#blue motorcycle decor

[f-airchilds]

Mudroom - Farmhouse Entry Picture of a large cottage entryway with porcelain tile, blue walls, and a front door made of dark wood

[stellasdrafts]

DI!Leon, who walks into the groom suite on your wedding day, intending to get ready for the ceremony when he spots an elegant photo album, trimmed with white lace placed neatly at the end of the bed. He comes closer and notices a small card with your loving handwriting: For my loving husband-to-be <3

DI!Leon, whose breath catches in his throat when he opens it, the pages littered with sultry photos of you, wearing not nearly enough clothing. You, his graceful younger bride, whom he still feels guilty for marrying. You deserve so much better.

DI!Leon, who feels his pants tighten as he continues to flip through the album. He touches the carefully glued trims and cute fake flowers and gems. Even with his growing erection lusty haze, he notices how the decorations on the pages ooze with your touch.

DI!Leon, who feels his chest constrict and his face grow hot as his eyes trail guilty over your form, taking in the myriad of different poses and sets of lingerie. One of you draped over a motorcycle, which makes him chuckle fondly as you were evidently toying with his newfound affinity for bikes. Another of you in his favourite set – a lacy dark blue one that you had picked out together early enough in your relationship but still had that magic touch to make him tick. It didn’t take much for you and Leon.

DI!Leon, whose mind can’t help but wander to your previous escapades. To how he’s sure his heart will give out every time you do the honour of bedding him. He isn’t as young as he used to be, after all. Despite that, he always gives you his all, his adoration—nothing less for his pretty girl.

DI!Leon, who lets himself get sappy on your wedding day. Who finds himself thinking he’d go through the hell that is his professional life all over again if it meant meeting you at the same time, in the same place that he did… Who doesn’t think twice about what could have been because he has you now. You saved him—his angel.

DI!Leon, whose hand trembles as he flips to the last page, containing a loving note and a sample of delicate white lace… The lingerie you’d be wearing tonight, he realizes with a groan.

DI!Leon, who can’t help but lie on the plush bed and unzip his pants, boudoir album in hand. After all, he can’t walk up in front of your friends and family with a hard-on, can he? Poor baby.

DI!Leon, who bites down on his ring finger as he finally cums, thinking about the wedding band that will soon take its rightful place there, binding you to him for the rest of his life. <3

DI!Leon who stares, awestruck, at the ink making up his soon-to-be-wife, always so beautiful…

Author’s note: can you tell i’m a whore for death island leon? bring back male yearning

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #32

My baby, you’re my baby.

Imagine dis…

You know, I have the songs Mitski - I Bet on Losing Dogs and Reba McEntire - I'm A Survivor.

So in memory of the ever ending loop finally dissappearing and now replaced with Wake up by Llunr… Here it goes…

…

In the heart of Gotham, The Teen Titans who are being led by Tim Drake (Robin), along with Conner Kent (Superboy), and Bart Allen (Kid Flash) are fighting a powerful magician. They had managed to hold their ground, but they were unable to pass the unending minions summoned by the magician, nor could they land a decent hit on the magician, who was fighting fire with fire. Knowing they needed magical ability, they asked Zatanna to handle the caster while they focused on the minions.

The air crackled with electricity as spells collided and blended in a frantic dance of light and power. Just as they were ready to gain the upper hand, two opposing spells from Zatanna and their opponent collided in what appeared to be a last-ditch attempt. A flood of raw, uncontrolled power surged toward them, wiping out the majority of the minions and now heading towards them, and before they could react, they were bathed in blinding light.

…

When the light went off, they found themselves in a completely dark room. Their senses heightened, and they stood alert, as all three of them wondered what the magic's effects would be. Light gradually appeared around them, presenting a scene that perplexed and concerned them.

A teenage male with dark hair stood in the center of the room, carrying a baby swaddled in a blue and star-printed blanket. The boy's eyes were sad and shiny, and his cheeks were swollen with unshed tears. He rocked the baby softly and sang a sweet tune. Surrounding him were walls and a small window that was too high and narrow for him to escape, but just right for a newborn baby.

On the other side of the window, another teen came this time with dirty blonde hair and freckles and bright green eyes. Crouching to look at the teen mentioned above, who is still humming as if in his little universe. He looked at the first teen, full of sadness and grief, and said, as no sound came from the scene, that it was time.

The dark-haired kid took a deep breath before pulling out a little necklace covered with snowflake decorations. He wrapped it around the baby's neck, his hands quivering. Tim automatically stroked the similar necklace that hung around his neck, disguised by the layers of clothes he wore.

Tim knew he was adopted; he had always known. He had always resembled his adoptive parents, Janet and Jack, making him the ideal heir to the Drakes. He had attempted to locate his biological parents but had only encountered dead ends. Now he understood he was seeing a long-forgotten memory.

The dark-haired teen gave the baby to the other kid, who cautiously reached through the window. As he did, Tim noticed the thick chains that shackled the dark-haired teen's body, blocking his escape. The boy stared at the infant one more time and mumbled something Tim couldn't hear.

The blonde teenager appears to convince the other teenager that he will find a suitable home for the baby he is currently carrying.

The dark-haired teen flashed a sorrowful smile and looked longingly at the baby, who was now struggling to wake up as if realizing that the person holding him was not his mom.

The blonde teen nodded and prepared his motorcycle, placing the baby who is now trying to have a crying feast in a sidecar alongside what appeared to be his dog with red eyes for further protection and sped off.

All three of them looked at the chained teen as he held his gaze to the vehicle up until it went smaller and smaller and until it vanished from his sight.

Just as they thought the scene was over they were immediately shattered as a large metal door that seemed to materialize behind them opened wide and out came walking someone they knew as they were already in the middle of investigating.

Vlad Masters

Someone who gained his wealth through mysterious ways that warrant an investigation as most of the deals are more favorable to Masters than to his so-called partners.

They saw Masters grab the teen roughly and began hissing through gritted teeth something, leaving bruises wherever he handled the chained teen.

The teen, on the other hand, seemed so detached, as if he completely removed himself from the present as he let Masters rough handle him.

…

Tim wanted to scream, to rage as both of his teammates were already holding him back from running towards something they know is something of the past.

That is his parent GODDAMMIT!, Tim raged in his mind, usually he would have been calm and collected, logical, and gathered the facts. But a single memory made all of his restraints snap.

All Tim ever wanted was to be loved, something he never received during his stay with the Drakes. Both Janet and Jack kept on mentioning how Tim should be grateful that he is the one chosen to stay under their roof with thousands of dollars at his fingertips.

But here he was watching something he was too young to remember, something that his head kept flashing.

The soft hum of a melody that he would sometimes hear deep within his mind as he tried to cry himself to sleep.

A single necklace is a connection between him and his biological parents.

Watching how helplessly his father was? Mother? Be abused, be chained down.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t find a lead, Masters sent someone to handle the blonde teen who brought him to a nice orphanage before the Drake couple adopted him.

…

The scene faded as Tim, Conner, and Bart were brought back to reality. They awoke to find Zatanna watching over them, her expression filled with concern.

Zatanna said that they had been bound in a deep memory spell, which the magician had created to capture them in a recurrent memory, rendering them unable to discern between the memory and the real world. However, because she also sent out her counter, it only displayed a fleeting memory to stop them from ending up like Sleeping Beauty.

She chuckled as she glanced at them questioningly, hoping for the best, and thought they witnessed a memory that reminded them of a dark time during their hero times.

Tim sat up, still holding the necklace. He had observed a memory from his past that he had never known existed. It wasn't just a last-ditch attempt at a spell; it was a look into a long-held secret that he had forgotten.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[genderlessghoul]

I've been wanting to do this post for a while now so here is EVERYTHING I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT THE GHOULS' IMPERA COSTUMES.

Buckle up because I have a LOT to say about those, this is gonna be a very long one.

The costumes were designed by B Åkerlund, a Swedish costume designer who's worked with Ghost since at least Meliora (that's as far back as I was willing to scroll on her Instagram page lol). B Åkerlund has also worked for many other musical artists such as Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Ozzy Osborne, Blink 182 and Hollywood Undead (information from her own website)

The masks were made by Bob Basset, a visual artists who works a lot with leather. I find his work fascinating, you can look him up on Instagram (nsfw warning, there's a few naked ladies).

Fun fact! The horns are real cow horns. That's the reason some of them have gold tips, to hide the imperfections that come with working with actual horns.

He does have a shop where he sells his items, there's a mask there very similar to the Impera ones. You can also buy Papa's batwings if you happen to have 2500$ lying around!

The jackets are made on the same model as one of Papa's. The back is decorated with a spine-like design made from leather and cording. It's adorned with a few of our classic Impera buttons. Some of the hems were left raw and some deliberate weathering was done to make it look old and worn.

Fun fact! The shoulder pieces are not sewn into the garment, I would assume for easier cleaning. I don't know if they're held by strong magnets or snap buttons.

The vest (my beloved 😩) is made from flocked velvet in a paisley pattern, the front hems embellished with satin piping. It closes in the front with custom metal clasps that are riveted into the garment. The D parts are attached with what seems to me like wide elastic, which would lessen the pression on the clasps when moving around a lot. The back is made from two different types of fabric, I'd have to touch it to be able to tell you what they are. I assume the panels closer to the sides have some mild stretch to them. The top of the shoulders are decorated with Impera grucifix patches.

The shirts were not custom made for the ghouls, altho they were altered. The original shirt in the vintage painter linen shirt from Punk Rave and it is still being sold. Some of the cuffs were altered, removing the ruffles for some of the ghouls, but not all. They were removed for Dew, Mountain and Phantom, Aether's didn't have them either. As far as I can tell, all the ghoulettes still have them.

An unfinished piece of linen serves as an ascot, that piece is decorated with a metal devil skull. The colour of the skull doesn't appear to be consistent between each ghoul, Dew's looks gold almost bronze while Phantom's is a silver-like colour.

Another modification is the buttons, a small portion of them were removed in favor of our Impera buttons. Some of the ghouls have more buttons replaced than others, which is still a mystery to me.

The pants are called Jodhpurs, they were invented in the 1800s as horse riding pants. The wide part at the hips and thighs allowing for better movement. The ones the ghouls wear don't reach all the way to their ankles, they stop a bit past the calf muscle, hidden by the boots. (Yes, the ghouls are effectively wearing capri pants)

The boots are motorcycle riding boots, decorated by a grucifix. Like the shirt, they can still be bought online through the All American Boots website, altho the price tag is... Headache inducing to say the least.

The cape is a piece of costume that was only briefly worn on stage by the ghouls, Aurora being the only one who still wears one. I would assume it gets in the way of playing very easily. The cape itself is made of two fabrics, a light blue satin and a dark grey suede. The two pieces are not sewn together at the bottom, they move freely from each other. The cape is attached on the left shoulder with a harness piece that has one strap across the chest, decorated with a metal buckle, and one under the armpit.

Aight that's it for me, have a nice day byyyyye!!

[austinbutlerslovers]

But Daddy I Love Him

Label Mature 18+

Summary You are a well mannered socialite with a life carefully planned. Until you meet a reckless biker with a devil-may-care charm.

Drawn to his freedom and fire, you abandon the rules that once defined you, leaving behind a gilded life for one that finally feels real.

-Based on the Lyrics But Daddy I love him

💝Romantic Smut 💝 Secret romance • opposites attract• socially unaccepted• private affair• running away from home• lover to boyfriend• sweet talk •praising •body worship • P in V • multiple orgasms •creampies 🔗 Masterlist

But Daddy I Love Him

The New Year’s Eve gala is in full swing. Chandeliers hang from the large elaborate white tent spread across the sprawling lawn of an elegant estate, the lights glimmering above a sea of glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos on the dance floor

The clinking of champagne glasses blends seamlessly with the soft hum of the live orchestra. It’s like a scene straight out of a movie—one you’re desperately trying to escape.

You’re tired of the rules, the polite smiles, and the suffocating weight of “perfection.”

You’re fleeing to the only one who gives you solace—the only one who makes you feel alive.

Ducking back into the mansion through a side door, you move quickly and quietly, the lavish decor of the halls passing in a blur.

The sound of laughter and music fades behind you as you make your way toward the servants exit, the place you told him to meet when you called earlier, desperate to break out of this gilded cage.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the door feeling the anticipation and the thrill. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. If your parents caught wind of who you were sneaking off to see, the fallout would be explosive. But that only makes you more determined.

As you push open the heavy wooden door, the night air greets you once more, crisp and biting against your bare shoulders. And then you see him-

Benny Cross

He leans casually against his motorcycle, his leather jacket catching the moonlight. His sandy brown hair is tousled perfectly, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you approach. A slow grin spreads across his face, the cigarette dangling from his lips long forgotten, crushed under his boot as his attention locks entirely on you.

“You look real fancy in that dress,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Doesn’t look like it belongs on someone sneaking out the back.”

You grin as you saunter toward him. “And that bike doesn’t look like it belongs at a New Years Eve Gala,” you quip, slipping your arms around his neck.

“Guess we’re both out of place, huh?” he teases, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer.

Without another word, you kiss him, pouring all your frustration, your rebellion, and your longing into it. His lips are warm and soft, his hands gripping you like he never wants to let go.

You know your parents would lose their minds if they knew, but right now, you couldn’t care less. Benny is your secret, your escape, your freedom.

“Take me,” you whisper in his ear between kisses. “Take me to my parents’ estate. No one’s home—they’re too busy with their little party.”

His eyes darken with desire, and without a word, he shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over your shoulders, the warm, worn leather carrying his familiar scent. He swings over his bike smoothly and pulls you up behind him without hesitation.

The roar of the engine echoes through the quiet night as he speeds through the residential streets, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You cling to him, your heart racing—not just from the speed, but from the thrill of being with him.

Your estate is eerily quiet when you arrive, the grand house dark as you lead Benny upstairs. When you reach your bedroom, you barely get the door shut before he’s on you.

His hands are rough pulling his leather from your body and sliding up your back to the zipper of your dress. “This thing’s way too fancy for you,” he teases, his voice low and gravelly against your neck.

With one fluid motion, he pulls the zipper down, his fingers brushing your bare skin as he lets the fabric fall.

Without wasting a second, his hands find the clasp of your bra, and with a practiced flick, he unhooks it, letting it fall to the floor.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down swiftly, leaving you bare before him.

Stepping back, he takes his time, his eyes raking over you like a man starved. His expression hungry and raw. “Standing there, looking like that… you’re gonna ruin me, sweetheart.” He says his tone longing.

His hands go to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one quick motion, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the tight ridges of his abs.

Then, his fingers work at the button of his jeans, the rough material sliding down his hips with ease before hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail downward, catching on the sight of him—heavy and hard, the impressive size of his cock making you bite your lip.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger, a proud grin tugging at his lips.

You reach for him, desperate to feel him against you and pull him down into a kiss, your lips crashing together in a fiery collision of need and longing.

His hands find your waist, gripping firmly as he walks you backward toward the bed, lowering you down with enough force to make you gasp against his lips.

He settles on top of you, his weight pressing you into the plush mattress, his broad shoulders framing you as he pushes your thighs apart beneath him, claiming the space between them as his own.

His lips are rough and unrelenting as they trail down to your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and he takes full advantage of the sound, pressing his mouth to the sensitive hollow of your throat as he flicks his tongue.

His hands explore you, leaving no inch of skin untouched. The calluses on his fingers drag over your soft curves, teasing and torturing until you’re panting and writhing beneath him.

“Benny,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing more.

“Patience sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with promise. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He grips your hips, his strength overpowering as he pulls you closer, positioning you exactly where he wants you. His hand slides between your thighs, his rough fingers testing and teasing you as they glide through your slickness. A low hum of satisfaction escapes his throat, the feeling of how wet you are driving him wild.

“I can feel how much you need me,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart. Every last bit of me.”

His fingers slip away, leaving you aching for him and before you can catch your breath, he lines himself up, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a promise only he can satisfy. He pushes the thick unyielding length of his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you in a way that steals your breath.

His size is overwhelming—the heat of it, the weight of it—and as he sinks in deeper, your head falls back, a moan spilling from your lips as his name escapes you in a broken cry.

His low groan follows, rough and guttural, vibrating against your chest as his body presses firmly against yours, leaving no space between you.

You clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pauses for the briefest moment, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him.

“I know just what you need, sweetheart,” he promises, his breath warm against your skin and he rolls his hips forward with a force that sends you arching against him, each powerful thrust driving you into a haze of pleasure as the world around you dissolves.

Your broken cries fill the room, each one more desperate than the last as his muscles flex beneath your touch determined to claim every part of you.

His hands grip your shoulders, holding you firmly in place as he pushes deeper, his pace relentless, every stroke of his cock sending shockwaves through your body, leaving you spiraling, completely lost in the raw, consuming heat of him.

You moan loudly, your nails digging into his back as the tension in your body builds to an unbearable peak. He leans down, his lips finding yours again in a messy, desperate kiss as his pace quickens.

Your breaths grow frantic, your heart pounding as your walls tighten around his cock pulling him deeper with every thrust.

“Benny!” you moan, his name spilling from your lips in broken cries as your orgasm crashes over you.

He groans in response finding his own release with one final thrust. He buries his cock deep, holding still as he comes, his cock filling you with warmth as he breathes heavily against your neck.

For a moment, neither of you move as the pleasure subsides, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the feel of his steady heartbeat against your chest.

His hands slide up your sides, his touch tender as he strokes your skin, his fingers tracing soothing patterns. “I’ve never felt this way before,” he reveals, his lips pressing a soft lingering kiss on your shoulder then on curve of your neck.

“Me neither,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady, your fingers trailing along his back as you both linger in the moment.

The way he touches you, the way he takes you—is nothing you’ve ever experienced before. 

Benny is raw, he’s real, and he’s entirely yours.

Right before midnight, you return to the New Year’s Eve Gala, together on his bike, just as the first fireworks begin to explode across the sky.

The colorful lights cast you both in vibrant reds, blues, and golds as he helps you climb off his bike, your gaze drawn upward, mesmerized by the bursts of light painting the night sky.

His wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding your back to his chest as you both watch the fireworks in silence. It’s a perfect moment, fleeting but beautiful. You turn to look back at him, and he’s already watching you, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name but feel entirely the same.

“Happy New Year Benny,” you say softly.

He pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you as his lips brush your ear. “Happy New Year,” he whispers, his voice low and full of longing.

Before you can say anything more, he turns you fully and captures your lips in a deeply passionate kiss filled with everything words could never convey.

Above you, the fireworks burst across the sky in a riot of colors, but all you can feel is him and the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, and it’s as if time has stopped in a moment where nothing else matters.

As the kiss ends, his hands cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks. “Next year,” he says his eyes searching yours with a mix of determination and longing “let’s make it so we don’t have to sneak around to be together.”

You softly smile, your heart full despite the knowledge that the morning will bring new challenges. Still, you meet his gaze with quiet resolve. “I’d like that Benny,” you whisper back.

As the fireworks fade, you know this is the beginning of something neither of you can, or wants to, walk away from.

As weeks turn into months, you secretly become Benny’s girl. You learn about his world—his biker crew, their late-night rides, and a freedom you’d only dreamed of.

He, in turn, is fascinated by your wit, your intelligence, and the quiet fire he sees growing behind your polished exterior whenever you’re with him. It’s a fire he knows only he can stoke, and it makes him fall for you even harder.

But the secrecy begins to weigh on you both. Your parents start to notice your frequent absences and your growing disinterest in their meticulously laid out plans for your future. Their questions start to surface, sharp and invasive, pressing against the fragile haven you and Benny have created.

Benny encourages you to tell them the truth but you always hesitate.

As Benny picks you up late in the evening, he leans against his bike, watching with an amused grin as you carefully climb down the lattice outside your window.

The pale moonlight highlights your outfit a simple leather jacket borrowed from him, thrown over a fitted black tank top and denim skirt, your feet in new leather boots for the escape. It’s a far cry from the polished dresses and heels your parents expect, but it’s undeniably you.

You cross the lawn to him quickly, your heart racing with both adrenaline and anticipation.

“We can’t keep sneaking around forever,” he says his voice low as you approach, “We’re not doing anything wrong. You deserve to live your life.” He confirms.

You roll your eyes as you throw your leg over the bike. “And what, Benny? You think my parents will suddenly roll out the welcome mat for the guy who picks me up in the dead of night on his motorcycle?” you retort, settling behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Let’s be real—they’d lose their minds.”

He glances over his shoulder at you, his expression serious before you see the teasing curve of his lips. “Doesn’t mean we’re wrong,” he grins before revving the engine.

The clubhouse is quiet, the others long gone for a weekend rally leaving the space eerily still. Benny pulls his bike into the lot, parking near the entrance as you climb off, brushing your hair back from your face.

Inside, the air smells like leather, smoke, and the faint tang of whiskey—a stark contrast to the world you’ve left behind for the night at your father’s weekend tennis matches with all his influential friends.

Benny leans against the pool table, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with his piercing blue eyes in a way that makes your pulse race.

His arms look even bigger with his muscle tee revealing the taut, hard defined muscles of his biceps. The tension between you is unusually heavy, the air charged with unspoken words until he finally breaks the silence.

“How long are we gonna do this?” he asks, his voice tinged with frustration. “Sneaking around like I’m some dirty secret?”

You take a step closer, realizing how much he’s been hurting, and your gaze drops, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t understand,” you plead softly. “They’ll try to destroy us, Benny. They’ll say you’re not good enough, that you’re a bad influence—“

Benny cuts you off. “And what do you say?”

The question hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you, and as you lift your eyes to meet his the raw emotion in your gaze says everything. “I say I love you, Benny,” you whisper.

For a moment, Benny’s eyes soften, brimming with everything he’s been holding back. Then he closes the distance in an instant, his hands finding your waist as his lips crash into yours, his kiss hungry and unyielding as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his hair as the world around you dissolves. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the pool table. His rough hands slide down your thighs, hitching up the hem of your skirt as he steps between your legs, his body pressing hard against yours.

“I love you so much ,” he whispers against your lips, his voice trembling with need. “You drive me absolutely insane.”

He tilts your head back, giving him full access to your neck as he trails kisses down your skin, his stubble leaving a delicious burn in its wake. Your breaths come in quick, shallow pants, the air charged with everything you’ve both been holding back.

He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, then his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs and pulling your panties aside.

He hitches your leg around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he thrusts into you hard, taking you right there on the edge of the pool table.

His movements are rough, relentless, each powerful stroke sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he drives into you with raw, consuming desperation.

The sound of your gasps and his low grunts fill the air, mingling with the slick, wet sounds of his hips thrusting between yours, driving into you hard and fast on the pool table.

“You’re all I want ” he whispers against your neck, his voice strained and raw with emotion .”You’re everything I need” he says breathlessly, his lips trailing rough kisses along your jaw as his thrusts render you senseless. The way he snaps his hips pushes you to the brink, your cries echoing off the walls as he takes you apart piece by piece.

The rhythm of your bodies moving together becomes frantic, urgent, as if this is all that matters. His hands hold you in place, his fingers digging into your hips as his body claims yours on the table with unrelenting force.

The intensity of him—his strength, his touch, his heat—sends you spiraling into a place where nothing else exists. Nothing else matters—only him, only this.

As you orgasm, your body trembles, your walls clenching tightly around his cock, drawing a deep, guttural groan from him as his movements falter.

With a final thrust, he buries himself deep, his warmth spilling into you in surges, then his hands tighten on your hips as he pulls back entirely, the sensation sending a shudder through you both.

The room grows quiet again, the only sounds your heavy breathing and the faint noise of the city outside filtering through the walls.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close to rest your head on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to your temple as he strokes your hair back, his voice gentle but serious. “We have to tell them baby.” He confesses. “I don’t want to hide like this forever.”

You lift your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with unwavering resolve. “You don’t have to go back. You could stay with me.”

Your heart aches at his words, the sincerity in his tone making it even harder as you look at him. “I wish I could,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But they’d come looking for me. I need them to believe I’m still playing by their rules—for now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans down and kisses you again, slow and lingering, to remind you that he’s yours, that this is real, and you feel it—the certainty that no matter what Benny is where you belong.

Benny drives up the familiar path to your estate, the low rumble of his motorcycle softening as he slows to a stop near the driveway fountain. As you climb off the back, you turn to him with a soft smile, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers brushing his cheek.

“I love you too,” he says in return, his voice low and steady. His hand lingers on your waist, reluctant to let go. “Good night.” He whispers.

“Good night,” you reply softly, your heart full as you step back.

You dart toward the lattice outside your bedroom window, moving quickly to sneak back inside unnoticed.

But just as you climb the first rung, the front door flies open, spilling golden light across the lawn.

Your heart freezes as your father storms out, his voice thunderous. “You stay away from her!” he roars, pointing a finger directly at Benny.

Behind him, your mother and his influential friends with their wives file out, their presence an intentional show of force.

The women clutch their pearl necklaces and cross pendants, one muttering loud enough for you to hear, “What a mess,” her disdain cutting through the tension.

Benny, who had been idling the motorcycle shifts his weight slightly, planting one boot on the ground as he watches the group come toward him taunting and scorning.

His hand tightens on the handlebar as his piercing blue eyes flick to you, to see if you’re okay, but he doesn’t budge, ready to face whatever comes next.

You glance back at the lattice, your mind racing, but instead of climbing up, you drop to the ground, running toward Benny as the lump in your throat swells almost unbearably. “But Daddy, I love him!” you scream, your voice cutting through the night.

Gasps travel through the group. Your mother’s hand flies to her chest, and your father’s face twists with fury. You know what they’re thinking—this isn’t how their polished, perfect daughter is supposed to behave.

The disdain on their faces, the whispers of the scandal-hungry wives—it all fuels your next move. With the entire crowd watching, you look your father dead in the eyes and yell, “I’m having his baby!”

A stunned silence follows. Your father’s face goes pale, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for words that won’t come

The tension is suffocating, but you don’t give anyone time to react. You climb onto the back of Benny’s motorcycle, holding him tightly, your heart pounding as he shifts into gear, the engine roaring to life.

He glances back at you as you ride off, his voice low and urgent. “Are you really pregnant?” he asks.

“No,” you admit quickly, your voice shaking. “But you should’ve seen their faces.”

A grin breaks across Benny’s face as he shakes his head impressed by your wit, and the roar of the engine drowns out everything else as you ride away, leaving the estate and your parents expectations in the dust.

For the next month, you and Benny lay low in the clubhouse. The two of you live upstairs in a loft, savoring the freedom of being together without judgment. The loft is small and rough around the edges, but it feels like a haven —your sanctuary.

Days blur into nights filled with moments of joy, laughter, and quiet intimacy. Benny wakes you with slow kisses along your neck, his lips soft and lingering, pulling you into his arms as sunlight filters through the worn curtains. The warmth of his touch and the way he says your name to wake you feels like a dream.

Morning are spent laying with him in bed, his hands exploring you lazily, tracing soft patterns on your skin as if he has all the time in the world. He teases you with gentle kisses, and mischievously grins when he pulls you closer, whispering how much he loves having you with him.

Afternoons are carefree. He teaches you how to shoot pool downstairs in the clubhouse, laughing when you miss your shot and teasing you mercilessly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says with a grin, leaning in to steal a kiss as you try to focus.

Often, the two of you take his bike out for long rides, the wind whipping through your hair as you hold him tightly, feeling the freedom of the open road.

Evenings are spent wrapped in each other’s arms after a dash to the diner, your bodies entwined in the bed of the quiet loft. Most nights are passionate, Benny’s touch both tender and possessive, as he makes love to you with an intensity that leaves you senseless, his kisses stealing your breath as he whispers how much he loves you.

“You’re all I need,” he says at times when the moment is just right, the weight of his words flowing from deep within his heart.

He says it when he watches you laugh, carefree and unguarded, in a way you never could before him. He says it when he sees you curled up in his oversized white shirt, a little piece of his world wrapped around you.

He says it when you make him feel like he’s worth something more than the rough edges of his life. You see past the chaos, and the rebellion, and you love him.

As you bask in your new life with Benny, you still can’t ignore the ache that lingers at the edges of your heart. As much as you’ve rebelled against them, you do miss your parents at times.

Then one morning, everything changes.

You’re in bed with Benny, tangled together in the soft light of dawn, when the shrill ring of the phone downstairs at the club’s bar breaks the stillness. Benny groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if trying to block it out.

But a moment later, there’s a knock at the loft door. Benny sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pulls on a pair of jeans, his movements slow, before cracking the door open.

“Your girl’s mom is on the line,” one of the guys says, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. “Guess they figured it all out.”

The words jolt you awake. Quickly, you pull a robe over the shirt Benny gave you to wear to bed, your heart pounding as you follow him downstairs to the bar. The phone sits on the counter, the receiver waiting for you. You hesitate for a moment, nerves swirling, before picking it up.

“Hello?”

Your mother’s voice comes through the line, soft and hesitant but full of emotion. “Your father wants to see you,” she says. “We miss you so much, sweetheart. Please come home —please just come home, we need to speak with you urgently.”

You glance at Benny, his steady gaze on you, offering silent support. You nod, and he returns it, understanding without a word— if you have to go he’s coming with you.

Later that day, you and Benny stand in the grand living room of your parents’ estate, the tension heavy as your father sits across from you.

His demeanor is far from the fiery man who yelled on the lawn that night. He looks tired, even defeated as he finishes his speech “We’ll hold a wedding,” he says, his hands folded tightly in front of him. “You shouldn’t have to live this way—especially if there is a baby coming. We will do what is right.”

You almost laugh at the misunderstanding, but before you can speak, Benny rests his hand on your lower back. “With or without a baby,” he says firmly, his voice steady and unwavering, “I want to marry her.”

You look over at Benny, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, the depth of his love and devotion leaves you speechless.

Your father stares at Benny for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if weighing every word. Finally he exhales heavily as he nods, silently agreeing to anything to keep you in his life.

Three months later, the sun shines brightly over the estate as you dance in your wedding dress, the layers of white tulle catching the light. Benny’s hands are on your waist, his grin as wide as you’ve ever seen it.

Around you, the guests smile warmly, not just your parents’ influential friends, but Benny’s biker family as well. The unlikely mix of guests creates a vibrant, joyful atmosphere that you never thought possible.

Even your father, once disapproving, watches with a small smile as you and Benny share your first dance.

Your mother watches, her eyes never dry as she dabs back her tears with a handkerchief, unable to hide her emotions as she watches you and Benny make your way through the crowd, hand in hand, husband and wife.

The gossipers and scandal-lovers—the ones who sneered and whispered at your rebellion—are nowhere to be seen; requested off the guest list entirely.

When the sun dips lower in the sky, you take Benny’s hands, feeling the weight of everything you’ve overcome together. You’re his lady now, his wife, and as you glance at your parents, they smile, their expressions warm and accepting of your choice.

As you turn back to Benny, your heart swells with love as you look into his eyes, knowing you made the right one.

Overcome with emotion you lean in and kiss each other, pouring everything you feel into the moment. His hands tighten around your waist, steady and sure, as your arms wrap around his neck, embracing each other in the love you fought so hard to hold onto—finally living life the way you deserve.

END 🏍️

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️Always Tag Me List

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly. @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @thejoywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2

[bellesdreamyprofile]

Little Town Blues - Benny Cross

summary: nothing seems to go in the right direction for Y/N, benny is frustrated yet comforts her

They called it Monday blues, but the only way you found fit to describe today was disaster. It all started in the morning as the sun seemed too shy and let the rain take over. You had nothing against a rainy day when you were in the comfort of your own home with a mug of milky tea in your hold and a romance story in your lap.

But when you had to walk to work in those weather condition... That wasn't an experience that had ever thrilled you. Waking up late and getting ready in a hurry made you forget your boots, therefore mud decorated the soles of your shoes and your toes wiggled uncomfortably at the muddy water seeping through the cheap material. You took deep breaths, desperately trying to convince yourself that the day couldn't get worse.

You underestimated the universe.

One hour into your shift and a customer spilled their hot coffee all over your apron. You gritted your teeth at the stingy sensation and still offered a smile.

"It's alright, accidents happen."

That was what you tried to remind yourself anyways.

Scrambled eggs fell on your shoes, having the chef quickly apologize in embarrassment. But it was alright, for accidents do happen. It was human and it was just a pure casualty that the universe picked you today as the victim of one of those Monday blues.

The rain hadn't stopped even when you made your way back home, your mind wondering if Benny had come home safely. You had never been on the back of the bike during the rain. You just hoped that he wasn't being reckless and driving around when he could get seriously injured.

A sigh escaped your lips, one of those that lightened the load on your chest a little bit, giving you a tinge of relief. But just as you found yourself smiling a little, a car drove into a puddle and sprayed you all over. You stilled in place and threw a quick look at yourself. With a head shake and tears in your eyes, you kept walking but the mantra, that had played in your head that morning, was long forgotten. On top of everything, your stomach almost burned in hunger, the feeling only making you walk faster.

Benny's motorcycle was parked in front of the house and you felt at peace, glad that he had made it home. You pushed the key in the keyhole and twisted it open, your elbow on the handle and your hands fiddled with the umbrella.

"I'm home!", you called and pushed the door open, leaving the umbrella tucked in the corner. You took off your shoes and made a mental note to clean them later. Looking around, you noticed that the only noise in the house came from the television in the living room.

The room was dark apart from the flashy lights coming from the screen. You looked at Benny, leaning on the doorframe. "You ain't gonna say hello to your wife?", your tone was teasing, but Benny didn't seem to catch that. He gulped down his liquor and glanced your way.

"The hell happened to you?", he asked instead, but you rolled your eyes and headed in the kitchen. "I don't recognize you are right now. Did you jump in a muddy pool or what?", Benny stood up and followed you.

His commentary was the last thing you needed today. You started opening cabinets and bit your lip as there was nothing you could cook with.

"Did you eat?", you asked, looking at him over your shoulder.

He pulled one of the chairs back and sat down. "Yeah, made a sandwich.", at his answer, you snapped the doors of the cabinets shut. Benny flinched and looked at you, confusion written all over his face. "What is wrong with you today?"

You turned around and snapped. "When I come home before you do, do I make a meal for myself or for the both of us?"

Benny's brows shot to his forehead, wondering where the hell all of this was coming from. "It was a sandwich with leftover bacon, Y/N. You don't even like bacon."

"I didn't ask you what the sandwich was made of, Benny."

"Then I ain't gonna answer. I had a shitty day today and I don't need this right now.", the chair screeched as he moved back to stand up. You let out a sarcastic laugh, tears of frustration mixed in.

"Wow, okay.", the sour tone in your voice disappeared as quickly as it made its first appearance. You had the worst day of your life and you were taking it out on an innocent man. Your hand muffled your teary cries as you pathetically turned around to not be seen by your husband.

Benny had stepped foot outside the kitchen, but the sound of muffled cries made him turn around. There was no way that a little argument over a bacon sandwich transformed you into a weeping mess. Right? His blue eyes took you in, the coffee-stained apron, the wet hair and dirty socks. The dots suddenly connected. His poor girl. 

He silently approached you and embraced you against his warm body. The faint smell of smoke and strong liquor filled your senses. You couldn't help but fist his t-shirt, afraid that he was going to disappear. Still no words were shared, but the way Benny held you and rubbed his hand up and down your back, told you everything he wasn't capable of saying.

"It ain't about the sandwich.", he broke the silence with the most obvious statement. You let out a tearful chuckle and Benny gently led your face back in the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry for being insensitive. I hate rainy days.", your cries were heart-wrenching, but he knew that it was one of those days where nothing seemed to align. The coffee, the rain and the lack of dinner. 

"I have a proposition for you, honey.", he twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. "You take a nice, warm shower and I'll show ya what kind of sandwich I can make. No bacon and no miracles, though.", you pulled away and sniffled, looking in his blue eyes. Even after blaming him for everything the universe had planned for you today, he was still the sweet Benny you had met all those years ago. 

"You better go or I'll personally make sure you're in that shower.", Benny's hand swiftly touched your forehead and then pressed against your cheeks. "You're freezing, baby.", he squished your cheeks briefly and placed a kiss on your lips, making your head and heart spin.

"Thank you, honey.", you said honestly, your voice hoarse from crying. "You're probably the only cure to the Monday blues.", if you hadn't cried for so long, you would've noticed the soft blush adorning his cheeks. But that was no time to point it out.

"I'm the cure for you and for you only, baby."

A/N: more sad one-shots to cure wednesday blues. thanks for reading! 🤍

MASTERLIST benny masterlist

austin butler phone case 🌼

[berberriescorner]

Riding Home for Christmas🏍️🎄♥️

Character: Husband!Jax Teller x Black!Reader.

Word Count: 800+.

"A Season of Love Christmas Series 🎄♥️"

The crisp winter air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped out onto the porch, the faint sound of laughter and the warm glow of lights spilling from inside the house. Christmas had arrived in Charming, and you had insisted on a small gathering, hoping to bring a sense of joy and warmth to the club after a tumultuous year.

As you leaned against the railing, sipping a cup of hot cocoa, you thought about Jax. He had left early that morning for a ride with the guys, a tradition that had become a part of your lives. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him—his signature grin, the way he brushed his hair back with his hand, and the way he loved fiercely, even when the world around him was chaotic.

Just then, the rumble of motorcycle engines broke through your thoughts, and you felt your heart leap in anticipation. You turned to see Jax and the rest of the crew pulling up, their bikes roaring to a stop in the driveway. He was at the front, looking effortlessly handsome in his black leather jacket, a wool beanie pulled low over his blonde hair.

“Hey, darlin’!” he called out, a wide smile breaking across his face as he approached.

“Hey, you! Missed you!” you replied, setting your mug down and rushing to meet him.

He scooped you up in his arms, spinning you around in the chilly air. Your laughter filled the space between you, the warmth of his embrace banishing the cold. “Missed you too. You ready for a little Christmas cheer?”

“Absolutely!” you laughed, your heart racing from the excitement of seeing him and the sheer joy of the season.

As the group filed inside, you couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in Jax’s eyes. He pulled you close, whispering, “I’ve got a surprise for you later.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What is it?”

“Just wait and see,” he said, the playful smirk on his lips promising mischief.

The afternoon flew by, filled with laughter, good food, and the warmth of friendship. You reveled in the camaraderie of the club, the chaos of the holidays weaving a beautiful tapestry of love and connection. You wore your favorite red dress, the fabric hugging your curves in all the right places, and you could feel Jax’s appreciative gaze on you throughout the day, making you feel beautiful and desired.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow across the living room, Jax took your hand, leading you outside. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

You followed him, curiosity bubbling inside you. He led you to a small clearing behind the house, where a fire pit had been set up, the flames flickering against the twilight sky. Nearby, a beautifully decorated tree sparkled with lights, the smell of pine wafting through the air.

“Jax, this is amazing!” you exclaimed, taking in the scene.

He grinned, looking proud. “I thought we could have our own little celebration. Just you and me.”

“Looks like you thought of everything,” you said, glancing up at him with admiration.

He stepped closer, his gaze serious yet tender. “I wanted this year to be special for you. You’ve brought so much light into my life, and I wanted to give you a piece of that back.”

Your heart swelled, and you reached out to cup his cheek. “You don’t have to do anything grand to make me feel special, love. Just being here with you is enough.”

He smiled, a genuine warmth lighting up his blue eyes. “I know, but I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a passionate kiss that left you breathless. The world around you faded as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you close. You melted against him, feeling every inch of his body against yours, igniting a warmth that spread through you.

When he finally pulled back, you both were breathless. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back, a smile spreading across your face.

He stepped back, retrieving a small gift from behind the tree. “Okay, now for the surprise.”

You took the small, wrapped box from his hands, your heart racing with excitement. You carefully peeled away the paper, revealing a delicate silver necklace adorned with a small charm shaped like a motorcycle.

“Jax… it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, your eyes shining with tears of joy.

“Thought you might like something to remind you of us—our rides, our adventures,” he said, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You hugged him tightly, your heart full. “I love it. Thank you!”

As the fire crackled softly in the background, you and Jax stood together, wrapped in the magic of the moment—two souls intertwined, ready to ride into whatever the future held, hand in hand.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, my babies! MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄♥️!!

Tagging some lovelies:

@darqchilddaydreamz @astoldbychae @amorestevens

@sunshine-flower @starrynite7114 @ravennaortiz @1andonlytashae

@prettyyybrownroundd

[steadyposttrash]

FORCEMASC ARCHETYPES: A AESTHETIC GUIDE.

If you want to look BADASS, try:

- 60s Bikers/Greasers.

Look/Clothing: Leather jackets, ripped denim, motorcycles boots, bandanas, tattoos, aviator sunglasses.

Personality: Rough-around-the-edges, self-sufficient, rebellious.

Signature Details: Leather patches, distressed patches, studs; motorcycle accessories (gloves, belts, chains); slicked-back hair.

- SHARP (Skinhead Against Racial Prejudice)

Look/Clothing: Shaved head, combat boots, bomber jackets, suspenders, high-waisted pants, minimalist tattoos (e.g., skulls, symbols of working-class pride).

Personality: Confident, defiant, unapologetically independent. Skinhead culture (non-political) often represents solidarity, strength, and working-class roots.

Signature Details: A minimalist yet powerful look. Solid color palettes (black, navy, red). A focused, no-nonsense attitude and silent confidence.

- Street Fighter/Boxer

Look/Clothing: Tight tank tops, sweatpants or cargo shorts, athletic sneakers, gloves, a hoodie or jacket tied around the waist.

Personality: Disciplined, focused, powerful, not looking for trouble but ready for it. This archetype is all about building physical strength, resilience, and most importantly: always be emotionally controlled and mature. Fighters aren't bratty children.

Signature Details: Boxing wraps or wrist tape. A fighter’s stance (shoulders back, fists clenched). Scarred hands or knuckles as evidence of past battles.

- Viking/Axe-Wielder

Look/Clothing: For a more acceptable and modern look, opt for clothes made of thick, durable fabrics — wool, twill, etc; long/bushy beards, with accessories accordingly, or stubble; long, styled hair, and if you don't want hair, opt for a shaved head with scalp tattoos.

Personality: Calm, controlled, protective. A real Viking knows when to use his strength properly, without unnecessary waste. Abandon the primal and raw side of things.

Signature Details: Warrior tattoos or Nordic symbols, broad (talk or not) physiques, prioritizing strength and functionality over aesthetics; scars that speak of experience.

- Military/Spec Ops

Look/Clothing: Camouflage, tactical gear (vests, gloves), combat boots, and military-style jackets with patches. For a more casual, everyday look, try military pallete (khaki, sand, brown, green, gray, blue;) compression shirt, henleys, polo shirts, bomber jackets, camouflage pants, cargo pants, chinos, bermuda shorts, belts with large plaques, massive watches, aviator glasses, decorative shoulder straps and themed decor. Keep everything simple, stylish and practical.

Personality: Calculated, disciplined, no time for fluff. Military style is about precision, strength, and resilience, with a quiet but dangerous aura.

Signature Details:A straight posture, calm yet alert demeanor. Efficiency in movement, no wasted gestures. Quiet confidence and assertiviness.

If you want to be the LIFE OF THE PARTY, try:

- Jock

Look/Clothing: Athletic wear, varsity jackets, fitted t-shirts, sports caps, sneakers, and sometimes a wristband or watch with a sleek design.

Personality: Confident, fun-loving, competitive, and outgoing. It's all about being the natural leader, constantly encouraging everyone around them to have fun, compete, and win; and have communication skills to de-escalate if things get out of hand, without running away.

Signature Details: A wide smile, always ready to throw out a friendly joke or challenge. A swagger or fluid movement that shows confidence and ease. Engaging others through playful teasing or inviting participation in games. Party-ready, always including everyone, no matter what those people are like.

- Don Juan

Look/Clothing:Tailored suits or casual high-end clothing (think button-ups, polished shoes, perfectly groomed hair).

Personality: Charismatic, charming, with a magnetic presence. This person draws people in with a mix of humor, flirtation, and smooth conversation, always making others feel seen and important.

Signature Details: Constant eye contact and subtle, suggestive smiles. Perfectly timed compliments or witty remarks. A confident walk that seems to say, “Everyone's attention is mine when I want it.” Always making others feel like they're the most important person in the room.

- Party Animal

Look/Clothing: Bright colors, funky patterns, oversized shirts, chunky accessories, bold sunglasses, and a messy but controlled look (think party-ready outfits with a carefree vibe).

Personality: Outgoing, fearless, always the one to spark up a conversation or start a dance. He knows how to have fun and make sure everyone else is having the time of their lives, too.

Signature Details: Bouncing from group to group, always with a drink in hand and a big laugh. Dominates the dance floor or any party game, never backing down from a challenge. Non-stop energy, never letting the vibe die down. Always finds a way to get people involved, creating a contagious atmosphere of joy.

- Class Clown

Look/Clothing: Casual streetwear or something comfortable (like graphic tees, hoodies, and sneakers) with a mischievous sparkle in the eyes.

Personality: Funny, light-hearted, always cracking jokes. He's the one who lightens the mood with humor and antics, knowing how to make people laugh even in serious situations.

Signature Details: Always has a sarcastic or playful remark ready. Body language that’s exaggerated for comic effect—big gestures, playful mockery. A laugh that's infectious and makes everyone else around them want to laugh. Constantly making people feel like they’re in on the joke.

- Social Butterfly

Look/Clothing: Fashion-forward, tailored for attention but not too flashy—polished casuals like well-fitted jackets, jeans, stylish boots, and accessories.

Personality: Outgoing, diplomatic, and masterful in managing social dynamics. He's never alone for long, always weaving between groups and making connections wherever they go.

Signature Details: Always has a kind word for everyone, making them feel like they belong. Keeps the energy flowing by introducing people to each other, facilitating conversations. A genuine interest in others, always making people feel like they’re the center of attention. Constantly surrounded by people, with a natural ability to keep things light and engaging.

If you want to look HELPFUL/DEPENDABLE, try:

- Caregiver

Look/Clothing: Comfortable, functional clothing—practical jeans, shirts, and sturdy shoes. They might wear a simple, clean jacket or vest, with a few practical accessories (e.g., a utility belt or a watch).

Personality: Compassionate, nurturing, and always ready to lend a hand. The Caregiver is the archetype that people depend on for support, whether it’s emotional, physical, or practical. They are the ones you turn to when you're in need of reassurance or help with a task.

Signature Details: Always the first to offer help, whether it’s with a personal issue or a task that needs doing. Active listening, making others feel heard and supported. Steady and calm in stressful situations, able to offer practical solutions and advice. Displays an innate desire to care for others, often putting others' needs before their own.

- Protector

Look/Clothing: Functional and tactical—often dressed in simple yet sturdy clothing, like cargo pants, boots, and a jacket or vest with multiple pockets. Practical, easy-to-move-in clothing that suggests readiness.

Personality: Loyal, strong, and reliable. He's the one who stands by their friends and loved ones, offering support and taking action when others need it most. They are dependable, steady, and often the go-to person in crisis. Basically, a White Knight.

Signature Details: Always looking out for others, constantly aware of the well-being of those around them. Willing to step up to ensure safety, security, and comfort. Consistently reliable, rarely backing down or abandoning someone who needs them. Offers protection—whether physical, emotional, or mental—in a way that makes others feel secure and valued. A little more blatant than the Caregiver.

- Mentor

Look/Clothing: Professional, often dressed in smart casual clothing—clean-cut shirts, blazers, or simple sweaters paired with jeans or trousers. Looks polished, but not flashy.

Personality: Wise, experienced, and patient. He helps others grow by sharing their knowledge and skills, offering support, and always being there to guide when needed. They are the steady hand that helps others navigate challenges.

Signature Details: Offers advice and wisdom without imposing it on others, always leading by example. Patient and calm, with a deep understanding of people’s needs and goals. Takes time to explain and break down concepts to others, ensuring they fully understand. Empathetic and consistently available to offer encouragement and practical guidance.

- Fixer

Look/Clothing: Practical and no-nonsense clothing—often in work-ready clothes like jeans, flannel shirts, or basic t-shirts. They may carry tools or gadgets to assist in solving problems on the fly.

Personality: Problem-solver, pragmatic, and reliable. He's always there when something needs to be fixed, whether it’s a broken system, a personal issue, or a practical problem. They have the ability to think on their feet and find solutions.

Signature Details: Quick to assess problems and offer tangible solutions, even in stressful situations. The “go-to” person for solving practical issues—whether it’s fixing something around the house or solving a work-related challenge. Steady and dependable under pressure, offering calm and composed help when things break down. Willing to dive into a problem and fix it without hesitation, often working behind the scenes to keep things running smoothly.

- Listener

Look/Clothing: Casual yet intentional clothing—comfortable, low-maintenance outfits like hoodies, jeans, and sneakers, with an approachable, warm appearance.

Personality: Compassionate, understanding, and always present. He's dependable in an emotional sense—they’re the person people turn to when they need someone to talk to, without judgment or interruption.

Signature Details: Always present when someone needs to talk, offering an empathetic ear. Non-judgmental and patient, creating a safe space for others to share their thoughts and feelings. Extremely reliable in emotional support, providing comfort and understanding without pushing advice. Often a trusted confidant who knows how to offer exactly the kind of support someone needs.

All of these archetypes, regardless of what their personalities are like, provide in their own ways. Be it security, self-improvement, or entertainment. And that's where you need to get to: provide. Bring to the table. Create.

So, always take the initiative when you want something. Don't wait for someone else to do it for you.

[scariusaquarius]

a little drabble with Bucky cause I'm so damn desperate and I think motorcycle sex is HOT // MDNI

Sweat trickled down your back as you leaned forward onto the motorcycle, gripping the handles for dear-life as your breath fogged up the navy blue and gold flames that decorated the black frame. Feet against the pedals, you were curling your toes as the motorcycle rocked back and forth with every thrust Bucky made.

His cock was drilling into your hole; desperate and pounding as his hands gripped your hips tightly enough that it bordered between pleasure and pain. Bucky was moaning softly to himself, grunts and huffs of breath escaping every now and then as he worked you.

You weren't sure how long you had been bent over his bike like this, but you were certain that you were going to draw attention at some point.

One minute, you were in the bar and having a drink; teasing Bucky with discreet touches and whispered promises, and the next, you both were outside in the alley where his bike was; Bucky fucking you hard and fast like his life depended on it.

"Fuck, doll, you feel so damn good," Bucky moaned, moving one of his hands to grip your shoulder to pull you back a bit with every smack! of his balls against your poor, abused clit.

You weren't sure how many times you had cum already, but your inner thighs and the seat were uncomfortably wet; your voice hoarse and aching as the moans tried to come out despite how weak and limp you were feeling.

"Mm, I'm gonna cum, baby."

His voice was high-pitched, breathy and yearning as his thrusts sped up, and you almost winced as his cock slammed against your cervix; jolting your body out of the stupor Bucky had put you in.

Bucky's hand curled around your throat, holding your head and torso up slightly, and you wailed slightly as he finally came with a whine of your name; leaning down so he could rest his head between your shoulders. His seed was filling you; pumping you full until it spilled out around his cock and down both of yours thighs.

Bucky held you gently, rubbing his hands along your hips as he whispered soothingly to you.

"You were so good for me, doll. Such a good girl for me."

Kisses against your sweating temple made your eyes flutter slightly, and you winced when Bucky helped you to sit up; his cock sliding out and his cum beginning to leak over the seat. Swallowing thickly, you mumbled tiredly.

"You got cum on the seat."

[moonshynecybin]

honeysuckle: how our love unites enemies

honeysuckle:

scream okay i just edited some of airport au before getting these so it was rattling around in my head. and this ask made me think it would be funny if casey stoner showed up. so here. bad comedy. for those who do not remember last we left marc “the weirdest rumor i ever heard about myself was that i was gay” marquez, he had just had a sex dream about valentino rossi, who has recentlyish decided to be his friend again. as you can imagine he’s a bit confused about all this:

Marc decides that he should probably avoid Valentino for a while, after a dream like that. Get some distance and get his head on straight.

The problem is, Valentino apparently very much does not want to avoid Marc.

It’s in the chaos of the flyaways, that long slog at the end of the season, and Marc doesn’t have anything to prove at this point except for all the different things that he does, and it’s Phillip Island, a track where he can make a difference. He knows he has an opportunity where he can really sink his teeth into something here.

All said, it’s his favorite track, he’s looking forward to the weekend— and he’s really looking forward to approximately 9,000 miles between him and Valentino Rossi and his long fingers.

Which of course means that when he wheels around a corner on his scooter that Friday, he doesn’t expect to see Vale standing next to the media center with a day old scruff decorating the cut of his jaw and Casey goddamn Stoner bitching away about aero at his elbow.

Marc, shocked and in his raincoat, applies the brake to his scooter in an acute fashion and skids a little, motocross style.

Vale, under his neon yellow umbrella and always attracted to the sound of screeching rubber, sees him.

He starts walking.

Horrifically, Casey follows.

Marc smiles.

“I’ve been cornered.”

“Put your hands up in the name of the law,” Vale says in a terrible imitation of a cowboy, and then greets him. “Ah, you are ready for tomorrow?”

Marc nods before he can tell his neck what to do.

“Looks like no practice today, and more rain,” What would he normally say to Valentino. Well, normally he wouldn’t say anything. So that’s probably not a viable strategy.

“That’s good for you, yes?” Vale says, blue eyes intent on him, like he’s genuinely interested.He steps close to Marc, including him under his umbrella, and Marc tightens his fingers hard on the handlebars of the scooter. “Less practice for others and then— with the rain, easier to catch? A left-hand circuit, so you have more room to outpace the factory bikes.”

Casey, walking slowly, arrives in time to catch the tail end of Vale’s statement, and his eyebrows twitch up, gaze ping-ponging back and forth between them.

Marc waves.

Vale, though blunt, is not wrong, and Marc will take a win in the wet of it comes to that, but the forecast clears as the weekend progresses, and the thing he’s really missing so far this year is a clean win. No wet, no sand, just him and the motorcycle and everyone else behind him. The GP23, despite being unequivocally weaker after he exploded in Indonesia and they removed his improved flywheel, is still a bike that he has enough experience on that he can use his style a bit more and manipulate it the way he needs to, so the parts change hasn’t made too much of an impact on his pace. Plus, this is also one of Pecco’s more mediocre tracks, something he knows that Vale knows but will never say to Marc. Honestly, if it’s not for Pecco or the floundering VR46 team squad (unlikely), he has no idea why Vale is here. Maybe Casey invited him to do some dirt track.

He opens his mouth to twist all this into something shiny enough that it can be outwardly verbalized to two other world champions when Casey, so far neglected by Vale, speaks.

“Wow. You know, I really didn’t believe it.”

They pause.

“That you two had made up again, I mean,” He throws a thumb Vale’s way. “I thought this one would take it to his grave, he’s good at that.”

Marc hits him with a weak smile and Vale doesn’t even look over, eyes still on Marc and whatever he sees on his face.

Casey seems to notice, and a divot appears between his eyebrows. Marc scrambles to find something to say that will make this interaction end in the next ten seconds.

“Um, so what convinced you that he wasn’t evil?” Casey asks. So much for that dream.

“Same thing that convinced me that you weren’t,” Vale quips.

“Jury’s still out, then?”

Vale puts a hand on Marc’s shoulder and laughs at Casey beatifically. “Ah, no. Maybe he is just prettier than you? Better in bed, you know.”

Marc laughs, high and shrill, and Casey and Vale both turn to look at him.

“Okay, Marc?” Casey asks, and Marc nods. It’s a normal joke— it’s the kind Vale’s made before. About him, about Jorge Lorenzo, probably about Casey. If 20 year old Marc were here right now, he would just be thrilled that Vale was teasing Casey and using Marc to do it. That idiot would sit here and smile and think about women when he went home to jack off and go on with his day. No such pleasures for 31 year old Marc.

He swallows. He hasn’t responded quick enough. Vale’s eyes narrow, and Marc feels horribly exposed. He’s gotta get out of here.

“Yeah, yeah. Something in my throat, you know? Gresini— uh, they need me in the box, I have to go over something. For tomorrow, the sprint. So. I should go. It was nice seeing you both, I’ll see you later— “

He punches the gas, and as they scramble away from the scooter to avoid getting any toes caught in the crossfire, he zooms away before he can hear their responses.

When Vale’s hand slides off of Marc’s shoulder as he accelerates, the places where his fingers touched Marc burn all the way back to the garage.

[si1verghosts]

Hi!

3. A kiss on the forehead😌

helloooo dear anon!! i am sorry this took so long i could not for the life of me figure out to write but then ! i wrote this on the 4th and i realized it could work... maybe... sorta. this may not be what you were expecting/wanting but there's forehead kisses in there.... somewhere 🫡 also, if u are not american i apologize for giving you a july 4th fic 😭 but the holiday is relatively inconsequential here like theres no patriotism it's just a backdrop if u know what i mean.... anyway, i hope u enjoy <33

you taste like the 4th of july

di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.5k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking | tw: thoughts about death and dying

tags: established relationship; fluff (i guess??); slight changes to canon to suit author's headcanons

read on ao3

a/n: for the past few months i've been working on this very insane multi-chap post di leon fic 😵‍💫 this was written with that in mind But does not have a place in that story... probably.... idk!!! either way, i think it can be read as a standalone just fine

additionally, there is a scene in here where leon picks the reader up. i would just like to say like... he gets thrown into concrete walls on a biweekly basis and gets up and walks it off without issue so i think he can lift anyone no matter their size or shape!!

not beta read or proofread - sorry if any of it is gibberish i've had a wicked migraine the past few days... will maybe attempt to proofread once i can see correctly again 🚬🧍‍♀️regardless, all mistakes are my own

i do not own leon or any other resi character mentioned, etc etc, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chatbot and/or writing generator.

-----

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Leon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand over the patio table, cleaning up the abandoned plates and platters.

You hum. It was; a beautiful, cloudless July 4th, spent with Leon's friends in the backyard of your home. The only ones missing were Ashley and Ingrid; the former having a standing family commitment and the latter planning to spend her holiday on the beach, away from the country and your fiancé.

Typically, Chris hosted the Independence Day cookout, but Leon offered up your new home as this year's venue, citing your in-ground pool and the plenty of extra space you have for guests to stay. In reality, he just wanted the chance to out-grill Chris - he'd been preparing since Memorial Day; testing different spice and sauce combinations as well as stocking your freezer full of large cuts of meat.

He'd started before you were even awake, chopping and seasoning in the kitchen, slowly loading up the smoker. You'd joined him on the patio a few hours later, watching from your pool floaty as he poked and prodded at various things.

You don't even eat meat, didn't know the whole thing was so involved, but you did enjoy the view; worn blue jeans hugging his frame as he crouched to check a thermometer.

You had taken a short break from the water, tying up lights and setting a few little decorations around before your guests arrived. Rebecca was the first, tucking her jugs of pre-made cocktail and platter of deviled eggs into your fridge before joining you on the patio.

Chris wasn't far behind, unloading two coolers filled with beer and containers of homemade potato and pasta salads. He'd handed one off to you, grinning, "Claire made one just for you this year."

You'd thanked him, making another attempt to get him to share his family's recipes with you. It was futile, you probably couldn't even waterboard it out of either of them.

Claire had arrived on her motorcycle shortly after, pulling a bundle of fireworks out of her saddlebags. "Sorry I'm late," she said - even though she wasn't - dumping the pile on the ground, thankfully far away from the grill. "Had to stop for these."

Leon had crouched down to inspect them, listening intently as Claire told him about all the different varieties she'd purchased while you relaxed back into the pool.

Sherry arrived next, Jake trailing behind her. She'd left both him and her bags of chips at the table, giving Leon and Claire quick hugs before immediately joining you in the water.

She'd slipped in right beside your floaty, grabbing your hand to get a look at your engagement ring - she'd yet to see it, having been so busy with work. Her eyes widened at the ring as she pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, "Leon picked this out? Our Leon? Leon Kennedy? Are you sure?"

You'd giggled at her astonishment, "Ashley helped him out; took him to one of her favorite jewelers."

"I should've guessed," She nods. "For my 20th Birthday, he bought me this crazy cute pink tennis bracelet and I was like, 'no way you picked this out alone.' He fessed up that he got a little help from a friend named Ashley.

"At the time, I thought it was just some girlfriend - or hoped, I guess. Back then, I spent a lot of time hoping that Claire and Leon weren't just… working; I liked to think they were taking time for themselves, that they were happy," she had trailed off then, looking off to the tree line behind your house for a minute. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she shrugged, continuing on, "Anyways, I'm thankful to Ash for that bracelet, it was there with me though… a lot. And I'm thankful to you for making him happy, like I always wanted him to be."

With that, you slid off the float to give her a hug, holding her tight as you whispered your thanks. You had worked to bite back your tears - if she didn't cry, neither would you.

Luckily, Jill had walked in a few seconds later, providing a distraction in the form of the most ridiculously large watermelon. "Hey, Kennedy," she shouted, pulling Leon out of his conversation with Claire as she gestured to the melon tucked under her arm. "Can't burn this, can I?"

Leon had thrown his head back with a laugh - in previous years, Jill had always brought boxed brownies with extra crispy edges and Leon invariably had to make a comment about them. "I don't know," he had shrugged, "When it comes to you, Valentine, I'll never say never."

Jill had reared the watermelon back, acting as if she was going to throw it at him. Leon had thrown his arms up, shielding his face, causing everyone to crumble into laughter at the scene.

"It was nice," you agree, reaching to pick up the barong machete he had given Jill when she asked for a knife to cut the melon. "We do have kitchen knives, you know," you scold mockingly, gently waving the blade around.

"I know," he says, releasing you to reach around and pluck the machete out of your hand. "It's good to exercise these every once in a while, though."

You roll your eyes at him, "It's a machete, Leon, not a horse."

He waves you off, slipping through the patio door to wash the blade in the kitchen sink. You take the opportunity to speed clean, knowing it'll be a much harder task once he returns and wraps his arms back around you.

Thankfully everyone had taken care of their own plates and cups - they'd tried to stay and do more but you had ushered them out of the backyard, wanting Chris, Sherry and Jake to depart before the traffic picked up with the crowds leaving the city following the fireworks shows. Jill, Claire and Rebecca had taken up on your offer to stay, at least, piling into your guest rooms. You were glad to have them, secretly plotting to drag them to brunch once you all woke.

You finish piling the platters as Leon makes his way back outside. Before he can get his hands on you and derail your progress, you point to the stack, "Take those inside."

He frowns, "Can't it just wait until tomorrow?"

"We'll get ants; come on, five minutes and it'll be done."

He sighs, but doesn't protest further, carrying the heavy plates inside as you follow him with the utensils. You stack everything by the sink before turning to him, "Is there any of Becca's cocktail left?"

He cocks his brow, tilting his head, "You really want to try that again?"

It's a valid question - you had given it a go earlier and despite everyone's warnings to take it easy, you had thrown back a large mouthful right off the bat. You ended up wincing in pain, "Fuck, that burns. What'd you put in there, Becca?"

She'd shrugged, "Oh, you know, a splash of this, a splash of that. And," she teased, drawing out the vowel, "A bit of my own creation."

"Your own creation…" You had muttered, trailing off before it hit you, "Test tube alcohol?"

She had giggled, grinning, "Takes some getting used to."

You had tried another, much tinier sip. You were able to enjoy the sweetness of the juice for a moment before the burn kicked in again, causing you to curse once more, louder.

Leon had shifted his attention from Chris to you at your exclamation. Seeing the jug of Rebecca's cocktail in front of you on the table, he quickly pieced together what was happening, calling over to Rebecca from his place by the grill, "You trying to kill my fiancé, Becks?"

"Absolutely not; that'd be a stupid thing for me to do," she'd shot back. "She's the only one who can keep you in line, and we kind of like you like that."

"Well," you start, rolling the word around your mouth, "No. But yes - there's gotta be some sort of trick to it, right? Everyone else drank it just fine."

"The trick is," he starts, voice low, reaching out to grab ahold of your hips, "To not drink it. Let me make you some tea instead."

"Fine," you pout, relaxing into his grip, not bothering to argue - tea won't make you hate yourself in the morning.

He moves his hands from your hips, sliding his fingertips along your spine. "Go wait outside," he says, releasing you with a featherlight kiss to your forehead, "I'll bring it out."

With a brush of your lips against his cheek in thanks, you slip away from him, heading back out to the backyard and pulling off your shorts, settling onto the ledge of the shallow end of the pool. The air has cooled with the setting of the sun, becoming a comforting warmth instead of an overbearing heat. You dip your legs into the water, thankful you insisted on having a pool when you and Leon were house hunting.

Someone is still setting off fireworks; they're a few miles away, though - you can hear them more than you can see them. Resting back on your palms, you close your eyes, imagining what bursts of color may be accompanying each sound.

Leon joins you a few minutes later - just after the fireworks had died down - sporting his swim shorts and carrying your tea. He bends, setting the mug next to you with a kiss to your temple, nosing at your hair. "Earl Grey," he reports before drawling, "How terribly unpatriotic of you."

"You going to arrest me for treason, Agent Kennedy?" You laugh, reaching up to squeeze his thigh below the hem of his shorts. "You're the one who made it; they'd nail you as an accomplice."

He falls into a crouch, leg muscles bunching under the pads of your fingertips as he shifts closer to touch his lips on your cheek. "They can hang us together, then," he remarks, voice a bit too serious for it to be just a joke. "Side by side, off the same branch."

You sit back just enough to get your eyes focused on him, reaching your other hand out to thumb at his bottom lip. "Dulce et decorum est pro cor mori," you whisper, tacking on a hum in question.

He cocks his head at the unfamiliar words, nipping at your nail playfully, "English please, baby."

You consider him for a moment, the translation of the true phrase running through your mind; how sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country. The old lie, it's come to be known as - fittingly.

It's a similar sentiment to one that's grown to become your fear; that he'll die for the sake of the country, under orders from the government, believing it was his duty.

But you think your spin on it may be true; would be willing to find out.

You don't want to weigh him down with the thought, though, choosing to reel him in for a kiss instead. "I love you," is the answer you settle on, laying the words down right on his tongue.

He seems content with your translation - the method of delivery likely having something to do with it - humming into your mouth. He kisses you back lazily for a long, languid moment before he pulls away, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I've been wanting to get in there all day," he says, nodding his head towards the water.

"Go," you chuckle, giving him a gentle push away from you with the hand still resting along his face.

He lays another quick peck against your lips before standing, padding around the edge to the steps. He pauses for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, skin honeyed under the soft glow of the lights you'd hung around the patio.

A second later, he slips under the surface without hesitation; kicking off the steps, moving quickly to the deep end. He almost shimmers as he glides along the floor of the pool, the rippling of the gentle waves he'd created making him seem like some sort of mirage as he passes by you.

He comes up for air once he hits the far wall, tossing his hair back, smoothing the water from his eyes. He doesn't rest long, though, beginning to swim short laps across the width of the deep end.

You observe him, sipping your tea slowly, appreciating the way his back and arms work with each stroke. He continues long enough for you to nearly drain your cup, stopping short when another trio of fireworks set off in the distance.

Setting your mug down, you eye him, preparing to slip into the pool to soothe him if you have to, but he relaxes once he connects the sound to the flashes in the sky. The tension that had flooded the line of his shoulders drains into the water as he shifts to wade backward, moving closer to where you sit.

You finish off your drink as he starfishes out across the surface of the water, floating just a few feet in front of you. You wonder if you could use him as a floaty, pinning up a note in your brain to try it out sometime.

"I'm glad you insisted on a pool, sweetheart," he sighs, breaking your companionable silence.

You hum, pleased, kicking your legs out gently and causing the water to lap against his skin. More fireworks sound out; he doesn't tense this time, but he does get his feet back under himself, moving to where you sit along the ledge.

Sliding his hands up your legs, he pillows his head in your lap, wet hair fanning out across your thighs. You shift your weight back onto your right hand, laying the other along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as you brush your thumb along his cheekbone and the scar that runs beneath it.

He picks at the tie of your bathing suit absentmindedly, tugging at the strings when you slide your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Sherry said something to me earlier."

He makes a noise urging you to elaborate, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She told me that when she was younger, she hoped that you and Claire were living your lives; that you were doing more than just working, you know? She said she wanted you guys to be happy," you explain, working to keep your voice even.

He cracks his eyes open, picking his head up to watch you as you continue. "She thanked me," you swallow thickly, "for making you happy, like she always wanted you to be."

He smiles at your words, and it's a beautiful thing. You still get all twisted up inside with how gorgeous he is; neurons overclocking themselves with the thrill of being the subject of his attention.

"I owe you a thank you, too, baby," he starts, pausing to nose at your wrist.

"You don't owe me anything, Leon," you tug at his damp strands still between your fingers, highlights catching the yellow glow from the lights around the patio.

"I do," he says, the words sending a jolt through you. You never intended on getting married, yet here you are now, eager to hear the phrase on the altar.

He kisses the thin skin of your wrist, lips lingering as if he can feel the thrum of your heartbeat; knows that the pace has picked up under his affection. "All this," he pulls back, taking a hand off you to gesture to the pool; the backyard; the house; to you. "It's something I never thought I'd get.

"Sherry's right - you're behind basically every bit of happiness I have now, sweetheart; I owe it all to you." He reaches up, untangling your grip from his hair, thumbing gently at the ring he put there, "Thank you."

You can't respond verbally, will burst into tears if you do. In lieu of speech, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his insistently.

He seems to get the message; understands that the pleasure is all yours, that you'd give him anything and everything you can - knowing he'd do the same for you.

He gets his arms back around you, continuing your kiss as he lifts you from the edge of the pool and into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, safe and secure in his hold.

His teeth catch along your bottom lip and the neighbors down the street set off fireworks, the bright bursts of color painting your backyard in reds and blues and greens and oranges. The sparks reflect off the surface of the water as he slides his nose against yours and not for the first time, you think this may all be a dream. Maybe you died four years ago and this whole thing has been some sort of afterlife; you aren't sure you'd done anything worth this treatment, though.

Maybe it's more supernatural in origin; an intricate hallucination weaved by a Djinn that's got you chained up in some dark, damp basement as it feeds off your blood. Or maybe you just went crazy and the pool is actually a padded room, Leon's mouth against yours a product of your mind working to distract itself from your reality.

Whatever the case may be, it certainly feels real when he shifts his hold on you, hoists you up higher to get at your neck, laying kisses up and down the column of your throat, nipping at your jaw.

But before he can venture much further, the neighbor's fireworks show grows into an extravaganza, the relentless popping and bursting becoming a nuisance, shattering the illusion of your teeny-boppy movie moment.

"Jeez," Leon mutters, breath hot against the saliva cooling on your skin, causing you to shudder. "Did they buy out a whole tent?"

"Did you check that Claire actually went to bed?" You ask, shaking yourself free of his hold. "She could've joined them; brought everything I wouldn't let her set off here."

He hums, letting you down into the water, considering your words - even though you said it as a joke, it certainly is a possibility. You seem to come to this realization at the same time, eyes narrowing at each other as the spray of fireworks continues overhead. "We should…" He starts, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," you agree, already beginning to move.

You pause to grab your towels, wrapping your own around yourself, throwing the other over Leon's shoulders when you catch up to him at the patio door. Stepping inside, you hear someone knocking around your kitchen.

Luckily, it's Claire. She steps back from the cabinet she'd been rifling through to face you and Leon with a frown. "Isn't this shit ridiculous?" She remarks, pointing to the ceiling in reference to the fireworks.

"You're one to talk, Claire," Leon shoots back. "Didn't you just set off about five hundred dollars worth of them in my backyard a few hours ago?"

"Yes, a few hours ago," she reiterates. "Nothing should be set off after the show at the Capitol is finished - after that, you're done; you missed your shot; better luck next year."

"Exactly," you nod in agreement at her reasoning, "They should put you in charge."

She grins at your words, moving to continue on, but Leon cuts in before she can start; "What is it that you were clawing through my cabinets for?"

She sighs, displeased with his interruption, setting her hands on her hips. "Where do you keep the ibuprofen?"

Leon shoos her out of the way, padding across the kitchen to get the medicine himself. Claire relents without argument, attention immediately shifting back to you as she leans over the counter. "So," she wiggles her eyebrows, "It seems like that pool was a good investment, huh?"

You bite at your lip, ears burning with embarrassment that she'd seen you and Leon necking in the water like teenagers - even though you shouldn't be flustered; it is your house, after all.

Leon sets the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water down in front of Claire, annoyance evident with the way he uses a bit more force than really necessary, causing the items to clack against the marble.

"What?" Claire questions, glaring at him. "It was cute."

Leon huffs in response, unable to hide the flush that crawls up his neck at her words. You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you, enjoying the way they bicker like siblings.

Claire leaves Leon to stew, tossing you a grin as she collects the bottle and glass, bidding you goodnight once more before she leaves the kitchen.

You move around the counter to Leon, steps careful in an effort not to slip on the water that has dripped off him and onto the tile. The neighbors must've ran out of fireworks while you were distracted by Claire as it's silent when you wrap your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "Still a good day?" You ask, voice muffled against his skin.

He slings an arm around you, fingers fanning out along the small of your back, "Still a good day."

[lvsjean28]

we can talk about the slow SLOW burn of Jerejean That is, thanks to Kevin in tgr we know that Jean was already interested at least physically in Jeremy, when Kevin says "I showed you those. Did you read any of them, or were you too busy fawning over his phot-" and at that moment they were still IN THE NEST, even in TSC and TGR Jean having some self-control to look at Jeremy because she really finds him attractive, but now in TGR it is more evident the way in which she protects him and even does not hesitate to harm anyone who harms Jeremy, also the I miss Jean buying blue clothes only because it's Jean's favorite color, Jean letting Jeremy (and Laila) finally have a dog, etc. In the case of Jeremy, Jean caught his attention from the first episodes in TSC when he said that Jean was exactly his type, now in TGR he emphasizes it again but he knows that he is going to contain himself "No. He's not even my type. A complete lie" and I know that Jeremy has had more partners or "lovers" but they are more than anything for physical contact, on the other hand he doesn't look at Jean that way, but rather he admires these small details of Jean being the same, the way the one who notices the small details of Jean collecting things to decorate her room, Jean managing to make a small clay cup, Jean being happy because she could finally have a motorcycle, Jean being simply at peace Anyway, we won't recover when we finally have an END GAME OF JEREJEAN

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Fic Request: Luz and Camila take kid Philip to the mall to see Santa Claus.

Seeing Santa

Summary: Kid Philip meets the "real" Santa Claus at the mall.

Ao3 version

Thank you for the motivation + help, @pokeycub!

Enjoy!

"So, are you excited to see Santa, Philip?" Luz asked, her voice as bright and cheerful as Christmas morning.

She and her mother stood shoulder to shoulder with Philip, both holding his hand as they waited in line to see Santa at the mall.

Philip smiled at Luz and nodded.

"Mm-hm!" he happily hummed, knowing that he has been a very good boy all year round... for the most part.

He, of course, made minor slip-ups from time to time, but not enough to receive a hefty lump of coal in his stocking.

Luz and Camila shared an abundance of knowledge about Old Saint Nick and Christmas in general with Philip, including bedtime stories, cooking, baking, caroling, wrapping presents, decorating the tree, and watching popular holiday specials on TV.

They even took him to a parade once where the Santa Claus there performed an adrenaline-fueled motorcycle stunt off of a fire truck.

"Philip," Camila began. "If you're really well-behaved on Santa's lap, I'll take you to go get hot chocolate," she promised, smiling warmly at the brunette.

Philip released a tiny gasp, his blue eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Really?!" he beamed.

Camila, letting out a light giggle at his enthusiasm, nodded.

"Really," she assured him, pulling out her phone to take pictures.

When it was Philip's turn to meet Santa, both Luz and Camila laughed quietly as he rushed up to the male actor dressed in the classic red suit, promptly hopping onto his lap.

"Remember to be nice and smile!" Camila gaily told him, holding up her phone.

"And no biting!" Luz playfully added, pulling out a purple digital camera.

The Santa actor smiled at Philip as he adjusted himself in his red and gold trim chair.

"Ho-ho-ho!" he emitted from his belly, lowering a white gloved hand on Philip's head.

"Looks like someone's excited to see me," he said, gently ruffling Philip's hair, which earned laughter from Luz and Camila.

"What's your name, little boy?" Santa asked.

"Philip!" Philip excitedly told him. "Philip Wittebane! I'm ten years old! How old are you, Santa?"

"Much older than that," he replied with a jolly chuckle, Luz and Camila laughing as well.

"Was there something special that you wanted for Christmas, Philip?" Santa questioned with a smile.

"There is!" Philip chirped, filled with Christmas spirit.

"My very own race horse! I want a brown one with a black mane and tail! I wish to ride him every day! Are you able to fit him down our chimney?"

"A horse? Well, I can try," Santa chuckled again.

Philip slowly shifted his attention to Saint Nick's beard, distracted by its fluffy appearance.

The brunette swiftly began tugging on it without much thought.

"Wow, Santa! Your beard is so soft!" he complimented.

"Why, thank you. I--"

After the fifth tug, Philip accidentally tugs off "Santa's" beard, revealing a man with a stubbly face.

This causes Philip, along with the children in line, to gasp in shock.

Luz and Camila's eyes widened as they silently turned to each other.

Still holding the not real white beard in his hand, Philip turns on a frown as he hops down from the actor's lap.

After the beard is dropped on the ground, he points an accusatory finger at the fake Santa.

"You're not the real Santa! What did you do to him!?" he demanded with a stomp of his foot.

Luz quickly steps in to intervene.

"Alright, little buddy," she said with a sheepish smile, taking Philip's hand as she took him away from the scene.

"Let's just... walk this way."

She returned to her mother.

"But, Luz, the mall lied to us!" Philip protested.

As Luz and Camila began to walk away with Philip, they turned to smile apologetically at the mall Santa, who smiled an embarrassed but understanding smile as he waved goodbye, reaching down for his beard.

[leyforshort]

Sweeter Than Sugar .

Modern!Mizu x Fem!Reader

a little fic of you and mizu giving each other the love and affection you’re both deserving of. <3

( mizu is reader’s fiancé in this fic, forgive me this is my first ever published writing lol )

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

You were baking, out of boredom. You’d been waiting for your fiancé to come from downstairs to see your progress in your pastry chef skills. Mizu went upstairs to take a shower and wash the dirt off of her, she had been working at her and her dad’s motorcycle shop all day. As soon as she stepped into the house she smelt of oil and a long day’s worth of sweat from fixing people’s bikes. It didn’t matter to you though, you still gave her a peck on the lips before she made her way to the shower.

“Smells good down here.” Mizu made her way into the kitchen with a white towel draped over her shoulder, her damp hair pulled into a bun. She wore a sports bra, and grey sweats. “I hope so. Might cover up the smell you tracked in.” You remark, joking with her as you poke a toothpick into the soft and fluffy cake you’d just pulled out of the oven.

Your remark amused her, she chuckled as she made her way behind you after setting her towel down on a chair, wrapping her slender, yet muscular arms around your frame, resting her head on the top of yours. “I hope it’s not too bad now.” She exhaled.

You removed the tooth pick from the middle of the baked good, setting it on a nearby paper towel. Mizu hummed contently as she started to sway your hips, you closed your eyes.

“It’s not.” Your response was delayed.

“Hm?” She opened her eyes, shifting her head slightly.

“Oh, I was replying to you, it’s not bad now at all.” You replied. She moved her head back to it’e original position, cheek resting on the top of your head. “Ah. Your response was a tad late, dove.” She reminded you. You rolled your eyes playfully, smiling at the reminder. “Yeah, yeah. You distracted me from responding, though.” You moved your head to look up at her, she picked hers up to look down at you. “I can’t help it.” She kissed you, it wasn’t long but it wasn’t short either. It was enough to make your heart flutter.

But let’s be honest, everything Mizu does makes your heart flutter.

Mizu pulled away from the kiss, blue eyes staring down at yours. “Did you eat the batter?” She raised an eyebrow. “Only what was left in the bowl. Why?”

“I could taste it.” She ran her hand up to your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip before turning your full body around, pressing her lips softly against yours yet again. You pulled away, your hands around her neck, hers now resting on your waist. “You’re really desperate for sweets, huh?” You questioned her, swaying your hips as you admired her perfect face.

Her sharp jawline, her perfect lips, and strangely, how her eyebrows moved with every expression she made. “You, dove. I’m desperate for you. Your lips have always tasted sweet. Sweeter than sugar, at that.” Mizu pulled your body closer to hers, swaying along with you as the shine of the sunset peeked through your curtains into the kitchen.

“Do you think I could help you decorate the cake?” She tilted her head. You grinned brightly. “Absolutely.” You responded, attempting to get out of her grasp to get the frosting and different cake decorations set up for the both of you, when her grasp on your waist tightened and pulled you in again, smashing her lips against yours, yet again. The act of affection lasted for a little while longer than the last before you pulled away, your lips instantly missing the warmth of hers, Mizu feeling the exact same. “I’d love to continue this lovely, but we’ve got a cake to decorate.” She chuckled and nodded at you. “Sorry.” She apologized, lips curling into a perfect smile, that smile you love seeing so much.

“I love you, Mizu.” You placed your hand on her cheek, which blushed at your words and your touch. She paused, leaning into your hand. “I love you too, Y/N.”

“Okay, seriously, we should start decorating before I forget.” You pull away from her. Mizu groans and rolls her eyes. “I suppose.”

The two of you spent the rest of the night laughing and giggling at each other, Mizu had swiped a bit of frosting on your face to be playful. Of course you did the same back, and it turned into a full blown frosting war with the remaining icing.

After you two had cleaned up your mess, taken a shower, (Mizu’s second one today,) the two of you lay comfortably in each other’s arms, wrapped in a cozy, large and warm blanket. You both would talk about how much fun you had, she’d graze her fingers on your back, leading you to fall asleep. As you start to flutter your eyes closed, she presses her lips against your temple.

“I love you, dove. More than you could ever know.” Then, the both of you drift off to sleep for the night, content with the safety and warmth of being in one another’s arms.

————————

A/N: this was ass and rushed im so sorry. i rlly do hope u enjoyed 😭🤍

[xaviers-student-union]

Hey guys it's that time of the month

That's right, the time of the month where I take my dad's credit card and buy you guys whatever you ask for. [ so long as its not illegal.]

As usual:

- The money isn't traceable by my father

- This won't have legal ramifications, it's money he gave to me

- He's an Anti-Mutant Billionare running for a political office or some shit. So every month everyone in the X-mansion, and anyone else who sees this, can place orders from me. I like wasting his money.

- For every dollar I spend, I match it and donate to a Mutant positive charity.

So far:

- Aranza: New paint supplies, an easel, and other tools [ she didn't ask but I'm doing it anyway] and Hedgehog care supplies

- Deanne: New jewellery, medical textbooks, sports equipment, and a new laptop

- Molly: New fairytale books, 150 Jellycats, Club room materials, a megaphone, winter clothes, Halloween decorations, a clipboard, Polaroid camera, and an inflatable hamster ball.

She also requested silly string but I have veto'ed that.

- Megan: new book bag, stationary, sanrio "stuff", wing warmers

- Sativa: Beads, wing warmers, new dresses, accessories

- Reaper- Skateboard and cat toys

- Nod - Office decor, $100 donation

- Pyxis - New mountain bike, New winter coat, $50 donation

- Scott- Wood carving supplies, 50 cases of waterbottles, and top of the line New kitchen utensils.

- Mihai - Ps5, and a new laptop

- Kurt - Repair the trapeze. While I'm at it I'm going to get new equipment for the gymnasium in general.

- Rogue - Cat toys [ according to Google that's the best thing for a gator] and new romance novels.

- Negasonic Teenage Warhead : 2x giant 12 ft tall skeletons, costumes for the skeletons , a giant kuromi plush

- Yukio: several pieces of limitied sanrio merch, giant hello kitty plush.

- Eel: Luxury Yacht + hoverboard wheelchair

- Logan - New motorcycle + a helmet. Get fucked logan.

- Forget-me-not - New baking supplies, and equipment.

Lina- New bass strings, and a donation of 100k [ she didn't ask for this but I decided I wanted to donate extra in her name]

Emma - New lipstick in her favourite shade

- laurya- a bunch of cool rocks [ @goddess-of-birds ]

Phantom - Broadway year pass, compression gloves [ @phantom-x ]

Valentine - Designer outfitt [ @valentine-vuong ]

Vanessa - 50 sets of winter clothes for kids, and a large donation to the chosen charity.

Tagging relevant people [ let me know if you don't want to be tagged]

@jeangrey-xmen

@roguefromthexmen

@remy-lebeau

@wolverineofficial

@deadpoolsmeanestally

@dead-in-the-pool

@professorcharlesx

@scottsummers-xmen

@hankmccoyhere

@reapers-graveyard

@totally-not-a-mutant

@vanessa-howlett

@pyxis-deliveryservices

@a-trip-and-a-fall

@thebesttelepath

@forgotten-x-men

@just-a-mutant

@prettyplasma8

@blue-man-group-reject

@queenofthetempest

There's...so many people to tag so I'm going to stop here. If I missed you it wasn't intentional.. - J.🕯

[ no limit on price as long as its reasonable]