons why Pop trolls like to be most active at night (to party) is that a Moon's Light also allows them to appreciate fur/flocking patterns otherwise hidden, where the complexity and style varies from troll to troll, as is thought to show one's inner self

Contrary to what one would expect from the Princess (and future Queen) of Pop, Poppy's patterns are rather simple- but striking nonetheless, firm and bold stripes, like taking a wide brush to a canvas- straightforward but chaotic in their hardly orderly fashion Poppy struts her patterns; they are unique and dominant among the general showing of swirls, polka dots and flower like spottings She is aware her stripes are not considered the most attractive of features- too similar to that of a predatory critter, too sharp for who is supposed to be cheerful queen of equally cheerful people- but she is a romantic at heart and believes that when it will be time to choose a consort, those physical features are surface-level importance at best, and this is the mentality she has going forward, looking at the glowing marks of her friends and considering them equally beautiful no matter what.

Until she manages to spot Branch one night outside under the full moon light that is.

Branch's pattern, in high contrast to Poppy, is far more complex. Symetrical but delicate in its filigree, and far more detailed than anything the Princess has ever seen before. Usually, Branch ventures out only on moonless nights, as he feels the glow of his marks are too visible, too dangerous to just show out and about, for every dangerous predator to see- and it is purely bad luck when bad weather caughts him outside longer than he would have liked, and Poppy manages to catch the sight of him while he is completely unaware he had been seen.

All her conviction flies right out of the window, as she looks at his delicate patterning and her mind just goes blank and - Oh

Usually she would have called out to him, ask him to come to a party- but she feels mesmerized, hypnotized by the elegance of the filigree, and her mind longs for a way to memorate it forever- with a photo, or a painting- and she stares at the entrance of his bunker long after he vanished inside, completely stupefied and wrong footed.

Before, Poppy hardly ever gave Branch a thought, when it came to this part of Pop Troll culture; as part of her, guiltily, sort of assumed that with his lack of colour, his patterning would be rather bland as well- and besides, it's not like he ever shown a desire to participate in courting dances.

But now she is left with sudden new, and unexpected feeling- her heart and breath going now a bit faster everytime she catches a glimpse of him from now on, her cheeks flushing and her tail wagging in excitement

(Her desk's drawer is filled with failed cut out scrapbook pieces of leaves and tiny detailed filigree, as she attempts to journal her sudden and new discover and cant get it quite right)

Tldr; Pop Trolls have fur/flocking patterns that appear only under the moon's light, and Poppy finds Branch's so irresistibly attractive she hardly knows what to do with herself

This pushes her to try and spend more time with him- just spend time with him, no trying to push him to go to parties with her or trying to get him to sing or hug

For his part, Branch is both secretly pleased his own crush is now paying more attention to him than to Creek (who is not happy with this development) but also holy shit Poppy is paying more attention to him, so it is kind of unnerving for him, freaking him out

[alyswritings]

First Period

Request: Could you write a fic where jj maybanks little sister gets her first period and her dad finds out and makes her feel really bad about it but then jj makes her feel better?

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

Summary: Y/N gets her first period.

Warnings: luke being a dick

(gif not mine)

Y/N walks into the bathroom, pulling her pants down and sitting on the toilet. She looks down, her eyes widening at the red stain in her underwear. Her heartrate picks up, the girl quickly pulling her pants up and turning around in the mirror, seeing the red substance on the back of her pajama pants.

"No. No, no, no." She mumbles, rushing to her bedroom. She pulls the blankets back, the blood on her sheets. "Fuck." She whispers, feeling panic start to build up. She doesn't have any items to help her or prepare her for this. JJ's not even home, the boy having to work, reluctantly leaving his sister home alone with the siblings' dad.

Y/N whines as she considers going to get Luke. Maybe he's in a rare moment of sobriety and would help her. She goes to leave the room, but stops as music starts to blast letting her know she's not getting her wish.

She contemplates texting JJ, but knows they need the money and she shouldn't make him leave early, especially for something that isn't life or death.

The girl jumps as the door slams open, her father storming in.

"The fuck you doing, you useless little bitch? You were supposed to get those damn dishes done." Luke sneers, grabbing a fistful of her hair making her cry out.

"I-I'm sorry. I'll do them now." Y/N whines in pain.

"You bet your stupid ass you will." Luke seethes, Y/N flinching as spit flies onto her face. Luke starts to drag her out but notices the stain on her bed. "The fuck is that?"

"I-I got my period." Y/N admits with a shaky voice, avoiding eye contact.

"Ugh." Luke grimaces. "Don't you have shit for that?" He questions, shoving her back.

"N-no. No, this-- it's my first one." Y/N says. "I didn't-- I didn't know it happ-" She flinches as Luke punches the wall, creating a hole the size of his fist.

"You fucking idiot! You're supposed to know better when it comes to all that nasty shit!" Luke shouts.

"I'm sorry." Y/N whimpers, tears springing to her eyes.

"Don't fucking cry, you little crybaby!" He roars in her face, Y/N doing her best to hold her tears back. "Fucking stupid disgusting little bitch. God." He storms out, slamming the door shut behind him. He raises the volume on his stereo, Y/N covering her ears to block the noise out, quietly sobbing to herself.

---

JJ quietly walks into the house, listening to the silence. He waits a moment, hearing the snores emitting from his father in the living room. He gently shuts the door and creeps through the house, keeping his eyes on his dad to make sure he doesn't wake up.

Ditching his bag in his bedroom, he goes to Y/N's room, gently knocking on the door before opening it and going in, shutting the door. He looks around, frowning when he spots Y/N curled up on the floor on a blanket, her head on her knees.

"Hey." JJ gently calls, Y/N's head shooting up, the boy only growing more worried at the tear stains on her face. He glances up, noticing the hole in the wall that he knows wasn't there before. "Did he hit you?"

Y/N sniffles as she shakes her head, relaxing JJ only the slightest.

"What happened, kid?" JJ asks, crouching in front of her, brushing some of her wet hair away from her face.

"I-I got my period." Y/N mumbles, sniffling. JJ's eyes widen momentarily, not expecting that answer.

"O-okay." He says. "What happened?"

"He got really mad." She says, her voice only a broken whisper. JJ sighs, grimacing at her having to deal with Luke.

"C'mere." He tries to pull her into a hug, but she pulls back.

"No." She whines. "No, I'm disgusting."

"No, you're not." JJ denies. "This is a normal process for girls, you're not disgusting." He assures.

"No, it-- it's in my underwear and on my shorts. That's why I have the blanket, I didn't wanna stain the floor." She starts to cry as she rants. "And it's-- I didn't know what to do, we haven't actually talked about this. And it's all on my bed." She sobs, JJ finally able to pull her into a hug. He gently shushes her as she cries into his shoulder, his hand resting on the back of her head and stroking her hair.

"You're okay." JJ mumbles in her ear. "You're okay. It's okay." JJ continues to hold her until her cries start to cease.

"Okay. Hey." He pulls away, smoothing her hair down. "Get changed, clean up however much you need to, put some toilet paper in your underwear, and-- and if you're okay with it, I'll call Sarah and Kie and get them to help out with-- with the whole... supply thing. Cause I can comfort you, but I know there's a lot of options and I don't know shit about any of them." He admits gaining a watery giggle from his sister.

"That's fine." She nods, rubbing her nose and sniffing.

"Okay." JJ nods. "And pack a bag. We're going to the chateau." He states.

"What about the sheets?" She asks.

"Uh... I'll throw 'em in a trash bag and we can wash them there." JJ says. "I'll handle everything. Just get ready." Y/N nods and JJ kisses her on the forehead before leaving to let her get changed.

---

After a somewhat long trip to the store with Kie and Sarah on FaceTime, the two siblings managed to get the correct items. JJ didn't realize how much they would cost, using the last bit of money he had for them and a candy bar Y/N was eyeing at the counter.

The two are at the chateau and Y/N had taken a shower, taking care of everything while JJ put her sheets in the washer.

Them, Pope, and John B are hanging around as they wait for the other two girls to get here for a movie night.

"Hey." Sarah greets with a smile as she walks in.

"Hey, boys, Y/N/N." Kie smiles, walking in, her arms holding a few pizza boxes and six pack of beer along with a six pack of Y/N's favorite soda.

They get greeting in return, John B taking the pizzas from Kie and putting them on the coffee table.

"And this is especially for you." Sarah smiles, holding a basket out to Y/N. The younger girl lights up at her favorite snacks in the basket, along with a few period products and some painkillers. "A care package."

"Yeah. And if you have any questions, need any help, or anything, you know you can always come to us." Kie assures, smiling softly at the younger girl.

"Thank you." Y/N grins, getting up and hugging them both, the older two returning her hug with tight embraces.

"Here, baby Maybank." John B holds out a plate of pizza out to her, sliding a soda can over to her side of the table.

"Thanks." Y/N mumbles, accepting the plate and sitting back down.

'Thank you.' JJ mouths to his two female friends, both of them giving him smiles and nods.

"Can you sit with me?" Y/N hopefully looks up at Sarah.

"Yeah, of course." Sarah grins.

"Oh, come on." John B whines.

"Sorry, John B. I'm spoken for." Sarah shrugs, sitting next to the tween, rubbing her leg for a short comforting moment.

JJ reaches out and gets his own food and a beer, ruffling Y/N's hair before he sits back down.

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Keeping it quiet

Paring: Innocent!reader × dads!friend!Nat

Summery: You looked lonely Natasha could fix that

Warnings: SMUT, (legal) age gap, amab!nat, oral, fingering, p in v, pet names, implied aftercare, secret relationship, breeding kink, unprotected sex, no use of Y/N

Word count: 1.2k

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional!

AN: sorry for the long wait but here I am

Masterlist

Today was supposed to be a normal BBQ like your family had had so often in this warm summer months but ever since your father invited his collegue over to join something changed. Ever since you met Natasha Romanoff about 3 months back you couldn't stop thinking about her. She might have been old enough to be your mother and a friend of your father but you couldn't denie the fact that you were attracted to her like flies to the light. She was a true charmer excatly knowing what to say and to do. You never felt uncomfortable around her even though she blatanly flited with you. Her touch somehow always lingering on your skin when the two of you were alone. It was only a matter of time until you ended in Natashas bed legs widely spread as she savoured your taste. So the time flew sneaking around your parents watch as you kept your illicent affair hidden falling head over heals for the older woman. Today was one of those days where Nat came over to your parents place and just couldn't keep her hands of you.

Like always Natashas steps were light on the cold tiles of the french villa your family owned. Sometimes you thought she was an actual spy. You didn't hear her standing in the kitchen in skimpy clothing preparing something for dinner as you mindlessly hummed along whatever Taylor Swift song was currently on the radio. "What are you doing bunny" She sneaked up behind you pressing her front into your back her crotch againt the swell of your ass. "Just doin' a salad you know" She humped checking out the area to see if your parents were around before doing anything further. Her hands came up to your hips pulling your behind harder against her crotch. "Natty please" you whined as she smirked pressing her nose against your neck smelling the expensive perfume she had gotten you. "We can't not here" your breathing was heavy uneven "What if my parents see?"

"They're in the garden trust me bunny" She whispered her strong hands trialling up your sides to your chest. Even though your body was betraying you leaning into her touch seemingly begging for more you couldn't give in just yet. You wanted to show her how you infact could be stronger than your most animalistic thoughts. "Natasha not now" she groaned into her hear making you feel the wettnes betwen your owm legs. "Fuck bunny I can't wait to feel your tight little pussy pulsing around me begging me to let you cum. And then after you had your sweet sweet release I'm gonna breed you're dripping with my cum" she whispered into your ear before pushing herself from the counter leaving into the garden. Of course she wouldn't actually get you pregnant you where on the pill and you weren't sure if she was even fertile. It was more of her kink she had explained to you.

The rest of the night you two kept your play up. Acting asif you couldn't care less what the other was doing in front of your parents. Still you couldn't help but admire her beautiful features as she had some boring converstaion with your father about politics or what ever. What really interested you would be the time spend between the sheets with her as she would show you all her passions and desires. After what seemed like hours you finally snuck your way into the guest room. She was spread wide on the comfortable mattress only wearing a wifebeater and her chequered boxers. "There's my bunny eh" she turned her head towards you as you made your way over to the bed swinging your hips . You sat down deside you before turning to kiss you roughly slipping her tongue into your mouth as you shifted to strangle her waist feeling her growing erection as you rolled your hips against her crotch.

"Fuck Bunny" she breathed out as she gripped onto your hips stilling you in place. "let me get you ready first" she whispered flipping you to lay under her as she kissed your neck down reamoving your cami top in the process. She took on nipple in her mouth slightly sucking on it before her big hand started playing with your other nipple rubbing over it. You let out quiet whippers as she switched sides. After what she deemed to be enough attention to your chest she kissed her way down to your panties nibbling on the skin of your hips. She made sure to leave hickeys in her way. You tried your best go keep it quiet but when Nat did her thing it was hard. Natasha kissed your clit through the soaked through panties pulling them down only to revel your sticky heat.

She made a bold lick from the end of your pussy right up your puffy clit swirling her trained tongue around the erected nub. Her scarlet lips attached to your clit sucking on it making you cry out as you tried to close your legs around her head but she kept them spread. She slowly inserted two of her long fingers into your clenching hole as you quietly cried out for mor and more. Natasha moved her fingers roughly and fast not giving you time to adjust. "Fuck your so tight" she groaned pumping her fingers even faster. “Natty ‘m close so close“ You felt your release close enough to grab but then Nat pulled her dripping fingers from your heat leaving you high and dry. “W-What?” You mumbled out opening your eyes again only to see Natasha smirking down at you “I want some fun too honey“ she smirked flipping you to your knees pushing your hips up as you arched your back showing off both your tight holes to her.

You heard her removing her boxers she already was rock hard for you her reddened tip leaking with pre cum as she expertly spits on her shaft spreading the slick over it. She moved closer pushing her tip to you clit enjoying the sight of you bucking your hips desperately trying to find your pleasure. “Ngh Tasha please” you begged making her listen slowly pushing in making you gasp at the feeling of being stretched out like that. She gave you time to quickly adjust before picking up pace fucking you hard and rough as she had a death grip on your hips. You couldn’t care less about the bruises as you pushed your face into the pillow muffling your sounds. With Natasha whimpers and the sound of skin slapping your moans filled the hot summer night air hoping your parents couldn’t hear you.

You kept clenching down on Nat she grabbed onto your shoulders. “Fuck ‘m gonna breed that little pussy ngh… I’m gonna make you so full of my cum“ you whined out before the coil in your stomach snapped and you came hard Natasha following soon releasing her white seed deep inside your whomp. She proceeded to help you through your orgasm even cleaning you up before cuddling you to sleep her arms tightly around your smaller body.

:)

[pasukiyo]

PERHAPS, PERHAPS, PERHAPS.

eric (a quiet place: day one) x f!reader word count: 2,894 warnings: a little bit of violence summary: perhaps it's chance. perhaps it's happenstance. but perhaps it is fate. perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

 Hands find the sleeve of her sweater and she’s pulled backwards, her lips parting in a gasp as she turns. A woman, with dark hair beginning to fade into gray, locks her hands around her wrist, trembling. 

 “Please!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know where to go! I need help! Please! Help me!”

 She’s frozen, her mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out because the truth is, she’s just as helpless. She wishes she could help, she really does, but she’s alone in a foreign city while the world around her falls apart and all she knows to do is run. 

 She tries to shake off the woman, but she only tightens her grip, and it’s not until she screams again that she lets go. It happens in a blur. One moment the woman is on her arm and the next she’s taken away by one of those things. She can’t even process what they look like because they move so fast. 

 She stumbles backwards as a car alarm sounds and she only just manages to duck in enough time to avoid being crushed as the airborne vehicle flies overhead, crashing into the building behind her. Her teeth catch her bottom lip and she whimpers, holding her head in either of her hands. Screams sound and die, wheels screech, vehicles crash, windows shatter, people are torn apart and it’s all just too loud. 

 She sinks to her knees in the middle of the chaos-ridden street and covers her ears, the hot water in her eyes falling fast down the apples of her cheeks. She feels utterly alone and only now does the weight of her family’s abrupt deaths begin to seep in, like poison injecting itself into her veins and wearing down her bones. 

 She wonders if this is it— if today is the day she dies. 

 She wonders if she should just stay here: on the ground, unmoving, waiting for death to take her. 

 It’s harder to breathe than ever now and she can’t calm herself down, can’t even focus on inhaling a steady breath. The ground quakes below and she thinks something explodes, but it’s hard to hear over the ringing in her ears. She only thinks to duck until she faces the ground as smoke pervades the air and ash falls and all she can see is gray. Her hearing is only just coming back to her when she hears a scream— whether it was her own or somebody else’s, she’s uncertain— but all she knows is in the next moment, everything is black. 

 The world is still black when she hears her name. She stirs and thinks it must be death calling upon her but then she hears her name again and it sounds… real. Still, she does not open her eyes, lingering in that state between waking and oblivion. 

 The voice calls her name again and suddenly it sounds… familiar. She’s heard it before but she’s unsure where. She must be dead, she thinks. 

 But is the afterlife supposed to feel so… real? As in, she feels the warmth of fabric above her and thinks it must be a blanket, the cushion of what she can only think can be a pillow beneath her head. She can feel her feet, so she moves them, and she can feel something soft underneath them, something her entire body can feel. It must be a mattress she sleeps on but how when only a moment ago, her knees were on the asphalt of a crumbling street?

 Her name is called again and this time, she feels a weight on her shoulder, a hand. It suddenly registers that she isn’t in the city at all but rather somewhere else entirely different and her eyelids snap open at the realization. A shadow looks over her and she pushes herself to sit upright, her throat tightening as she tries to blink the blurriness away from her vision.

 “Hey!” The voice calls again, the hand on her shoulder firmer. The silhouette before her warps and moves and it must be the source of the voice but her muscles remain taut with panic. “It’s me! It’s just me.”

 She tries to draw air into her lungs but it’s hard when she can hardly make out where she is and the hand falls from her shoulder to instead find her cheek, pulling her face towards the shadow. Her chest rises and falls with her breaths as she continues trying to make out the face of the shadow before her. 

 “It’s me!” The voice says again. “It’s Eric!”

 Eric. 

 The shape in front of her finally materializes and indeed, it is Eric. His brows are drawn in concern, his big, signature doe eyes round and searching hers. Her mouth feels dry and it opens and closes multiple times before he places his hand on her chest, right over her pounding heart. She glances down to his palm, watching as it rises and falls with her breaths before his other hand reaches for her chin. 

 Their eyes meet and for a moment, it’s like the world stills and it is only him she can see. His eyes are so dark a brown that they seem to merge with the sea of black in its midst and she thinks she will lose herself if she stares too long. His lips move to form the words “breathe” and “it’s over now, you’re safe” and it seems easier now that she’s rapt in his eyes, shining like dark topaz. 

 Her chin rises as she inhales and she focuses on his hand on her chest as her head dips with her exhale. Air floods her lungs and the world begins to turn again.

 “Okay?” Eric asks carefully, his hand no longer on her chest but still hovering above just in case. She takes another deep breath before she nods, sniffing. It’s only now set in that she was sleeping and she was living a nightmare, or rather, reliving her nightmare. 

 It’s been three months since day one, since the nightmares began and every day since has been long, some longer than others. Every day since the first sort of happened in a blur, but she remembers the day she met Eric like it was yesterday. 

 She remembers the boat, the boy with the cat who she’d just watched escape death before he swam to his new beginning. She remembers the conversations they had on the (what felt like at the time) seemingly never-ending boat ride, the vow they didn’t speak aloud but seemed to silently agree on that they’d stick together, and they did, even when they arrived on the island. She remembers it all and so she pulls the boy in front of her into her until she can rest her head on his shoulder, fingers clutching his white t-shirt. 

 His arms wrap around her middle and hold her close, his breath warm as it threads through her hair, seeping down to her scalp. Her nails burrow into his shirt, deep enough to snag skin underneath and her heart pounds against her ribcage, dread creeping up her spine at the realization that she doesn’t want to let go. When he inevitably begins to pull away, she sinks her nails into his shoulders like the claws of a cat and a crease forms between his brows. 

 “What is it?” He asks and she swallows, brows pinched together. “Will you stay with me?” She questions and his expression softens, nodding as he lets go of one of her shoulders to gesture with his thumb behind him. 

 “Yeah, you know I’ll always be right over there,” he says, referring to the small sofa bed across the room. He gives her bicep a reassuring squeeze and turns, moving to pull away again but she finds his hand, clasping it between hers as tight as she possibly can. 

  “No, I mean will you…” she pauses, sighing as blood bites her cheeks, filling them with color. “…will you lay with me?” She finishes quieter, his hand growing warm in hers. 

 He turns to face her again and when their eyes meet, silence strings between them. She swears she can see him connecting the dots until realization washes over him and finally, he understands. He blinks again, once down to the bed and once to the open space beside her. On his next blink, color floods his cheeks and he nods, lifting up the blanket to slide underneath it. Their legs touch for the briefest of moments and either of their breaths hitch. His skin lingers for a heartbeat before it’s gone and she has to take in another deep breath through her nostrils to quell her quaking heart. 

 They both settle themselves down on the mattress and it creaks beneath either of their weight. She holds her breath again, still under the guise that one of those things will come snatch her away at the smallest of sounds, but the reminder that they are on the island, that they are safe fills her with some solace. Even though the relief never stays long. The past always comes back to haunt her, as if some sort of evil spirit has made it its sole mission to taunt her. 

 “Hey,” Eric whispers and she turns, realizing he was looking at her. “Are you alright?”

 She nods, sniffing again. “Sorry, I’m just… thinking,” she replies, blinking back towards the ceiling. “I had another nightmare.” He sighs beside her and she hears the sheets shift a little as he adjusts his weight. “It’s okay. I get them too.”

 It’s easy to forget she’s not the only one who experienced the horrors of the invasion, that she isn’t the only one who lost things, people. She forgets she’s not the only one who is haunted by what transpired that day and she peers back over towards Eric. He stares up at the ceiling, his hands neatly folded on top of his stomach and his lips pursed. He taps his fingers against the back of his hands a little awkwardly, as if he wants to speak but isn’t sure what to say. So instead, he remains silent, waiting for the moment he succumbs to sleep. 

 “Tell me about England,” her voice fills that void between them and he almost flinches, snapping his head towards her, an incredulous look upon his face. “What?” He says as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. The corners of her lips twitch, “tell me about England,” she repeats. “I’ve always wanted to go. And well… it doesn’t look like I’ll be going any time soon.”

 He exhales and it almost mimics a laugh but it dies as soon as he rolls his head to face the ceiling once again. He stares into the darkness above, sifting through the memories he has of home. The truth is, it’s been so long since he’s been home, the memories are already beginning to fade away. His mother, his father, his little sister, their cat, his childhood home, the town he grew up in. The more days that pass, the farther away all those things seem. He can still see them toward the horizon but they’re fading behind shadows. He fears that soon enough, they’ll be nothing more than black shapes out in the distance, too far away to make sense of what they are. 

 For a moment, she wonders if he’s going to speak at all. Frodo purrs as he leaps onto the bed, curling into a ball at their feet. And then, Eric finally speaks. 

 “Growing up, I never thought where I grew up was small until I came to the States,” he begins. “Did you know that the entire population of New York City is over four times the population of Kent?” 

 Her lips curve into a tight, genuine grin and she shakes her head. “No,” she replies and he scoffs. “It’s crazy,” he mutters. “I’d never seen so many people in one place before in my life.”

 She laughs again and this time, her grin splits her face and when Eric turns, his gaze lingers. She stares back, finding his eyes even in the darkness. Even in the dark, she can see the way they soften in searching. Whether it is her or his memories he is searching, she is not sure. She grows warm at the sudden awareness of their closeness and she has to turn away again to ease the erratic beating of her heart, folding her hands just beneath it, sucking in a deep breath. 

 Eric clears his throat. Then he continues, “there was this bakery around the corner from my house. My sister and I practically kept that place afloat all on our own with how many times we went.” 

 She turns and watches his side profile as a soft smile curves his lips and she thinks to herself, how can she possibly look away? Neither one of them ever really talked about their life before the invasion much, but maybe they should’ve tried sooner, if he was going to look the way he does now. It’s the brightest she’s ever seen him, the fastest he’s ever talked. His eyes gleam at just the mere mention of home and she wants to know more, wants to learn more about him. 

 “Have you ever had focaccia?” He asks, turning to find she’s already staring and she raises a brow. 

 “Ever had what?” 

 His brow furrows and he looks almost offended, a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Do the Americans not feed you focaccia?” She laughs, shrugging. “I honestly have no idea what you’re even talking about,” she replies and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 “It’s only, like, the finest bread in the world,” he says. “But the best is at the bakery near home. It’s the focaccia of all focaccia. Their focaccia beats all focaccia.”

 She chuckles, “I’ll have to take your word for it then.”

 “Well, anyway, my sister and I would get focaccia from that bakery everyday after school,” he blinks, brow dipping. “Except Wednesdays. They were always closed Wednesdays. I always hated Wednesdays because of it.”

 She cannot help it anymore so she laughs, her shoulders wracking with the sheer power of the action. She clasps a hand over her mouth to attempt to suppress any embarrassing chortles and Eric sputters, the mere beginning of his own laugh. 

 It’s something she can’t remember doing last: laughing. At least, genuinely laughed. It must’ve been before the first day but that day feels so long ago that she can’t place a finger on nearly anything before it. 

 So this feels good. It feels like things can be almost perfect, because even if this lighthearted feeling is only fleeting, in the moment, it feels right. It feels right to be here with Eric, laughing over a life that neither one of them will ever have again. Laughing even as the world crumbles around them. Laughing as they pretend that everything is okay, if only temporarily. 

 There are tears in her eyes now from how hard she’s laughing and she blinks them away, peering over at Eric through her watercolor vision. He’s still coming down from the high his laughter gave him when she reaches over, fingers finding his arm. 

 “Eric?”

 He hiccups with laughter, “yeah?”

 She sniffs and bites back another laugh. “Can I kiss you?”

 Maybe it's the spur of the moment. Maybe it’s just happenstance. Or maybe, just maybe, it was meant to be. 

 She doesn’t know. 

 But none of it matters right now. 

 Because his gaze drops to her lips and when he looks up, she finds he wants her just as much as she realizes she wants him too. 

 Eric says nothing, only reaches for her, his hand finding the back of her head to pull her in and her arms wrap around his neck and then their lips are one. They fit together in the perfect mold, as if it truly was just as she thought: meant to be. 

 Perhaps, Eric was who she was meant to find all along. End of the world or not, life— at least on Eric’s end, it was more chance on hers— brought them both to New York at the same time and she can’t help but wonder, as his tongue swirls her mouth, whether she would’ve found him anyways. 

 Perhaps they would’ve run into each other on the street. Perhaps, even on the subway. Maybe they would’ve walked into the same restaurant at the same time and locked eyes. Or maybe they would’ve gone to the same shops, the same hotel, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

 An arm slithers around her waist and draws her into his chest and she knows that this is fate. It simply can’t not be. 

 She pulls away for a moment, just so either of them can catch their breaths, and their eyelids peel open and seemingly nothing else matters. There’s a sort of silent understanding between them— Eric must feel the same. 

 And that’s enough. It’s all she needs to be okay again, to want to live. 

 They crash into one another again, like two stars in a stellar collision. She burns brighter than she ever has before and they melt into one another and relish the notion that this is enough. 

a/n; saw a quiet place day one the other day and i think writing an eric fic was inevitable so... HERE YOU GO! i hope you all enjoy this one and let me know if you'd like for me to write up more eric fics! i'd love to explore this character some more :)

🤍 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! ✨

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter II

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter. we delve a little bit into their backstory now (gladiator II is set around 211 AD). feel free to let me know if you are interested in reading how these two get to where we picked up before <3 i also have a little acacius playlist that fits the vibe of this fic very well. feel free to check it out here!

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame (details will be explained later in the story) dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) domus - a roman house palla - a traditional mantle for women paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials

Chapter II

209 AD

The domus sits just on the edge of Palatine Hill, on the side opening towards the Forum Romanum and Via Nova. You have passed below it more times than you can count, though you have rarely walked the small street that weaves up the hill and leads to the edge of the property.

Many of the neighboring houses are too harsh for your taste, with columns twice as wide as your body and barely a shrub of greenery in front of them. A supposed sign of strength, no doubt. But when passing the house with the large garden, you like to take as much time as you dare, occasionally catching a whiff of the lavender that grows all around it.

It reminds you of the shadowy figure you often saw walking those same gardens after dark, many years past. A bereaved woman, shrouded in dark cloth, keeping her head down as she tended to the plants with dainty fingers, decorated with a thick gold ring that framed a green stone. You remember lingering too long on your way past the iron fence once, fascinated by the way her dress flowed in the wind. She had called out to you, beckoning you towards her.

Lucilla was not a terrifying woman but you knew that every misstep could cost you, especially in your position as a vestal. She had knelt down in front of your trembling form, brushed your hair out of your face and looked at you with an expression you did not understand. But she had whispered words that you did. Asked you not to collect the water after dark, to stay with the older vestals. Then she had offered you a small bundle of lavender.

You stuffed it under the linen of your bed later that night, breathing in a scent that felt like a world where a woman could freely roam her garden and the city beyond, who did not have to be afraid.

The guard at the gate gives a small bow of courtesy when you reach him and moves to the side, allowing you to tread the stone path that leads up to the house. “The General is inside. Please, knock.”

A gentle “Thank you” escapes your lips as you reach to lift your stola just enough to not step on it. The torches lining the way are extinguished, not needed during the day. A short glance down the hill allows you to spot your own home, right beside the rounded building that is the Temple of Vesta.

When you reach the wooden door, you raise your hand and will yourself to knock with enough force to make it heard.

You can hear someone calling out from inside and a few seconds later, a man with broad shoulders opens the door. His gaze flies over you briefly–taking in your white tunic and the palla wrapped around your shoulders. The thin veil attached to your headdress and all the linen of your clothes tucked neatly into place are usually enough indication for whoever is stood in front of you to understand your status.

“General Acacius?” You ask softly, your eyes taking in his brown eyes and the curve of his nose, one that looks like it belongs on a statue rather than a living man.

“Vero, that is me. Please, come inside.” He gives a small bow, gesturing past himself and you nod at the invitation, gracefully stepping into the house and finding yourself in an atrium that renders you speechless. The columns that line its sides are slightly worn, flowers stretching along them towards the upper floor. Stone basins and pots holding a variety of plants stand at almost every corner of the open space, making it feel more like a garden than the stuck-up room you would have expected in a Generals home.

Acacius’s hand hovers behind you, guiding you past the fountain that holds a few orange fish and to the opposite end of the open room, though he never actually touches you. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” you repeat your earlier words, lowering yourself onto the chair he indicated.

“Would you like some wine? Perhaps some grapes too?” He waves to one of the servants, who promptly places two glasses on the table, though Acacius takes the carafe and dismisses him with a small nod as he begins to pour you some of the dark red liquid. You make to reach for your glass to hold it steady but he shakes his head quickly. “Allow me. Please.”

You nod at that, leaning back and waiting politely while he pours himself a drink as well. It allows you a moment to take in his form up close, the white tunic and his red paludamentum wrapped around his body. A cloak fastened with a gold brooch, one that–similar to your headwear–makes him a respected man no matter where he goes. You wonder if he feels the same about it, that some days it's more like a heavy curse weighing one down. Then again, he is a General of Rome. You are a priestess of Vesta. Your paths may cross today but you are certain they look very different from one another.

He sits down across from you, a small sigh leaving his lips as he toasts in your direction and takes a sip of his wine. Then, he leans to the side and produces two rolls of parchment. “I had to make some adjustments to my will. It was kept by one of the other priestesses, but I believe she has finished her service with the Vestals since I last saw her.”

You give him a small smile as you take the parchment from him, nodding. “Yes, she left the year before last. But of course I will be just as happy to keep the will for you.”

His eyes fly over your face briefly and he gestures to the rolls on your lap. “I crossed out the old version. I married, you see.”

You stare at him for a moment before nodding a little too quickly. “Of course. Yes, I–The lady of this house I presume–” You break off, realizing your mistake. If he indeed married Lucilla, he is now the head of this house. “What I meant–” you add hastily. “–is that it is your house now. And the house is beautiful, I mean–” It’s the second time you stop in the middle of the sentence. But this time, it is because you have dared to look back over at the General. And he is not even trying to conceal his amusement.

You bow your head in another silent apology and he tuts softly. “You are quite right, you know. As far as I am concerned, she is the woman of this house.” A smile plays around his lips. “And I would not have it any other way.”

It’s clearly not his atrium that surprises you. He is not what you would expect a General to be. Especially not one that is about to entrust you with his will. “I give my word that I will see it is stored safely,” you reassure him, carefully taking another small sip of the wine.

Acacius nods. “I appreciate that. You have my thanks.” He pauses briefly, his gaze darting around the atrium for a split second before landing back on you. “You seem uneasy. Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No. No, of course not, General.” It is not a lie, per se. But you are all too aware that it sounds like one.

“Is it your first time taking a will?”

You do not know how he does it. He seems to have read you so easily–or he is just very well connected to know such a thing. “Yes. It is, but I promise–”

“I trust you,” he states almost casually while reaching for the grapes and offering you some as well. You politely decline.

“Forgive me but … you met me mere moments ago. How can you know I am trustworthy?” Your eyes catch his and this time you hold his gaze, not missing the small glint in them.

“All of Rome trusts the Vestals. If not you, who would we put our faith into?”

“The gods. You should put your faith in the gods,” you say quietly.

“I prefer to put my faith in people,” Acacius responds, though his voice is slightly lowered as well. “The gods do not fight our wars.”

You stand up so abruptly that you almost drop the scrolls. “I should go.”

He seems perplexed for a moment but quickly catches himself and nods, standing up before leading you back the same way you came. You allow yourself a quick sideward glance at his face and are met with a professionally neutral expression. At the door, you turn towards him, giving a last, small bow. “My General.” His title falls off your lips like the silk they sell at the market, flowing effortlessly. His brown eyes lingering on you as you address him–even if normal custom–as yours, make your stomach clench slightly.

Acacius lets his hand hover beside you again, never quite touching you. Yet you almost seem to be able to feel his touch. “I did not mean offense.” His voice is much softer than it was when he greeted you.

“Of course.” You force yourself to smile and step away, shaking your head at the brief moment of confusion you allowed yourself. He is a General, you are a Vestal. He has sworn his vows and you have sworn yours. And both include promises that are enough to keep you at a few feets distance for several lifetimes. “Please, call for me if you ever need to make adjustments to the will. And–” You force yourself to smile a little wider. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

You turn around before he can speak again, suddenly wanting to put some distance between yourself and the house you so longed to see from inside–until you did.

***

211 AD

“You have to go, dulcissima.”

Acacius' voice is quiet, the back of his head resting against the stone pillar as he watches you drag the chaise lounge across the atrium, muttering under your breath when you have to maneuver it around the small fountain in the middle of the space.

“Please.”

You shake your head just as you reach him, gesturing for him to sit down. His begging breaks your heart–it always has. But the thought of leaving him here with open wounds is worse.

“Let me see your arm.” He doesn't move, forcing you to become a bit more stern. “Acacius. Let me see the arm. I am not leaving until you do.”

A curse slips out under his breath but he does as told, sitting down and allowing you to inspect his wound. The rustle of the chain on his ankle breaks the quiet as he moves and you pointedly ignore it as you crouch down in front of him.

You let your hand hover above his skin for a moment, taking a small breath. It is still difficult to break the rules you have been taught for so long sometimes. You tell yourself that this is not even a sin, that you are merely caring for a wounded Gladiator. It tricks your brain enough to lower your hand onto his skin. You do not believe it tricks Vesta.

“He should not have fought you,” you mumble quietly, thinking back to how Lucius was swinging away the moment he entered the arena.

“He did not understand. And it is how the Colosseum works, you know this.” Acacius mutters back, tensing slightly when you run your finger over the cut the sword left on his arm. It doesn't seem too deep but you know Acacius must be in much more pain than he lets on.

“I hate that place,” you whisper, surprising yourself with the force of your words. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you stiffen when you feel a calloused hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before brushing over your cheek.

“Oh, sweet,” he mutters, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “I am fine. I made it out, see? I promised I would.”

“They were going to shoot you,” you choke out, trying and failing to hold back the tears now slipping down your cheeks. You feel his lips touch the crown of your head briefly.

“But they didn't. Now, please, I will take care of this. But you have to leave.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and shake your head again, blinking a few times to clear your vision and shift your attention back to his wound. “How would you take care of this? They have sentenced you to death. The Emperors have called for it, in front of the whole empire.”

“I can talk to them. I have things to offer, even now. They do not know how to lead an army. But they need someone who does. And–”

“You would sell your soul to stay alive,” you whisper as you reach for a piece of cloth and begin to wipe down the crusted blood.

Acacius sighs. “No. But I would sell my soul to stay with you.”

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

[queenofallimagines]

Oooh I have a Obey Me writing idea for you but you can ignore if you don’t wanna do it. So when you first come to the Devildom, almost all of the brothers are cold/petty asf to the MC (in my Pisces opinion). Imagine MC’s like “fuck that” and doesn’t try to pander to them as much as the game script wants you to. Like the story still progresses bc the MC is still nosy when it counts, but she doesn’t center them around her world and instead gets closer someone who was nicer/more helpful in the beginning (say like Solomon or Simeon). I’m sorryyy I’m not hating on the brothers but realistically you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Like yeah being a tsundere is cute to an extent but most of em were doing too much in the beginning. Maybe a reaction from the brothers (doesn’t have to be specific for each brother) as they slowly start to warm up to MC but they can’t stand that they’re not gonna be as close as they wanted to be. And either Solomon or Simeon (or both) reacting to you getting closer to them ;) Again this request may be highly specific so you can either tweak it or toss it if it doesn’t sound appealing to write. It can be SFW or NSFW. I love your writing!

A/n: YOURE SO RIGHT BESTIE!! Like the dick ain’t good enough for them to be all over MC like that CRAZY disrespectful 😒 like in my head I was being fake nice to them to secure the pacts until like you make one with Satan and then it’s like okay, maybe I can be genuine w yall. Bc like I’m making friends w any of the billions of other demons there like Diavolo is all but head over heels for you.

MC:

- I’m so on board with this

- Like if they want to go low I can take it right to hell

- They want to throw UP

- Mammon thinks you’re joking but when you fr never come ask him for help he’s crying himself to sleep

- Asmo hates being ignored so after that time in the maze(catacombs? wtf was those) he’s antsy that you don’t really talk to him

- They feel you having fun through your pacts but when you’re around just them it’s like nothing

- Like when a lightbulb dies

- Student council meetings become increasingly more tense as they watch you get along with Solomon and Luke and Simeon and you’re cold to them

- They don’t even really realize they the problem at first

- Lucifer always itching to punish someone so when he snaps at you and you clapback and the issue never comes up again he’s a little disappointed

- Like him and Satan make fun of your grades?

- Bet. you’re being tutored by Solomon and a demon in your potions class

- Like bitch how the FUCK were we ever supposed to take demon philosophy before?? We just got here!!

- Refuse to work with them on any school activities

- You and mammon partnered up to decorate for some school event?

- You work only when he’s not around

- Beel is the one who sounds the alarm by realizing it’s hard to keep track of you

- Like he’ll go asking where you are and nobody can even say when the last time they saw you was

- Belphagor tried to pull that “I’m a human” shit and you didn’t visit the attic for like three weeks😭

- Had to actually force himself to be genuinely nice

- Remember how they said they sent a demon to like the human realm to pretty much do the same thing? who was that because I don’t think we ever hear about them😭

- But you get their number and talk about your shared experiences

- Fish out of water if you will!

- Lucifer WANTS to yell but you do the bare minimum of what they ask he can’t mandate you to join family movie night😔

- Asks a pouting mammon where tf you are and he lists off like any number of random demons you could be chilling with

- Asmo is burning with envy as he catches you at a party with a group of old acquaintinces

- Can see they are so obviously enjoying your company

- Tries to steal the attention for himself

- Levi seeing you on other mfs socials cosplaying w them and doing a TSL marathon like he’s right there??

- Dinner be so awkward but you brush it off like a G

- only texts the family group chat for confirmation, dinners ready, and when is lord diavolo asking for everyone

- Lucifer comes to Dia’s house bc paperwork and he plans to spill the tea when he sees you and him already HAVING TEA🤨

- Like excuse me??

- “Ah just who I was looking for-“

- “Sorry Lucifer I have exams to study for I was just asking Lord Diavolo some history questions I’ll be on my way.”

- He’s literally WILTING💀

- Whines to Dia and he’s like I’m sorry ?? have yall not been spending time with them??

- “Yall….LIVE together. I ain’t out just you and them in the same house for no reason??”

- He can’t eleven rly do shit bc you’re integrating into demon society very well and are pretty sociable

- Like you gain regular popularity but not through them

- Rest of RAD forgets you’re under their protection tbh

- Like you’re your own entity and not at all attached to them so when a random demon is caught talking about like chilling w you and mammon is like IM THEIR FIRST MAN YOU GOTTA AS ME

- he looses about 500 years when the demon goes

- “Oh yeah you are their hired help huh?”

- Yeah he’s picking out a coffin

- Bc he rly tries to curb his tsun behaviors but he hasn’t made it to that level with you where he can be genuine in private

- Levi too like he calls you a stupid normie on reflex and is whimpering when he sees he’s been blocked on devilgram

- What did yall expect??

- Beel is the ONLY one who you regularly talk to

- And even then he’s got his own stuff going on

- But you guys always eat together

- Jaws dropping when he offered you food

- I imagine Beel is like “oh they don’t be talking to yall?….That’s crazy”

- Precious boy so unaware of the conflict

- Nor bc he’s dumb but he’s like “tf that got to do with me?? MC likes me.”

- Very “okay what does that mean to me tho” energy

- I imagine after the Levi pact arc when mammon is wrapping your sprained wrist and he’s all

- “If I can’t come save ya next time, Die.”

- You pull away completely

- Even Satan is having to control himself be he sees your purposefully avoiding him

- He would congratulate you on how well you’re dodging his advances if it didn’t piss him off so bad

- Keeps it a little secret to himself that he can feel your pact mark burning right under his skin whenever you talk to them

- Played hot and cold to see how he can make you less mad when he interacts with you

- Lucifer is so desperate he’s fr about to make a pact early to feel any sort of proof you exist

- Idk if peacocks do it but you know how birds will rip out their own feathers under stress?

- Yeah That’s HIM😭

- Barbados just sit back and observe

- Even the season 3(?) characters come in early! Like you meet 13 as an extension of Solomon and y’all are thick as thieves

- You’re flourishing in your Magic practices bc you still have their pacts, them helping you with magic or not you’re still not one to be fucked with

- Mephistopheles is so giddy that you’re close to him and not Lucifer

- Offers to hide you in his news room to avoid them

- “It’s so quiet a perfect place to study!”

- Sees them scrambling to get ahold of you but your in his office w your phone on silent

- “Oh hmmm, idk I saw them in the forbidden section of the library maybe check there? Weird y’all supposed to be watching them and have no clue about their whereabouts.”

- Lucifer can take it NO LONGER when we’re about right before lesson 16 and he’s making a scene at dinner

- “Why do you never stay in this house? You a mere human think you’re too good to talk?”

- “That. That shit right there is why I don’t talk to any of you. Do you not notice how rude you are?”

- Before Satan can even say his “we’re demons” line you’re cutting his ass off

- “Why would I want to spend time around people who threaten my life for fun?🤨my job is to heal demon human relations and I’m doing that just not with the help of YOU.”

- Dips to purgatory hall bc it’s not Solomon’s night to cook

- They all just kinda 🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍for a few days bc wtf can they say to that??

- Like you’re absolutely right

- You were already humbling Lucifer before but now he has this irrational anger towards you

- But in a nice way??

- He’s like packing your lunch and throwing away whatever you had

- Pushing you out the way to do whatever chore or task you’re doing

- Makes your favorite foods when is his turn to cook dinner

- Like he’s completely unhinged

- To stir the pot let’s say this is lesson 16 and they show up to all that

- Can you imagine??

- Their filled with even more regret than before!! They never got a chance to establish a deep bond with you

- Not really. Not like you have with everyone else

- And now you’re gone??

- They barely even care about the Lilith reveal like😭

- They do everything they can to win your favor but it’s like the end of the program now who’s to say it was enough??

- Beel is elated while the othered are broken that you and belphie become close

- Poor belphie is exhausted w all this drama so to make amends even more he goes out of his way to heal the gaps between you and the others so it’s all good now

- Not Lucifer tho

- He’s still moping

- Can’t hurt his pride by saying how glad he is that your back

- Can’t tell you how he watched his world fall apart when he saw the light leave your eyes

- DEFINITELY can’t tell you how he prayed to Lilith that he would protect you from now on and that he’s sorry

- All of RAD throws a huge goodbye party for you

- Lots of tears

- During the movie night of like that last few days

- As a little treat for you, you still sleep w Lucifer lmao

- Like you sneak out to go to the bathroom and none of the brother see you for the rest of the night?? Yeah we knew already

- He WILL cry jsyk

- He’s pressing kisses all over you and holding you like you’ll disappear

- Mumbling praises into your skin

- The most he’s ever said “I love you” in his entire existence

- Looking at you with teary eyes

- Can’t keep up his prideful façade

- He’s okay with being vulnerable to you

- Again hit him w the “my morning star”

- And he will go crazy

- Tears up when you leave

- Like he can’t even front like he’s not about to go throw up

- They’re all anxious that they won’t ever see you again because you still hate them

- I promise you on everything in all three realms

- They almost do NOT let you leave when you go

- “Thank you for my time here, I love all of you.”

- They are inconsolable

[canadianno]

TCOLC AU Bishop refs!

They're done holy FUCK. The art here is kind of old, so some of the proportions are a little wrong, but I don't really mind all that much. 15 hours and 89 layers later, all 5 bishops are done. On one canvas because... I didn't wanna make new ones I'm ngl.

Each bishop has an everyday outfit and a crusade outfit! If you're drawing them at any point (now or in the future) and you have questions about the designs, don't be scared to send an ask my way, I'm always happy to clarify stuff.

(Note: I would greatly appreciate it if people didn't make suggestive jokes surrounding any of the designs, I'm not comfortable with them! Love yall <3)

Ramblings below! Edited note: tumblr likes to completely break my posts when I add a cut sometimes, which happened here, so I'm not gonna put one in hopes that it doesn't kill my formatting again. Hopefully it automatically "read more"s this post. If it doesn't I'm very sorry 🙏

🌿 Leshy: It's to be noted that my Leshy is transmasc, literally just because I think he deserves it, it's cool as fuck. I really wanted to give him the classic top-surgery scars because, I'll be honest, they're fun to draw, but I had to find a reasonable explanation for it because he's not a mammal. Anyway that's how I ended up with an entire evolutionary explanation for why he would have those. I will never be given the chance to explain it in the fic ever, so it shall just be random information I have forever. I love him he's silly.

🍄 Heket: While I am a big supporter of tomboy Heket, I also think she deserves to be cool and wear pretty frills whenever the fuck she wants. She's awesome and her shirt is supposed to look like a mushroom. It's also worth noting that the crosses on the bishops heads are specific, with Heket having two crosses with double prongs. She has them like this in-game and there's probably a cooler explanation for it but. I have my own silly headcanons bc I do what I want! Also, since I can't decide for the fucking life of me if she's a toad or a frog, I've decided she's just. Both. Both of them. Her mom was a frog her dad was a toad. Is this possible irl? No but COTL is a fantasy world I do whatever the fuck I want.

🌑 Narinder: Main thing I note for Narinder is that he has distinct facial markings, you just have to look closely. Another note is that his clothes have a repeating cloud motif because of the fog in the gateway- which, trust, it was his own idea. Lamb doesn't know why he chose it but they're not gonna argue. Narinders' main robes are made of wool, but his crusade outfit is made of cotton so it's easier to repair if damaged. His crusade outfit has the Big Pants because he's mostly gotta fight with his feet now, since most of the time his hands don't function reliably enough to hold a weapon.

🪸 Kallamar: Kallamar is funny to me because he's the only one here who's plantigrade, meaning he's got human-esque legs. Another notable design aspect is that he has a tail, when squids do Not Normally Have Those. That's because my Kallamar isn't fully a squid, and you can kinda sorta blame my mutual for that. Not really it's me who gave him the tail. Anyway, no matter how you draw him or what outfit he's in those 3 dark red jewels on the golden chain thing gotta be on him somewhere- they're sentimental to him. He usually wears them as a crown, but in the crusade outfit they're around his neck to be safer. Also, on the crusade outfit, he has stolen a set of Shamuras gloves. Brat little brother <3

🔮 Shamura: Their main outfit really closely resembles their bishop robes and that is intentional! They made the robes themselves, and it would've been close to an exact match had the Lamb banned them from using golden colored cloth. This is only partially because Lamb doesn't like them, but also because they don't want the bishops trying to start a mutiny, and walking around in bishop robes is a pretty easy way to collect weaker followers like flies. Shamuras' crusade outfit is also pretty unique compared to the others, and one of two reasons is that it's meant to resemble their old crusade outfits when they were younger. The second reason is that they look really cool. The outfit is designed for mobility, mostly, and before you say anything, the hip windows are because Shamura usually holds close range weaponry in the second set of arms and hates the way they snag on fabric when its there.

[strawberrymochin]

Springtime Fushiguros♪

Context-: exploring the memories of childhood of fushiguros, marking the spring time of you and satoru gojo.

Period- tsumiki gets her first period. Gojo and Megumi panicking around.

Gojo streched himself on the couch, turning sides to get hold of the tv remote, switching it on, totally ignoring the pile of laundry he's supposed to get done.

Yawning to himself, he sits up straight. It's boring, to enjoy a sunday alone, especially when you have gone out with shoko to help her out with some of her queries. He could have bothered megumi, annoying him would be a great time pass or maybe getting him practice some of the new moves he learned.

Or maybe he could have played with tsumiki, letting her tie his hair into pigtails, doll him up. Adore his skin with different cute holographic stickers and have a kitty party. And even rummaging through your closet, hosting a fashion show.

However, today none of the kids bothered to show their faces.

A rushed creak of door opening echoed through the apartment, above the sound of the television. Gojo turned his head to the side, to see megumi....with dread plastered face.

"What happened? Saw a ghost or something?" Gojo's lips curve into a smug smile, pleased to get an opportunity to tease megumi. Though it vanishes quickly when Megumi's expression doesn't seem to falter.

Megumi's steps are rushed towards his sensei, eyebrows knitted in a worried form.

"Tsumiki's bleeding." Said megumi, pointing his hand towards their room.

Gojo got still for a moment his eyes travelled to megumi's hands. They were trembling.

"What! Did you use you accidentally used your cursed energy on her?!" Gojo stood up hastily, walking up to the kids room, trying to locate tsumiki.

"No." Megumi followed him.

Gojo's eyes scanned around the entire room— tsumiki's nowhere.

Megumi dragged him to his sister's bed by his sleeve. As the bed came clear in view, among the tousled sheets of pink strawberry printed ones, sharp in contrast with plain whites of megumi's, there was a huge stain which seemed like fresh blood.

"She went to the bathroom hurriedly, and I saw her shorts had blood stains....what happened to her? Is she going to die?"

"Goddamn! Did she ate those cookies made by shoko?"

"Huh?! I did saw her having some this morning!!"

"Fuck! She must have been poisoned then....her cooking is disaster anyways"

"No wonder she's your friend."

"Wha—"

"What do we do now??"

"What do we do nowww???"

"I wouldn't have asked you, if I would've known what to do!!"

"No wait...i know....imma get an ambulance first and then," he halts midway before reaching hell for leather to get an ambulance, "wait a min....." He straddled his way back to miki's bed, bending down to scrutinize the stains properly.

"Ahh....I see...but she's only 9 years old..." Gojo mumbled to himself, tilting his head to the side, while megumi glares at him annoyed.

"Why aren't you hurrying? Go get an ambulance!!" To this gojo replies nothing but goes to the corner of the room, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Miki... it's me. Gojo sensei. Is your stomach hurting?" For moments it's complete silence, till gojo speaks again, voice more soft, this time, "Don't be afraid Miki, it's fine. Tell me. Open the door of you feel like."

After a few seconds of hushed silence, the door of the bathroom unlocked, creaking a bit, revealing a tear stained tsumiki, eyes puffy from crying, looking down.

"Is it hurting?" Gojo asks tsumiki, fists dragging the hem of the tshirt, trying to hide the stains nodding her head slowly.

"You're a grown up girl Miki! Congrats!" Gojo chimed as tsumiki, with eyes filled with fat tears threatening to fall, looked up to him. Gojo had the kindest smile on his face, as he forwarded his hand patting on Tsumiki's head. His little girl's blooming fast. Though he cherishes it, there's a pang in his chest. It's already been two years. Why does time flies so soon? Why can't its wings freeze? Why can't the blissful moment last forever?

Megumi's stands behind him totally dumbfounded.

"So Tsumiki's fine? And she won't die right?" Megumi asks frowning, however there was a little relief on his face.

"Ofcourse not idiot," gojo flicks megumi's forehead earning an 'ouch' from him, "Your sister is just growing up. She got her first period which is a 100% normal thing. And we don't need ambulance for that."

Tsumiki tilts her head at confusion. Period? She thought. Gojo continued, "what we need is, a—"

"What?" Megumi asks dubiously as gojo's face falls.

"Umm... I will just call y/n a bit..." He says, asking tsumiki to stay there till he returns. Megumi, however, uncertain of gojo's decisions follows him to the living room, where he picks up his phone dialing you.

Then, to his washroom checking in the cabinets. "I can't seem to find it."

"Find what?...just ask y/n san."

"As if she's picking up my calls...i will be back in a few minutes.....be with tsumiki till then.

Before Megumi could ask what he's exactly planning to do, he senses the flow of cursed energy as gojo's figure fades in a quick blink of eye. He teleported to somewhere leaving Megumi and tsumiki home alone.

By the time he's back, teleporting to the entrance, wanting to hurry up to tsumiki, he's greeted by shoko bumping midway.

"Woah! What the heck dude!!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Well I'm here, since your girlfriend brought me in. Damn what do you have in those?"

"Is y/n home?"

He rushes inside to see you caressing tsumiki on the couch as Megumi sits on the opposite one, reading a book.

"Toru— omg.....what do got in there?" You gasp at the two huge plastic bags. Before he could answer, shoko snatches the bags from him peaking inside.

"He got pads and tampons along with cramp medicines, chocolates and heat pack and oh— there's menstrual cups too."

"toru, it looks like you robbed an entire pharmacy!"

"I couldn't find any in the cabinets," gojo sighs joining you guys on the couch. "And i didn't knew what tsumiki would prefer, moreover you weren't picking up my calls. Are you fine now Miki?"

Tsumiki nods at him with a smile, as he ruffles her hair. "Now that you're home, I guess everything's fine."

"You handled it well too. And you too megumi, you really care for your sister even though you don't show it much." You compliment as tsumiki giggles seeing Megumi blush.

"Yeah I mean you gotta see who's he learning from!" Gojo says with his signature smirk, spreading his arms showing off his greatness.

Silence,

Awkward Silence,

More awkward silence.

"Whatever." You, Megumi and shoko say at the same time, as you shift your attention back to tsumiki. Megumi goes back to reading his book while shoko goes to the kitchen.

Later this evening, shoko bought a cake to celebrate tsumiki's first period. Gojo sang on the top of his voice as shoko lectured the fushiguros on how this is a thing every girl has to go through.

As the kids were busy with shoko, gojo excused himself to the kitchen, where you were pouring out hot chocolate for everyone.

"Want a sip in advance?"

"I would love to have that but—" gojo's voice wavered a bit.

"Hmm?" You looked at him from the side of your eye, wanting him to continue.

"Is it okay for a girl to get her period when she's 9? Those parenting books and those internet articles said that the average age is somewhere between 10 to 12..."

You smiled to yourself at his question, leaving no doubt that one day he will surely be a great father. Maybe he even sees himself as a father figure for the kids. How pure and innocent is he?

Being born so strong, he had such huge responsibilities over his shoulders, barely allowing him to have his childhood. Growing up devoid of affection, gojo knows how important phase it is, thus he tries his best providing for Megumi and tsumiki. Making sure, the kids won't face what he faced.

"Nah, its normal to get it a year earlier or so, it depends on the girl's body." You assure him. Gojo leaned on the counter next to you, gazing the kids with shoko.

"They are growing so fast, ain't they?" He sighs.

"They are...." You sigh, " you want the time to stop?"

"Would be itching for that to happen." Gojo chuckles lightly, as his crystal blue eyes met yours.

"I love you."

"I know you can't resist my charm."

"Shut up. And say it back."

"I love you too my dear villian, my wicked angel, my sweet nemesis, do you even know how cunningly you've stolen my heart, even though it was yours to belong with."

"God! satoru...shut up."

a/n- had to post again for a glitch. Please reblog or like if you feel so.

[moronkombat]

Straight to it, Bi Han finds his wife dead 😘🥰😍

tw: character death, afab pronouns used

god this ask is blessed

Wind blows lightly, the breeze is warm and pleasant. Loose strands of pure ebony wisp past the curve of a cheek bone while eyes just as dark look to a gathering of flowers so perfectly planted. Bi-Han watches as petals fall limp and wrinkled, flora beginning the end of its life. There's a hand holding his, so much smaller than his own, yet the weight heavier than any mountain.

He hears her speaking and notices her adoring smile. She is beautiful, really, a grand masterpiece of humanity's kindness. Bi-Han loves her more than he can love anything else. She knows this, he never has to say it. He need only look upon her and his heart shines through his gaze.

They stood together in their garden as they always did before Bi-Han had to go. This their own little sanctuary where time stops. They should have never left that place.

Heart pounds in his chest, legs carry him faster and faster. Blood has spattered and drenched him while he runs through hallways that seem almost endless. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This meant to be between him and the Tengu and yet they have pulled that which is most precious to Bi-Han in its horrible grasp.

Ice continues to pierce those who stand in his way and the blood is so heavy upon his skin. He cannot stop, he must find her. Bi-Han knows the Tengu have her, they had told him as much. Their bodies are ripped and torn as the frantic man searches for his kidnapped wife.

The corpses have led him to some place dark but her light still shines through. There she stands, held by hands Bi-Han wishes to slice. Her eyes...she is terrified. She quivers and shakes while tears dirty her face. Bi-Han rages, an internal war erupts. Beast like eyes stare at the one who holds her from him and fingers twitch and become frigid.

"I'll kill you..." Bi-Han rasps through his bloodstained mask and everything within him begins to shake.

The Tengu looks at him, unafraid and resilient. He hums something that Bi-Han doesn't catch before eyes begin to crinkle into a smile.

"I know." He says. "But I will destroy you."

No! Bi-Han lunges forward, the ice that runs in his veins manifesting into life. Life really is a fickle thing. Blades catch the dimmed light of the room and beam with the strength of the sun. Sharpened and refined metal cuts through the air before it embraces flesh. Ribs begin to crack, blood begins to pour and her shriek lasts only but a moment before lungs are lacerated by a Tengu's wrath.

Blood flies through the air and paints a man most terrified. Droplets of her warm and scalding blood find themselves colliding onto Bi-Han's cheek as he reaches forward for her. Eyes widen while hers begin to fade dim. There's a scream. One inhuman and broken apart. As she falls, ice cuts through her attacker's throat and a life is ended.

Before that wretched Tengu body and even hit the floor, Bi-Han is cradling his dear wife who gasps and writhes in pain. His eyes look over her, blood is pooling from her wound even as his hands attempt to stop it.

"No, no, no, no-" Bi-Han panics, cold hands covered in burning crimson as a palm lays against her chest. "It's going to be alright, it's going to be okay-"

She knows he is lying but her words cannot form. Too trapped by the gasps for breath and cries of pain. Her blood is spilling faster now, it falls from her lips and runs down her chin like a flowing stream. The visage of him begins to blur until there is nothing but an obscured void.

"Stay with me now...!" his words all she has left to cling to but even they begin to echo and fade.

Her gasps, her pained whines...they are gone now. She is gone. An empty body is left in her place, limp and heavy. Bi-Han's eyes dart around her, a hand coated in red cups her cheek. He called out her name but she merely stares back at him with hazy eyes and bloody lips. Bi-Han's trembling body now crumbles apart and he cradles her just as he did when they were alone in that very special garden. The garden they never should have departed from.

He cries, he wails, begging her to speak to him, to hold him like she always did. She cannot, her body no better than the corpses he left behind. There's hurried clatter, the sound of footsteps approaching. Two younger brothers stand in the doorway, staring at the sight they should have never seen.

They stand together, Tomas and Kuai Liang looking at each other. Both are unsure of what to say as they watch their eldest brother sob and hold onto an empty husk of what was once the love of his life.

Bi-Han's mind is lost to him. He begs and pleads for her to awaken; he screams in the agony of pure destruction. The one he cries for cannot hear him. The wind blows lightly, the breeze cold and haunting.

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Dumpster Baby 2: Chaggie & Baby

Charlie: (panicking) Perri!? PERRI! Perri, sweetie, come down for Mommy, please?

Perri: (short for Perriwinkle based on her hair and color theme, wings flapping 100 beats a minute as she barely manages to hover around the chandelier in the very, VERY high ceilinged lobby) Hehehehehe!~

Charlie: Sweetie, please come down. Mommy's worried about you falling. Your wings aren't strong enough for those heights yet! (to Angel) How did she even get up that high?! You were supposed to be watching her while I went to the bathroom!

Angel: What? She flapped her wings and used the surrounding furniture to get higher. She can hover pretty damn good for a little tyke.

Charlie: (scolding tone) Angel!

Angel: Tyke! Tiiiiieee-k. Not dyke, Toots.

Vaggie: (flies up to Perri and holds her hands under her belly) Come here, mija. You're about to give Mommy a heart attack.

Perri: (giggles impishly in a way that almost sounds like Lucifer's giggle when he calls Razzle and Dazzle) Mita! Mita! Hehehehehe~

Vaggie: (gently guides Perri to "fly" into Charlie's hands)

Charlie: Oh, thank goodness! (holds Perri tight) No more flying above the coffee table!

Angel: What the fuck is Mita?

Vaggie: (blushes and bristles)

Charlie: (blushing) U-umm.... Perri heard me call Vaggie "Mamacita" one night when I thought she was asleep. And ever since, she's called her Mita.

Angel: HA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Holy Shit!!! Vaggie's mom name is because you guys had sex with the little tyke in the room!!!

[iliketangerines]

Raiden and Kung Lao with a reader that looks like this?? Like she works at madam Bo’s and comes from outworld. Shes fast with her work and now’s the boys orders- tehe

made to order

a/n: can't gang know i fw encanto (i cried during the rewatch of the movie)

pairing: raiden x reader x kung lao

warnings: xenophobia

Raiden and Kung Lao stare at you from their table as you effortlessly put down two waters on the table while taking their order in your other hands at a customer’s table

when Lord Liu Kang had opened up the barrier between Outworld and Earthrealm, there was a never ending flow of people coming from Outworld to explore Earth

people also loved going from Earthrealm to Outworld and last either of them heard, some corporate bigwig was trying to make a tourist industry out of it

but Kung Lao and Raiden supposed it wasn’t so bad as they watch you finish greeting a table with a loud smile and gentle laugh

you glance over at the two of them, tucking a stray strand of water behind your ear, before coming over to them with a big smile

Raiden clears his throat as you ask them how they’re doing today and that you can take their order, and Kung Lao flashes you a smirk, opening his mouth no doubt for a bad pickup line

Raiden elbows Kung Lao in the ribs, trying to do it subtly to stop him, but you catch the action as Kung Lao grunts and shoots a glare at his friend

you just smile and ask if they need any more time, and Raiden quickly says no, saying that they’re just a bit tired from picking cabbage all day

he puts in his order, saying it’s what he usually orders, and Kung Lao quickly puts his in, adding on that hey come here a lot to Madam Bo’s

you snap your fingers together on one of your many hands, and you exclaim that they’re Madam Bo’s prized students

Raiden raises his eyebrows at the statement, Madam Bo talked about the two of them?

Kung Lao just takes the chance to lean in closer to you, saying that yeah they were those students, learned everything they knew about fighting from her

you smile and cock your head, tapping another hand on your chin before you ask them to meet you after your shift, if they're willing

you want to test your skills, and Madam Bo had told you that they were the best fighters in this side of China

they glance at each other, answer already clear in their heads as they both say the same thing in unison: yes

you beam at them with that gorgeous smile and walk away with a wink, putting their food orders to the kitchen

both Raiden and Kung Lao chat, watching you out of the corner of their eyes as you flit around the restaurant putting down plates and pouring glasses of water and taking orders

your arms certainly came in handy for sure

finally, you serve them their meals as you pour them new tea, and you tell them to enjoy their food

Raiden gives you a polite nod, thanking you for the speedy service, and Kung Lao gives you a large smile and tries to say something flirty

except he misjudged where to place his elbow as he leans his head on it and ended up slamming his forehead into the table

you place a hand over your mouth, stifling your giggle, and you nod your head at them before disappearing to serve the next table

Kung Lao rubs his forehead and Raiden ruffles his friend’s hair before going to eat his meal, a casual conversation easily rising between the two of them

several minutes pass, finishing their meal, and they hear a small commotion and look over, finding you looking rather irritated as a man too red in the face points at you

they spot the empty bottles of alcohol, how the spittle flies from his mouth, and then they see how his hand grab onto one of your wrists tightly

the man is shouting insults about how Outworlders don’t belong on Earth and that they should all go home, and Raiden rises up to help

but then, they watch you grab onto the man’s wrist with your other hands, easily pushing his grip out of yours, and bend his wrist back so far they’re surprised the bone hasn’t broken

they hear the man howl in pain, kneeling down to try and relieve the pressure, but all you do is bend his wrist further back with a cold smile on your face

you ask him to repeat his statement, asking if he really wants to test you right now, and he sobs out an apology, begging you to spare him

sighing, you let go of him and tell him to get out of the restaurant, but not before paying

he scrambles, leaving his wallet on the table, and you pick it up, fishing out a generous amount of money and counting through it as you walk over to the counter

you hand over some of the cash to the lady at the register and then pocket some of it for yourself before noticing how Raiden and Kung Lao stare at you

walking on over, you give them a slight embarrassed smile, saying you really wish they didn’t have to see it, but the both of them reassure that it’s fine, that they can’t wait to fight against you

you give them a relieved chuckle and ask them to just stick around a little longer, that your shift is almost over

you take their empty plates away, handing them the check

but not before sending them a flirty wink as you walk away, sending both Raiden and Kung Lao’s heart stuttering