#You’re not too big you’re not too masculine you’re not too old not ever

[isuggestforcefem]

Kinda wanna be a girl but I'm 6'4" and built like a linebacker. So ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You can be a girl you can always be a girl there’s no kind of body that unable to be a girl you need to become a girl

[starsandsuch]

Observations about how men from each Nakshatra act in dating & relationships 🏹 👩‍❤️‍👨 💌

Spilling the tea on men through the nakshatras , thank me later ladies 😌😉😏

Disclaimer : Mostly observations of public figures / personal experience/ what I’ve heard from friends. Feel free to add your experience!!

TW: some of these are really honest or 18+

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Ashwini men: very childish no matter how old they are. Can be possessive, kinda psycho with a violent streak.

Bharani men: don’t have much notes about them but from what I heard they are extremely possessive// many girls haves told me they’ve been stalked by bharani men. When their love is unrequited they will never let it go. Traditional and takes care of women. Masculine.

Krittika men: goofy and funny personality. Enjoys being babied by their partner.

Rohini men: know how to be the perfect storybook gentlemen. Prince Charming vibes. Very devotional to their partner. Seemingly innocent but are very s3xual individuals. Lowkey perverts. Can be stalkers.

Strives to satisfy their sexual craving within a relationship but will cheat on their partner to do so. Don’t put anything past them.

Mrigashira men: very intentional with who they chose to date. Specific criteria that only makes sense to them. The type to have a bunch of exes that all look identical to each other.

Seem like big heauxs but are loverboys on the low. They know how to please women on a fundamental level, theee most romantic and thoughtful gifts ever.

They like dating outside of their race, they tend to like girls who are flawless looking. If a Mrigashira man likes you, just know you’re probably a 10.

They can be misogynistic but are simultaneously obsessed with the opposite sex. They are really cute when they’re in love. They love playing mind games though.

Tend to be pretty boys, I notice they often have gay allegations on their reputations. They give bisexual vibes even if they’re straight.

Ardra men: similar to Mrigashira they are lover boys. They are used to dealing with rejection or unrequited love connections. They love hard but have trouble finding the right person for them , causing heartbreak in their love lives.

They are traditional in relationships. They act sad and emotional to get girls to like them. Their sad boy act is authentic sometimes but they are huge fboys too. Emotionally manipulative. Loves doing romantic gestures for their lovers. Very thoughtful gift giver.

Punarvasu men: they are like the ideal husband archetype . Caring, traditional, effectionate, generous. They are naturally feminine and understands what a women needs. However, they are very passive tho and end up being cucks in their relationships.

They attract more assertive women that energetically over power them. Classic Jupiter dominant man trope. Gets played a lot. Often friend zoned a lot too. Has weird fantasies.

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Pushya men: traditional and like taking care of a woman. They love pretty b!tches so if a Pushya guy likes you , you’re top tier. They are heauxs tho.

Ashlesha men: have serious mommy issues that get in the way of their romantic relationships. They are innately feminine and struggle expressing their masculinity in a healthy way. Very draining individuals. Tend to be romantic and generous, they are promiscuous tho.

Magha men: enjoys princess treatment from women, they like to be pursued by women. They are withholding with their energy and resources and usually women who date them leave the relationship with less then they started with. Misogynistic tendencies.

Purva Phalguni men: they tend to have all the qualities that women desire from men in relationships. Romantic , protective, generous , they are good at s3x. They are very devoted and romantic in a monogamous relationship. However they often have scandals in their love life that spoil their relationships and reputation.

They are very sexual and will go to great lengths to satisfy their sexual desires. These men have HIGH body counts. Usually involved in taboo relationships.

Uttara phalguni men: seem innocent and orderly but are s3x freaks. They are womanizers and pretend to treat women well to keep a good reputation but can have a negative side to them in private. Pervert-Chad vibes.

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Hasta men: cheap and feminine. They lie a lot. Haven’t heard great things about them.

Chitra men: feminine and tend to be himbos. I don’t think I ever met a straight chitra man? If they are straight they like being chased by women. Pretty boys.

Swati men: “Prince Charming takes you on a whirlwind romance” they like impressing women and like to be traditional. They have hot and cold vibes tho most women find impossible to deal with. They are eccentric and flighty. Emotionally unstable.

Vishaka men: will fight for the woman they really like. “Warrior/solider who defends the honor of the princess he’s in love with”. They are thots tho. Have a lot of drama in their love lives.

Anuradha men: falls in love hard. Devotional and romantic, will do grand romantic gestures for their partners. But tend to have addictive personalities and violent tendencies. Can have s3x addiction. Will stalk their love interests. Some have really creepy vibes and weird fantasies. Emotionally turbulent.

Jyeshta men: treat relationships like a game, they like collecting trophies and prizes, so they will date many women at once. They are generous and manly and good at manipulating women. Seemingly enjoy the attention of relationships more than the actual relationship. They like to chase. Lie a lot.

Mula men: traditional and kinda boring. Epitome of “she’s Barbie and he’s just Ken”. They are goal oriented, ambitious and logical. They tend to prioritize their career and desire a “trophy wife” to compliment them. Have stoic personalities and are straightforward and blunt.

Purva Ashdha men: traditional gentleman archetype. Very romantic in relationships. Kinda tend be players though. Pretty boys.

Uttara ashdha men: traditional and fatherly. Usually dates Sun nakshatra/ Leo women or women who have solar qualities like them. They like dating the “female version of themselves”. Doesn’t really understand the complexities of women. Typical “he’s just Ken” vibes.

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Shravana men: not really assertive in relationships. Likes hanging with the bros more than devoting self to a relationship. Not the most committed, but can be, but only if it’s connected to their social status. Usually marries their high school sweetheart. Not much notes for them.

Dhanishta men: complex relationships with women. A “bachelor” Nakshatra. Some of them hate women or only have a partner bc it’s socially acceptable. Likes the social status that comes with being with a beautiful woman. Doesn’t have successful relationships till later in life. Best suited towards “friends to lovers” relationships. Some are kinda innocent and virginal. Haven’t heard great d reports about them.

Shatabhisha men: surprisingly act very fatherly in relationships, enjoys taking care of the partner. Not the most emotional in relationships but tend to handle responsibilities well. Likes hanging w the bros prob more than their girlfriend. This nak in general is like the “ghost nakshatra” they will ghost pretty much anyone , and are hard to connect with. Sneaky & secretive. Tall & handsome.

Purvabhadrapada men: acts like a gentleman. huge heauxs. Although when they find “the one” they’ll move heaven and earth for her. Gomez and Morticia Addams vibes. Nonchalant about most relationships but women tend to go crazy for them. Usually has the hots for one women but will entertain many he doesn’t really care about. Makes great fathers.

Uttabhadrapada men: odd personalities in general. Can have trouble connecting with the opposite sex. Don’t have much notes about them. Kinda boring.

Revati men: are generous, assertive masculine. If they want you they’ll show it. Tend to like having a mommy figure as a partner. They are heauxs tho and always have a big roster. Very s3xual individuals. Major players. Immature.

[ohbo-ohno]

3.5k of cbf-turned-bully!soap x reader, inspired by this (very old) ask to my fave ever <3 (read on ao3)

tags: dubcon, dirty talk, masturbation, references to bullying, breaking and entering, rough sex, overstimulation

You’re still nearly shaking with frustration as you settle beneath your sheets, fingers twitching against your stomach and your jaw clenched tight.

You are not going to touch yourself. You’re not. There is no way in hell that you’re coming home from seeing Johnny fucking MacTavish for the first time in years and masturbating. It’s not happening.

…Well, you are awfully keyed up.

“Fucking bastard,” you hiss to yourself, frustration only growing as you shimmy down your loose shorts. You tell yourself firmly that this has absolutely nothing to do with the reappearence of your greatest nemesis, and try not to grind your teeth. You hadn’t even spoken to the man - just a glance of him had you hissing and ducking behind a different aisle at the supermarket - and you’re already riled by him. It’d be embarrassing if you weren’t nearly too horny to think.

You take a deep breath and rest your fingers over your slit, closing your eyes and letting your mind wander. You touch yourself slowly, fingers carefully spreading your lips as you let your mind wander. With your free hand you tug open your bedside drawer, tugging out your favorite toy and dragging it down your stomach.

Your movements are measured and familiar as your usual fantasies play across the backs of your eyes. You give yourself several long moments to slicken, coaxing more and more from your body with nimble fingers and quick circles.

In your mind, there’s a large body over yours and something just thick enough to let you feel the sting of a stretch inside of you, your breasts pushing against his chest, soft grunts in your ears.

Your breathing hitches, hips working against your palm as the fantasy starts to become more clear. He’s big, both above you and inside of you - only halfway in and already tugging you near the edge. His hands are on either side of your head, caging you in so all you can see is his tan skin, his rippling muscles.

You bite your lip to hold back a moan, eyelids fluttering. His bright eyes roll back when he pulls away enough for you to see his face. You lift one hand to your breast, the other gripping his head and both of you moan when you tug. The drag of his cock inside of you is perfect, his weight over you, the heat absolutely pouring over him…

His head drops back down when you let go of his hair, and his lips curve up into a smile as he looks down at you.

You nearly screech when you recognize him, throwing both hands away from your body and your eyes flying open to stare at your dark cieling. Your cunt and nipple throb, feeling quite suddenly neglected, but your heart isracing for an entirely different reason.

No. No. It’s one thing to satisfy your own needs after seeing the man, it’s another to… God, you can hardly even think it - to fantasize about the man and fuck yourself to him. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, desire rapidly cooling. Without Johnny himself in front of you - all six feet of him, muscular and masculine as he’s grown up to be - it’s easier to remember just how terrible he was to you all those years in school. There’s no sharp jawline and cute scruff to distract you from the memory of how he’d steal your clothes before you could change in gym class, leaving you with only those embarrassingly tiny athletic shorts for the rest of the day.

You huff as you let your legs fall closed again, the mood well and truly dissipating now. All you’ve got left is regular frustration, instead of the fun kind.

A sharp tap at the window jerks you out of your pouting, and you yank your blankets up to cover what little skin is showing in a panic, the slick dildo resting on your thighs. The room is silent for a moment, absolutely still except for the fan in the corner that’s been blowing for years, until there’s another tap.

You don’t realize what it is until the tap turns into a thunk. Then, you can hardly bite back your yelp. You’re nearly paralyzed with fear as the sound turns into a sort of… jangling almost, clearly coming from the one window in your bedroom.

Back pressed against your headboard, you can do nothing but think of all the things you should be doing as the curtains start blowing more noticeably, wind pouring into the room.

You’re just sucking in a breath to scream when Johnny MacTavish pops out from behind the curtain, combat boots loud against the wood flooring.

“Same old broken lock, huh, bonnie?” He smirks, strolling into your room like he belongs, like he used to. “Be honest now, you were just waiting here for me, weren’t you?”

You’re gaping like a fish, you know it, but you can’t help but stare at him wide-eyed.

The last time John MacTavish was in your bedroom, he was at least a foot shorter and a hell of a lot more welcome. The two of you had been eleven when he’d still been willing to be near you, but as soon as you’d moved on to elementary school - as soon as boys became boys and girls became girls, and kids had crushes instead of cooties - he’d stopped coming around. It was only a few years after that, in high school, that he’d gone from a friend you used to have to the boy who made school miserable.

And there is not one single reason you can think of to justify him sneaking in, the way he used to. Not now, all these years later with so much - said and unsaid - lingering between you.

None of that seems to weigh on him, though. He’s cocky as ever, doesn’t even bother to take off his boots as he saunters towards your bed, giving you a long look that can only be described as salacious as he leans himself against the foot of your bed.

It’s pure instinct to grope blindy at your bedside table, grabbing the first thing your fingertips touch and launching it at his head.

His instincts are sharp enough the he catches the bottle of water before it can do any real damage, but the small distraction gives you enough time to stumble to your feet, blanket held protectively in front of your body - you’re not completely nude, but a tanktop and panties aren’t exactly what you want Johnny seeing you in.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You hiss, some old instinct making you want to stay quiet even though there’s no one in the house with you.

The look he gives you is almost begrudgingly scolding, his lips tilted up in the corners as he tuts like he’s just barely holding back a smile. “Now, what was that for? I know your happy to see me, no need to start throwin’ things.”

“Johnny,” you scold, heartbeat slowing as the initial fear fades. “What the hell are you doing in my room? We haven’t spoken in years, you can’t just show back up-”

“Aw, I knew you missed me,” he grins, easily interrupting you and stepping almost within arms reach, water bottle discarded on your dresser. “Figured you didnae want to hear from me, I’d have written if I knew you’d be so crabbit.”

You splutter a bit, spine straightening in offense. “You’re breaking into my house! I have more than a right to be- what’d you say? Crabbit?”

His smile only grows and he steps closer, making you instinctually take a step back. “I don’t mind, lass. ‘S always fun to coax a pretty thing out of an ugly mood.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you splutter, your heart only beating faster as Johnny prowls forward, eyes dragging down your body like he wants to eat you alive. 

“I like your PJs, bonnie,” he rumbles, reaching out a hand to drag his finger down one of the straps of your tank top. “Did you match your panties just for me?”

Yous hiss and smack his hand away, one hand crossing tight over your chest to try and regain some amount of modesty. “How could I have dressed for you when you’re breaking in? This is ridiculous, you need to go, Johnny-”

You hardly even notice as he slowly pushes you backward, his chest pressed against yours until there’s no more room to pull away from him, the wall at your back a cold shock.

“Go?” He tilts his head, eyes big and round and you know the bastard isn’t as innocent or well-meaning as he’s trying to look. “But I just got here, bonnie. We haven’t even fucked yet.”

You rear back at the crass language, face flushing with heat. “What- we’re not going to-” You stumble over your words, pressing further back against the wall when his hands - rough, calloused, so much bigger than they used to be - grab both of your elbows to keep you still. “We’re not having sex,” you finally manage to choke out.

His grin is shark-like, sharp and verging on mean as he ducks his face closer to yours, lowering his voice to match your volume. “Why not? You look hungry, lass, don’t you want a little help? My fingers are bigger than yours, bet I can reach further up in your pretty cunt than you can.”

You gape for a moment, mouth moving as you think about saying any number of things, each of them dying before they cross your lips. This Johnny is so far from the lanky teenager who shoved you as you passed him in the hallway, and even further from the little boy who refused to be your first kiss because of your cooties. You have no idea how to deal with this invasive adult Johnny.

Your hands are small against his broad chest, and you press against him with just a hint of pressure, hoping he’ll take your hint and lean away. He doesn’t, only pushes himself closer and gives you some of his weight to hold up. 

“Johnny, come on,” you try, pushing a little harder and only getting yourself more firmly pinned against the wall. “We can- let’s get lunch tomorrow, okay? We can talk then.”

Johnny doesn’t respond at first, only ducks down and presses his face into your throat. You stiffen at the feeling of his damp breath against your skin, the slight brush of his teeth chasing goosebumps down your spine. Your breath hitches when you feel a distinct shape against your stomach, his hardness pressing into you.

“I can’t leave now, bonnie,” he says against your throat, groaning and grinding himself against you just once. “Ye’ve got me all worked up, I’ll die if you make me go.”

“Johnny…” you whine, wrapping your hands around his biceps and squeezing.

“I’ll make it good for you, don’ worry,” he reassures, hands shifting from the wall to wrap around your waist. “Might be a tad selfish once we get goin’, but you’ll have your fun.”

You can’t do much but squirm as one of his hands slips down beneath your bottoms, large hand cupping you. Your squeak is entirely unintentional when his fingers begin to explore without any reservations, your face hot with embarrassment at how quickly your body reacts.

Johnny doesn’t lift his head far, only enough to mouth at your jaw and leave little sucking bites. His free hand, the one not stroking your clit and drawing out wetness from your core, drifts up enough to palm one of your breasts.

“Johnny,” you breathe, incapable of saying anything but his name.

You can feel his smile against your skin, and you arch further into him when he slides one thick finger inside of you. His fingers are bigger than yours, enough for you to worry about the size of other parts of him.

“You’re so tight for me, lovie. Gonna squeeze me just right, huh?” His fingers crooks inside of you at just the right angle, and your hips jerk forward on instinct as you cry out. “Pretty thing, can’t believe I never had this back in school.”

“What-” You start, cutting yourself off with a gasp that melts into a moan as he pushes another finger inside of you. You’re more than wet enough to take it, but everything seems to be moving at hyperspeed, and you can’t keep up. “Oh, that’s- what’re you talking about?”

He huffs against your jaw, nosing up a little further to press against your cheek as his hot breath washes over you. “You’re so pretty lass, had me hard as iron every day when we were kids. Wasn’t very nice, huh bonnie? Walkin’ around in those cute skirts and - fuck, your pretty blush… drove me fucking insane.”

You yelp at the sudden stretch of three fingers, pushing up onto your toes to try and jerk away, but Johnny just follows you, thumb stroking cruelly over your clit.

“Just wanted to bend you over,” he groans, pressing his hips into your stomach and gripping your breast tight enough that you worry you’ll bruise. “Wanted to put you on your knees, on your back, fuck, woulda done anything for just a peek at this pretty cunt.”

“Jo-hnny,” you hiccup, melting against him as the pleasure begins to overwhelm you, everything else fading as you creep closer to an orgasm you’re not even sure you want. “I don’t-”

“Hush,” he hisses, smacking your tit lightly and ignoring your cry of shock. “Lemme get you off here, then I’ll fuck you, yeah? Gonna split you open on my cock, show you what you coulda had years ago, gonna fuck you dumb.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, swallowing your moans and cries as they slowly grow in volume. Your hips buck against his hands as you chase an orgasm, unable to do anything more than pant into Johnny’s mouth as he licks into yours, tongue exploring every bit he can reach.

Your orgasm absolutely melts you, leaves you weak and limp pinned between the wall and the man you’d once known so well. Johnny’s breathing almost as hard as you, every part of him pressed fully against you. He’s all heat and solid man, forcing you to ride out every euphoric wave of your orgasm.

You’re a little glassy eyed by the end of it, knees weak and mind even weaker. You’re vaguely aware of your hands lightly pushing at him as he lifts you by the thighs, dropping you carelessly onto the bed.

“Fuck,” Johnny hisses, tearing your clothes from your body like they’re nothing. You whine when he presses kisses to your stomach, those kisses quickly turning to sucking bites that have you arching and running a hand through his mohawk. 

He doesn’t bother to take off his shirt - too busy licking his way up to your tits for that - but the sound of his belt dropping to the floor and his jeans following is loud in the quiet of your bedroom.

When he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking like he’s trying to physically pull more moans from you, you arch off the bed with a near squeal. He’s hunched over you as he settles firmly above your prone form on the bed, knees between your thighs and keeping them spread.

“Slow- slow down,” you gasp, tapping at his shoulder a bit frantically as you feel the thick - so thick - length of him press against your drooling center. “Johnny-!” 

Your cry melts into a long, drawn-out moan as Johnny forces himself inside of you with one mean thrust. Three fingers somehow wasn’t enough prep for you to take him comfortably, his cock leaving you teary eyed and writhing on the bed as he bottoms out in just seconds. You feel like you’ve been impaled, the breath forced from your chest as you dig your nails into his shoulder and try despertley to breathe through the stretch.

“There,” Johnny pants above you, lips pink and swollen from his kisses. “There ye go, bonnie, good fuckin’ girl for me. Coulda - shit, shit - coulda had this years ago, huh?” His head drops low, eyes boring into yours as he pulls back and thrusts back into you sharply, forcing another cry from your lips. “See how good it feels? I can make you feel so good, pretty girl, promise.”

“Johnny, c’mon,” you gasp, scratching down his shoulder blades and pulling him close. Any reservations you had have been fucked out of you in just a few thrusts, and even despite your recent orgasm your clit throbs with need. “C’mon, you can- you can move.”

His smile is sharp above you, his own pupils blown wide and his shirt sticking to his sweat-slick skin. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you harder?”

You whine high in your throat, throwing your head back and hitching your hips higher as he finds a pace that works, his hips slamming against the backs of your thighs when you wrap them around his waist. You’re half off the bed with the position he’s got you in, his arms scooping you up around your back so he can lavish more attention across your tits.

Every breath you take leaves you in a moan or a cry, the pleasure he’s punshing into you almost overwhelming. You feel fevered, desperate in a way you never have before as you claw desperately at Johnny’s scalp, tugging his hair until he moans.

“So tight for me,” he slurs against your chest, drooling as he switches from one nipple to the other. “Drivin’ me fuckin’ mad, bonnie, could stay in this cunt forever, shit.”

“Johnny,” you gasp, eyes screwed up tight as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to a second peak. “You’re so… fuck, so big, I can’t… can’t breathe.”

“Yeah?” He asks, looking up at you and pushing himself up enough to press kisses to your lips. “‘M fuckin’ the air right out of you, huh? Fuckin’ you so good you can’t breathe?”

“Yeah,” you keen, your body beginning to tense as you begin to taste your orgasm. “Feel so good, Johnny, please, I’m so- I’m so close, c’mon…”

“Yes, yes,” he chants against you, his lips brushing over every bit of your face he can reach, tongue darting out to lick up the few stray tears slipping from your eyes. “Squeeze me tight, c’mon, come for me, lass, you can do it.”

He doesn’t give up his tight hold on you to rub your clit, but you find that you don’t need him to, the combination of his thrusts and everything about the situation bringing you to a powerful enough orgasm that your vision whites out for a moment. Your throat is sore as you shout, and the fabric of Johnny’s shirt is loose around where your fingers have dug in mercilessly.

“Fuck, tight as a vice, fuck, fuck,” Johnny moans, his own face screwed up in pleasure as he loses any rhythm he had before, fucking you like a fleshlight. He leans back and pulls you up with him, holding you chest to chest with him and burying his face into your neck as you hold onto him for dear life. 

He buries his teeth right above your pulse as he comes, working his hips in small, jerky thrusts to milk himself as you tighten up around him. Your breath is synced with his, both of you panting desperately and soaked in sweat.

You’re still reeling as he begins to recover. Before you can even muster enough strength to let your thighs fall away from his hips, he’s falling forward onto the bed and laying both of you out on your sides, his hold on you not loosening at all. He takes half a second to throw his shirt across the room, then presses you so close that your tits are all but flat against his chest.

He’s uncharacteristically silent as the two of you share breaths, each of you slowly floating back into your bodies. The only emotion you can really muster is shock - how is it that Johnny, your best friend turned biggest bully, just fucked you better than any man you’ve been with before? It feels, in some absurd way, unfair.

“We’ll have to talk about this,” you say quietly, once your heartbeat has almost evened out and your breaths are coming evenly. 

Johnny only hums, one big hand moving down to hitch your thigh back around his waist, tilting your body so somehow even more of your skin is pressed against his. “Sure, bonnie,” he murmurs, voice half muffled from where his face is pressed into your hair. “Tomorrow.”

“I’m serious, Johnny,” you try, one hand resting on his ribs. “You broke into my house.”

“Hmm,” he hums, taking a deep breath of your scent and letting it out contentedly. “I’ll say sorry in the mornin’. Sleep now, though.” His voice is almost pleading, his grip on you tightening for just a moment, one hand behind your back and the other resting on your ass. You feel like a stuffed animal, but you’re too pleasure-sated to really mind.

“Alright,” you agree, settling into his hold fully and letting your mouth rest against his collarbone as your eyes flutter shut. “Tomorrow.”

[bunnyinvanilla]

What if for dads bsf, he comes on a family trip to the beach with you and your father.

You in your bikini, the sneaked glances when your dad isn't looking. MAYBE have him apply sunscreen on you!

dadsbf!old man john price in his late 40s n young, innocent sweet fem!reader who’s 21

you’ve always been a mountain lover, sunny countryside and green lavish trees filled you with the warmest joy, but just like he would any other summer, your dad has forced you to come to the beach with him, stating that ‘vitamin d is important’, but what convinced you is that you can just lay down, read your book and sip chill cold cocacola in peace, especially since your dads best friend john price is coming with you

laying happily under the cozy shadow of a colorful umbrella, heart shaped glasses and a book in your hand, your reading is cradled by the gentle hum of the wind moving through the waves, but you find it hard to focus on the lines on the paper as your eyes keep moving towards him — his muscular, buff, hairy chest is wet, burly and decorated with a few scars, his dark, graying hair and beard kissed by the sun as he shook his head, thin drops of water falling over the sand.

you take a shaky breath, feeling your cheeks grow warm and red, brighter than the sun, and quickly look away, blushing hard and feeling bad for staring so much — but gosh, he’s the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, so bulky and mature, aged in the most handsome way.

you toss over the towel, shifting position and continuing reading, already too caught up in the book to notice the looming and lurching shadow above you, that covered the sun rays — you tilt your head, and there he is, bundle of muscles, thick beard and intimidating, pure masculine energy.

“enjoying your book, love?” he asks playfully, his voice rough and low, quirking his brow as he let his eyes travel down your figure, shamelessly staring over your legs and adorable, vintage style bikin, all frills and ribbons — he sets his warm eyes back on your face, “what are you reading, Lolita?”

your cheeks are burning like flames, and you feel like you’re steaming with the hot air around you “m not, sir,”

he only laughs, a short, deep chuckle, before he tilts his head towards the water behind him “not gonna take a swim, doll?”

“dont think so, haven’t put on sunscreen yet..” you nibble on your bottom lip, head elsewhere, before you reach out to heap your bottle of coke “was waiting for someone to help me open this, can you help me sir, please?”

you give him big, doe eyes, your puffy lips parted slightly as your dolly features look up at him with such a tender, innocent look he needs to ignore how uncomfortable and suddenly tight his wet shorts feel.

“of course, doll face,” he takes it from your hands, opens it with a tiny, effortless twist of his large hand and hands it over to you, giving you a slight wink — you flame up under his gaze, and quickly bring the bottle up to your lips, mumbling a shy “thank you, sir”

the first sip is the best one, cold and frizzy bubbles running down your throat as you savor them — you let your eyes mindlessly set on him as you drink, almost choking with the coke when you notice how his own sharp ones are stuck on your lips wrapped around the bottle.

you swallow, placing the bottle down — your dad is swimming cluelessly back in the sea, near the limit of the string of buoys marking the swimming area, out of sight and of reach.

“need me to put sunscreen on you, princess, can’t have your delicate skin get burned now,” he says it almost like a command, stating it like you don’t have a voice in the matter and that makes your heart flutter — he brings his authoritative, caring and dominating attitude everywhere he goes, even when he’s not working, he’s a soldier in control of his surroundings inside and outside of the field.

“don’t wanna bother you sir, but thank you, alright..” you just blink, carefully placing your book down next to you and laying on the sandy towel, practically giving and serving yourself to him. he almost grunts at the sight, you, so young, too young, sweet and modest in your bikini, always dainty and refined.

“never bother me, sweet girl, stay still for old price, good girl” he grips — yes, grips — the sunscreen hardly and bends over one knee, applying it on both hands before starting to smear it over your skin, your arms, your legs and then your thighs. you almost gasp at the contact, his hands have always looked calloused, rough and scarred, like sandpaper, but they feel so good, warm and large against your skin.

he remains silent as he lower his hands and gently squeezed your thighs, a silent request, which you immediately followed by parting your thighs to him, still laying on your back — his hands apply the sunscreen on your inner thighs, close to where you ache the most, where you want him, but your bashfulness prevents you from addressing this need.

his thick fingers distractedly brush over your clothed clit, making you let out a soft, tiny sound, that sounded like a strangled whine and a little sigh — his eyes shoot out, completely and utterly in control, but when he spreads more cream next to your needy spot, you involuntarily buck your hips against his hand, making him clench his jaw and mutter down a restrained, growly “careful, doll, be a good girl and don’t move, said stay still”

you swallow back your embarrassment, your cheeks red and bright, whole face on fire as he shifts his hands on your tummy, caressing it and smearing more white cream on your flat chest, between your tiny, small boobs that are raising and falling with every hard breath.

“feel good, doll?”

you nodded, unable to say anything, but you wanted him to kiss you, to just take you however he pleased “yessir”

“good, on your tummy f’me now, come on” he pats your leg, and you quickly turn around, closing your eyes when you feel his large hands on your back, applying your cream — you arch your back against his fingers, earning a deep, amused chuckle from him.

“look at you, love, stretching yourself like a bunny, huh?”

you nod again, but this time, your eyes shoot open when you feel his thick mustache and beard pressed against the skin of your shoulder, pressing a light, small and tickling kiss — he lowers his hand and playfully pats your bottom, caressing it before drifting back. “done, love, all nice and safe.”

you’re left like this, blushing and wide eyed, watching him take a sip from your bottle of coke, and you can’t help but let your romantic mind think this is an indirect kiss.

[plaidos]

I have no particular dog in this fight as I'm not a GF superfan or anything, but I would like to question a bit of your analysis.

I think you're right that the version of GF where Dipper is transmasc makes Mabel's canonical actions transphobic.

I would like to question the insinuation that those same actions would've been "normal sibling rivalry" (?!) were Dipper closeted transfem or even cismasc, as opposed to "worst sister ever" (!?) behavior. Especially if we're going with transfem Dipper, those incidents of bullying remind me much more of patterns of bullying against transfeminine people, and intersex people CAMAB (such as myself) that I've personally witnessed/experienced.

Also, to the idea that Mabel being transphobic fundamentally changes her character in some way. Like, sometimes characters we're supposed to like hold a bigoted attitude which they will unlearn over the course of the story. Sokka from Avatar and Weiss from RWBY come to mind. Mabel being one of those characters doesn't fundamentally change her storyline or arc.

you’re right, Mabel’s actions and teasings are still mean with a transphobic undercurrent — even if Dipper is a dyadic cis boy, to be honest. but she’s also a twelve year old born in 1999. i too have received the kind of bullying associated with the way Mabel acts towards Dipper about his gender, but i’ve also had similarly “jokes” from loved ones who didn’t realise how shitty they were being because they didn’t have the political framework to analyse what is fucked up about it.

but if we’re reading Dipper as transmasc, it’s like… everybody he knows is accepting enough of his identity to gender him correctly, but they’re still totally willing to say things to him that you would categorically know are bigoted even at that age. like a twelve year old cisgender girl who knows about trans people and respects their existence might not realise how needlessly callous she is being when she teases her (seemingly) cisgender brother for having “girly” interests, but that same cisgender girl would probably be able to identify that her openly transgender brother wouldn’t want to wear makeup and that it would be incredibly fucked up to make him. i’m not saying it’s “right” but Mabel needs to actively Be A Transphobe (rather than just having some twelve year old cis girl ideas about gender & masculinity) to treat Dipper the way she treats him if he is openly transmasculine, but I feel like there’s more of a plausible deniability. i feel like the Mabel we see in the show is a couple years away from being like “wow, that was spectacularly mean of me, i hope that didn’t have an effect on Dipper’s self worth”

i feel like if (in the crazy alternate universe where this is possible) there were an episode where Dipper came out as transfem after feeling hurt by Mabel’s jokes she would be really torn up about it. she’d say something like “i’m really sorry, i didn’t know you felt so strongly about gender… i thought we were just joking around but i should be paying more attention to how you feel, Dipper…. wait, maybe you don’t want to be called Dipper any more. Oh no I AM a bigot!!!” and then Soos would come in and be like “heheh. total hatecrime dude” and then we’d cut to Bill being like “i don’t care what gender you are pine tree… i’m gonna get that GIRL if it’s the last thing I do” except girl would be obviously ADR’d over in Alex Hirsch’s normal voice with his live action mouth over Bill’s animated mouth

also transfeminine Dipper has just always made more sense. the big argument was that he uses a nickname instead of his birth name which he keeps a secret. and that would make sense if Dipper had a girl’s name, but Dipper’s birth name is “Mason”. so he actually is choosing to not use a male name and instead use something gender neutral, even though he really loves matching with his twin sister & having matching names is a family tradition — so he probably has a pretty big reason to not use it, considering he still doesn’t even with all the reasons he has to.

[nekrosdolly]

bₑₐᵤₜy ₛcₕₒₒₗ ₋ ₙ.ₛₚₐᵣdₐ

calling nero girlish leads to a devastating self-discovery. what can you do but help?

a/n; fun fact i've been working on this for two months and three days... also the most down bad thing i've ever written. enjoy!

cw; sub!nero, dom!reader, afab!reader, feminization, a bit of manhandling (reader is written to be on the stronger side), small impact play, spit kink, biting, referring to dicks as clits and assholes as cunts/pussies, nipple play, anal fingering (n! receives), pegging, clothed reader, doggystyle, implied multiple rounds. 5.444k words!

You’ve been staring at Nero for at least half a minute now. He’s not returning your gaze but it’s definitely affecting him, as he’s shifting in his seat across from you quite a bit. The two of you are waiting for Dante, Lady, and Trish to finish gearing up for the mission you’re embarking on- something big, Dante says, but with the lot of you it’d be maybe a few hours max. If the two of you weren’t mutually interested in one another both in friendship and in a more-than-friends way, the staring would’ve bothered him. 

“You know,” you lean forward in the uncomfortable chair bolted to the ground across from the ratty couch Nero’s manspreading on, “you have kind of girlish lips.”

Nero furrows his eyebrows, his eyes finally meeting yours. Something clicks inside of him that he chooses to ignore despite the blossoming pink tint on his cheeks. Maybe you just have that effect on him, or maybe it’s something else.

“No, I don’t. They’re just lips.” He says as he rubs his cheek, his eyes breaking away from yours.

“Whatever.” You shrug. The rest of the team enters shortly, Nico included, and you’re on your way. 

While you busy yourself with menial conversation amongst the group, Nero cannot get his mind off of what you just said. Girlish lips? He doesn’t have girlish lips, does he? No, not at all. But god, if that doesn’t do something for him… It does. Especially coming from you. You’re not the face of masculinity or femininity by any means, but he likes the fact that you find him a bit girly. A bit of heat stirs in his gut, something brand new, and it’s good. Almost too good to ignore- but he’s on a mission and he needs to focus if he wants to make it out with minimal injuries.

He shakes the thought away (or tries to) when Nico brake-checks everyone and nearly sends everything in the old van flying.

“Here!” She chimes with a lit cigarette dangling from her fingers.

Five hours later.

The mission lasted longer than any of you had anticipated. Five hours of grueling slaughter brought upon by you and your comrades- aside from Nico, who relaxed in her van and watched from the sidelines. Nero’s mind was preoccupied on the way back, replaying the fight in his head to see if he could’ve done something different. You were slumped against Dante, who kept one arm on the back of the couch so you could rest comfortably as he read his porno mag.

He didn’t catch himself thinking about it until he was undressed later that night. He had already removed most of his clothing before he sat on the edge of his bed, only in his boxers. The moment kept replaying, you calling his lips girlish. Something about that felt right. Girlish. Maybe you’d treat him like a girl, too. Thinking about it made his dick twitch and his chest feel warm. His face heats up the way it did in the van as his thoughts run wild. Being told to wear a dress for you, putting on makeup, and making him truly look like a girl- (edits starting now) he groans into his hands, calloused heels of his palm pressing his eyes shut.

“This is so not what I needed right now,” he mumbles, sucking in a breath as he wills his boner away. Embarrassed, he lies down and pulls the covers overtop him. Sleep does not come easy.

The next day.

Within your close knit circle, compliments are sparse. Dante claps people on the back as a “good job,” and maybe Nico will toss them a thumbs up, but that's it. Nero’s used to it- the silent reassurance from everyone- except you. 

“You did really good, Nero,” the two of you are fresh from another mission, sore and covered in muck. The tips of Nero’s ears turn red, though it could be mistaken for the blood of slain demons. Deep down, he knows he did well. He doesn't need reassurance, verbal or otherwise, but it feels nice. The words send a little shiver down his spine.

“Uh, thanks. You too, I guess,” he says, shrugging his blue jacket off to leave by the door. He'll come back later to toss it in the wash. In a stretch, he lifts his arms over his head to hopefully ease the impending ache that'll settle in his muscles within minutes. With his shirt being as short as it is, his midriff is exposed to you for a short second.

Your eyes slightly widen, zeroing in on his waist. How in the world is it so… feminine? Girlish? Cute? Grabbable? He's not even looking as he keeps stretching, oblivious to your wandering, hungry gaze. 

“Dude, I'm jealous. Your waist is like, tiny. You sure you're not a girl under all that?” He knows you're teasing, he really does, but good heavens. It hasn't been a full day since the last incident, you may as well be trying to kill him.

Stormy eyes shoot open in shock and he lowers his arms to his sides nearly immediately. He tugs his shirt down more, as if that would help, and looks away.

“You're so weird, you know that? Do you want me to be a girl or something?” He scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. You chuckle to yourself, satisfied with his reaction.

Shrugging, “Maybe I do. You'd be a pretty cute girl, Nero.”

The white-haired man grumbles something as he walks off in the direction of the HQ bathrooms in hopes of a very, very cold shower. It's not his fault that your teasing gets him bricked. Of course, you notice nothing different, given that Nero’s always been quick to fluster.

In the bathroom, he splashes ice cold water on his face and rubs it into his skin. Some dirt and blood washes away with the water, but that wasn't his intention. He'll have to shower when he gets home, as Dante’s shower is conveniently broken, but the last thing he wants to endure is a car ride home with half an erection and plenty of fuel to give him a full one. His blood is roaring in his ears, lewd thoughts invading his head like the plague. Hunched over the sink, his hands grip the ceramic edges like a vice.

You, with a tube of lipstick in hand that is very clearly not your shade but his. You, with a mascara wand in hand telling him to hold still or he'll mess it up. You, handing him a white sundress and equally white lacy panties. You, telling him to put them on and be a good girl- doesn't he want to look pretty?

Nero wants it all. He wants it so bad; to be your doll, your plaything to humiliate and use however you want. But would you? God, he hopes so.

Minutes have gone by. He shuts the sink off and looks in the mirror- still grimy, but not gross. Blood splotches mat his hair in some sections, but at least some stuff on his face is gone. He looks normal aside from the massive blush covering his cheeks, but that could be chalked up to exerting himself.

“Nero?” You knock on the shoddy door to the even shoddier bathroom, “you alright? It's been like ten minutes, man.”

The sound of your voice brings him back to reality- has it really been ten minutes? He looks at himself once again in the dirty mirror, a searing feeling of embarrassment settling in his shoulders. Another splash of cold water to his face before he shuts off the sink and exits. You step back as he does, looking up at him with concern. “Fine, thanks. Just tired. It was a long mission, y’know?” He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes, lest he get even the slightest bit hard. At this point, it’s a problem. Without another word from either of you, he heads upstairs.

Do you find it odd? Yeah, but you don’t say anything. After all, he did say he was tired. He probably just needs to get some rest. Settling on one of the couches in the lobby, you decide that you do, too.

Two days later, Devil May Cry, the Fortuna branch

Nero is glad that he lives so far away from Red Grave City. It’s a few hours’ drive both ways and it’s a pain to put up with Nico’s horrible driving. As much as he complains, he’d rather not be the one driving. The distance also makes it easier for him to not think about you as much. 

Well, that’s only half-true. He thinks about you more than he should. The only thing the distance helps with is avoiding you. Of course, that doesn’t stop his imagination running wild at the randomest of times- including while doing household chores. It’s a gamble- his thoughts range from pure domesticity to borderline porn.

When his thoughts take over this time, he’s doing the dishes. There’s not much, but it’s enough to warrant his attention. One would assume that touching dirty dishes and day-old food would ward off any semblance of lust-driven daydreams, right? Unfortunately, that’s not the case today.

He’s mid-washing a plate, his sleeves rolled up so only his forearm is wet. His metal arm is covered with a dish glove, lest the water screw with the wires and give him a nice, heart-stopping zap. The sponge in his hand is sudsy, lazily scrubbing at the leftover food on the plate as his mind wanders to you. At first, it’s innocent. Cooking together, thinking about what you’d want to eat for dinner after a long mission, or even just a long day in general. How would your lips feel on his cheek, your arms around him as the two of you get ready for bed?

Maybe your hands would slip under his shirt, your eyes meeting his as you rub his waist. Words of filth disguised as sweet nothings to get his blood flowing south, inciting a dizzying shiver down his spine. Your hands slipping into his panties that you picked out for him earlier that day with a smile, telling him that they’d look so pretty on him- that maybe, if he wore them all day while doing errands you’d reward him later on. Your voice in his ear, calling him a good girl, telling him how cute he is all flustered and wet in his panties.

His thoughts fester, the plate slipping from his hands. Only the sound of it clattering against the bottom of the (thankfully) shallow sink rouses him.

Well. That, and the door opening. There are only two people with a key, Nico and-

And you. What a wonderful time to have a hard-on.

“Hey, I tried calling you, but I think your landline’s down,” you say, barging into his kitchen without a care in the world. Nero keeps himself pressed against the kitchen sink for his own dignity’s sake as he looks at you, feigning irritation. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” He scoffs, picking up the plate he’d been washing and giving it a good rinse. “You clearly don’t care whether or not I do, seeing as I have a key,” you grin, crossing your arms as you lean against the archway between the living room and kitchen. Maybe you let your eyes wander a little- a domesticated Nero is a rare sight, one you enjoy very much. He’s got these tight fitting black boxers on that really do his ass justice and baggy a longsleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up that almost gives him this cutesy appearance.

“Yeah, whatever. What did you need?” He moves on to the next dirty dish after placing the clean one on the drying rack. His voice is a bit snippy, and he’s a little tense. The fact that he can feel your eyes on him doesn’t help, and if anything, makes his boxers just that much tighter.

“Dante wants us on a new job he got from this new client. Some guy named V, though I dunno much about him,” you shrug.

“He couldn’t tell me himself?”

“Nah. I don’t think he really likes coming here, anyway. Something about Fortuna gives him the creeps, he said. Probably ‘cause they used to worship his dad ‘nd shit.” Nero scoffs at that and shuts off the sink, flicking his non-prosthetic hand to get the water off, then frees his devil breaker of its rubber confinement. 

“Nice ass, by the way,” you add, smirking at him. Nero turns to face you with his cheeks tinted pink and a soft scowl on his face. Facing you was a mistake because his erection from earlier has not died. You don’t notice it immediately, much to his relief, because he knows you’re not that much of a pervert.

“You’re so weird,” he huffs.

“Not my fault you look like a girl.” You retort. Nero’s cock twitches hard, his already warm face heating up more. He really, really should’ve put on pants this morning.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, the movement, as subtle as it may be, catches your eye through your peripherals. On instinct, your eyes dart towards the source and widen immediately.

“...Are you hard? Did I do that?” You point to yourself. Nero huffs and tugs the hem of his shirt down to cover his now raging erection, the dull throb making it hard for him to come up with any kind of retort.

“Wh- no! I-I mean, yes- I’m hard, but it’s not because of you!” He looks away from you, even as you step closer to him until you’re an arm’s width away. It’s too much too quick, because what can he say to make this all better? Nothing. There’s nothing he can say or do to make this situation go over smoothly. “So… You don’t want me to help out? I mean, it’s pretty obvious you need some, right?” You reach up and grab his jaw, your thumb swiping over his bottom lip. A dry spell hits his mouth, his pupils dilating as he tries to swallow. The poor quarter-devil’s heart races in his chest, that feeling from earlier returning. 

Nero opens his mouth to speak but you’re quick to press down on his tongue with your thumb. A sly grin spreads on your lips, knowing you’ve got him dead set on this. Now, he could overpower you at any given point- he’s part devil- but he finds that he doesn’t want to. You lean in closer, your face just a few inches from his.

“You like being called a girl?” Smooth and low, your voice has him in a trance. The hunger in your eyes makes his knees weak, saliva coating your thumb as it remains on his tongue. Hesitantly, he nods.

“Yeah, I thought so,” you mutter, your free hand finding a home on his waist. “You wanna be fucked like a girl too, don’t you?”

Another hesitant nod, his eyelids fluttering from the embarrassment of the entire situation. In truth, he only started experimenting with himself after he and Kyrie broke up. It’s not that Kyrie kept him from experimenting with stuff like that, because they tried plenty when they were in bed, but something about it felt wrong.

With you? It couldn’t feel more right, not as you remove your thumb from his mouth to smear his lips with his own saliva. “Don’t you know how gross that is, Nero?” Your voice holds a teasing lilt that makes his stomach flutter. While he does feel ashamed, he’s way too into this to care. His cock is crying in the confines of his boxers, the fabric tighter than ever. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, meek with humiliation.

“No, you’re not. In fact, I bet you want to be dressed up like some doll, then get railed just like the slut you are.” Nero squeezes his eyes shut. The tips of his ears are red, possibly even some of his chest, too. As humiliating as this is, he likes it a lot. Your words make his knees weak, his tummy’s warm and he may as well be sweating from how hot he is. Again, he nods.

“Please,” he forces himself to look at you, half-lidded eyes and all. “Please, just give me what I want.” A satisfied look crosses your face at the sound of his desperation, his poor excuse for begging.

“Oh, believe me, I will,” your hand slides from his waist to the very prominent bulge, amused at how it kicks against your hand and the way Nero’s breathing picks up.

“But not now. I mean I’ll get you off no problem, but your fantasy needs a few things that aren’t at my disposal, nor are they at yours.”

The disappointed noise that leaves Nero’s mouth is almost uncharacteristic. 

“Uh, yeah. You’re right, I guess.” He grumbles quietly, his eyes downcast like a kicked puppy.

“Think you can wait? I’ll come back, I promise.” He nods reluctantly. He’ll be as patient as he needs to be. With a kiss to his cheek, an unspoken promise you’ll return, you leave him in his kitchen with his boner still very much alive. Embarrassed, defeated, and aroused, he walks to the living room couch and plops down on it. 

Two hours later.

Barging in again, you toss a hefty plastic bag on top of a sleeping Nero, forcing him to wake up from the weight hitting his stomach. “Hey, what the hell?” He glares at you through sleep-addled eyes and sits up on his elbows.

“Look in the bag, sleeping beauty.” You lean against his front door, the metal surface cooling your back. 

Nero does as he’s told, rummaging through the bag’s contents like a curious puppy. The first item he pulls out is a white skirt that’s very, very short. Scarlet engulfs his cheeks within seconds. When you said later, he thought you meant tomorrow, not later today. He continues to pull items from the bag, his blush spreading like wildfire. The next item is a crop top, also white, frilly underwear and an equally cute bra to match, before he finally pulls out what must be the largest light blue dildo he’s ever seen accompanied by a harness.

“Put it on,” you smile, “go make yourself pretty for me. Take this, too.” You toss him your makeup bag, which he catches with the devil breaker.

With a hard swallow, Nero places everything back into the plastic bag and disappears into his bedroom, clutching the bag’s flimsy handles with an iron grip. The moment the door closes, he’s in a rush to take his clothes off. He nearly rips his shirt trying to get it off, same thing with his boxers. He really sucks at being patient.

It feels natural, to a degree, putting everything on. It’s clear you want him to look like an angel or some kind of bride, all white and pure. How ironic. The panties don’t quite cover his cock and the shirt you chose makes his pecs look more akin to boobs, but he looks… cute. If not a little silly, what with all the ruffles, cute. Now, the makeup is what confuses him the most aside from the fastening mechanism of the bra you chose.

He knows what lipstick is. He knows what mascara is, and eyeliner. Kyrie wore those sometimes. But the rest of the stuff is greek to him.

The white-haired man is still staring down at the contents of your makeup bag when you walk in, strap-on fully assembled in one hand. He looks up at you with a shy smile, red cheeks and all. You toss the light blue toy onto his bed as you walk up to him, your gaze nothing short of predatory.

“Hey, pretty girl. Havin’ some trouble?” His dilemma is clear enough, but he nods anyway.

“What color would look good on me?” Pale blues travel to the selection of lipsticks you have, fingers rummaging through the variety of tubes. Perhaps he’s too overwhelmed at the moment. Your warm hand settles on waist, his gaze flickering to your face.

“Why don’t we skip the makeup for now, hm? I’d hate to make you wait any longer, angel.”

Nero’s throat runs dry as he nods, expecting you to be a little gentle with him but oh, how he was wrong. He doesn’t expect you to push him onto his mattress like he was some kind of slut, nor does he expect you to get on top of him as quickly as you do. Your hands are so rough as you grope his chest, a soft whine leaving his lips when you lean down to bite one of his pecs. 

“Cute tits, dolly,” your thumbs rub his clothed nipples and he’s really glad he’s sensitive everywhere right now, otherwise he’d feel kind of stupid. He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes again, shy as a virgin during her first time, as he mewls quietly.

“I just can’t believe that you’re into this kind of thing,” you snap his bra strap against his skin, making him flinch, “What a fucking slut…”

“M’not a slut,” he mumbles, cock weeping into the lacy material of his panties as he looks away from you.

“Don’t be dumb,” you grab his jaw and force him too look at you, his pupils blown wide. Fingers card into his hair and give it a soft tug, making him whine again. Everything you do makes his cock harder, his mind fuzzier, and his blush darker. Slotting a knee between his legs, you force his legs to part wider before you press it against his panty-clad hard-on. It’s a cute sight, him gasping and squirming in a pathetic attempt to escape the stimulation.

A sharp slap to his thigh makes him still, a mumbled “sorry” sounding from his lips. You let go of his jaw in favor of slipping under his thighs, guiding them around your waist as you lean down to kiss him. His eyes flutter shut, as do yours when your lips meet in a much gentler kiss than he anticipated. That doesn’t last long, because two seconds in and you’re biting his lower lip to make him gasp, allowing you to lick into his mouth without protest. His hips buck at the taste of you, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your neck. You pin his hips to the bed, thumbs kneading what little fat he has there.

He’s dizzy when you break the kiss, panting with your spit glossing his lips and your eyes locked to one another’s. Your thumb hooks in the corner of his mouth and pulls down, forcing his mouth open. As if reading your mind, he sticks his tongue out. A thick glob of spit leaves your lips and lands flat on his tongue. He moans, his cock pulsing hard in his jeans. When your thumb unhooks from his mouth, he swallows. “Good girl, angel.” Your voice resembles a low purr in his ear, his body on fire. If you praise him again, he might cum in his panties. He’s entirely sure that his skirt is damp with how much he’s leaking. Your hand slips down, down, down until you’re pushing his shirt up and palming over his erection, making him melt into the mattress. “My pretty girl is so wet,” you hum, thumbing over his weeping slit. He whimpers, his hips bucking hard. This time, you let it slide because he’s too damn cute when he’s under you to care. Using his precum as makeshift lube, you rub his frenulum, watching as his eyes light up with pleasure and his back makes a pretty arch, whining pathetically in the back of his throat. His silver brows pinch, his eyes torn between watching your hand and your face. “Right there, huh, princess?” 

“F-Fuck, yes, th-there,” he nods eagerly, his stomach tensing when you rub that spot faster. His dick twitches and throbs, his shaky breathing accelerating. You don’t let up, no matter how squirmy he gets. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you? Who knew that rubbing your clit would get you like this.” Sultry words coming from you, his legs tightening around your waist. “C-Cum, wanna cum,” he mewls out, “pleasepleaseplease.” The rest of his cock feels neglected but he can’t bring himself to care, not when you wrap your hand around the tip and circle your palm on his sensitive head. Especially not when you use your free hand to pull down the neckline of his shirt to lick one of his pebbled nipples. The moment you wrap your lips around it and suck, he cums with the most pathetic noise imaginable. Hot seed sticks to your palm and spills down his softening cock.

“Mm,” you pull off his nipple with a soft pop, “that didn’t take long at all.” The sound of fabric tearing fills the air as you rip the lace material down the side seams.

“Why’d you do that?” Nero props himself up on his elbows, watching as you discard the now-useless lace. You shrug, slipping out from between Nero’s legs to grab the bottle of lubricant you know he has stashed in his nightstand. “Felt like it. What, you never had your panties ripped off before?” The drawer of his side table has too many things in it. Still, you fish out the black bottle of lube and toss it onto the bed beside him. “Obviously not.” You reach for the strap on lying cold and alone. Nero pulls his skirt down to cover himself and closes his legs, though it’s pointless.

“Keep up the attitude, angel. See where it gets you.” 

“...Whatever,” Nero grumbles, a new surge of arousal filling him as he watches you fasten the strapon to your pelvis. It’s a little unfair that you’re still fully clothed, but he’ll take what he can get. When you climb onto the bed again, you grab him by the hips and flip him over, his body weight that of a feather in your hands. With one hand, you prop his hips up as the other presses his face down into the mattress.

“Hey!” He yips, looking back at you with feigned annoyance. You roll your eyes as you push his skirt up for the second time tonight and give his ass a sharp slap, making him whine.

“Don’t be a brat. We’re just getting to the good part,” you grab the bottle of lube and uncap it, pouring a hefty amount on your fingers. Anticipation bubbles in Nero’s chest, his hands fisting the sheets. A shudder leaves him upon feeling your fingers coat the rim of his hole, applying gentle pressure just to tease. You push your index finger in slowly, forcing a hiss from his throat. It’s an odd feeling, the intrusion, but one he can get used to.

Besides, he’s seen those videos of cute guys getting pegged and they cum their brains out every time. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of both parties.

His walls slowly adjust as you move your finger in a gentle rhythm, waiting until you hear his breathing grow heavy to add another. A moan gets stuck in his throat, his brows pinched together as his eyes flutter shut. “You alright down there, angel? You’re awfully quiet.” You hum, using your free hand to knead one of his pert cheeks.

“F-Fine- M’fine,” his voice is a little strained and breathy. The pads of your middle and index finger brush against his prostate and his legs twitch, a soft moan leaving him. As subtly as he can (not at all,) he rocks his hips back onto your fingers to get more shocking, dizzying pleasure. Once you decide he’s loose enough, you withdraw your fingers and bring them to your silicon cock, adding a solid drizzle of lube along the shaft. A soft schlick noise sounds when you give the translucent silicon toy a few pumps to ensure it’s sufficiently lubricated.

Before Nero has time to complain, the tip is already pressing against his fluttering entrance. His fists clench in the sheets as you slowly press into him. Pink lips fall open as the stretch does him in, trying his best to stay still for you. “Good girl,” you murmur in his ear, “such a good girl, taking my cock so well.”

The white-haired man has never felt so full in his life, nor horny or outright dumb. He whines when you bottom out completely, your nails digging into his hips to keep him from running away.

“W-Why is it so big,” he looks back at you, his own cock dripping pre-cum again. His question is left unanswered as you pull out halfway only to thrust meanly back in. A strangled moan leaves his lips, his back falling into a natural arch. “Tell me, angel,” you keep a slow yet hard pace, each thrust bullying your fake cock impossibly deeper into his greedy hole, “has anyone ever fucked this cute cunt before?”

His brain processes the words but every time he opens his mouth, nothing but noises of pleasure come out. He shakes his head “no,” with a whimper.

“Aww, really? So you’re a virgin? Explains how tight your pussy is.”

Nero hasn’t been a virgin since he was nineteen, but for you, he’ll be anything you want. His volume increases the moment you bully your cock against his prostate, a sweet cry falling from his lips. His body feels hot every time the fat head presses it, his body relaxing into the bed. Lewd slaps and wet noises fill the air alongside his sweet noises of pleasure.

“Fuck m-me,” he gasps, his cock pulsing between his legs as it’s ignored, “y-your cock feels so good i-in my pussy.”

“I know, angel. Your cunt’s squeezing me so tight- if I knew you wanted me this much, I would’ve fucked her sooner.” You reach around to grope his chest, your other hand pulling him back on your faux dick with every thrust. Poor Nero doesn’t know what to do with himself but let you use him, as if you were the one getting pleasure from this. It’s obvious he needs more despite his noises, judging by the way he’s still able to think without interruption. He’s really gone when you accelerate your thrusts and keep the roughness, all but turning into a puddle atop his bedsheets. The coil in his stomach twists and tightens, his orgasm fast approaching.

“Yeah, there we go,” you murmur, your words adding fuel to the fire that is his impending release, “that’s my sweet girl.”

“M’gonna cum,” he whimpers, “I-I wanna- please, i-it hurts,” he reaches between his legs, whining when you slap his hand away. “Why didn’t you say something, pretty girl? I’ve got you, angel, just be a doll and let me take care of you.” Your slick fist wraps around his cock, stroking him in time with your thrusts and Nero just can’t handle it anymore. His orgasm catches him off guard, thick ropes of cum shooting out of his pink cockhead and onto the sheets below you two with a cry of your name.

You’re kind, so you take your hand away and slow to a stop, panting softly.

“You alright?” Nero takes a second to respond, humming a second later as he catches his breath. His thighs feel weak and shaky. “Good,” you pull out and settle on the bed beside him, your back resting against the wooden headboard. Under the impression that you’re done toying with him, he lets his eyes close. They shoot open when you grab him by the waist and hoist him onto your lap, thick blue dildo pressing against his gaping hole again. “C’mon, little girl- I can’t do all the work around here, y’know.”

The next day.

Dante calls Nero’s landline for what feels like the fifth time in a row.

“Damn, that punk,” he sighs, slamming the telephone down on its receiver. You’re not answering your phone either, but he knows better than to expect you to answer. He’s about to dial Nero’s number for a sixth time when the doors to Devil May Cry open and in walks you alongside a limping Nero. The red devil opens his mouth, but-

“Don’t ask,” Nero groans, making his way over to one of the couches and lying on his stomach. You’re quite proud of your work, even if it’s at Nero’s expense. Dante will find out eventually, and you cannot wait.

divider creds to @benkeibear!!

[edandstede]

racist fucks out here acting like ed is doomed to become abusive like his father, like he is a violent monster, as if his arc isn’t about learning that he isn’t a monster at all but just a man. how are you looking at ed accepting himself, overcoming feeling like he’s the literal kraken, that he’s loveable and worthy of compassion and kindness even when he thinks the worst of himself, and drawing the conclusion that he’s an irredeemable thug - which is, by the way, what every fucking villain and antagonist thinks of him. you’re aligning your view of him with the bad guys, y’know, the ones who call him a donkey, low-born, and try goading him into violence over and over again because they think that’s all he’s worth? and yeah that includes izzy, because he did that too, it’s 90% of what he fucking did, treating him like he only deserved to live if he was performing hyper masculinity the entire time and the second he stopped he was worse than dead.

we are supposed to feel sorry for ed. the way he feels is heartbreaking. he was abandoned, had his worst fears confirmed to him by stede leaving and izzy pressing on the wound in the worst possible way, and then he fell completely into depression and suicidal ideation. he thinks it’s all he’s good for. he can’t be loved, he hates himself, he’s just the dick who killed his dad and nobody wants him for him. how can you see this very obvious spelled-out agony in him and say “hey, that guy is gonna abuse the man he loves, he’s an abuser just like his dad” you guys are just absolute bottom of the barrel scumbag dickheads, you really really are. you could not be more blatantly racist. you know damn well the show is not saying what you’re claiming it is.

also, insisting that he would ever hurt stede is just completely ignoring every single fucking thing about him. ed would never. the only fucking time stede is physically hurt by ed is when he wakes up from literal death and headbutts him. that’s it. i think we can all agree he didn’t even know what planet he was on when that occurred, and he petulantly says “good it was supposed to hurt” during a squabble that ends with stede telling ed he loves everything about him. pull the other one if you think this was ever framed as ed seriously wanting to hurt stede and not an incredibly hurt and vulnerable man still acting on a half-dead brain.

like for fuck’s sake this is the same man who hides under stede’s robe and presses his head to stede’s hand when he cries after telling him - the only person he has EVER TOLD - about killing his dad. he tells stede about the plot to kill him, and he cannot do it. he can’t lift a finger to him, he never would. he holds stede’s face with both hands when he kisses him and tells him he loves him. he brings him breakfast with a bit of twine on ‘cause he panicked and thought it needed a flourish. he rubs stede’s cashmere against his cheek. the first thing he says makes his life worth living is warmth. he imagines stede with a big goofy sweet grin and gold sparkly goldfish tail coming to save his life. he just wants to retire and have his inn with the man he loves and not worry about stede ever being in a near-death situation again. he wants stede to be safe with him. at no point are we remotely told in the text that we should be genuinely worried ed will ever, ever physically hurt stede. he protects this man with his WHOLE BODY twice and signs an act of grace to avoid him being shot. he tries to get ned to leave him alone when they’re being tortured. he jumps off the boat with jack to swim back to him and he rows back to the republic to find stede too.

he loves stede, would never hurt him, and you’re all just fucking sour your fav died and you’re saying any old shite as a result. swear to god if i catch one more of you even so much as insinuating ed is abusive i’m gonna start lobbing off toes as well.

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

I'm so stressed about the future and growing older. I'm worried about how I'll be able to stay a twink, I already need to shave everyday and it's getting harder to stay thin. Got anything that can help me face my fears of becoming a big old hairy bear?

Honestly if you’re having to shave every day. I’m jealous. It just means the curse is becoming stronger. And it’s only to get worse from here on out. You wake up and look down and yell I horror. You shaved your body. Before you went to bed the night before and looking down now you see that you’re covered in a dense rug once again. What’s worse is it seems like the hair is getting thicker.

This has to be some sick joke you think to yourself. It just has to be ! You’re supposed to be a twink! Not some hairy bear !! But this is happening all too fast now and you’re running out of razors! You scramble to the bathroom and you find your last razor. Thank god. Relieved you turned your buzzers on and shaved down the fluff once again. When it’s buzzed you take the razor and shave down. Looking in the mirror you’re relieved to see that you’re once again hairless. But for how long. How long is this going to last. Just last night you did this same thing. And that’s when you see it. In the mirror. On your face. You get up close to the mirror. Are you seeing things!! You can see the hair pushing its way out of your chin!! Backing away slowly you can see the 5 o clock shadow forming. You get dressed quickly and find that your clothes are tighter than before. You have to run to the sore down the street and get some more razors! This is going to make you go broke for sure!

But the time you check out. Get back to your apartment. Strip down you are shocked. Not only are you costed in hair. But your slim frame. It’s. Fading.

Yours abs see no longer there to be seen hidden under a layer of day and hair. And the hair only seems to be getting thicker. You try to shave it down again but this time your buzzer can’t get through the tangled mess. You scream as your body is so itchy now and you just seem to be getting hairier. “Please no! I’m a twink!!” You scream not wanting any of this to happen. When you asked for something to help you face your fears you didn’t mean this !

Your stomach lurches forward as its mats itself in more hair. Hair continues to wrap itself around your shoulders and down your arms. All the bay down to your toes that seem to be getting fatter. “Please make this stop!!” Your back begins to widen and you done even realize that you back is getting coated in hair just as thick as the front of your body.

Hair begins to spill from the waistband of your shorts as more hair is forming on your hairy body. Hair that youlll never be able to shave off ever again. And you’re starting to sweat. It rolls down your back and into the crack of butt making it sweaty and swampy. Your Bo kicks into high gear and now everyone will be able to tell you are around. No longer smelling like a round twink but thah of an old hairy bear. One that reeks of masculinity and sweat.

But that can’t be all that happens. You specially mentioned that you wanted to face your fears of being old. Well I already made you a bear. I made a big bear of a man. Now your body will get large. Muscle growing harder. Your gut sticking out more and you’re being hard as a rock and your hard will fall out. Your body hair thicker as your feet begin to stretch. Your body begins to ache as new pains of old age set in. Your back hurts from having to hold a keg up all the time. Your knees hurts from the weight they carry and so does your swollen ankles. That thick beard you aren’t able to shave turns white as your skins ages and sags. Soon your spitting image of a 58 year old man. A large hairy bear of a man. Holding mirror you scream but you can to anything to stop it. You have been forced to become your worst fear. And your twink life is all but long forgotten now.

[sephirthoughts]

First Soldier

it's a double entendre i'm hilarious shut up

this is a glennseph one-shot i've been threatening to post for a while but didn't get around to. it's extremely explicit and sephiroth is a teenager so obligatory disclaimer ahoy:

ALL CHARACTERS HAVE REACHED SEXUAL MATURITY AND ARE ABOVE THE LEGAL AGE OF CONSENT IN THEIR COUNTRIES OF ORIGIN

fucking fight me you little puritan fucks

SUMMARY: big dumb puppy glenn pets the hissy little kitty but instead of getting clawed, the hissy little kitty rubs against him and purrs NOTE: did everyone know glenn is only 23 during first soldier? twenty-fucking-three!!! he must have the cid highwind premature weathered old man gene cause damn TAGS: sephiroth x glenn lodbrok, sephglenn, cute smut, fluffy smut, no plot, pwp, etc. WARNINGS: dead dove, don't like don't read, grown-folks content, no minors allowed, minors DNI, etc.

“Out here, the only way to survive is to kill them before they kill you,” he said, forcing back the tears that were burning in his eyes. 

Glenn advanced on him. Towering and almost menacing, it seemed, to the teenaged boy. Sephiroth steeled himself. He didn’t want to hurt Glenn, but he was at his breaking point, and if the man wanted to make this physical, he’d regret—

All of a sudden, Glenn’s arms encircled him, and he found himself being squeezed tightly, with his face buried in a big, broad chest.

His senses were flooded by Glenn’s earthy, masculine scent and the firm pressure of his arms, holding Sephiroth against the sturdy, solid warmth of his body.

Sephiroth crashed to desktop, like one of those old computer programs, in the SOLDIER testing center.

He wasn’t that ignorant. He’d seen people hug one another, before. It was just that no one had ever done it to him. No one would have dared to invade the little monster’s personal space, except Professor Hojo. And Hojo only touched him to test his pain thresholds.

On the heels of his initial bewilderment, his indignation flared up, white-hot. Physical touch was a method of pacifying infants and children, who were too young to respond to reason.

Did Glenn think of him as a brainless infant, that needed that kind of soothing? Was this another demonstration of disrespect, because of his age and inexperience?

The man’s next words thoroughly defused the boy’s rising anger, though. 

“You’re right,” Glenn said. His deep voice vibrated in his chest, and tickled Sephiroth’s ear. “Out here it’s life or death.”

When the man released him, he was in a daze, hardly able to process what had happened. All he wanted to do was to grab hold of him and bury himself in his warmth and his scent and never, ever let go.

No. That was something a baby would do. Sephiroth had been very clearly instructed that he was to conduct himself with the dignity incumbent upon him as a man, a SOLDIER, and Shinra’s representative in the field.

“But Sephiroth, you don’t have anything to prove,” Glenn continued. “We know how strong you are. Maybe you could show some compassion. I know you’ve got it in you.”

He clenched his teeth and fought it as hard as he could, but a tear escaped down his cheek. It was unseen by the others, however, because Glenn was standing between them, like a shield.

“I’m not a cyborg.”

Those arms enfolded him again, a gently crushing pressure on his tense-up body. Glenn’s voice was hoarse, with uncharacteristic emotion. “I know. I’m really sorry I said that.”

“I…I never wanted to be…” he mumbled, into Glenn’s coat, trailing off before finishing his sentence, because he was still trying not to cry.

“I know. I know,” Glenn said, then gave a strangled sounding grunt, as the boy’s arms constricted around him, like steel pythons. “Seph could you—hngh. Can’t…breathe.”

“Oh. S—sorry,” Sephiroth said, hastily letting go. “I forgot how fragile you are.”

He’d meant that in complete earnest, but Matt and Lucia burst out laughing, like it was the best joke of all time. Their laughter made Sephiroth feel warm and pleased, and he laughed as well. Glenn snarled and scowled and stomped around a little, but he wasn’t really angry, and no one was afraid of him, anyway. 

The team was in better spirits, when they sat by the campfire, that evening. Sephiroth had his jacket off, so Lucia could patch up his gunshot wound. He didn’t want to tell her it was unnecessary and he’d be good as new before he went to bed, so he just politely accepted her help.

Meanwhile, his sleeveless, black thermal left little of his leanly muscled torso to the imagination, and both Glenn and Matt commented admiringly on his physique.

“When I was your age, I was a scrawny little fucker,” Glenn reminisced. “Had a growth spurt around seventeen. Shot up like a tree. What about you, Matt? You have your growth spurt, yet?”

“Oh, you’re so funny,” Matt returned, tossing a bit of biscuit at him. “I’d rather have brains than brawn, anyway.”

“I never met a problem I can’t punch my way out of, professor smartass,” Glenn said, puffing his chest out.

Sephiroth was eyeing the large man enviously. “The professor says I’ll grow very quickly, in the next several years. I wonder if I’ll ever be as tall as you.”

“Even if you’re not, there’s nothin’ wrong with that. I’m a pretty big dude.”

“Mm-hm, with a mouth to match,” Lucia interjected, at which Matt laughed. “Alright, I did my best,” she said, closing the med kit. “Not pretty, but your healing factor is so fast. You’ll probably be good as new by morning.”

“Thank you, Ms. Lucia,” Sephiroth replied, earning a ruffle of his hair from the young woman.

“Anything for a handsome gentleman, like you,” Lucia smiled. “I’m gonna turn in. Don’t keep the commander up all night, Glenn.”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t,” Glenn said waving her away.

“Goodnight, Ms. Lucia,” Sephiroth said politely.

“Night fellas.” 

When she’d gone off to her tent, Glenn bumped Sephiroth with his shoulder and gave him a knowing wink, and Matt chuckled over the rim of his canteen. Glenn looking at him like that made Sephiroth’s cheeks flush, which just made the two older men laugh even harder. 

This was the third or fourth time something like this had occurred. He wasn’t actually sure what their raillery meant, but he knew it had to do with Lucia, and that he was supposed to understand, somehow.

He didn’t want to be called a cyborg, again, so he usually kept his mouth shut and just let them have their joke (well, Glenn’s joke. Matt only ever laughed along). But Glenn hugging him, earlier, and apologizing for the cyborg comment emboldened him, this time. 

“Why do you two laugh and look at me that way, when I talk to Ms. Lucia?” he asked. 

Glenn squinted an eye. “What, you really don’t know? Young man your age?”

“Don’t know what?” Sephiroth asked, looking back and forth between them.

“That’s my cue to turn in,” Matt said, getting up from his spot, across the fire. “You two have a nice talk.”

“Well, Seph, my friend, it’s like this,” Glenn said sagely, throwing an arm around the boy’s shoulders, as Matt retreated. “There’s birds, you know? And bees. And those all have…something to do with spring. Spring is the time for, uh. Well, when two people—”

“I know about sexual reproduction, Glenn,” Sephiroth said flatly. “My education has been very thorough. What does that have to do with you teasing me about Ms. Lucia?”

Glenn withdrew his arm and scratched his head, awkwardly. “Ah, well. You’re a healthy young man, ya know? And she’s a very pretty girl.”

“Is she?”

“Sure. You don’t think she’s pretty?”

“It would be inappropriate for me to judge my teammates, based on appearance.”

“Yeah, of course. But for real, though. Don’t you like her?”

Sephiroth considered this gravely. “Ms. Lucia is a strong and competent person, and she goes out of her way to be kind to me. I suppose I like her, yes.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Glenn said, shaking his head. “I mean like…the kind of ‘like’ where you want her to hold your hand.”

Sephiroth looked down at his hands, then up at Glenn, perplexed. “Hold my hand? For what reason?”

“Just…hold it. Like, the way people do, when they like each other. You know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Uh. Wow. How the hell do I explain this.”

“Why don’t you just show me what you mean,” Sephiroth suggested.

“W—well, I…ok. Just to show ya.” Glenn crossed his wrist over Sephiroth’s on the smooth log, between them, and pressed his palm to his, then laced their fingers together. “See? Like that. Nothin’ to it.”

Sephiroth found himself unable to reply. His mouth had gone suddenly dry, and he could judge how pink his face probably was by how hot his cheeks felt. He kept his head down and nodded faintly.

When he felt Glenn’s grip begin to loosen, he unconsciously tightened his own. Glenn stiffened. But he didn’t pull his hand away. Neither did Sephiroth. Several long beats passed. 

By then, it was far too late to pretend it was an accident. They were both too embarrassed to look at one another, though, so they just sat silently like that, hand in hand, staring at the low-burning embers of the fire. 

Sephiroth’s body was outwardly calm, but his mind was racing, frantically attempting to explain this sensation to himself. It was a completely new and alien feeling, this holding hands. It seemed like a pointless gesture, but there were all sorts of unexpected physiological reactions attached to it. Mostly turbid and confusing emotions, along with a heavy dose of shame, at reacting so strongly to something so trivial. He didn’t hate it, though. 

After a while, he dared a sidelong glance at Glenn. “What else do people do, when they like each other?”

Even in profile, by firelight, he could see the color in Glenn’s cheeks. “Well, they, uh. They hug and uh…k—kiss. Things like that.”

Sephiroth looked down at their interlaced fingers, and seemed to have realized something. His blue-green eyes widened. “You hugged me. And you’re holding my hand.” 

“Uh—ahem. Mm-hm.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“Do you…want me to?”’

“I don’t know.” Sephiroth frowned thoughtfully. “I liked when you hugged me, and I like holding hands. I think…yes. I’d like for you to kiss me.”

Glenn glanced down at Sephiroth then quickly away. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, passing a hand over his forehead. “Fuck it. I’m already goin’ to hell, why not punch an express ticket.”

Releasing Sephiroth’s hand, he coiled his arm about his waist and leaned close, tilted his head slightly, then ever so gently pressed his smooth, firm lips to Sephiroth’s. 

Sephiroth’s heart lurched and ran ragged. Reflexively, he reached out and grabbed Glenn’s collar. He didn’t know what else to do 

“Open your mouth a little,” Glenn whispered, breath warm against his lips. His low, rough voice sent goosebumps up the back of Sephiroth’s neck. “Just follow my lead. Try to do what I do.”

Sephiroth let his jaw slacken and Glenn’s lips pushed his apart. When Glenn’s tongue slid forward into his mouth, he was too stunned to respond, for a full ten seconds, then he recalled Glenn saying he should follow his lead.

Sephiroth pushed his tongue forward and tried to mimic Glenn’s actions. It was clumsy and awkward, but when his tongue crossed the barrier of his teeth, and touched Glenn’s, he couldn’t help giving a soft little groan. Glenn hummed in his throat and pulled him closer. 

Sephiroth’s ears were burning hot and his stomach was doing dizzy flip-flops, like he was coming down with a fever and an inner-ear infection, and yet…this was the best thing he had ever felt. The best thing he’d ever imagined feeling. He wanted to do this and nothing else, from now on. 

He learned extremely quickly, and before long, his tongue went from tentative and uncertain, to hungry and demanding, pushing forward and chasing Glenn’s. 

“Whoa, slow down there, cowboy,” Glenn said breathlessly, pulling back to look at him. “Anything past this, and I’m in serious shit. Actually, if you decide to tell anyone, I’m in serious shit, anyway.”

The boy’s catlike pupils were blown wide and round, in his blue-green irises. “Why would I tell anyone? Come back, I want to kiss more.”

“Probably ain’t a good idea to do this out here, in the open.” 

“Where?”

Glenn glanced around and then stood up, jerking his head toward the little clearing, where he had his tent, a dozen meters away. Sephiroth nodded and followed. 

Inside the tent, they took off their boots and coats, and Glenn spread out his sleeping bag, so they could both lie on it. Sephiroth hardly gave him time to lie down before he was pulling and tugging at his clothes.

“Hang on,” Glenn said. “Couple things. I got more experience than you, but that doesn’t mean I know everything. You gotta tell me to stop, the minute you don’t like something, ok? I won’t be mad or anything, you just gotta say it.”

“I promise,” Sephiroth replied solemnly. “I’ll tell you as soon as I don’t like it.”

Then Glenn took the boy in his arms, tangling their bodies together, while their tongues caressed, sloppy and urgent, till they were both flushed hot and panting. Glenn peeled off his thermal undershirt, then helped Sephiroth pull his off, over his head. 

When he compared his smooth, slender, milk-white chest to Glenn’s—hairy, suntanned, and heavily muscled—he wanted to reach out and touch it. 

As if he’d read his mind, Glenn grabbed Sephiroth’s hand and put it on his chest. “Go ahead and touch me. I don’t bite.”

Sephiroth hesitated, then gave free rein to his curiosity, playing with Glenn’s curly, golden-blonde chest hair, cupping his big pectoral muscles, and sliding his hands up and down his solid torso. He liked the ridges of his abdominal muscles, and the trail of hair leading down from his navel into his waistband.

When he noticed the big, oblong bulge of Glenn’s penis, through his trousers, he blushed crimson and looked quickly away, which made Glenn chuckle. Not liking to be laughed at, Sephiroth set his jaw defiantly and put his hand on the bulge, squeezing it through the fabric.

Glenn laid his hand overtop of Sephiroth's and slid it up and down the thick shaft. To his astonishment, his own responded, beginning to swell and thicken inside his tight underwear.

Sephiroth had never had a reaction to any person’s body, male or female. He’d only ever felt something happening down there, when he was required to give semen samples, in the lab. 

The device used to collect the samples induced erection and stimulated him to ejaculation, without his participation. This was the first time he’d become erect on his own, aside from the normal, autonomic erections, when he’d first wake in the morning.

Those didn’t feel like this. Those he ignored and they went away, usually before he’d finished brushing his teeth. This was like an itch but deeper and more maddening. His penis was rigid and aching, and he could feel a wet spot forming in his underwear. He had to force back the urge to push it against Glenn, while they laid together, kissing and groping each other’s bodies. 

Glenn saved him the trouble, when he grabbed his ass and rocked his pelvis, grinding his much bigger shaft against Sephiroth’s. 

“Hm—ah,” Sephiroth panted. “I want…I want…”

Glenn’s breath was hot and wet on his ear. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I don’t know how to say it.”

“You want to fuck?”

Sephiroth’s body tensed with mild panic. “W—what? What do you—how can we…we’re both men.”  

“Sorry, that wasn’t nice of me,” Glenn said, grinning sheepishly. “I was just messing around. I kind of wanted to see your reaction.”

Silver eyebrows lowered and pouting lips were pursed. “No, you wanted to gauge my reaction, without committing to anything. Now, tell me what you mean. Can two men really…do that, together?”

So deftly hoisted by his own petard, Glenn was at a loss, and became embarrassed. “Uh…um. Well, yeah.”

“How?”

“There’s a lot of ways. You can use your hands or your mouths, or—” 

“Mouths?” Sephiroth said, incredulous.

“Yep. You can even put it in the, uh. The back.”

“In the…” Sephiroth’s eyes went wide. “But why?”

“Because sex feels good? Why else?”

Sephiroth was thunderstruck. He’d only been taught about copulation between a male and female, so far as it related to reproduction. He’d never imagined that men would want to do this, with one another, when it served no biological purpose. No. He couldn’t see it. Glenn must be messing with him again. 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Are you suggesting that it feels good, to have an erect penis inserted into your anus?”

“If it didn’t, millions of guys wouldn’t do it.”

“But it’s so small,” Sephiroth argued. “How does it…go in?”

“Lube and patience,” Glenn said flippantly, then cleared his throat. “It’s not that complicated. It’s very…stretchy, down there. You use a lot of lubrication and you put your fingers inside, first, to loosen it up. Once it’s stretched out and slippery, you can…you know. Go in.”

“And that feels good?” 

“I mean, it hurts, if you’re not careful. Especially the first time. But yeah.”

“How?”

“There’s a shitload of nerves back there. Plus, the um. The guy’s dick rubs against your prostate, inside. It feels good, and you can even come that way.”

“Come?”

“E—ejaculate.”

This was an overload of information, for Sephiroth. The whole thing was too bizarre to imagine. Except that he suddenly did imagine it. Glenn on top of him, pushing his big, hard penis—wait, Glenn said dick, so he should say it that way—pushing his big, hard dick into him.

His head got hot suddenly, and his own dick throbbed with desire. He laid both hands on his cheeks, to cool off his overheated face, while he processed all of this. 

After a few minutes, Glenn nudged him. “Seph? You ok?”

“Hm?”

“You ok? You zoned out.”

“I—I’m ok. This is a lot to think about.”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out. I had no idea you didn’t know this stuff. You said you’d had sex-ed, before.”

“I did, as related to biological reproduction. No one ever told me the…other things.”

Glenn looked awkward. “Ah.”

“Have you done it?”

“Huh? Done which?”

“Have you had sex with another man?”

“Well, yeah. I’m gay, so…”

“Gay?”

“Homosexual. That means I only have those feelings for men, and I don’t like women that way.”

“Oh.” Sephiroth frowned thoughtfully.

“What’s that look? What are you thinking about, now?”

“I think I’m also gay.” 

“Oh yeah?” Glenn smirked.

Sephiroth nodded. “I tried to imagine doing the things I’ve done with you, tonight, with a woman, and the idea was repulsive. But I liked doing them with you. So, I must be gay.”

“I guess…I can’t argue with your logic. It just, uh. It seems a little quick for you to make such a big decision.”

“No, I’m sure,” Sephiroth said firmly. “I’m gay. I want to have sex with other men, and not women.”

“Well, um. Congratulations on your self-discovery.”

“Glenn, I want to have sex with you. The way you said. I want you to put your dick in—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on. You just went from virgin who’s never even heard of being gay, to full-on put your dick in me mode, in ten seconds, flat. That’s way too fast, Seph.”

“How long did you wait, to have sex? After you realized you were gay?” Sephiroth challenged.

Glenn’s face went a little pink. “I’m not a good example. I was a rebellious kid and I lost my virginity pretty young.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“I’m fifteen. Why can you decide what you want, at fourteen, but I can’t at fifteen?”

“It’s not that, it’s…there’s more to sex than just the mechanics. It’s complicated.”

“Oh. I see.” Sephiroth lowered his head dejectedly. “It’s that you don’t want to do it with me.”

“No, no—don’t get all sad like that. You’re…fuck. You’re so gorgeous I can hardly believe you’re real. But you’re still just a kid. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sephiroth lifted his chin, haughtily. “You couldn’t hurt me, even if you did want to. I’m many times stronger than you.”

“Yeah, I know you are,” Glenn chuckled.

“So?”

“So…what?”

“So do it, with me.”

Glenn wavered, but he knew he was already a lost cause. Here was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on in all his twenty-three years, basically begging him for it. He was in no way equipped to handle this kind of temptation.

After some admittedly muddle-headed self justification, he grabbed the med kit and dug out a tube of surgical lubricant.

“Ok. Ok. I'm ready. Let's do it.”

“Shouldn't we take off the rest of our clothes, first?” Sephiroth pointed out.

“...”

The process of two people undressing in a one-person tent was awkward and unsexy, and the less said about it, the better. One way or another, they managed to get naked together.

Glenn felt like he was drunk or dreaming, mind sluggish and hazy with lust, kissing his way down this silky, seraphic body, pushing apart a pair of slender thighs.

“Hold your legs up, for me.”

Sephiroth pulled his knees up, making a face. “I feel stupid, in this position.”

“You don’t look stupid,” Glenn murmured, as he slicked his fingers with the surgical lube. “You look amazing. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Sephiroth grimaced and shifted uncomfortably, as Glenn’s finger pushed slowly in, through the resistant ring of muscle. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it didn’t feel very good, either. Glenn took his dick in his other hand. Sephiroth gasped and jolted, as his hot mouth closed around the head. 

“G—Glenn!” he sputtered. “What are you…ha...ah!”

His protests unraveled into incoherent jumble, as Glenn took him all the way to the back of his throat. His big, calloused finger was still sliding in and out, and when it started pressing on something inside, Sephiroth had to bite into his forearm, to stifle his moans. It was like hot bolts of aching lightning, pulsing through his gut, into his balls, whenever Glenn’s finger prodded him there.

Glenn pulled off to look up at him, but he kept stroking it with his hand. His dick was leaking so much clear fluid, that it ran down Glenns knuckles. When he pushed a second finger inside, sephiroth choked and went quiet, but Glenn felt his insides clamping down tightly on his fingers.

“That’s it, baby, give it to me,” he breathed, watching the boy’s face, with heavy lidded eyes. “Good boy.”

“Hngh—ungh! Glenn! F—fuck!” Sephiroth’s first curse word came tumbling out of his mouth, as the aching tension wound to a peak and snapped. His narrow hips jerked and his dick convulsed, spurting viscous, milky-white, all over Glenn’s hand, as well as Sephiroth’s stomach and chest. His insides squeezed and contracted on Glenn’s fingers, as he massaged him through the spasms, milking out every drop. 

Glenn was so hard by now, the head of his dick looked swollen and purple, and ropy veins stood out all over the thick shaft. His balls were heavy and tight, high up against the base, aching for release. He squeezed out some more lubricant slicked it, generously. 

“Seph, I’m gonna put it in, now. Ok?”

“Mn…mm-hm.” Sephiroth nodded. 

With one hand on the back of the boy’s thigh, Glenn guided his dick with the other, to press the big, blunt head to the tautly puckered, pale-pink hole. Goddess, even lubed and stretched, the kid was as tight as a drum. Glenn pushed harder against the resistance and the head suddenly popped through. 

“Ah! It h—it hurts!” Sephiroth sputtered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

“I know. I’m sorry, baby,” Glenn hummed. “Just breathe and focus on relaxing. If you stay tensed up, it’ll hurt more.”

“O—ok,” the boy sniffled.

He was looking up at him with those big, beautiful eyes, half-lidded and pink around the rims, his lips wet and parted, and tears trickling down his temples. It took all of Glenn’s self-control not to plunge in even more vigorously.

With heroic resolve, he breathed slowly and forced himself to be patient. Easing in just a little at a time, paying attention to the boy’s whimpers and groans, watching his face screw up with pain, and relax again. His pale chest heaving, with his ragged breaths. The divine, velvety heat inside him, slowly, ever so gradually accepting his cock. 

“That’s it,” he said hoarsely. “I’m all the way inside. You took it all.”

Sephiroth craned his neck to look at where their bodies were joined. Where Glenn's big, ruddy tree-trunk was stuck into his slender, white ass. His cheeks and chest were flushed pink and his body was trembling, perspiration beading on his forehead. 

“D—don’t move yet,” he stammered. “I’m not ready.”

“I won’t. Just breathe, baby.”

Glenn laid over him, kissing his lips and smoothing his hair back. Sephiroth’s muscles began to slacken, as his body acclimated to penetration, and his breathing became more normal. Keeping his pelvis flush against his ass, Glenn began to rock his hips gently, letting the boy get used to feeling a dick inside him, without the stress of him thrusting.

Glenn withdrew a little and pushed back in. “That feel ok?”

“Mm…ah. More. Give me more,” the boy slurred out, arching his spine.

Looking him steadily in the eye, Glenn began to slide out and rock back in, at a slow, gentle pace, pushing his achingly hard dick into the most divine body he’d ever touched. The boy’s velvety-hot hole resisted tightly as he pushed in, and sucked deliciously when he pulled out, till he was dizzy and euphoric, drunk on the absolute exquisite pleasure of fucking this angelic boy. 

A bizarre, aggressive instinct surged suddenly, inside him. He wanted to nail Sephiroth down, split him open, fuck him so hard he’d cry and beg for mercy. He wanted to pump him full of his seed, till it swelled his belly and came out of his mouth and nose. He’d never felt such a violent urge to dominate and possess any other partner.

He heard sephiroth whimpering and realized he’d been fucking him harder than he intended to. But even after he was aware of it, he found he couldn’t do anything about it. It was like he was possessed, by some beast in rut. 

“Sorry, Seph,” he rasped. “I c—I can’t stop.” 

He pushed his knees up to his armpits and laid into him, with ruthless energy. Sephiroth’s wet-kitten mewls only made Glenn’s burning desire blaze up even hotter. He held him down and kept thrusting, harder and harder, digging into him with his furiously hard cock, like he was trying to kill them both. 

His heart was thudding like a jackhammer and his muscles were on fire, sweat pouring down his chest and dripping from his chin, but he couldn’t come. He felt his dick swelling, getting harder and hotter, and his balls ached, so full and tight they felt like overripe melons, as they slapped heavily against the boy’s ass, but something was denying him release, holding him on the bleeding edge of orgasm.

He groaned, as the tension wound and twisted to impossible tautness in his gut. “I need to—I need to come! Please! Let me come!!”

He didn’t know who he was pleading to. The boy wasn’t stopping him, he was the one being brutally hammered by a maniac. 

“Do it,” Sephiroth panted. “C—come inside me.”

The pressure exploded like a bomb. 

“Haaa! Fuck! Ffffuuuck!” Glenn bit hard into Sephiroth’s neck, to muffle his hoarse cries, as his balls unloaded the longest, most excruciating, soul-drainingly intense orgasm of his life. He came so hard, he saw stars, feeling each individual spasm, as his dick forcefully expelled long, aching bursts of slippery-hot seed, filling the boy up and spilling out, around his shaft. Still, he kept thrusting convulsively, fucking every last drop into this perfect hole.

Half out of his senses, shaking and drenched with sweat, he collapsed on top of Sephiroth and immediately blacked out. 

—

“Glenn…” a voice said, from somewhere far above his head. 

“Hm?” he grunted, without opening his eyes. 

“Glenn,” it called again, clearer and louder. “Glenn!”

Oh, shit, it was Lucia’s voice! Lucia was going to find him and Sephiroth!

Glenn sat bolt-upright, in a panic, disoriented and temporarily blinded by the sunlight pouring in through the putty-colored canvas of his tent.

Wait…huh? He blinked blearily around, as his eyes adjusted. He was alone, in his sleeping bag, and Sephiroth was nowhere to be seen.

“Glenn!” Lucia shouted. “Wake up, asshole!”

“I’m up, I’m up,” he called back, in his gravelly, sleep-rough voice. “Quit yelling, will ya?”

“If you answered the first ten times, I wouldn’t have to,” she retorted, giving the canvas a slap. “Hurry up and get dressed. Sephiroth caught some fish for breakfast.”

“Sephiroth can fish?”

She didn’t hear him, or more likely, didn’t care to deal with him anymore, and her footsteps went crunching away. Meanwhile, Glenn was searching his tent and person for evidence of nighttime activities, but there was none to be found. He was fully clothed, and his boots were neatly placed just inside the tent flap. His underwear, however, were soaked. 

He got up and wriggled out of his pants, then peeled off the sticky undergarment. Holy shit. He never came this much, even when he was conscious. He was almost impressed. 

That confirmed it, then. It was all a dream. He hadn’t  lost his goddamn mind and fucked his teenaged commander till he passed out, last night.

Relief so potent he nearly teared up washed over him. At the same time, there was a tiny pinprick of bitterness, in it. A faint feeling of loss, he couldn’t quite quantify. He ignored it and shook himself back to reality.

How fucking wild was that? He’d never had such an intense and vivid dream, in his life, sexual or otherwise. He could still taste the boy on his tongue and smell his warm, musky scent. He could still hear his whimpering moans, when he—oops, shit.

He stopped thinking about that immediately, and used some pre-packaged bathing cloths, to clean himself up, before hastily getting dressed and heading over to the campfire. 

Matt and Lucia were seated on the driftwood logs, drinking coffee from tin mugs, and Sephiroth was tending to some fat, juicy fish, he’d skewered on sticks, and was cooking over the fire.

“Morning, Glenn,” the boy greeted cheerfully. “Hungry?”

“Hell yeah. Smells delicious,” Glenn said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “You caught all these?”

“Mn,” Sephiroth nodded. “I was up early, so I thought I’d take care of breakfast.”

“Well now, that’s downright decent of you. Hey, can I get some of that coffee?”

“Kettle’s right there,” Matt said. “It’s just instant packets, from the MREs.”

“How early did you get up, anyway, Sephiroth?” Lucia asked, offhandedly, as she passed Glenn a mug. “I was out at sunrise, to report in, but I didn’t see you, anywhere.”

Glenn felt an ominous prickle on the back of his neck, but Sephiroth answered naturally, without a hint of anything off, in his manner.

“I went out before that. Fishing is easiest just before dawn and just after sunset,” he explained, turning the sizzling skewers over the coals. “Fish have poor eyesight, but strong shadows can scare them away. Plus, most of the insects they prey upon are crepuscular.”

“Well, that explains why I never catch anything,” Lucia grumbled. “Who wants to be out fishing at the crack of dawn?”

“You’ll never be a pro-angler, with that attitude,” Glenn chided. 

“There goes your fallback career,” Matt put in.

When the fish were done, Sephiroth handed them out, as-is, since the skewers obviated the need for plates or flatware. Then he took his own and sat beside Glenn on the log.

Glenn couldn’t help leaning back a little and surreptitiously inspecting the boy’s neck. In the dream, he had bit the kid hard enough that there’d be bruises for weeks, but it was smooth and white, and there was no hint of a mark.

“What are you looking at?” Sephiroth frowned (guess he hadn’t been as subtle as he thought). “Is there an insect on me?”

“Hm? Oh—uh. I thought there was but…it was nothing,” Glenn said awkwardly. “Thanks for the fish. Really, really good.”

“I wanted to do something, to thank you all for being so patient with me. Breakfast is the least I could do.”

Matt and Lucia chimed in with their accolades, and Sephiroth practically beamed, unable to conceal how pleased all the praise made him.

“Oh, and Glenn, I wanted to especially thank you, for last night.”

Glenn choked on his bite of fish. “W—uh. For—for last…for what?”

“Our conversation. It was very educational, so thank you.”

“R—right. No problem,” Glenn said miserably.

When breakfast was over, the group dispersed, to pack up their gear. Glenn was relieved to have a minute alone, to get himself together. He was so worked up, his head was spinning. He really had to stop eating whatever weird fruit he happened to find, on this island. These intense dreams were not good for his stress levels. 

He was rolling up his sleeping bag, when he froze, and his face drained of color. There, on his pillow, was a single, long, silver hair.

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

was it a dream or not?? you tell me!

[humdinky]

i love pixar's turning red. it is such a good representation of girls at that age. they don't shy away from depicting the awkward and weird parts. it is so rare to see a movie depict girls and their silly interests without condemning or judging them. they just let the girls be girly, noisy, and silly.

fuck the hate this movie got on its release. i could go on for hours about society's uniquely shitty attitude towards teenage girls and their interests. there are countless examples. remember the feverish hate for twilight, a series aimed exclusively at young women? what about the hunger games? teenage girls were the first ones to fall in love with elvis and the beatles, and critics treated them like a joke. that is, until adult men started liking them. funny how that works. justin bieber fans, one direction fans, vsco girls, girly girls, tomboys, emo girls, indie girls, bookworms. you will see every single type of girl being made fun of for every conceivable interest a human being can have.

at a certain age you feel forced to make an arbitrary choice. lean into your feminine side and continue to get mocked for 'being shallow', 'only caring about your looks', 'being annoying' etc. or lean into your masculine side and get called a pick-me or told that you just want to get with their guy friends. you like things that are popular? you’re basic. you like things that aren’t as popular? you’re trying too hard. it is the entire reason why so many girls internalize this misogyny, why they start saying things like "im not like other girls."

i certainly wasn't immune to that trap. i didn’t fit the mold and got ostracized for it. the only validation i received for the longest time was from boys, when i turned my anger back on girls and girlhood. i was sold that narrative so many times that i wore it like some sort of badge of honor. it took years to unlearn. i feel sad when i look back on my younger self. i was so sad, so angry, and so scared all the time.

we get insulted for being happy. we get insulted for being sad. we get insulted for being mad that we were insulted for being sad. we get insulted for trying to forget what happened and act happy again. we get insulted for feeling hopeless. they beat the confidence out of you very early.

and it angers me how the emotions of teenagers as a whole are so often neglected. when you're around that age and grappling with big emotions, you've quite literally never felt anything that strongly before. a failed test, a best friend's betrayal, being cut from a sports team. it all feels like a rejection of your entire person, your entire being. you haven't lived that many years yet, and it's the first time you've felt this horrible. you don't have anything to compare it to, and it feels like nobody else could have ever survived feeling this bad before.

it's not petty teenage drama. it's not immaturity. it is a normal human reaction to the worst pain you've experienced, and it is happening at a time when your body is going haywire and your feelings feel impossible to control. you don't know how to cope with it, you can't possibly know, because it's the first time you've had this bottomless well of pain tearing you up inside. you can't look back at previous times you've felt this way to reassure yourself that it will be okay eventually. the first time is the worst and hardest and you have no resources to get through it yet.

a lot of adults scoff at and dismiss the feelings of teenagers. "you're young, you'll get over it"' they've decided that because you haven't dealt with this feeling before that you must be overreacting. sometimes you are, and sometimes you're reacting exactly how any adult would. it's an absolutely shitty thing to express to anyone. a teenage girl's pain is not any less real than a 50 year old's pain. so what if it will get better? it doesn't matter that it isn't going to be the worst thing that ever happens; it matters that right now it very much is the worst thing that's happened.

yes, teenagers overreact over a lot of things that aren't as important as they feel. as if adults, who don't even have the excuse of inexperience with deep emotions, don't? no one should ever dismiss someone else's pain regardless of their age or circumstances.

​im turning 20 in a few months. find the small joys of life, and don’t you dare let anyone take them away from you. if there is a teenage girl reading this, i love you, i am sorry, and it does get better.

[jqmalikhsgib]

sea view

three

tigger warning: mention of suicide. please do not read if it will trigger you. i want you all to be aware and safe. this is just a filler chapter. just know if you’re ever struggling im here to listen! love each and everyone of you <3

harry would never understand how some men can’t comprehend how women’s bodies are the most magical and beautiful thing in the entire world. the masculine, macho men who think all women should do is cook and clean, it’s insane!

women give so much to men. they literally carry their babies for them for months, nearly an entire year before officially giving birth to them. it’s the most beautiful and selfless thing they could do.

harry’s grateful for his wife! you’ve given birth to three—maybe more in the future—of his babies. he couldn’t ask for a better woman to be by his side.

after giving birth to hayden, harry picked up the slack around the house. he made sure the kids got up for school, made them breakfast, cleaned around the house, even made sure you got as much rest as you needed!

you didn’t understand how lucky you’ve become with a husband like harry. sure, the two of you had shit in the past, but you worked it out and now you’re both doing so well. you’ve heard and read plenty of stories about someone else’s partner not being their for them or helping out when it came to their kids and household duties. you would never understand how one could treat their girlfriend, boyfriend, husband, or wife like that!

sure, harry wasn’t perfect. he’d done some pretty shitty things in his earlier career, but he’s never neglected your children. he’s always been an amazing father. you knew no matter what had happened to you and harry, if you would have gotten a divorce years ago, he’d be there for his babies. for that you loved him!

sure, he’s doing the bare minimum. but you give credit where it’s due because some men don’t do shit!

“hi, hayden! can’t believe you’re already two weeks old. you’re gonna be daddy’s best friend, huh?” harry coos at his son.

he couldn’t get enough of his son being in the world. he loved all his children so much! harry didn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t a dad.

“daddy, we’re home!”

“who’s that, baby? is that your big brother and sister? yeah! they’re back from school. let’s go say hi, huh?”

harry heads downstairs. he spots his daughter heading for the cabinet for a small snack while his son sat at the table and started his homework.

“how was school, pay-pay?”

“it was so cool, daddy! misses lane made us draw our favorite things! i drew you on stage.” payton hands her father the drawing.

harry smiles happily. payton was definitely artistic. she could already draw really well for a seven year old.

“this is good, baby! im gonna hang it on the fridge.”

“where’s mamma, daddy?”

“she’s resting, baby. remember what i told you? mamma needs all the rest she can get. she just had your baby brother so she’s gonna be extra tired. did you need something from her?”

payton hums.

“maybe i can help?”

“well, all the kids at my school talk about having two grandmas. mama said grandma rose died when she was young. how’d she die, daddy? mamma never told me.”

harry eyes widened. he didn’t expect her to ask that. he honestly didn’t know if he should answer or wait for you to wake up and tell her. corbin looks at his father with a bit of a sad smile. he knew how difficult it was for you to talk about. it’s one of the reasons why corbin never asked either. he didn’t want to upset you.

payton was still young. she didn’t understand too much. she was getting older nonetheless, it made sense as to why she was curious.

“oh, baby. nana rose, she was an amazing woman to your mama. she just—she was really sick,”

“like the sniffles?”

harry shakes his head. “it was a different kind of sick. you know when you’re sad sometimes?”

“mhm!”

“well, nana rose was sad all the time. it made her really really sick and she—well the bad thoughts she had ended up killing her, baby.”

payton didn’t understand too much. corbin got it right away. he felt really bad for his mom. you were barely six years old when she apparently ended her life. he could only picture a six year old you crying in his grandfathers arms, confused to what happened to your mom. his heart broke for you. corbin wouldn’t know what to do if you ended your life. he’d probably blame himself for a long time. thinking he wasn’t a good son.

“does mamma have photos of grandma?”

“she does! im sure if you ask really really nice she’ll show you, yeah?”

payton hums before pulling out her own homework. harry walked back upstairs to put his son down. he sighs as he thinks about the conversation he’d just had with your seven year old.

“dad?”

harry turns around. he sees corbin give him a sad look.

“why didn’t mom tell me?”

harry grabs his son hand. “she likes to talk about the good memories she had with her mother. talking about how sick she was makes her sad.”

“what—what happened?”

“your nana loved her babies, don’t get confused! your mom talks about how much she adored her six beautiful kids, how she’d read to them at night, make their sandwiches into different kind of shapes, sing to them, dance with them, make them laugh. but she was broken inside. she was diagnosed with schizophrenia when she was thirteen. ever since she was in and out the hospital. when she was sixteen she met your grandpa. it was love at first sight! in a way, he helped her a lot, just by being there. her medication was working better, she opened up a lot more to her therapist, she laughed more. she was starting to become herself again. but when she had your uncle ryan, that’s when things turned bad again. she’d now been a mom of four and your grandfather, though a great man, worked pretty much all day and night. this led her to a dark path once more. by the time she had your mom, she’d been in and out of the hospital more times than you could count. she ended up having an accident, she hurt your mom. it was accidental, but this sent her over the edge. your grandmother thought it was best and safer for her and her family to end her life.”

“how’d she hurt mom?”

harry bites his bottom lip.

“you notice that scar on your moms back?”

“the big gash?”

“yeah, your grandma had an episode and cut her pretty deeply. your mom had to undergo surgery and everything. she lost a lot of blood but obviously she survived. it broke your grandmas heart.”

corbin heart breaks even more.

“can i—can i go and hug mom? i know she’s sleep, but—”

“sure kid! go!”

corbin nods before heading to your bedroom. he sees you sitting up with a book in your hand. he goes to hug you tightly.

you were surprised but hugged him back. “what was that for?”

“just love you, mom!”

you smile hugely.

“love you too, kid!

[ir1descences]

you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed LUCIEN "LUCKY" FORBES walking by . don’t tell me you don’t know who he is ? they kind of look like jonathan bailey and i could be wrong but i think that they might be 33 years old right now . they’ve been living in palmview for the last thirty - three years, and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of schmidt from new girl . if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at siren karaoke bar as the owner . you see this town isn’t really that big of a place , some folks like to call them the dynamo of palmview ! they took a liking to the name too after a while , go figure . oh crap , they must have heard me yapping , they’re coming this way . i got to warn you though , rumor has it they can be pretty guarded at times . i wouldn’t take it too seriously though , from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty fun to me . we see each other all the time since they live in that two bedroom apartment beside me over in sunset villas . i better leave you to it , it was nice meeting you .

→ — threads / musings / pinterest

( I. ) STATISTICS !

name   —   lucien  august  forbes   .

nicknames   —   lucky  ,  luck   ,  luke   .

date   of   birth   —   december   10th   .

age   —   33   years   old   .

place   of   birth   —   marseille   ,   france   .

current  residence   —   palmview   ,   florida   .

gender   —   cis   man   .

sexuality   —   pansexual   .

pronouns   —    he   /   him   .

occupation   —   owner  @  siren  karaoke  bar  .

( II. ) PERSONALITY !

western  zodiac   —   sagittarius  sun  ,  pisces  moon  ,  aries  rising   .

chinese   zodiac   —   goat   .

alignment   —   chaotic   good   .

mbti   type   —   estj   .

enneagram   —   7w6   .

positive   traits   —   charming   ,   magnanimous   ,   adaptable   ,   charismatic   ,   humorous   .   

negative   traits   —   uptight   ,   deceptive   ,   aloof   ,   impulsive   ,   immature   .

( III. ) HEADCANONS !

luck grew up very insecure, he was bullied in school and v distant from his parents. the only person he really felt he had a good relationship with was his younger sister.

he always loved to sing and dance, which was the cause for most of the bullying he received during his childhood. it was a mix between his more "feminine" passions and his body image as a child.

around 16 or so, he did almost a complete 180 lifestyle change, and started spending more time at the gym than he did at home. he got in shape and pushed down his real interests, turned all his attention to stereotypical alpha male stuff,,, hooking up, working out, and overall success. ... basically kinda became a douchebag dflkhb

in his adult age, he's def become more free,, kinda comes off as not giving a fuck about what ppl think of him, but deep down he really really does.

definitely not a Toxic masculine douche,, as much as maybe he would like to be. he's actually quite sweet. he's VERY flirty and kinda thinks he's the best, but he's got a good heart in there. the lights just aren't always on up in that brain of his kjdhbfj

constantly very concerned about his appearance and is very ,,, what some may say ,, metrosexual LMAO

( IV. ) WANTED CONNECTIONS !

mentor - like relationship ! think schmidt & jess ! he just really needs someone to sort of guide him in life and teach him to relax and see beyond superficiality

a ride or die / bestie ! pls give him his best best bro <33

gimme the person he cheated on evelyn with !! it could be so messy,,, them finding out he was a married man ?? tea.

i would LOVE to see a type of love triangle ?? where all the sides touch ?? idk i could def see lucky exploring polyamory and i think it could be fun !

fake friends ,, these two hate each other behind closed doors but pretend to be friends in public for whatever reason lol

enemies turned friends ?? or even friends turned enemies !

maybe friends of his sister ?? and while we're at it, i'd LOVE to get his younger sister in the rp hehehe

( V. ) ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS !

alyssa lockhart : they used to be roomies ! heavyyyy rachel / joey energy tbh he just kinda appeared in her apt one day and never left. he moved out when they started kinda catching feels for each other, in order to keep their friendship in tact !

angel chiarelli : they were each other's blind dates for valentine's day,,, potential for mutual attraction ?? hehe 👀

caleb donovan : these two are friends with benefits ! heavy on the friends and the benefits hkjbh

david matthews : they're good friends ! ur typical bros lol

emma cicciaro : unhinged party buddies !! u WILL find them getting messily drunk and dancing on tables. they love a good party hehe

evelyn martinez : believe it or not ... these two were married, and are now messily divorced as of just a few months ago. he cheated on her bc of course he fucking did and he feels so bad n doesnt know how to talk to her now kdjbh

gianna yun : alexa, play 'good in bed' by dua lipa .. they can't stand each other but keep waking up in each others beds lol they don't get along conversationally but sexually ?? u know it. enemies w benefits teehee

kendrick irving : theeee joint dumbassery friends ! lol they bring out the worst in each other

leon amos : these two are good friends ! lucky has a tiny crush on leon too hblkfd

major powell : again, they're friends ! joint dumbassery ! lol

mila bukowski : these two are frenemies but she's got a tiny lil unrequited crush on lucky ! she tries to hit on him but he's just kinda dumb and oblivious so she takes that as him not being interested lol

nell mason : they're exes ! they had a really lovely relationship, but lucky broke it off due to insecurity, saying theyre better as friends .. and he'd be lying if he said he didn't still love her fgdkjn

roman prescott : theyre friends that are so flirty just for fun that ppl kinda question if theyre a little more than friends lol lgdfjjd

sadie kalinski : these two were high school sweethearts, and their breakup was angsty bc they were both teens. now theyre rival bar owners ,, and enemies / exes w benefits lol

sasha de vera : sasha is the one that lucky cheated on his ex - wife with, during a drunken night OOF

savannah hendricks : they used to be friends but have since drifted apart !

viviénne maiziére : he annoys the hell out of her,, but she cant help but be kinda into him. and he just loves getting on her nerves hkfsjk

zakir drissi : enemies with tension. catch them staring at each other at the gym one second and screaming at each other the next lmao

ziggy minamoto : these two have an unlikely friendship !

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Sky's Canvas"

This little future Swan-Jones-Mills family fic envisioning them during their happy beginning post-s6 would probably have been well suited to Father's Day last week, but I didn't think of it until too late. I hope it will still be enjoyable this week too. It's a part of my one shot collection on AO3 or ff.net (if you'd prefer to read it either of those places instead) I hope you have fun picturing this alternate idea of what might have happened - and I'd love to hear what you think!

Notes: I toyed with the idea for this one for quite some time. The prompt elements that I have used are: a museum, the phrase “it was just a joke”, and also some small art facts – mostly about the particular museum itself (which is real). I have also put in a CS daughter (my personal head canon imagined one, Morgan Ruth Jones, whom I have written about before), and a college aged Henry. So, this is set somewhere in an alternative post-season 6 reality, where Henry stays in the Land Without Magic to seek his story, and also to be close enough to visit his family often, and for them to return the favor…)

by: @snowbellewells

The bubbly, nonstop chatter of her four-year-old little girl, which has cheerfully been filling Emma Swan’s ears for the past hour and a half, suddenly stills, immediately grabbing her attention and setting off an interior maternal alarm. She turns to seek out Morgan Ruth Jones – her little pirate princess – wondering if her daughter has yet again managed to sneak away from them and find herself in some sort of trouble.

Luckily, Emma doesn’t have to look far before she hears a chortling trill of baby laughter and locates her toddler with the disheveled head of dark, ringlet curls and twinkling, mischievous eyes – an aquamarine mix of her own green gaze and her father’s ocean blue – standing before a huge oil painting of a Spanish galleon rocking precariously on the stormy main and looking up at her father with fixed adoration. “Really, Papa?” Emma hears Morgan chirp, practically bouncing on the balls of her little feet as she tugs anxiously at his hook in eagerness to hear his answer. “Was it a storm that big you sailed ‘Roger’ through when you went to save Henwy in Neverland?!”

Emma is just chuckling wryly at the changes which have transpired in her life to give her a little girl more interested in daring adventures, ancient naval ships, and sword fighting than frilly dresses or dolls and makeup, even as her husband raises his eyes just enough to smirk at her knowingly over Morgan’s head, when another voice, youthful, warm, and settling into its masculine, adult timbre, answers Morgan’s question from over her shoulder, announcing Henry’s arrival to join them. “It was bigger, Pipsqueak,” he confirms jovially, pausing briefly to wrap a wiry arm around his mom in a quick side-hug before continuing to the side of his younger half-sister, kneeling to her level and adding with a gleam in his eye, “A mermaid summoned it to drown them all.”

“Hen-wy!!” Morgan squeals with glee; the painting, and even her papa’s beloved ship, forgotten as she flings herself into her brother’s arms with enough force to nearly bowl him over, causing Henry to chuckle as he catches her close to his chest.

“Hey Munchkin,” he greets affectionately, standing to his full height again – now even with his stepdad’s – still holding Morgan, her arms wrapped around his neck so tightly that Emma has to wonder if she’s ever going to let go. Turning to include his mom and his surrogate father in his next statement, Henry adds. “It’s great to see you all. Things must be quiet in Storybrooke, if you’re still going to stay all weekend.”

Here he arcs an eyebrow in curious bemusement, a trait Emma realizes all too well that he has picked up from her dashing scoundrel of a husband and probably uses to equally charming effect on all the girls he meets in his freshman courses at Bowdoin College. It is clear he has settled easily into the small arts school in Brunswick, Maine, just under a two hours’ drive from them, and that the campus atmosphere and freeing anonymity and normalcy he has there must be agreeing with him. Emma wants to snort in disbelieving laughter at his jest, though well aware that he knows better than to ever think his hometown would go completely, boringly normal. Instead, she shakes her head resignedly, merely giving her grown son a playfully long-suffering sigh. “You know how it is,” she shrugs, “never a dull moment. But – if you don’t count the dwarves coming to blows at Granny’s the other morning because Tom Clark accidentally sat in Leroy’s spot at the counter and got his flu germs on Leroy’s plate of bacon and eggs…”

“Which I do count,” Killian interrupts smoothly, winking at his adopted son. “I am the one who risked infection from the virus in forestalling their skirmish.”

Emma rolls her eyes at her deputy husband’s interruption and mutters “drama queen” under her breath, which Henry and Morgan both clearly hear and snicker at before she continues, “Otherwise it’s been as quiet as it ever gets. No deathly dangerous villains or curses meant to tear us apart and wipe our memories blank.”

“Yet…” Killian adds on needlessly, an ominous tone in his voice acknowledging the fact that they all know it’s only a matter of time before some new threat is wreaking havoc again. Their sleepy little town might seem like a place lost in time and space, but it is still a veritable magnet for trouble, and none of them can deny it.

Killian, however, waggles his brows playfully after his foreboding aside, making Henry shake his own head at his stepfather. It had seemed a rather grim pronouncement for the reformed pirate – more like his mom, really.

Morgan grins widely back at her father, nodding in gleeful agreement, her gap-toothed smile showing where she has lost a fair few of her baby teeth recently. “Yeah…yet!” she exclaims, not fully understanding the concern behind the sentiment, but always ready – as is her entire extended family – for action and excitement.

Emma shakes her head in humored exasperation at her two “children” – wondering, as she often does, how someone who has seen and experienced as much as Killian, who has witnessed some of the worst humanity had to offer and suffered at their hands, who has lived so long and weathered such crushing heartbreak and hate, can still easily find such simple, child-like joy in the littlest things. “Really, guys?” she questions, looking to her college student son for more mature support. “Can’t we just enjoy things being normal for once?”

“Aye, of course, my Love,” Killian replies deftly. “ ‘Twas merely a joke,” he adds, leaning over to brush a quick kiss to her brow that makes Morgan giggle, hide her face in Henry’s shoulder, and cry out, “Eww, they’re kissing again!” in a frank, tickling whisper against her older sibling’s skin.

“Just a joke is right,” Henry declares, motioning them forward to venture on into the rest of the Bowdoin College Museum and toward the particular exhibit he wants them to see. The collection was an 1811 bequest from a wealthy benefactor to the school and was one of the earliest college art collections in the country, as Henry had enthusiastically told her over the phone some weeks ago when his project had commenced. His Maritime History class had done a cross-curriculum partnership with the arts department to put together a student exhibit of research and mixed media in the college’s museum, and Henry has been quite secretive about his entry, even if insistent that they needed to see it in person. “Like anyone could be around you lot for long and think you were normal!” he scoffs.

“Ha ha,” his mother laughs drolly, bumping into his side with her shoulder in playful retribution as they move ahead side-by-side, with Killian, who is now holding a wriggling Morgan once again, following closely behind. However, once the jostling ceases, Emma grasps her nearly-grown son’s hand in hers for a moment, stunned anew at how much he has changed from the little boy who had found her in Boston all those years ago, and led her into the very life she has now. Squeezing tightly with emotion welling up in her throat, she wishes he could truly understand how much she loves him.

“Missed you too, Mom,” Henry murmurs softly, pressing her fingers back with his own wrapped around them. It is more than enough and makes her heart flutter in gladness.

Once Henry leads them through a few different rooms and several intriguing displays, he slows when they reach a large, somewhat circular room with a high, arched ceiling, and then turns to them with a mysterious smile on his face and clear anticipation in his big, brown eyes, just as they have always held, even at ten years old.

At first glance, this particular exhibit, this room in itself, seems empty. Looking around with faces equally full of curiosity and confusion, Killian, Emma, and Morgan end up staring back at Henry expectantly until Killian finally speaks up, “Begging your pardon, Lad, but I’m afraid I am not quite certain what you wish for us to see.”

Henry gives a nod of acknowledgement, rather knowingly pleased, and making Emma smirk to herself with a mother’s satisfaction at seeing her son so confidently happy and in his element. ‘He’s definitely got something up his sleeve,’ she thinks affectionately, admittedly finding herself anxious to see what his surprise might be. She knows that Henry has been loving this course all term – not to mention how thrilled her husband had been at the news – and that the long term practicum research projects are being showcased here throughout the entire month of April. Emma can only conclude that her son’s hard work has paid off in a way he’s proud of, and he must believe wholeheartedly that they will be too.

All Henry says is, “I take it you’re ready then?” and at Killian’s nod and Morgan’s “Yes, yes, YES, Henwy!!” exclamation, while she hops up and down exuberantly, he switches off the lights and presses a previously unnoticed button next to the light switch.

Immediately, the light and airy sound of some sort of flute or piccolo trickles through the quiet air of the room, a gently evocative melody with a lingering, haunted quality to its tone, enhanced by the sound echoing beneath of waves washing gently against the hull of some easily floating ship or back and forth over the shore of some deserted bay. Even as the sounds which are familiar and comforting to his tiny family audience wrap around them, small pinpricks of light appear just like stars in the night sky out on the ocean, sparking to life on the walls around them and the high ceiling overhead. It is a constellation spread out just for them in breathtaking majesty. Then, the Author begins to narrate his newest story…

Listening to Henry’s words, Emma feels her breath catch just a bit in both awe and emotion, glancing quickly over at her husband and daughter, before either of them realizes they are being observed. Morgan’s green eyes are wide and sparkling with interest and excitement, her mouth an open “o” as she looks above her, dazzled at what would appear for all the world to be the stars and constellations in the night sky brought indoors and spread out for their entertainment. Killian is silent and still, so much so that Emma knows – as few others would – just how valiantly he is battling some strong emotion…how very touched he is. Emma was never as great a student of the star charts and navigational astronomy as her sailor would have loved to make her, but Henry ate it right up, and she would bet her battered and beloved old VW that Henry has recreated some particular display that holds an extra meaning for he and his stepdad alone.

Shaking herself slightly to bring her focus back to earth and her attention back to the words of Henry’s presentation once more, she hears her son’s voice – soothing, engaging, and reeling her into the adventurous stories behind the scattered specks of light arrayed above them and their meaning and guidance to generations of sailors making their ways on a wide and pathless sea.

“The Cygnus,” Killian mouths silently beside her, appearing genuinely awestruck as he takes his gaze just momentarily from Henry’s representative “sky” to look in the eyes of the young man he has for years now cared for and loved like a son; a sincere gaze of fond understanding passing between them that brings a film of unshed tears to Emma’s vision that she has to rapidly blink away. In fact, soundless though it may be, she catches Killian’s comment only because she is so focused on her husband and his emotional reaction to this gift Henry has given all of them – but her pirate in particular. Emma senses that Killian knows it in this moment and holds tightly to his fingers twined with hers while practically beaming at her son, wondering again how she ever got lucky enough that the two most important people in her world would love each other as much as they each love her.

Morgan reaches over from Killian’s arms to pat her mother’s cheeks as Henry concludes his tale and turns the lights back up. “Don’t cry, Mama,” Morgan coos sweetly. “Henwy’s story was happy in the end. The Swan leads the sailor to his home.”

Emma smiles shakily at her daughter, and then the rest of her family with their looks of understanding. “I know, Baby,” Emma murmurs softly, still brushing away the evidence, but with her smile growing broader all the while. “Don’t worry. These are happy tears.”

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jrob64 @apiratewhopines

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @stahlop @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @winterbaby89

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @branlovestowrite

@linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @let-it-raines @ineffablecolors

[coal15]

So I got the 2nd Chapter of I Never Do This finished, (bucktommy, a mix of smut and fluffy sweetness) I just need to do one more editing pass, so barring unforeseen events or disaster it will be up on ao3 sometime tomorrow. Excerpt below the cut. To read Ch.1 go HERE

Sadly there wasn't much time for post-coital cuteness. Buck was due at Maddie's house for a 24 hour babysitting gig, and he was already behind schedule. "I'll have to haul ass to make it on time!" He groused, frantically pulling on the previous days’ clothes. "By the way, I think we should keep a few changes of clothes at eachother's places--I don't mean half the closet or anything," he added in case the suggestion sounded like too big a step. "But, y'know, some shirts, some pants."

"Good idea.” Tommy smiled. Frantic Evan was such a cute Evan. “Okay, I'll take care of it while you're on babysitting duty. Your spare key is on top of the door frame, right?"

“Uh-huh. Oh my god, if I’m any more than ten minutes late Maddie will kill me and cook me for dinner!" Buck grabbed his cellphone, gave Tommy a quick kiss, and charged for the open bedroom door. "Uuuuhhh, honey-"

"Laundry room is the door across from the one to your right, go through there and you’re five steps from the front door.”

“Thanks!”

In contrast to his poor boyfriend, Tommy had the luxury of checking items off an easy to-do list at a pleasantly lazy pace. First, the clothes thing like he promised. After that just little things. Switching out the overloaded ant traps around his cherry tree for fresh ones, taking a few tomatoes down the street to Cathy, then he spent the rest of his day hanging out out in the garage/workshop playing around with a few beat up Hickorywood chairs he was trying to restore. Bringing horribly abused old furniture back to life was Tommy's favorite hobby next to Muay Thai. The two served radically different purposes in his life. Muay Thai made for a great workout. It was a fun way to burn off energy. Whereas furniture restoration took him to a calm place, peaceful and meditative. 

Today’s meditation focused on examining the morning’s events and how he felt. More importantly, how he didn’t feel. No loss of masculinity. No need to jump in the ring and pummel a Muay Thai opponent senseless. And best of all, no need to cry in the shower trying to scrub the gay off of him like dead skin cells and wash them down the drain. Letting Evan top him closed another awful, heavy door between his past and present--slammed it shut and bricked it over. Getting fucked silly felt great, and he knew no one would ever have the power to make him feel bad or gross about it.

**********to read the first chapter go HERE

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Flowers In The Passenger Seat (Taken Out Of Context)

or: part of the big brother!hasan universe

or or: talking hasan off the ledge when anxiety is bad

“i’m afraid i’m going to ruin her life,” he whispers, his voice is tight and his forehead pressed against yours, “Fuck it up instead of make it better.”

tw/cursing, mention of anxiety, mention of past physical abuse (not graphic, but talks about scars), toxic masculinity, catholic guilt, implied verbal/physical abuse

series master list here

(not required reading, but you might enjoy it if you like this)

hasan comes out, in his true form, between 2am-5am.

his voice is deep with sleep, borders on slurring, heavy eye kids from a double shift at the shop, grease stains that never come out of his hands, night classes finished (“makin a better life for us, sunshine’” he’ll insist to his tiny shadow clinging to his belt loops as he picks her up from the library, running to keep up with his long strides.)

she’s too young to understand what a better life could possibly be, especially because she thinks this is the better life, by hasan's side, but she nods and repeats it back, (“a better life!” she’ll giggle to his side, her tiny fingernails dig into his denim, too thin for the cold winter, but he’d rather spend the money on her, even if it goes into new school uniform shirts she needs or holy fuck she needs new shoes already?!)

“Hasan-“ sleep finds you, easily. especially with him curled into your side, his head buried deep into the crook of your neck, imagines he’s sticking his head into the sand, a: la la la as he ignores all the real life problems he has. because with you, the real life problems aren’t nearly as bad.

he talks first.

“i’m afraid i’m going to ruin her life,” he whispers, his voice is tight and his forehead pressed against yours, “Fuck it up instead of make it better.”

“Hasan,” you sigh, turning over to face him, to put your finger under his chin, make him look at you, his eyes are misty and his face has tear streaks on it, like he was torturing himself before he finally spoke, bared his bones to you. “You’re doing good, what’s this about?” you whisper, press his forehead against yours.

“What if i fuck her up?” he whimpers. “Like our parents fucked me up-“

“hasan, you aren’t a fuck up-“

he doesn’t talk about the past much. prefers to leave it in the past. little bits come out; talks about his childhood with this hard look on his face his “before Amelie” times and “after Amelie” times, he’ll say, “when things got better. Made sense.”

you’ve seen the scars that liter his body, curve and twist in every angle on his back, white with age; only making an appearance as he mows the lawn in the hot summer, or when the boss is out of the shop and he’s working on a car by himself- “less people,” he mutter, before his eyes get dark, “less questions.”

He’s crying now, into your shoulder blade, like when he was a kid and buried his head into his mothers apron strings, hiding himself, always trying to make himself smaller, even then-because making yourself smaller meant less problems, less eyes on you-

“hasan,” you hush him gently, the pad of your thumb goes over his cheek, wiping away the tears gently, “you are doing amazing-“

“you have to say that” he sniffles his voice muffled from inside your shoulder blade.

“hasan,” you sigh, “I don’t have to say shit. Amelie adores you. she talks about you non stop.”

silence. only his sniffling is heard.

“Just cause she’s talkin’ ‘bout me doesn’t mean i’m doin’ good.” he finally settles on.

hasan is stubborn. probably the most stubborn person you’ve ever met.

and he isn’t the perfect guardian. even he knows that. there’s nights he has to take deep breaths, remind himself that she doesn’t get it, when she stomps her tiny foot at him, jabs her finger into his leg, “I hate you.” she’ll declare.

and even though it’s coming from a five year old-it still fucking hurts, right?

“You don’t mean it.” he’ll insist. swallowing hard to get rid of the tears that threaten to fall in front of her.

“Yeah!” she’ll say again, “you’re the reason mama and pa are gone!”

and she doesn’t get it.

she’s young. too young to understand the truth behind what happened, it being for the best, only knows secondhand stories.

“You made Pa leave!” she’ll say again, and on those days, the worst days, he doesn’t even think about doing what happened to him, stuck black and blue sobbing into a corner for hours on end, alone. (“be a man, for once in your pathetic fucking life, hasan.”)

“You don’t mean it, sunshine.” he’ll say again, his voice is low, raspy.

“Yeah-huh!” shell insist, her face bright red as fat tears fall down. “and-“

and before she can say it again, he brings her closer. a tight hug, squeezes her tight against his belly-

“hasan, no.” she’ll try again, but he’s already on his knees in front of her, like he’s begging for forgiveness from her, like all those years in church until his knees were bloody and scarred-

he doesn’t listen. Grabs her closer, squeezes her tighter. doesn’t let go. never let’s go.

Blows raspberries on her neck and cheeks, her belly, until she’s finally laughing, the words she said to him earlier gone.

he’s stubborn. almost as stubborn as she is.

You groan, but take his hair into your hands, gently pulling at his hair, tiny little fistfuls, the only way sleep can find him some days, and instantly, a sigh comes out of him, like some pressure was released from him.

“She talks about you,” you say gently, “like you put the stars in the sky. it’s annoying. and endearing-“

he huffs, opens his mouth and he’s about to interrupt him but you continue first-

“And last week?” you continue, “when she had that night terror? what happened?”

and you pause, making him finish, his voice defeated because he knows you’re right, knows your the voice of reason, won’t stop until he talks-

“I just went to check on her-“ he says, his voice gruff.

“hasan you shot out of bed,” you sigh, “Like, my eyes weren’t even all the way open and you were sliding across the floor to her. had her calmed down in the time it took me to walk across the floor.”

“That’s what big brothers do.” he says gently, remembers his mama bringing her home, a small bundle of blankets that cooed at him the second she looked at him, his mother crouched down next to hasan, holding the bundle up in the air, her voice goes through his head: “This is your sister, hasan. You take care of her. That’s what big brothers do.”

time has passed. time made him rough around the edges, wouldn’t fit in the same hole he did when he was younger, when everything was still good and his Pa had a job and a reason to get out of the house-

time passed. he’s rougher around the edges, thought it would be him and Amelie against the world, terrified that the world would make her rough, make her hate everything -make him hate her-the idea keeps him up most nights.

“Exactly,” you pull him down to earth gently, “And you’re doing amazing. Seriously, she turned out great and that’s because of you, hasan.”

he sniffles.

a small voice in his doorway, hard to see, only an outline, holds a stuffed bunny but the ear, is practically falling off, patches on top of patches that sapnap has had to sew, then sew again in the dark of the night, poking his finger and cursing under his breath as the needle stabs at him. (“Carrots,” He’d say, the first day he presented her with him after her first top real nightmare, “kept me safe and now he’ll do the same for you.”)

“hasan?” the voice calls gently, is quiet, timid.

“Sunshine’?” Hasan scoots up on his elbows until he’s sitting up in bed, “It’s late, what’re you doin’ up?”

“Can’t sleep,” She whimpers, “The wind is too loud.”

he laughs, some ease to it.

“C’mon, sunshine’,” he says, turns over to turn the bedside light on, “There’s a spot for ya right here.”

and she giggles, runs full speed to the side of the bed until he smiles, leans down and picks her up by her armpits and sets her in the middle of you and him.

she immediately curls into his neck, his fingers laced around yours and he brings your hand to his mouth to kiss the top of it.

“Story, hasan.” Amelie giggles into his side and because you love to tease him too, you gasp:

“Yeah, hasan! story.”

he rolls his eyes, “I ain’t much of a storyteller.” he’ll say every-time, his face pink, like he’ll be able to get out of it.

“C’mon,” Amelie will prod at him, “Story, hasan.”

and he’ll sigh, like he doesn’t love it.

“Alright,” he’ll sigh, plays with the ends of your hair gently, his kid in his side, her bony knees in his side, “fine. Close your eyes. “

and you’ll both obey, even though he wasn’t talking to you; gives a messy kiss to Amelie’s forehead, “Let’s see,” he sighs, “Okay. Once upon a time-“

and you settle in, because he doesn’t tell stories often, so you’ll indulge yourself into this, let his voice lull you to sleep, the way his voice goes up and down with the stories, with new plot hooks and when a new character comes in, they get a distinct voice.

you her and hasan, “the way it should be.” he’d smile as he drives his truck to work in the morning, a prayer to get it to start, chugs loudly around to drop you off at work, Amelie to your side, him down the road at the shop.

because this is his little family. made it himself, found it himself.

[stargazer-sims]

Grandpa’s Advice

Nikolai made his way down the road from Stan and Milena’s house to Windward Shore Estates, where he’s having coffee and cake and a much-needed talk with his grandfather in the community’s shared back garden.

Grandpa: So that’s the latest, is it? Little Mishka wants a baby?

Nikolai: He loves that you call him ‘little Mishka’, you know. He says it makes him feel cute.

Grandpa: See, that’s why I love him. One of the reasons, anyway. Absolute giant who looks like he could take out a bear with one good punch, and yet his big preoccupation is with being cute. Not a shred of that toxic masculinity the young people are always talking about. You have to admire that.

Nikolai: I do admire it, actually. Not to be one of those annoying people who can’t stop bragging about their spouse, but he’s the sweetest, most gentle person I’ve ever known. And he is cute.

Grandpa: It’s never annoying to praise your spouse, Kolya. I might’ve stayed married and managed to keep my daughters in my life if I’d learned that sooner, among other things. You go ahead and talk up that man of yours as much as you want. I'll never complain.

Nikolai: Thanks, Grandpa.

Grandpa: You're welcome. Now, about this baby—

Nikolai: Yeah, about that. Mishka really wants us to grow our family, but I don’t know what to do, and it’s stressing me out a little.

Grandpa: More than a little, unless I miss my guess.

Nikolai: Okay, a lot. And nobody’s taking me seriously.

Grandpa: Nobody?

Nikolai: Uncle Stan. I told him when I was over there this morning, and he laughed.

Grandpa: In that case, ‘nobody’ seems accurate.

Nikolai: Grandpa!

Grandpa: My advice is to pay no attention to anybody who laughs at you when you’re being serious. Now, listen to me for a minute. You said Mishka wants a baby, but before you start trying to decide what to do about it, perhaps the first question you should be asking yourself is whether or not you want a baby.

Nikolai: I think I do. No… I do, but the idea of having a baby isn’t the problem. It’s how we’re going to have him.

Grandpa: What do you mean? Mishka’s adopted, isn’t he? I assume he’d want to adopt too.

Nikolai: He doesn’t want to adopt. Not as a first option, at least.

Grandpa : Oh?

Nikolai: He wants to have a science baby. That’s what Stan was laughing about. I think the mental image of pregnant men was too much for him. Either that, or he thinks it isn’t even real.

Grandpa: A science baby?

Nikolai: Yeah. It’s a real thing. Look, they have a website. Let me show you.

Grandpa: No need to show me. I know it’s real. know all about it.

Nikolai: Really?

Grandpa: It's a brilliant feat of bio-engineering, especially the extracorporeal gestation.

Nikolai: You know about that?

Grandpa: Biochemist, remember? I may be retired, but old chemists never die.

Nikolai: They just stop reacting.

Grandpa:*laughing* Glad to see you were paying attention back in the day when I was learning the concept of dad jokes.

Nikolai: That one is old, Grandpa. But you're not, obviously, since you're clearly still reacting.

Grandpa: I'd have to be literally dead not to react to the possibility of a great-grandchild.

Nikolai: Fair point.

Grandpa: So, which way does Mishka want to go with the science baby process?

Nikolai: I'm not sure he knows. He's just as fascinated with the whole science lab baby situation as you are, but somehow I get the feeling he'd like to actually, you know... carry it himself.

Grandpa: And you're uncomfortable with that.

Nikolai: Wouldn't you be?

Grandpa: Me personally? No, but I suppose my comfort level would also depend on my partner.

Nikolai: Well, my partner is delicate.

Grandpa: *nodding* Not a word i imagine most people would apply to him, but I can see that, yes.

Nikolai: He hates being sick, and his pain tolerance is practically non-existent, and he gets anxious about everything. I'm really worried it'd be too much for him. Besides, the thought of him being sick or in pain is like... Every time I think about it, it's like somebody's squeezing my heart in their fist.

Grandpa: Mishka might end up surprising you. It's amazing what people will put themselves through to have a child.

Nikolai: But... I don't want him to have to put himself through anything like that. Plus, I read on the website that there are risks. What if something went wrong?

Grandpa: You don't gain anything if you don't take risks. Isn't that something that old crank Stan always used to tell you?

Nikolai: That 'old crank' is younger than you.

Grandpa: Age is a state of mind. Anyway, I don't think he's wrong about the risk-taking, even if I'm annoyed at him for laughing at you.

Nikolai: Grandpa, this isn't a skating competition. It was one thing to take risks on the ice that only affected me in the end, but I'm not willing to take risks with the man I love or our possible future baby. But, on the other hand, I don't want to tell Mishka we can't do it, just because I'm scared.

Grandpa: You'll have to make up your mind sooner rather than later. I don't know if there's an age cut-off for the process, but didn't Mishka turn thirty-six back in February?

Nikolai: Yeah, and I know I need to make a decision soon, but I want to make the right decision, and... I don't know what that is.

Grandpa: I'll tell you my opinion, for what it's worth.

Nikolai: Please, tell me. What would you do if you were me?

Grandpa: If I were you, and you're really serious about having a child, I'd try to steer Mishka in the direction of extracorporeal gestion. The 'science lab baby situation' as you put it.

Nikolai: Okay, but why? Mishka's going to ask, and I'll have to be able to explain it to him.

Grandpa: Because it eliminates almost all the things you're worried about. Little Mishka wouldn't have to risk his heath or be in any pain, and you wouldn't have to stress yourself out about anything happening to him or the baby. Not to mention, lab babies grow in a completely clean and controlled environment, so the risk to them is extremely low, and the failure rate is less than two percent, last I read. So, you do all the initial screening and sample collection and whatnot, let the scientists do their thing, and nine months later, you're parents.

Nikolai: You make it sound so easy.

Grandpa: It would be easier for the two of you, since neither of you would have to do much to make it happen, but it's definitely not an easy process.

Nikolai: I guess Mishka and I still have things to talk about and think about, don't we?

Grandpa: I'd say you do.

Nikolai: This is a lot.

Grandpa: It is, but most couples go through something like this when they’re planning their family, so it’s nothing new.

Nikolai: Yeah, but it’s all new to us.

Grandpa: Can I make another suggestion?

Nikolai: Sure. What is it?

Grandpa: You and Mishka might want to arrange a consultation at the clinic where they do the procedure. Information on a website is fine, but there’s nothing like being able to talk to somebody and ask questions face to face.

Nikolai: Yeah. You know, I think I might feel better if we could do that.

Grandpa: If Mishka can cope with being in a room full of strangers, maybe try to get in on one of their group information sessions too.

Nikolai: Okay.

Grandpa: I know this a big, serious thing for both of you, but I believe in you. You’ll figure it out.

Nikolai: Thanks, Grandpa. You've helped a lot.

Grandpa: What are grandpas for, if not to help out their favourite grandsons with their stranger-than-fiction problems?

Nikolai: You're the most awesome grandpa ever.

Grandpa: Awesomeness is in our genes. That's why you're so outstanding. Best grandson ever, I'd say.

Nikolai: Until the great-grandchild comes along?

Grandpa: Oh, I'm sure I'll fall in love with them on sight, but you're always going to be my favourite.

Nikolai: You'd better not let Natascha find out.

Grandpa: I don't think it's a secret at this point, do you?

Nikolai: *laughing* No, probably not.

Grandpa: I love your sister just as much as I love you. That's what matters.

Nikolai: I love you, too.

Grandpa: Good luck with your decision.

Nikolai: Thanks. I'll keep you updated, okay?

Grandpa: I'd appreciate that.

Nikolai: Consider it done, then. I've got to go now. I have to pick up Mishka from his language class and then we're heading to the airport to meet Sam, but I'll call you later, all right? You can fill me in on all the latest Windward Shore gossip and tell me how your search for a roommate’s been going.

Grandpa: Be prepared for a long phone call.

Nikolai: I’ll be looking forward to it.