#no old men aloud

[mars-the-marsmallow]

hi :)

im mars and this is my account.( duh )

im an aroace trans guy and heres some stuff bout me

fandoms: cavetown, penelope scott, beach bunny, osemanverse, hamilton, heathers, mean girls, dandy's world

my favorite cavetown songs are this is home,devil town, 888

my favorite type of music is indie rock

my aestetic is grunge

my favorite osemanverse character is aled last.

my face will NOT be shown on this account

my age will also NOT be shown

im a minor so no creepy old men aloud

any pronouns are fine i dont really care

do not crop my name out of fanart and claim as your own

im in the USA

random stuff i like : alice oseman, drawing, playing flute, field hockey, baggy clothes, reading, riding my bike, cavetown, pintrest, , jellycat plushies, abstract art, math ( dont ask why), radio silence and seeing my friends

go follow my friend Ellie Cube

thats it <3

[milacatbat]

Surprise hot guest lecturer today, in a sort of east european Oscar Isaac kind of way and my mind conjures up the sentence "off to the wankbank you go!"

[littlestickfish]

...I'm sorry, I wasn't going to say anything, but this post is so fucking silly, I just can't

"Religion was man-made!" ....as opposed to what? Alien-made? Dolphin-made? Zebra-made? Who else is out here on this planet making religions other than humans?

It's like "your mental illness is all in your head!" like? Yeah? Where else would it be, my ass??

"Game over!" ....gurl what 🤣🤣

Game over

[beloveds-embrace]

Human!Reader being traded to Fae!Price to keep the peace. Like I heard once in ancient China, actual royal daughters wouldn't be married off, other girls would be married in their place, so maybe reader's parents volunteered her to be married instead of the king's beloved daughter?

see you perfectly get me 😩😩 i hope you don’t mind me using this as a chance to yap <3

Masterlist

The fae had no love for you.

You had known this from the moment you stepped into the obsidian palace, its towering spires slicing through the mist-laden sky like blades. You had been dressed in human silks then- pale, delicate, and utterly wrong in a court where darkness was beauty, where even the air shimmered with otherworldly grace. The moment you crossed the threshold, every gaze in the room had cut into you, assessing and dismissing in the same breath because not a single one of them wanted a human amongst them- least of all as their queen.

The words had not been spoken aloud, but you had felt them all the same, woven into the murmurs that rippled through the court. They had expected the human king’s beloved daughter (even if they would have hated her all the same), a princess groomed for diplomacy, raised in luxury. Instead, they had been given you- the daughter of an unimportant noble, a substitute barely trained in courtly graces but more than capable with ink and parchment, a woman who had spent years buried under the work the princess refused to do.

They had not wanted you.

And neither, it seemed, had your husbands.

King John Price, your husband, had barely acknowledged you beyond what duty required. He had spoken the vows in the old tongue, words and sounds you could never hope to replicate with a human tongue, and sealed the marriage with a kiss so fleeting it barely brushed your lips, then turned away to his own husbands- also yours, but they weren’t kings, so no kiss was required between you and them.

(The concept was still so strange to you. Humans practiced monogamy at the very least, in public- yet you had learned fae cared very little for such things.)

They were his advisors; Johnny, Simon, Kyle, and they were no different. They were powerful men, sharp as the wind over the mountains, and just as untouchable.

You were an outsider, a human intruder in a world where every glance from you was considered an insult, every word a nuisance.

They did not mistreat you, no. They simply ignored you, and you told yourself that it was worlds better than being hurt anyways… even if the loneliness hurt.

And so you threw yourself into the work. The human princess had forced all her duties on you for years, and it was no different here- except now it was fae treaties, fae disputes, fae taxes, all of which they happily let you drown in. You handled it all without complaint. The paperwork was easier to deal with than the loneliness. And if they noticed the way you handled the endless the endless paperwork that the court so conveniently let pile up on your desk, they gave no indication.

You were a human among fae. And in their eyes, that made you insignificant.

Your days blurred together in a haze of ink-stained fingers and stiff-backed chairs, the weight of the crown heavier than you had ever imagined. It might have continued that way- silent, distant, suffocating- if not for the day the Queen Mother descended upon you.

She despised humans. You could see it in the way she sneered at you, the way she spoke as if addressing something beneath her. But she was old, cunning, and- unlike her son- unwilling to let a political marriage go to waste. She had entered your chambers one evening without announcement, her presence crackling in the air like a brewing storm.

For a long moment, she had said nothing. And then:

"You look human."

You had stiffened at her tone. It was not a compliment.

"That is your first mistake."

She had circled you then, her gaze stripping you bare. "The court despises you. My son ignores you, as do his husbands- they do not even see you. Why?"

You had swallowed, resisting the urge to drop your gaze. "… Because I am human."

A flicker of a smile, cold and knowing. "No, child. Because you make no effort to be anything else. You are no longer within humans.”

That night, your wardrobe was stripped away- every pale gown, every soft fabric, every piece of jewelry that marked you as human. In their place, the Queen Mother had garments brought in that dripped with fae elegance.

Your dresses were no longer delicate, but sharp—cut to flatter the lines of your body, corseted to perfection, woven with fabrics darker than midnight and embroidered with silver-threaded fae flowers that shimmered when they caught the light. Your silks no longer billowed, but clung, whispering around you like shadows given form.

Your jewelry transformed you further. Earrings that mimicked the elongated points of fae ears, tapering into elegant curves. Rings shaped into sharp, clawed talons that gleamed when your fingers moved. Tiaras twisted into the illusion of horns, their dark metal twining like the antlers of the fae lords. Even your hair was adorned with woven fae flora, petals shifting as though alive.

When you stepped before the mirror, you barely recognized yourself.

You were still human. But you no longer looked like prey.

The court noticed first. The whispered mockery did not cease, but it changed- less scornful, more wary. Some sneered that you were playing dress-up, but others looked twice, their gazes lingering in ways they never had before.

Your husbands were slower to react, but when they did, it was irreversible. It was the point of no return- even if you did not know it at the time. Did not once suspect this had been the Queen Mother’s plan from the start.

Johnny cracked first.

One evening during another dinner where you were supposed to be ignored once more, as you reached for a goblet, he caught your hand- his calloused fingers brushing the rings now shaped like talons. His thumb grazed over the curved metal, blue eyes flicking up to yours with something thoughtful, something curious.

“…This suits you, lass."

A simple statement. But his touch lingered a moment longer than necessary. You did not allow yourself to think more of it, as he eventually turned away from you and returned to ignoring you.

Kyle was next. It was not the rings he noticed, but the way the darker fabrics shaped you, the way the fae silks whispered around your form when you moved. His sharp gaze assessed you, and when you met his eyes, he hummed- low and appreciative.

"Fascinating."

Simon was the hardest to read, but you caught the way his head tilted slightly when you walked past him, the way his gaze lingered on the flowers adorning you, unreadable but lingering. He did not speak on it. He never did speak to you, not eveb now. But he watched.

And for the first time since your marriage to John, he truly looked at you; not past you. Not through you. But at you.

The next time you stood before him, spine straight, chin lifted, cloaked in the elegance of the fae, John leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. His eyes raked over you in quiet thoughts, but there was something different this time- something sharper, darker.

You had changed.

And the court had noticed.

He had seen the way the nobles looked at you now- the way their gazes lingered too long on the curve of your throat, the bare skin exposed by the daring cut of your gown. The way their admiration had shifted, no longer dismissive but hungry. Once, they had sneered at your presence, insulted by the mere thought of a human in their midst. Now, they sought your attention, vying for your favor with soft smiles and murmured compliments.

It soured something in him.

His fingers curled against the armrest of his throne, a slow, thoughtful movement. He knew he had no right to feel this way. He had ignored you first. Had dismissed you, had treated you as a necessity rather than a wife. And yet-

He did not like the way they looked at you.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the way the others reacted as well. Kyle’s jaw was tight, his gaze sharp whenever a noble leaned too close. Johnny had grown restless, the usual brightness in his eyes dimming whenever he caught another fae whispering to you, their voices dipped too low. And Simon was a shadow at the edge of the room, silent, unmoving, but his cold stare was a warning, his claws tapping idly against the hilt of the dagger at his belt.

They saw it, too.

You were theirs.

And now, far too many in this court seemed to be forgetting that.

John’s grip on the chair tightened before he forced himself to relax, schooling his expression back into something unreadable.

Well, he may have been a neglectful husband to you in the beginning… but no time better than the present to fix his mistake.

Part two

[billgavemeextrachips]

If nothing else, my impatience with my newly-single mother's endless dishing about her online dating life is further proof that I am not heterosexual.

[rosiereveries]

Retired!JohnPrice, who, after retiring, bought a cabin in a small town where everyone knew everyone. He was a stranger, and people talked about him all the time. They wanted to know where he was from, why he came to their town, and what he wanted. He didn’t have a lot to do in his free time. He restored the cabin he stayed in; the roof was leaking, he needed to buy new kitchen supplies, and the attic needed good cleaning. The previous owner left all their stuff there. John came to the conclusion that the previous owner loved to read. There were books everywhere. The old bedroom had one huge bookshelf filled with romance books. Until now, he didn’t even know that there were so many books with hot men on the cover. He felt sorry to just throw them away; the books were in good shape, and they could make someone very happy.

That was how he found you. After searching the town for a charity shop or something, he found a library where you worked. You greeted him with a smile, and he was enchanted. He explained to you that he would like to donate books to the library and asked if you could help him with the process. You agreed that after work, you would visit him and make a list of the books he had. When you arrived at his cabin, he told you that he had made dinner, and he would love if you could join him. It had been a while since someone had cooked for you, so you accepted his offer. After dinner, you went through the books in his bedroom. You blushed the whole time, looking up the titles of the books, and John didn’t make your job easier. He read aloud some parts of the books, each scene steamier than the previous. After you were done, he drove you home. He didn’t want a pretty girl like you to go home in the dark. He knew that the town was safe, but he needed to be sure that you got home okay. John promised that he would bring the books to the library tomorrow and help you with them. The whole evening, he tried to get your number so he could ask you out, and now he had the perfect chance for it. He said that he needed it to call you tomorrow when he would come. On the drive back home, he thought about how enchanting it was to meet you.

You felt the same. You had butterflies in your stomach since the moment he walked through the library door. The same old tired, lonely place vanished when you saw his face. You felt like a schoolgirl having a crush on the older boys, but now you felt like he might have a crush on you too. You were blushing the whole way home, hoping that he would ask you out. You eagerly awaited the whole morning for when he would text you that he was on the way. After lunch, you started to lose hope that he would show up. He told you that he would come before your lunch break so that he could take you out for lunch. You felt stupid; you didn’t ask for his number, and now you had no way to contact him. Yes, you could go to his house, but you were not that desperate, and it would be weird if you just showed up. You tried to distract yourself with work, but it didn’t stop your wandering thoughts. What if he had someone, and you were too flirty, and now, he didn’t want to talk to you? Maybe he was just a friendly neighbor who wanted to do something nice for the community. Maybe you just imagined the spark that was between you and him. You hoped that this was the very first page and not where the storyline ended.

Just before closing time, you heard the bell above the door, and you wondered who could come this late. It was John, who immediately started to apologize. He said that his bathroom pipes had broken, and the water flooded the entire bathroom. He had to get it fixed quickly, and it was so much work that he didn’t have time to come up and see you. At first, you didn’t believe him, but after he came closer, you could see that his hands were dirty, and his pants still had some water stains. You invited him to your place, and he drove you there, still trying to apologize. He said that he would make it up to you, take you on a proper date, buy you flowers, and take you somewhere romantic where you could have your first date. When you arrived at your place, you cooked dinner for both of you. He spent the evening with you, asking so many questions about your job, your life, and other things. John insisted on leaving just before midnight. You walked him out to his car, and when he thanked you for the dinner, you kissed him. He was too much of a gentleman to kiss a girl on the very first night, so you had to take control into your own hands. After the kiss, it didn’t take much to convince him to come back to your house and eventually to your bed.

Masterlist You can support my work here : ko-fi

[starmocha]

Carrot Cake [Zayne + Son ★ 1257 words ★ Masterlist ★ Snowdrop Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Zayne and his son are identical in appearance, personality, and mannerism, but there is one thing that baffles Zayne about his son. A/N: Needed a smile today, so I finished a wip that’s been sitting around. ❤️ Another part of my LNDS Men + Their Child series, but circling back to Zayne again. 🥹

“Well, doctor, did we forget anything else?”

Zayne looked down at the little three-year-old boy sitting in the shopping cart. The toddler’s appearance was practically identical to his father minus the hair color. The boy grinned at his father.

“Cake!”

Zayne laughed. The little boy was definitely a mini-him.

“You’re right,” Zayne said thoughtfully, “We shouldn’t forget the cake.”

The boy’s smile slowly disappeared, almost as if he remembered something very important. He furrowed his brows in contemplation, speaking softly, “But Mommy said no cakes…”

Zayne leaned down, his face in front of his son, his smile gentle with a touch of mischievousness.

“Mommy is not here. Daddy is in charge,” Zayne said, his smile widening when his son grinned again. “Now what kind of cake should we get?”

“Carrot cake!”

“Denied.”

He pinched his son’s cheek when the little boy pouted. He sighed with mock-exasperation. “I swear you and your mother are always messing with me.”

“But Daddy…carrot cakes are yummy…”

Zayne raised a brow, feeling doubtful. “Who in their right mind would think to use such an ingredient in a dessert…”

“Mommy likes carrot cakes!” the boy said suddenly, hoping this little tidbit of information could persuade his father to change his mind.

“Does she now?” Zayne smiled in amusement, seeing the boy’s earnest look. He casually resumed pushing the shopping cart through the aisle, absently looking at items after items on the shelves with faux interest.

“Yes!”

“She…or you, doctor?” Zayne paused in front of the condiment aisle and grabbed a bottle of soy sauce. As he turned to put the item into the cart, he met his son’s shy smile.

The boy looked bashful, almost embarrassed, as he answered quietly, “…both?”

Zayne laughed. “Maybe there is some truth in that conclusion,” he murmured, his next comment spoken lower and more to himself, “Your mother did eat a lot of carrots while pregnant with you…”

He continued to push the cart through the grocery store. “I don’t know, doctor, you haven’t been able to convince me why we should buy something so terrible.”

The boy frowned, his face scrunching up thoughtfully as he tried to think of a new convincing argument. He looked absolutely determined in his goal to persuade his father to change his mind about carrot cakes.

Zayne chuckled and continued to move through the aisles casually, taking his leisure time. He absently hummed along to the music playing overhead, occasionally sneaking glances at the quiet toddler. He could see his son was still thinking deeply, his only objective was his pursuit of the elusive carrot cake his father was denying him.

“Ah,” Zayne said suddenly, “Tofu is on sale. We can make mapo tofu tomorrow night for dinner.”

Zayne peeked at his son, still not hearing a response. He picked up two containers of silken tofu and placed them into the cart. He pinched his son’s cheek again. “Are you upset with Daddy now?”

The boy pouted. “…No…”

“That did not sound convincing.” Zayne leaned his face down closer again. “We can get a chocolate cake, a castella cake, strawberry, tiramisu…”

“…Carrot cake…”

Zayne playfully pretended he didn’t hear, and pushed the shopping cart through to the bakery department.

“We should get some sandwich bread for breakfast tomorrow,” Zayne said thoughtfully aloud as he examined the array of choices. “We still have that jar of raspberry jam you like…”

Zayne’s words fell on deaf ears. The little boy gasped, his green-yellow eyes catching sight of the cake display. He immediately zeroed in on the two-tiered carrot cakes. He reached out for his father, tapping Zayne’s hand impatiently.

“Daddy, Daddy, the cake, the cake!”

“Hmm?” Zayne continued to feign ignorance. “Oh, right, Mommy did ask us to pick up some steaks.”

He pushed the cart away, heading to the meat department. The little boy’s mouth hung wide open in shock as they walked further and further away from the bakery department. He looked up at his father, lips quivering, but Zayne continued to keep his sight ahead. The toddler slowly lowered his head, disappointed.

“Daddy…”

“Hmm?”

Zayne looked down, seeing his son was sulking. He smiled softly. “Do you want Daddy to hold you?”

The boy nodded and raised his arms up eagerly. Zayne chuckled. “Alright, alright, I will,” he said as he reached down to unbuckle the seatbelt. He lifted the boy out of his seat, and smiled as his son clung to him. He rubbed the toddler’s head gently. “Let’s hurry and finish shopping. Mommy’s waiting for these ingredients to make dinner.”

Zayne resumed shopping, one arm was carrying his son while his free hand pushed the cart and grabbed items from the shelves. When he was close to being done, he noticed his son had fallen asleep with his head resting on Zayne’s shoulder and his small fingers unconsciously rubbing at the material of his father’s coat. Smiling, Zayne, walked back over to the bakery department. He quietly motioned to the employee, pointing at the cake in the display.

He smiled gratefully as the employee handed him a small cakebox. He quickly finished shopping, paid for everything, and put them away in his car trunk.

Once he had returned the shopping cart to the store, he returned to his car, opening the back door and gently set his sleeping son in his car seat. As he buckled the toddler into his seat, Zayne quietly tapped his son’s shoulder.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” Zayne said softly, smiling at the little boy’s bleary eyes.

“Home?”

Zayne chuckled and shook his head. “Not yet,” he answered. He settled into the backseat and sat next to the child. The boy looked up confused.

“We can’t let Mommy know, alright?” Zayne said, pulling out a small cake box from a paper bag, his smile widening at his son’s bright eyes. “Our little secret, got it?”

The boy nodded eagerly. He gasped quietly when his father revealed the inside of the cake box. “Carrot cake!”

Zayne sighed in baffled amusement. “You look completely like me, but this…quirk…of yours…” He reached in and pulled out a small carrot cupcake, handing it to his son. He grabbed the other cupcake—a chai latte—and held the confection next to his son’s. They tapped the cupcakes together.

“Cheers!” both father and son said simultaneously.

The boy giggled and happily bit into his soft, sweet cupcake. Zayne smiled fondly, pleased to see his son’s smile again.

“You know, eating too many carrots will turn you orange,” Zayne warned teasingly.

“Like Windy Carrot?” the boy asked curiously, eyes growing wide.

“Almost,” Zayne said, laughing.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“…Will you still love me if I turn into a carrot?”

Zayne laughed again. He leaned down, nuzzling his face against his son’s before kissing his cheek. “I will never stop loving you…even if you were a carrot.”

The boy giggled again and turned to kiss his father’s cheek in return.

“I am certain you will be the only carrot I love,” Zayne added as he wiped the cream cheese frosting off his son’s mouth with his thumb. “Can’t leave behind any evidence, remember?”

The boy took the last bite of his cupcake, showing his hands to his father with a wide smile. “All gone! No evidence!”

Zayne finished his own cupcake, laughing. “All gone,” he repeated, “Our little secret from Mommy.”

The boy motioned with his finger over his mouth, shushing quietly. “Secret!”

“Good boy,” Zayne said, kissing the top of his son’s head. “Now let’s get home and help Mommy with dinner.”

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Men at Work!

Just a note, I know I mix phonetic and Cyrillic spellings of Russian in this. Mostly it's so that people can easily translate the more complex words directly.

Content: Masturbation, very mild protective/possessive behavior

It’s becoming a problem.

You think this from the overstuffed daybed recently purchased for the explicit purpose of feeding into aforementioned problem. Not that the porch is the problem, heavens no. If so much as a nail came loose, there’s a trio of men across the street all too eager to lend their hammers and bulging, glistening muscles to fix it.

Which, conveniently, is the problem.

Their muscles, that is. And how magnanimous they are with them.

Your house is nice. New. It took them three days to fix all the issues you’d been putting off for a day you were non-reclusive enough to schedule a handyman.

Your house is too nice and too new.

You’re feeding a Vegas buffet’s worth of appetites raised on old world sensibilities with no outlet for them to be expressed. There aren’t enough squeaky hinges, crooked cabinets, stuck windows, or leaky faucets in your two-bedroom for all that… chivalry. (Or whatever Krueger has that passes for chivalry’s surly cousin.)

They’ve taken to invading earlier in the evening for busy work before dinner. Cutting vegetables, tenderizing meat, cleaning dishes, setting the goddamn table.

Like, sirs, you’re a single woman with three cats and a sham of a personal life – the last time you saw a centerpiece on a domestic dining table was Christmas at your nana’s.

Until Konig shuffled in with a fistful of sunflowers and zinnias, promising that he double-checked that they’re non-toxic to cats. You didn’t have a vase, so you had to make do with an empty mason jar you were keeping for ostensible aesthetic reasons.

Now you’ve got an ongoing bouquet, kitschy salt-and-pepper shakers shaped like lemons that no one ever uses (as if your seasoning decisions are as good as god) and are contemplating cloth napkins like some kind of… of…

“Socialite?” you muse aloud. You glance at Rasputin. He blinks slowly. “Hostess? Woman of the night?”

You’re pretty sure Agatha didn’t mean that as a compliment when you overheard her gossiping to Margot yesterday. (She should really remember that if she can eavesdrop on you from her backyard, the same is true the other way around.)

You’re toying with an idea for a new series with your last one wrapping up and your solo-novel due for release come fall. Something about a rich young woman with a wild streak and her fantastically wealthy gentlemen callers…

“Scarlet woman,” you murmur aloud, eyes on the reason for your recent porch décor purchase.

Krueger is on the roof, cloth around his head to stave off the summer heat. Doing… something with shingles and a nail gun. Your face flushes with each flex of hard muscle, jump of thick tendons. The grip he has on that thing…

As inspiring as your neighbors are, they are also a huge (in many, many ways) distraction. Hence, they are a Problem.

And not just for you. On your right, you catch the flutter of curtains from your peripheral. Lisa taking another peek – to be properly scandalized, probably. (You’re not really sure what the neighborhood biddies tell themselves when they decide something is Simply Not Proper.)

“We’ll have to start charging admission,” you muse, sipping a strawberry mojito.

Curled up far too close for the weather, Little Guy chuffs and stretches. You smooth a fingertip up his little nose, between his eyes, and over the crest of his empty head.

“Jezebel,” you mumble. He yawns, tongue curling and pearly fangs gleaming. “Trollop.”

An annoyed grunt pulls your eyes forward again. Nikto is standing halfway up the porch, one foot planted on the last step like a sexy Russian Captain Morgan. His thighs stretch his workpants oh-so-nicely. There’s a smear of white paste across the material – caulking, maybe?

(You could do with a caulking too.)

“Has someone called you these?” he asks. “Who?”

You laugh. What would he even do if someone had?

“No – well, not to my face, anyway.”

He snorts, shoots a withering scowl at Agatha’s property anyway. You spin your pen around your fingers and try not to bite your lip at the way his shirt is clinging from sweat.

“Aren’t you hot?” you fuss. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Nyet, we have been in worse,” he replies, finishing the short journey up the porch. He pauses in front of you, taking in the sight of you and your cats. What does he think, seeing you lounging about all day while he and his friends(?) are working so hard? If it’s something negative, he’s never let on.

“Still,” you insist, “have you been hydrating?”

“Da, the water runs.”

You blink, put together pieces to assume he and the others are chugging tap water (probably right from the faucet) when necessary. Well, that just won’t do now, will it?

“No, no. Hold on. Rasputin, hold him hostage.”

And like the little angel he is, Ras gets up, stretches out, and begins rubbing his face all over Nikto’s pants. With him distracted, you hop to your feet and scurry inside. The house is almost uncomfortably cool after most of your morning spent outside, but you’ll only be a moment.

There’s a large ruby pitcher waiting in the fridge from last night, complete with various berries floating at the top. You use two hands to heft it out, set it on the counter, then flit to your cabinets for the travel cups you invested in for on-the-go wine sipping. Nice and insulated.

You pour a cup for each of them, stow the pitcher away again, and carry all three in triangle-formation back outside. (Maybe you should get a tray? The antique store in town probably has something pretty and lemon-themed to match the salt and pepper shakers…)

Nikto hurries to help as soon as he sees you, plucking the extra cup from your hands.

“I saw this recipe and wanted to try it since it’s been getting hotter.”

He blinks at you, then the juice.

“You don’t have to try it now, I just thought—”

Your voice abandons you as Nikto tugs his filtration mask down. The skin beneath is warped and scarred, discolored in some places. When he raises the edge of the cup to his mouth, the skin of one cheek stretches distressingly thin. You can see the individual indents of his back molars pressing against the flesh as he drinks.

You understand why he’s been hesitant to show you; it’s not easy to look at. Which makes you all the more determined to flick your eyes back to his and ask, eagerly, “What do you think? Too sweet?”

As he swallows, throat clicking, you think you hear him grunt something.

“Hm?”

“Nyet. Not too sweet. Is good, пчела.”

You grin even though you’re not sure what it means. All three of them have some nickname in their mother tongue that you can only hope is complimentary and not because they forgot your actual name.

“Good, then I can bring some to K and K while you help me with lunch. That’s why you came by, right?”

He nods. “Nearly noon.”

“That late already!” you say. Wow, staring at hot, sweaty men really makes time fly. “Alright, I was going to make chicken wraps and latkes. Could you start peeling potatoes? You know where everything is, da?”

“Da.” He clicks his tongue, luring Rasputin in and stirring Guy awake. “Come, малышу, before we leave you out here for vultures.”

“Nikto!” you scold. “Don’t threaten him.”

“I do not threaten. It is what will happen.”

You swat at his arm, but at least Little Guy has been lured into Nikto’s reach – if by nothing else than a hand has been offered and cats are helpless to resist a good sniff. Nikto scoops him up while you turn to flounce down the stairs.

“Make sure Susan doesn’t get out!” you call over your shoulder.

She was roused by your quick turnaround to get the juice cups and will certainly be stalking the door now.

Sure enough, you faintly hear him cursing in Russian as you reach the end of the yard. Luckily, you see him closing the door with all three of your demons inside, so you continue across the street.

Krueger hasn’t noticed your approach, his back to you, so you stop at the edge of the property to watch for a moment. Yep, just as good this close, too.

“Krueger!” you call. He doesn’t turn. You huff and try again. Nothing. Christ, you’re starting to think he’s ignoring you on purpose. “Sebastian!”

His head whips around alarmingly fast and finds you right there on the ground. No need to look around at all – sometimes they remind you of their profession in the oddest ways.

“Ja, ja, no need to shout,” he replies.

You open your mouth to do just that, but he’s already scaling down from the roof. You’re stunned into silence as he slides down to the edge of the roof, catches the edge, and swings down to the ground. Lands with barely more noise than one of your footsteps. It’s quick yet so graceful.

You stare (gawk, more accurately) as he saunters up, pants sinfully low on his narrow hips.

“What did you need, bienchen?” he asks. “It is too early for lunch.”

You stutter for a second before your brain reboots.

“What was that?!” you demand, a little shriller than necessary. If you don’t shriek about this, you’re going to shriek about that gorgeous chest and the tattoos and the everything else, and you absolutely cannot do that. “That was so dangerous! You’re going to break a leg!”

“You worry,” he scoffs. He shakes his head, but there’s a wicked, knowing grin at the corners of his mouth and his eyes are far too bright. “That was a little jump.”

“It was not!”

“It only seemed big because you are so little, but it was nothing for me.”

“You’re not that much taller!”

“It is sweet to worry,” he coos, “but it is too hot for it, yes?”

You scrunch your nose at him, not sure if you’re annoyed or turned on or both. (Probably both. It’s annoying how hot he is. And how hot he knows he is.)

“If it’s so hot, then here.”

You all but shove the cup at him. He takes it with a flicker of genuine surprise, sniffs at the liquid, then takes a sip. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest, raises the temperature another few degrees.

“My mother used to make something like this,” he muses, expression softening. You blink, lean in automatically for a peck to your cheek. “Danke schön.”

“Bitte,” you mumble, mouth drier than Reggie’s garden.

His eyes crinkle, mouth hidden by the edge of the cup as he proceeds to chug the rest of it. A droplet slips down his jaw and skips down to his collarbone. You force your eyes away before you’re driven to do something irreparable by thirst.

“Is Konig inside?” you ask. “I have a cup for him, too.”

He grunts confirmation, tongue curling around a blueberry to coax it into his mouth.

Yep, alright, that’s about as much as you can take.

“Scooch, before the punch goes warm.”

“Punch?” he repeats, arching an eyebrow at you.

“That’s what it’s called in English. Punch.”

“That seems like it would cause misunderstanding.” Except he’s grinning as he says it, like he cherishes the idea of someone confusing the two words and starting a fight. Considering how often you catch him and Konig smacking at each other, that’s probably not a stretch.

“Just please don’t swing on anyone, yeah?”

“Only because you ask so nicely,” he croons.

You click your tongue at him. “Wipe off before going in, I don’t want Shithead to stink after crawling on you.”

He barks out his usual sharp laugh and tugs the cloth – his own t-shirt – off his head to mop up his sweat. You make a mental note to tease him about sunburn later as you slip past him.

You can hear Konig singing off-key upstairs when you open the door. The house is sweltering, only mildly cooler than outside with none of the fresh air. You grimace as you pause at the bottom of the stairs; the boys have warned you that it’s dangerous up there and it’s best not to go wandering.

Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like he’s using power tools at the moment.

“Konig!” you call.

“Is that you, biene?” he calls back.

You grin. “Who else would it be, huh?”

You hear his footsteps right over your head, track his gait until the first heavy boot on the stairs. He meets you at the bottom with his usual ventilator on, but he tugs it down when he sees the cup in your hand.

“Is this for me?” he asks eagerly.

“Yep! Tell me what you think!”

With none of Nikto or Kreuger’s hesitation, he knocks back a big mouthful. Licks his full lips as he lowers it, eyes bright as they land on yours.

“This is perfect,” he chirps, “so refreshing! Thank you, biene!”

You beam right back, flushed with pride that all three of them liked the recipe you “happened to find” when you saw the temperature projections for today.

“There’s more back home,” you offer, “come out of the heat.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “I will wipe off first.”

You hum agreeably, watching him slip back upstairs with great enthusiasm. Konig in a tank top and those tight cargos… summer really is delivering this year.

That evening, you sigh as you recline across your huge bed, naked and cooling off with the night breeze rolling through your window. Ras and Shithead are happily distracted wrestling each other in your forgotten towel, and Little Guy is snoozing on his personal pillow.

You stretch out, feeling a bit decadent and indulgent with moonlight spilling over your body, and let your hands wander. It’s not the high-efficiency sleep-oriented wank you usually rush through, not this time.

You unspool memories of the day with each brush of your fingertips over moisturized skin. You hum as your skin tingles, imagining Konig’s calloused palms in place of yours. He’d be so surprisingly gentle, you’re sure. Big, strong hands but he’d play with you like a precious toy. Plucking your nipples and scratching his blunt nails over the plush of your hips.

As your breathing picks up, you see Krueger’s broad shoulders flexing behind your eyelids. Imagine them bullying between your thighs, hooking your knees over. That bright glint in his eye as he smirks against your cunt. Can practically feel the curl of his tongue around your clit, eating you out messy and mean.

You’re already halfway there when you curl two fingers into your pussy. You’re so wet that your fingers slip and slide, squelch lewdly as you rock your hips, trying to find just the right angle.

You imagine Nikto clicking his tongue at your struggle. Almost hear his low, hoarse voice chiding you for doing his job while he takes over. His fingers are so much thicker than yours, you have to press a third in just to maintain the fantasy.

You want to lean back against his broad chest while he strokes your walls, listen to him and Krueger and Konig talk about you like you’re not even there, debating if you should come. Ignore you as you beg and whimper, big hands pinning you down while they draw it out.

Please, please, please…

You clap a hand over your mouth just in time, hips jerking so hard that it makes your wrist ache.

Whoops.

Well, you doubt anyone heard. It’s pretty late, and you’re on the second story anyway.

Already sleepy, you’re too lazy to close the window after a pre-bed stop in the restroom. It’s such a nice night, after all.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[britneyshakespeare]

brandi glanville is so weird to james maslow in celebrity big brother season 1. she is so clearly mean bc she’s attracted to him. when they’re laughing behind james’ back bc he said he didn’t want to wear a leotard as a punishment and brandi’s like “he probably doesn’t want everyone to see the small outline” it’s like... girl first of all ew. second of all why are you making me defend the size of his dick bc that’s definitely not true

[wynnerwynner]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋

bob reynolds x afab!avenger!reader

request: yes, yes

warnings: brief mention of drowning, oblivious idiots, spoiler free :)

wc: 1.9k

a/n: i listened to pushing it down and praying while editing hehe

Y/N’s narrowed eyes searched the common area of the Watchtower. In a corner of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Bob was curled in a chair with a book in his lap. It was one of the ones they’d recommended to her.

“Hey,” she smiled, giving his shoulder a nudge as she approached.

Bob did a double-take, then grinned softly. “Hi. What’s up?”

The ends of his hair curled, getting in his eyes a little, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I found a cool bookstore online and I was thinking of going,” she explained. “Wanna join?”

Bob was one of the first people to truly make Y/N feel welcome. He hadn’t been the first one to introduce himself but he’d stood out. From the get-go, he was kind and careful, the complete opposite of men she’d met in the past. He seemed so normal. It made her heart ache sometimes.

“Uh…” he peered at his book, then as if thinking better of himself, he shook his head and closed it. “Yes—yeah, that’d be… that’d be cool.”

Valentina rarely gave the Avengers a break. It finally took Yelena putting her foot down for them to get a vacation. They had two weeks to themselves and Y/N would finally take the opportunity to visit some places she hadn’t gotten the chance to yet. It was also a good excuse to get Bob out of the Tower.

“When was the last time you left the Tower?” Y/N teased, shoulders rigid and fists deep in her pockets as she fought to block out the bitter wind.

“A long time, I guess,” his lips wobbled into an abashed smile. “Hey, I thought you didn’t get cold.”

“You’d think that,” she muttered indignantly. “I drown in a frozen lake and emerge with cold manipulation but my body doesn’t acclimate.”

“Here,” Bob shrugged off his jacket.

Despite the cold wind, Y/N face burned. “Oh, no, no,” she chuckled sheepishly.

“It’s all right,” he reassured. “I run hot, anyway.”

The brunette held out his jacket, allowing her to slip her arms in. Warmth enveloped her instantly. The smell of laundry detergent and trees filled her nose, bringing a sort of comfort to her.

“How’s that?” half his mouth quirked.

Y/N nodded, ignoring the deep ache in her stomach, “Better. Thank you.”

The walk to the bookstore was anything but quiet. Y/N was one of the few people to know that once you got close with Bob, he was a talker. He could be as excited as a little kid if you brought up the right topic. Books seemed to be one of those things.

A bell dinged as they entered the bookstore. Y/N nearly sighed aloud as the smell of books with glue older than her and yellowing pages filled her nose. To one wall were shelves of instrumental tools with guitars displayed above them. In other sections of long shelves there were action figures, electronics, vinyls and CDs, relatively new books, and old books. Y/N felt herself gravitating to the far right of the store where RARE READS was printed in large, red lettering on the wall.

A smile came over her lips as she noticed different prints of Pride and Prejudice, The Great Gatsby, and Little Women lining the shelves. Y/N’s gaze caught on Bob as he pulled a thin book from the shelf. It was bound in an orangey brown paper with intricate beige designs. The title and author stood out in lanky, black letters on the front.

“Have you read The Yellow Wallpaper?”

Y/N’s tone was so soft that it almost surprised her. She hadn’t wanted to sound so delicate of a question, cringing to herself as he did a double-take and seemingly hid his gaze from her.

“Uh… yeah,” he chuckled. “It was a mandatory read in high school. I dropped out before finishing it but I picked it up again recently and it’s probably one of my top favourites.”

Y/N almost couldn’t believe it. Her stomach twisted and she was overcome with a sense of relief. Oddly, it brought her a new sense of security around him.

Her brain struggled to form words so she opted for a soft, approving smile. Bob shot her a glance before gazing back to the book in his hands and continuing down the aisle. Y/N plucked book after book of the shelves, relishing in the crackling sound the pages made as she opened and closed them.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bob called.

At the end of the aisle, he held up a small box. As she stepped closer, she recognized it as a Winter Soldier action figure. Everything seemed to be accurate, except for his nose. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, taking the plastic from his hand to study it.

“There’s one of you, too,” he said.

“Oh, God,” Y/N groaned, already imagining the worst.

When she looked at it, her face screwed up in embarrassment. Her eyes were a little too tilted and her lips a little too pursed.

“I look drunk,” she covered her mouth with her free hand.

Her action-figure-self was doing her signature move when she attempted to shoot icicles from her hands. They’d painted her fingertips and a dot on her palm blue for effect.

“It’s pretty accurate, actually,” he said.

At Y/N’s gaping mouth, Bob spluttered in apology, “I am so sorry, I—”

Y/N suddenly laughed, whether it was at his embarrassment or her own, she didn’t know. Bob’s face burned red, his chin tucking into his chest as she hid behind his hair.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that,” he spoke quickly. “I meant, like, you always look like that because you look beautiful.”

Bob’s mouth slowly shut as Y/N went quiet, her laughter dying off into a soft stare. She didn’t know what to say. It was so random coming from him. Did he mean it how she thought he meant it? No, that was stupid. He didn’t like her! He’s her teammate, that’d be unprofessional! It was definitely platonic. Bob was just being nice. He was always nice.

“Thank you,” she replied, a little more sheepish than she’d have liked.

Bob nodded, his tongue darting out to his bottom lip. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

They stayed in the shop another thirty minutes just looking at everything. She found out Bob had a love for classics and thrillers. While she had only read more of the popular classics, her heart warmed in appreciation.

When the Watchtower elevator dinged and the doors dragged open, they were greeted by their entire team in the common area.

“Well, look who’s back,” John’s voice echoed from a velvet chair across the room.

All eyes went to Bob and Y/N, making them stop in their tracks. The plastic bag in Bob’s hand crinkled throughout the quiet room as he gripped it.

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Ava pointed at Alexei.

Y/N eyed her teammates, “Why does it feel like there’s an intervention happening.”

“Not ‘intervention’,” said Yelena from the kitchen island. “More like… a celebration.”

“Is it someone’s birthday?” Bob quirked a bewildered smile.

“We’re celebrating your first date,” Bucky said flatly as he poured a glass of whiskey.

Y/N’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull, her neck pushing forward at the force of her surprise. “Our what?”

“Ha!” Alexei shouted, pointing back at Ava. “You owe me twenty bucks!”

“I’m extremely confused,” Bob chuckled uncomfortably.

“Ava and I make bet on whether you two like each other,” Alexei shrugged. “I win.”

Y/N glanced to Bob, who seemed just as confused as her, if not more.

“She’s wearing his jacket!” Ava exclaimed.

“Friends give each other clothes of their backs!” Alexei argued. “It is perfectly okay!”

“There is literally nothing normal about that, at all,” John agreed.

“Thank you—Wait, no,” Ava stopped herself, eyes closing. “No, I don’t want to thank you. You don’t deserve it.”

“Excuse me—”

“Guys, I hate to break it to you, but Bob and I are just friends,” Y/N chuckled, her face burning. “There’s nothing going on between us. I don’t even like Bob like that!”

“Yeah, I don’t even like her like that,” Bob scratched the back of his neck, eyes on the floor.

“Then why are you blushing,” said John.

Y/N shot daggers at John, who only smiled mischievously.

“Come on,” Yelena groaned. “Whenever we come back from a mission, you and Bob are the first ones you talk to; Bob reads your favourite books; you help him with the dishes; you sit beside each other on the couch every time—”

“Don’t forget about that time they fell asleep together,” Bucky pointed out from beside her.

Yelena smacked the super soldier’s chest with the back of her hand in agreement. “You fell asleep on each other during a movie and we just left you there!” she echoed.

The room was quiet as Y/N and Bob found themselves at a loss for words.

After an awkward departure to her room, Y/N lay awake on her bed. Car horns and the singing of brakes filtered through her cracked window. The only light in her dark room came from the moon.

There was a part of her that admitted some things about her and Bob’s friendship were bordering on romantic. The only time she’d shared a jacket with someone else was when her they had a crush on her and offered. Bob had called her beautiful in the store and no guy had ever called her beautiful without it being romantic. When a mission ended, all she could think about was getting home to Bob and telling him everything that had happened. He brought her a level of comfort she hadn’t known in a long time. He made her day infinitely better by simply smiling. She couldn’t get enough of his company.

A knock resounded through her door, startling her from her thoughts.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Bob,” he replied. “I—I can come back another time if it’s—”

Y/N scrambled to her door and ripped it open faster than intended. He stood on the other side, arms loose at his sides, hands hidden in his sleeves.

“Hi,” he sighed.

“Hey.”

In the fluorescent hallway lights, she realized that his eyes were a dark blue. As dark as the deepest part of the sea. She felt herself getting lost in them before he quirked a smile.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh,” Y/N scrambled to catch her bearings, “yeah.”

Bob squeezed past her and took a seat at the end of her bed. He’d sat there many times before as she finished getting ready for a mission or for a special event Valentina was ordered them to. She remembered the way he looked at her when she would come out in the fancy outfits. He’d seem to be at a loss for words, but she’d laugh it off as him being socially awkward and being too afraid to say the wrong thing. He was always so respectful.

“I had a lot of fun today,” he broke the silence again.

Y/N nodded, taking a seat beside him. “Me too. I’m glad you came with me.”

“I’m glad I did, too.” He smiled at her, but it faltered as he studied her face.

“What?”

Bob’s brows furrowed. “I’ve been thinking, um, about what everyone said.”

Y/N gazed at the cream carpeted floor, “Me too.”

“Really? Um… actually, I wanted to know if you’d go on a real date. With me. Sometime. You know, only if you’re up to it. It’s okay if you—”

Y/N’s face broke out into a smile and she laid a hand on top of his, effectively silencing his rambling. “I’d love to.”

Bob stared at their fingers, then spluttered a laugh and nodded. “All right. It’s a date.”

[ribbonedreverie]

💌 BSD Men & Handwritten Notes Hidden in Your Things ✉️

Because sometimes, love is found in the smallest details.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

💌 Osamu Dazai – Little Games, Little Confessions

Dazai’s notes are a game.

You find them in your coat pockets, tucked between the pages of books, slipped into your bag when you’re not looking.

Some are teasing.

“I saw you looking at me earlier. Falling for me already, bella?”

Some are poetic.

“If I leave before you wake, don’t think of it as me disappearing—think of it as me waiting for you in another moment.”

And some—the rare ones—are real.

A napkin from the café you both love, with only five words scribbled in his elegant handwriting:

“You make the world bearable.”

You never bring them up.

And neither does he.

Because Dazai will never say these things aloud.

But he knows you find them. He knows you keep them.

And that—that is enough for him.

💌 Chuuya Nakahara – What I Can’t Say Out Loud

Chuuya doesn’t write notes often.

But when he does—you keep every single one.

They’re never long, never dramatic—just small things, things he wouldn’t say aloud but still wants you to know.

Tucked inside your wallet:

“Buy yourself something nice. And don’t argue.”

Slipped under your coffee cup in the morning:

“You didn’t sleep well, did you? Take it easy today.”

And sometimes—the ones that mean the most.

Left beside your pillow when he has to leave for a mission before you wake up:

“I’ll be back soon. Be safe. I love you.”

(That one, you keep in your nightstand.)

Because Chuuya doesn’t say these things often.

But when he does—he means them.

💌 Fyodor Dostoevsky – Messages in Riddles and Ruin

Fyodor does not leave notes.

He leaves challenges.

You find them in the books he lends you—passages underlined, cryptic quotes with no explanation.

“Is it possible to love and still be cruel?”

“To know someone is to destroy them. Do you agree?”

Sometimes, it’s a chess move written on a torn scrap of paper, left on your desk, as if waiting for you to make the next move.

But one night—you find something different.

A letter, folded neatly, hidden under your pillow.

Not a riddle. Not a test.

Just one line.

“I will never ask you to stay, but I will always wonder if you will.”

And suddenly—you realize that even Fyodor Dostoevsky has things he is afraid to say.

💌 Nikolai Gogol – Do You Know the Magic Word?

Nikolai’s notes are pure chaos.

Scattered everywhere—on the fridge, in your shoes, attached to the ceiling somehow.

“What do you mean this isn’t the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you?”

“If I disappeared tomorrow, would you miss me? Trick question, I already know the answer. (You totally would.)”

“Do you know the magic words? (Hint: it’s ‘please give Nikolai a kiss.’)”

But then—there’s one that’s different.

No jokes. No games.

Just a single note, folded small, hidden in the sleeve of your coat.

“I know I make it hard to tell, but you are the only thing I’ve ever been afraid of losing.”

And for once—Nikolai does not ask you if you found it.

💌 Sigma – I Hope You Find This

Sigma’s notes are careful.

Neatly written, placed somewhere he knows you’ll find them but never where you expect.

Inside your favorite book:

“I noticed you like reading this before bed. Sweet dreams.”

Tucked into your luggage before a long trip:

“If you get anxious, just remember—I’m waiting for you to come back.”

And once—one that makes your breath catch.

A note he must have written long before he had the courage to give it to you, one that somehow ended up between the pages of an old journal:

“I think I love you. I don’t know if I should.”

When you ask him about it, his face flushes, his hands gripping his sleeves.

“You… weren’t supposed to find that one.”

But you’re smiling.

Because you did.

And maybe, deep down, he wanted you to.

💌 Ryunosuke Akutagawa – Words Are Not Easy for Me

Akutagawa does not know how to express himself.

So when you start finding his notes, you’re shocked.

A folded scrap of paper slipped into your bag before a mission:

“Be careful. Don’t be reckless.”

A small card tucked between the pages of a book he gave you:

“I don’t know what you like, so I chose something I thought was good. Let me know if I was wrong.”

A short letter, written in careful, deliberate strokes, as if he spent too long trying to make it perfect.

“I don’t understand why you stay. But I am trying to. I don’t know how to say this in person, but I… care for you. Even if I don’t always show it.”

(That one, you hold onto the longest.)

Because for Akutagawa, love is not spoken.

It is written.

In stiff, uncertain words.

In quiet, careful notes.

In ways he will never say aloud, but hope you understand anyway.

💌 Ranpo Edogawa – If You Need Proof, Here It Is.

Ranpo’s notes are ridiculous.

Written in crayon, scribbled on candy wrappers, left in your pocket when you aren’t looking.

“If you’re reading this, you owe me a snack.”

“I’m a genius, and you love me. What a great combination!”

“I know you miss me right now. Even if I’m in the same room. (Admit it.)”

But then—a different one.

Taped to the corner of your mirror, written more neatly than usual.

“I never write things down when I don’t have to. But sometimes, I like to remind you that you matter to me. Even though you already knew that, didn’t you?”

And when you ask him about it, he just grins, stealing a bite of your snack.

“What, you wanted me to say it in person? Too bad, I already wrote it down.”

But later—when he leans against you, his head resting on your shoulder—

You hear him mutter, “Just so you know… I meant it.”

And that—that is why you keep every single note.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

There’s something so endearing about the little notes left behind—playful scribbles tucked between pages, heartfelt words slipped into coat pockets, a simple “thinking of you” on a post-it by the coffee cup. Love doesn’t always need grand gestures; sometimes, it’s found in ink-stained fingertips and the quiet reassurance of I am here, I love you, I remember you. The smallest acts of love are often the greatest, not because of their size, but because of the thought woven into them—the gentle proof that someone’s heart lingers with you, even when they’re not there. ♡

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men Reaction to You as a Parent

AN: I miss my mom 😭 I love her so much. She's sooooo precious.

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Genre: Hurt and comfort

Ingredients: 90% comfort, 10% angst

My Fav: Caleb and Xavier

Xavier:

He knows the look. The way your hands fuss with the curtains long after sunset, how you peer out the window like the past might knock and ask to be let in. You’re restless.

He doesn’t say anything, he never does. Just watches you pace. Waiting for the triplets. Kassandra, Reagan, and Pam. Twenty-somethings now, but still your babies. You count the days until they return like a soldier marking calendar walls.

And tonight, like clockwork, you turn to him with that same eager light in your eyes. “Shall we sit outside in the yard? Get the firepit going? I got their favorite sweet potatoes.” You tug on his hand like you’re twenty again. “Let’s go, honey. Please?”

He’s already moving. The shawl is in his hands before you finish the sentence. He drapes it over your shoulders, presses a kiss to your temple, and follows you out without another word.

You sit in the yard together, hand in hand, listening for laughter that hasn’t arrived yet. But it will. It always does.

He doesn't need to say it aloud, but in his silence, you’ll always hear it: Watching you love them like this… it makes him love you more.

Rafayel:

You always wanted a quiet life. He remembers how you laughed the first time he said he’d give it to you. “Quiet’s not in your blood,” you teased.

But when Alaric was born, your son with his lungs and your fragile heart, you changed. Or maybe you returned to something truer.

You gave up the Hunter’s Association. The title. The power. You traded it all for hospital chairs, medical journals, and the quiet war of waiting rooms. And he watched you, time and time again, fold yourself into the margins of your son's life just to keep him breathing.

Not once did you ask why this happened. You only asked how to help.

Now Alaric sits in your old chair at the Association. Heart full, future wide. And Rafayel sees it every time you look at him, that flicker of disbelief. Like you still can’t believe you won.

And maybe that's what he admires most about you: you never stopped being a fighter, you just learned how to fight for something smaller, and infinitely more precious.

Zayne:

He sees it before you even speak.

The way your hand hovers above the table, over that one plate you always used to set first. The way your fingers curl in, then pull away, like grief lives in your bones now, like it whispers, not yet, not this time.

Aching to reach for the daughter who slammed close the door to her room. Leaving the dinner untouched.

You never ate without her. Not once. Not since the day she was born. Feeding her was your love language. Her plate was always first, always warm, always right. And now you sit across from him with a smile stretched too tight and a silence that doesn’t quite settle.

“I forgot dessert,” you say, too fast. “We should have something sweet. For your promotion.”

He doesn’t move right away. Just watches you walk to the kitchen, not like you’re hungry, but like you’re searching. Like if you just bake the right thing, if you get it just right, maybe the world will tilt back into place.

Zayne stands and follows, reaching for your hand before you disappear again. His thumb traces the ridge of your knuckles, soft and trembling.

“She’s not mad at you,” he murmurs, eyes steady on yours. “You did nothing wrong. She loves you.”

You blink, and your tears fall quiet, like they always do. Witnessing a drifting relationship once so cherished.

And he thinks, if loving someone is a sacred act, then parenting is its own kind of worship. And grief… grief is the altar where that worship never ends.

Sylus:

You left.

You loved him, but your love for your children outweighed it. And when he wouldn't stop, wouldn't turn his back on the life that had no room for them, you made the only choice you could.

You walked away. From him. From the danger. From the man who clung too tightly to a throne of blood, head of Onichynus, feared in every shadowed corner, yet too much a coward to surrender his power for peace.

You left behind divorce papers, and all the love you once carried.

Because you knew: it would only take one more threat. One wrong name whispered. One misplaced vendetta. And your children would pay the price.

He hated you for it. Said you turned them against him. Blamed the caution in their eyes, the distance in their hugs, on you.

But the truth is, he forgot. Forgot why he found you in the first place. Forgot the lifetimes that led him to your door. Forgot that everything good in him only ever came alive when you looked at him like he could be more.

Now it breaks him, not just that you left, but that you were right to. That you were strong enough to put your children first.

And that he was the reason you had to do it alone.

Caleb: (trans fem child)

He stood in the hallway, unseen. The morning light poured in through the half-open door, catching on your hands as you worked, parting strands of hair with steady, practiced care.

Fifteen years. He’s known her every day of them. His kid. Your kid. Raised together. Held through scraped knees and whispered nightmares. But today, today was different.

Today, you saw her.

Not the version the world forced on her. Not the shape they assigned. You saw her. And you didn’t hesitate. Didn’t freeze. Didn’t look to him for direction. You just met her where she was, as if you’d been waiting to do it since the day she arrived.

"Do you feel bonita?" you asked, voice soft and warm, teasing just enough to draw out that flicker of a smile. He watches her shoulders drop, just slightly. A breath let go. A bit of armor lowered.

She nods. Doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to. In that moment, she is safe. She is known.

And Caleb, Caleb feels something sharp crack and re-form inside his chest. Something quiet. Old. Holy.

Because you didn’t treat this like some revelation. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t mourn what was never yours to grieve. You just braided her hair like it was the most obvious, natural thing in the world.

And gods, that’s what wrecks him. He’s spent his whole life trying to shield her from a world that doesn’t know how to see people like her.

But you? You didn’t just see her.

You recognized her.

And standing there in the hallway, fists clenched and heart full, Caleb thinks: There is no war he wouldn’t fight for this. For her. For you. For the quiet kind of love that makes people whole again.

[sweets3rial]

Camgirl Fantasies !

Kinktober Oct 6 !

re2!leon x camgirl!reader

summary: he's a lonely man and finds warm comfort in the girl on his computer screen. the girl with pretty pink lips and sweet sugary moans. 

tags: camgirl reader, virtual/phone sex, mutual masturbation, smut, some fluff, leon is pathetic, depictions of lingerie, rough sex, gentle sex, creampie, etc.

word count: 5.2K

be sure to check out my kinktober masterlist to see what's coming up in the future ;D!

‘you look beautiful as always,’

“thank you, Scott,” she chuckled, drawing circles on her bare thigh. Scott sat up in his chair, straightening his back, and his fingertips hovered over his keyboard. he gulped a lump down his throat as he began typing. thousands of people flooded in, sending her dozens of compliments and gifts.

she was trying to read out and thank every single one of them which is why he typed out:

‘i love your necklace :), it suits you,’ in a hurry, hoping it would capture her attention.

she was too busy replying to other comments they were all comments about her gorgeous body, breasts clad in a lacy black bra, and her cunt hidden away with matching panties. Scott watched her carefully as she adjusted her position in front of the camera, curling her hair around her finger and smiling brightly at the camera.

“oh my necklace,” she giggled, reaching up for the necklace hanging between her breasts. it was a simple red pendant and it went exceptionally well with the red tint on her lips and cheeks. “thank you, Scott, you’re such a sweetheart,” she cooed.

he’s been addicted to her…addicted to you. he was lonely, pathetically so. he’s been so busy with work and unbelievably pent up. starting a new job is never easy, everyone loves fresh meat, and they love chewing fresh meat to the bone.

coming home from a stressful day at work, his muscles were taut, and he was frustrated with his coworkers, with his boss, and with the stupid speeders on the highway who could read him like a book — taking off as soon as they find out, he’s just a naive rookie.

he’s jealous of his coworkers who are married or engaged; they have a partner to return home to. a partner who can rub their sore shoulders and kiss their lips to welcome them home. what welcomes him home is an eery silence and the creaking of his ceiling fan.

but he wasn’t lonely anymore. he found you. after a long day at work, he needed some way to relax, some way to get rid of all this pent-up frustration and anger. what’s better than a quick cum? or so he thought.

whilst scrolling through a random porn site, he found himself even more frustrated trying to find the right video to watch. everything looked so fake; the pleasure, the passion, the moans, the bodies … it was all just so fake.

and before he could give up, he found you.

this specific website was advertising the website they created specifically for cam girls, or women who go live, pleasing themselves, pleasing the men watching them with solely their voice, or just sitting there looking pretty for the camera.

you captured his attention instantly. every night you went live, you’d have on a pretty set of lingerie and then sit on the edge of your bed. you never showed your face, only your lips and you’d tease your audience, playing with the hem of your panties tauntingly, toying with the straps of your bra — always so nervous to touch yourself on camera, and that only added to the experience.

he was one of the few viewers who sent kind gifts and messages that warmed your heart. he enjoyed seeing your face light up when his message would be read aloud to you and the way you’d read out his username with a small laugh.

he was slowly starting to become your favorite viewer. it’s like he saw you as a person rather than just entertainment for his hard dick. though, you were pretty sure he was just another creep wanting praise and compliments from you.

he was probably a balding old man with a wife and kids like most of the men in your chatroom. but is it still wrong that you look forward to his small compliments and cute smiley faces? streaming was easy money. actually. men are easy. they don’t need to see a nude body and a pretty face to get off, just a woman’s existence could get them off.

which is why it was so easy to make money dressing prettily and playing with yourself for the camera.

Scott was one of your biggest donors, and there have been times when he’s been the only one in the chat sending you messages. he’d ask you about your day or compliment your new set of lingerie and how the color looked good on your skin.

he once took notice of the jazz in the background. even though he isn’t much of a jazz fan himself, he still acted like it solely for your attention. now, every time he hears jazz, it reminds him of you. the image of your plump lips and curvy body flashes into his mind and he finds himself thinking, ‘i can’t wait to get home.’

it’s pathetic, really. he’s found a comforting company in a random woman who was probably miles or even states away. he’s tried going on dates with other women, trying to cure his loneliness but something inside of him can’t deny that there was something between you and him — an unspoken relationship. he was your delusional fan and you were his idol.

he hasn’t missed a single one of your streams. most viewers would get bored of you and stop tuning in, but not him. he was the sweetest, always saying hello, always wishing you goodnight, and thanking you for the entertainment you provided. you would be lying if his messages didn’t make you blush a little.

so after a few weeks or so, you sent him a private message.

‘hi Scott, you’ve been tuning in for a while, and i wanted to thank you. if it doesn’t bother you, why don’t we call? just you and me, one on one. XOXO’

it shocked him when you messaged him privately. asking if he’d like to meet you on a private call, just you and him, no one else. he almost dropped his phone upon receiving the message. he knew it couldn’t be real, that this was some scam and someone was using your name to out him.

but here you are. your hair was tied up, showing off your neck and shoulders. you wore a set of white lingerie. lace trimming and sheer fabric. he could see that you were nervous, too, idly playing with the bow on your panties or your earlobe. a cute habit that you had.

“hi,” you smiled at him, straightening your posture. he did the same, sitting up straight with his sweaty palms rubbing at his joggers.

“hi,” he smiled back.

“i just want to say thank you, i mean for supporting me,” you shrugged, nervously playing with the small bow on your white panties.

“of course! i mean, it’s the least i can do,” fuck. he was so hard it was starting to hurt. his abdomen was burning, and he felt lightheaded, all his blood was rushing to his jumping cock. you were a stranger but in his own twisted fantasy, you knew each other on a much deeper level.

that you were his partner waiting at home. welcoming him home with sweet words and kisses, massaging his shoulders while praising him for how hard he worked today.

“i’m glad that i finally get to talk to you…one-on-one,” you smiled prettily, placing your hands on your knees and leaning forward. this new position gave him a view of your plump breasts. his eyes shot from your lips to your buxom and then back up to your lips.

“yeah,” he replied with a shaky breath.

“Scott, right?” you asked, tilting your head to the side.

“no, no, that’s an alias,” he admitted with a breathy chuckle.

“oh okay,” you hummed, “if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your real name?”

he gulped down a lump in his throat, bouncing his leg nervously, “it’s Leon,”

you leaned back, “Leon,” you said in almost a whisper as if you were letting the name sink into your memory. Leon was the name of the faceless man who’s been making your heart skip a beat. it’s silly really, receiving gifts and kind words from a man you didn’t even know would make you so excited to stream.

“what do you look like, Leon?” Leon had his camera off, too nervous to turn it on. what if you aren’t attracted to him? what if he isn’t your type?

“what do you think i look like?” he answered your question with a question. his nerves somewhat subsided, who knew you were so easy to talk to? and who knew you were so curious about him? here he thought it was a simple thank you call, but you care to know what his name is and what he looks like.

he would be lying if that didn’t excite him a little.

you brought your finger up to your chin, thinking to yourself for a moment.

“brown hair, green eyes or brown eyes, and a handsome smile,”

he chuckled deeply, “so close yet so far,”

“damn,” you said with a click of your tongue.

“why is that your type? brown hair, green eyes, and a handsome smile,”

you shrugged, leaning back a little from the camera and crossing your legs over one another, “i don’t particularly have a type but i do like handsome smiles, but let me guess again, are you a balding forty-year-old man with a big mean wife and spoiled teenage kids?” you rambled out.

“ha! god no!” he exclaimed, a low laugh reverberating from low in his chest. funny too?

“then why don’t you show me?”

his heart stopped. his blood ran cold, and his breath hitched. “what?”

“why don’t you show me what you look like?”

you must’ve noticed his silence and hesitation because you followed up your question with,

“if you show your face, i will too. i’ll show you everything, Leon. so please, let me see your face, i want to see you,��� you were practically begging, a small whine in your voice only amplifying your desperate need.

he sucked in a shaky breath, carding his fingers through his blonde hair a few times before nodding his head, “okay, but don’t be too disappointed,”

he reached forward, moving his mouse toward the small camera icon. then with a simple click, his face was revealed. the camera took a second to adjust to the lighting in his room before finally focusing on his face.

your lips dropped agape as his face popped up onto your screen. you were very wrong. he wasn’t a lonely old man with brown hair and green eyes. he was a young blond man with gorgeous blue eyes, plump lips, and the cutest chin she’d ever seen.

he looks like he was straight out of a movie, one of those teenage romcoms. he had a certain boy charm to him. his shoulders were wide, and you could see the outline of his muscles through the simple grey t-shirt he had on. he was nervously playing with the strings of his joggers and he was hiding his face. cute.

“you aren’t saying anything,” he laughed nervously.

“Leon,” you finally have a face to the name. you reached up for your camera, adjusting it upwards so it showed your face and not just your lips. Leon watched curiously as you sat back down on your bed and fuck he wasn’t disappointed.

the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. doe eyes staring back at him, long lashes fluttering, and a light blush on your cheeks. your cheeks rounded as your lips lifted into a smile. you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “now look who’s quiet,”

it makes sense that your beautiful voice matched your face. he was so special. being the first one, out of so many men who watched you, to see your face and to hear your voice say his name. you chose him.

“i’m sorry, you’re just breathtaking,” he replied, still leering at you but not in a creepy way. rather, in a way where he was taking every feature of your face into intricate detail.

“i could say the same for you, Leon. if i’m being honest, i thought you were another sweet-talking forty-year-old man,”

he laughed at your comment, “is that so?”

you nodded your head, tilting your head to the side again, “at least i was right about one thing,”

“and what was that?” he hummed curiously.

“you have a handsome smile,”

fuck, he needed you so bad. your chemistry was undeniable, and the tension in the air was thick. he wanted to kiss you so badly, suck off the pink gloss on your lips until they bruised. he wanted to taste the sweetness of your skin, run his fingers over your curves, and sink his fingers into the plump skin of your thighs. he wanted to touch you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

your eyes followed his every movement like a curious cat. “tell me what you want, Leon,” your tone of voice switched, thick and lustrous. he adjusted his hips, licking over the dry skin of his lips.

“you,” he admitted.

“what of me?”

“everything,” he said in a breathless plea, “i need to see you, to hear you, to touch you,”

you nodded, reaching up for the strap of your bra, and slowly, you dragged it down your shoulder and then proceeded to do the same with the other. Leon palmed at his throbbing cock through his joggers, watching your movements with blown-out pupils.

“what do you want to do to me, Leon?” each time his name slipped past your lips, it was like a rush of serotonin through his veins. a warmth that numbs every one of his senses and blurs the world around him, right now it’s just you and him.

“i want to kiss you,” he heaved, “i want to kiss you slowly,”

“mhmm,” you hummed, reaching for the hook of your bra at the front.

“oh fuck,” he moaned to himself, watching as your bra dropped into your lap. the prettiest breasts he’s ever seen, nipples pebbled by the cold air, and smooth skin glistening in the light from your lamp. you reached up, taking one into the palm of your hand, and gave it a small squeeze.

“tell me more,” heat rushed through you, and directly to your swollen clit, you clenched your thighs together wanting some relief. his voice was like music to your ears, slowly putting you into a trance. you could feel each small groan he let out, it vibrated in your chest and shook your core. you closed your eyes as you imagined his weight on top of her, and he was whispering into your ears.

“i’d undress you slowly, kissing the new areas of skin revealed to me,” he reached into his boxers, gripping the base of his cock with a small grunt. he gripped the arm of his chair, watching as you leaned away, throwing your head back as you continued to fondle your breasts and pinch at your nipples.

“i’d make my way down your navel and take off your pretty panties slowly,”

“mhmm,” he was such a pretty talker. he was the type of man to make a woman swoon. he knew what to say and what to do. he’s a dangerous and charming man, and you’re a liar because you have a type: dangerous and charming men.

he began to slowly stroke the length of his cock, the heartbeat in his chest matching the pulsating of his dick. he watched intently as your fingers moved down your navel, you was matching the actions in his words. your eyes were still shut as you imagined it all playing out in your head and god you could feel it. you could feel him.

“but i won’t touch you,” his words vibrated deep in his chest, and a weak breath left his mouth as he pressed his thumb into the tip of his cock. “i’d watch you just like i am now,”

if you were with him now, he would take his time with you. slowly and gently destroy you. he’d revel in the way you’d fall apart piece by piece as he brought you higher and higher. then he’d piece you back together. kissing your sweaty cheeks and coaxing you with gentle words.

“please,” he could hear you whisper out.

“touch yourself for me, i want you to feel good,” you looked back at him with a drunken gaze, your cheeks were hot, and your chest was heaving up and down. he watched as you spread your legs for him, propping up your heels at the edge of your bed.

he could see the wet stain in the gusset of your white panties, fuck you were dripping and just over a few words. there was a slight tremble in your legs as your fingers inched closer and closer to your throbbing clit. it was hot, it was so hot.

your entire body ached. you needed something more. you needed him.

you needed to feel the stretch of his cock, the weight of his hips pounding into you, and his tip slamming into your cervix. you needed his lips on yours; you needed to taste him, the salty sweat that dripped from his hairline and the sweetness of his tongue.

you rubbed at your pantie-clad clit, electricity ran through you, and a small moan elicited from your mouth. “Leon,” you whined, begging him to continue talking.

“look how wet you are,” he chuckled, bemused. he freed his cock from his boxers, stroking it slowly to your rhythm. your eyes flickered from his face and down to his lap, and the ache in your core only grew more. he was big, thick with veins running up to his pretty pink tip. he was curved upwards and his balls were taut.

you could just imagine what he’d feel like inside of you.

“fuck,” you clenched around nothing, rutting your hips up into your fingers. you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

“fuck yourself, baby, let me see you,” he groaned out, squeezing the base of his cock even harder. you were quick to abide by his wishes, watching his visage closely as you pulled your panties to the side, revealing the dripping heat that had been aching for him all this time.

he gulped upon seeing you, running his thumb over the tip of cock; precum was dripping all over his hand. god, he felt pathetic. just upon seeing your pretty pussy, he’s going to cum. he’s so close but he wants to make this last. he wants you to finish first. he wants to hear you, to see you, to watch you.

you dragged your two fingers through your trembling folds, biting down on your lower lip and squeezing your eyes shut. “so pretty, look at you,” he cooed.

the most lewd noises filled your room, the sound of your squelching cunt and your small moans and the wet faps of his cock and his heavy breaths. you slowly dipped your middle finger into your clenching hole and the subtle stretch and drag of your finger against your trembling walls had you reeling. but it wasn’t enough.

“follow my lead, baby,” he heaved out. you peeled open your eyes, looking at him. you watched him closely, matching the strokes of your finger to the strokes of his cock.

“oh my god,” you moaned out, dipping another finger into your cunt. the stretch only burned a little bit, but you knew it wouldn’t compare to the stretch of his girth. your breathing picked up, and you were focused on his voice and the movements of his fist.

he was so pretty. his lips wet with his saliva and red from biting down on them with his teeth. his pale cheeks were dusted over with a pink tint, and the pupils of his blue eyes were blown out. he looked crazed, his hair a sweaty mess, his lips agape, his muscles taut from trying to hold back from coming undone.

how beautiful he’d look in between your legs. that smooth tongue flicking at your clit and plunging into your dripping hole over and over.

“faster baby, fuck yourself faster, make yourself feel good,”

“Leon,” you dragged out, plunging your fingers into your cunt faster and faster. your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and you arched your back into the air, “fuck,” you whined weakly. you clamped your legs shut, overwhelmed by the pleasure that was until you heard a tut of his tongue.

“nuh uh, don’t hide from me, baby,”

“it’s too much,”

“you can do it,” he urged, watching as you slowly spread your legs for him again. there was a sheen layer of sweat on your skin, glistening in the warm orange-red lights. your thighs were trembling, a layer of your sticky essence coating your inner thighs and your plump lips — not the ones on your face.

your hair was coming loose from how you tied it back, how beautiful you looked all disheveled and messy just for him. your other hand gripped at the sheets beneath you, twirling the fabric in your fist — tugging at it helplessly as you continued to moan out his name like a martyr.

each curl of your fingers sent electricity through every nerve of your body, sending it up to your brain until you were ultimately a mess.

“Leon, I-“ you choked on your own words as the apple of your palm came in contact with your clit.

“i know, sweetheart,” he breathed, tightening his grip on his pulsating cock. fuck, he was leaking so much. he knew he was going to cum soon, his balls were so heavy, slapping against his fist with each stroke and he was lightheaded.

he watched as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your back arched, and your cunt clenched around your fingers. a throaty moan left your lips as you came undone around your fingers. Leon wasn’t too far behind as his name left your lips in a weak whine. his muscles went taut, and a pathetic moan spilled from his swollen lips.

hot ropes of cum erupted from the tip of his cock and onto his joggers and fist. the grip he had on the arm of his chair was tight, but as his high came down, he was finally able to relax back into his seat. you were laid back on your bed; your thighs were still trembling, and your fingers were still between your legs, slowly circling your clit.

there was a small silence between them, a comfortable silence.

“that was…really good,” he sighed, running his palm across his forehead, wiping away the sweat. you chuckled, reaching behind your for your silk robe. an apricot-colored robe that matched the color of your lingerie that was now discarded somewhere in the room.

she pulled the robe over your shoulders, “i enjoyed that,”

you did more than just enjoy that. it was the best fucking orgasm of your life.

“i did, too,” he smiled. you sat back up, adjusting your appearance, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, and wiping the smudged mascara beneath your eyes.

“i meant it when i said you’re beautiful,” he spoke up.

“thank you, Leon,” you said, laughing nervously. you avoided eye contact with him as you rubbed at your thighs; your heart was still pounding in your chest, and that same feeling you were getting earlier was starting to come back.

“i don’t want this to be the last time i see you,” you admitted timidly.

Leon was taken aback by your sudden confession, did you mean like this? through a computer screen. or in real life? even with all these questions, he didn’t deny the buzz that pulsated through him. the raw excitement. it was like he was in high school all over again like his crush had just asked him out on a date.

“me too,” he gulped. you sat up a little bit, unable to hide the smile on your lips.

and it sure wasn’t.

“fuck!” your nails dragged down the skin of his back, and your other fingers were tangled in the strands of his blond hair. one of his hands gripped the headboard while the other had a vice grip on your hip. he was focused on the joining of your hips, how his cock pounded into your pretty cunt over and over again and the way with each thrust a deep moan was punched out of you.

“it’s so good,” you drawled out, leaning your head back into his pillow. he bent down, placing a kiss over your wet eyes. how many rounds have you gone? 2? 3? who knows, all he knows is that he’s caught in this loop. you’d fuck and then lay in each other's arms for a few hours, then fuck again, then relax, then fuck.

the drag of his curved tip was driving you crazy; he was stretching you so perfectly; it was all so overwhelming, yet you still craved more.

“so beautiful,” he bellowed through clenched teeth, “so fucking good,” your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer and forcing him even deeper. both of you sucked in a gasp at this new feeling, his thrusts faltering at the way your cunt fluttered around his pulsating cock.

“fuck, baby,” he chuckled amusingly. he ground his hips into your slowly, nudging his tip against your cervix. each shallow thrust had your fingertips itching and your toes curling; it was so good, and it was even better because you’d been waiting for this.

you’ve been craving this. his weight on top of you, the smell of his cologne, the stretch of his girth, the feeling of his fingertips, the weight of his voice in the shell of your ear, and the taste of his plump lips. he dug one of his arms beneath the arch of your back, holding you close to him as he continued to grind into you.

“oh my fuck!” this new angle elicited another gasp from your swollen pink lips; the drag of his tip only got better, and he felt bigger. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck where you could muffle your pathetic moans and calls of his name.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he cursed. his fingertips sunk into your back, and his lips found your shoulder.

“i’m gonna cum,” you cried out. he continued thrusting into you at the same pace, taking his other hand and slipping it between their sweaty bodies. his calloused fingers found your swollen clit and he began rubbing in small circles.

a shuddering breath left your mouth, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. you arched up further into him, begging him not to stop but also pleading that it was too much. your nails dug into his skin further, causing him to wince. it hurt, but it hurt so good.

when he looked at himself in the mirror, he could see the red lines all down his back and the multiple hickeys and bite marks littering his neck. you were the same; he had marked your body up and a sense of pride filled him as he looked down to see what he’s done.

red and purple bruises between your thighs from him nipping at your skin, hickeys all over your neck and breasts, bruises forming on your hips from the grip he’s had on her. red and purple marks decorated your beautiful skin; there was nothing you could want more than that.

getting lost in dirty sex and pleasure. rough and gentle. fast and slow.

you clenched down around him, burying your face deep into his neck, and with a loud cry of his name, you came undone around him. your release trickling down and staining the inside of your thighs and the front of his.

you locked your ankles around his waist, keeping him sheathed inside of you. “wait, baby-“

“i need it inside, Leon, i want to feel it,”

fuck.

he couldn’t say no. they both discussed safety before meeting each other. you were on the pill, and he had enough condoms, at least, he thought so. it wasn’t long until you ran out. two people lost in a forest of lust, blinded by pleasure and deafened by passion.

one last thrust, and his muscles went taut, his heavy balls clenched, and the hand between their bodies went to grip your thigh. chills ran through you as his hot cum flooded your cunt, you could feel every pulse of his cock and every heavy breath he let go.

just knowing that he finished inside of you enough to have your aching all over again.

he collapsed, wrapping his arms around her, and brought you along with him as he laid down. your eyes were already shut, your brain suddenly aware of the aching pain in your muscles and the pulsating of your skin.

his heart was still pounding and he lay in silence listening to it. he could feel sleep taking over him but he didn’t want to close his eyes. he was afraid that this was all a dream, all a part of his fantasy. he was afraid you’d disappear from his grip and he’d wake up to you two being strangers across a screen again.

he didn’t want that. if anything, he wanted to stay like this, enjoying passionate sex and continuing to build this newfound relationship with you.

you had driven down from your city to meet him for the first time. he took you out to dinner by the shore, and you two walked along the beach, you had on his jacket, and you two just talked and talked for hours. then in a rush of lust, you ended up in his bed.

he didn’t want this to end.

“why don’t you stay in Racoon City for a few weeks?” he whispered out, half asleep.

“huh?” his question sprung you back awake. “Leon, i brought like barely any clothes with me,”

“I have a washing machine, and my closet is all yours,” he smiled, his eyes halfway open and halfway closed, but he was very aware of what he was saying, and he meant every bit. you sat up, propping yourself onto your elbow, and placed a hand on his chest.

“you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“very,” he nodded.

you couldn’t deny the fact that you really wanted to and even though there were so many reasons to say no, Leon sat above all those reasons. he was the sole reason to say yes.

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

a/n: official welcome to my kinktober yayyy!! sorry guys i'm so late i've been vv busy with school lols, but i hope you enjoyed this. i've never done a kinktober before, and even though i'm not posting a fic for all 31 days, i hope these few i will post this month will suffice. anyways bai bai until next time :3 - V!

notes: if you wanna be on my tag list pls message me or fill out the form below (just to make it easier on me :D)

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[thetrasha]

One Piece: Fantasy Flirt

Who really knows how to make ‘em swoon?

feat. BENN BECKMAN, SHANKS, SABO, MARCO

BENN BECKMAN

10/10 [canon fact btw]

What a force of nature, this so-called Benn Beckman. The mysterious aura he has makes him alluring – worst thing: he’s intelligent enough to realise it. Whenever the Red Force docks at a port, the local tavern is filled to the brim with pirates and laughter. That’s just the nature of the crew, they haven’t lost their charm… that, naturally, attracts the locals. These pirates seem powerful, but not necessarily dangerous. In fact, their captain even pays full price for all the supplies! What a weird bunch. You heard about this mysterious group from your friend who works at the market… and you couldn’t help but find it a bit suspicious. Most of these men had exorbitant bounties… and they aren’t actually horrible people? Something isn’t adding up. Pirates pillage and ravage the lands, they don’t buy overpriced mackerels and potatoes from local merchants.

As soon as you enter the bar, it reeks of hard liquor and smoke. That’s not unusual, but the men certainly are. They all look a bit strange, but you didn’t fear them at all, even if most of them spared you a glance as you entered.

Well, that is until you felt a heavy gaze on you – that one did make you beyond nervous. Your eyes immediately locked onto another man who sat quietly inside a corner, watching everybody else… particularly a man with red hair.

He called you over with a wave of his fingers and you couldn’t help but point at yourself. Really… you? What’s his deal? Was this going to be some sort of low-brow robbery?

You shouldn’t have faced him so easily. This man was far more intimidating up-close. So tall and broad – a truly hardened sailor. Those scars littering his body didn’t go unnoticed by you either. He followed your eyes and grinned, shaking his head in amusement, like he could read your mind. You raked over him with a harsh glare, noticing that he carried both a gun and a dagger… yet both of them were clean.

How unusual. Why in the world did he call you over if not to rob you? Or was he asking for a brawl? How dishonourable, striking someone who’s shorter and weake-

He suddenly started to speak, alerting you.

“Seemed to me like you needed a friend.”

“Oh, and you’re my friend now?”

He smirked, chuckling at your scoff.

He didn’t respond at first, opting to take a drag of his cigarette instead.

“Could be, if you’ll have me.”, Benn responded before waving at the old owner from across the bar. The older man lit up like a kid on Christmas, loudly telling the First Mate of the Red Hair Pirates that he owes him another story and that the ale would be on the house for chasing away the World Government. You remember when the newspaper announced that they wanted to collect some hefty taxes for any service-based trades, but you also remember that no representative ever visited, meaning your economy flourished.

You were too stunned to speak. These… these guys were pirates? Those bounties rang true? Nothing was on fire and these guys don’t seem to be too interested in stealing for pleasure.

“So… friend. Mind telling me your name and where to get the best sake in town? Know someone who’s got quite the problem.”

“You mean yourself?”, you chuckled back, not even realising that you sat down next to him.

“I meant my idiot captain over there, sweetheart. But sure, I’ll take the bait. Am I that obvious?”

“A little.”

“Ouch. And I thought I had to save the pretty girl that entered the lion’s den – turns out she’s got claws.”

“Me? Pretty girl?”, you wondered aloud, leaning into him as soon as he leaned back, like a magnet.

“Uh-huh. You’re the prettiest. Obviously... that's why everyone was looking. Including me.”, Benn replied curtly, as if he was telling you a fact.

Silence befell you two. You were totally flustered, having been verbally disarmed. You… didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t even a heartfelt compliment, but the conversation flowed so easily that it made your heart skip a beat.

“Where’d those claws go now, love?”

Your face was now hot to the touch – and Benn Beckman, of course, noticed it.

SHANKS

9.5/10

Shanks is so different from everybody else… Most people know his name, they fear him greatly due to his status and proven strength. Other pirates quiver in fear as soon as they feel that crackle of energy in the air that almost knocks them out cold if they do not have the courage or power to withstand his Haki. They view him as this legend with a mythical aura, but you’ve known Shanks to be quite the catastrophe, which is funny… if it weren’t for the fact that he, as a leader, makes terrible decisions sometimes.

“Hey, Captain. I am here to bring you dinner because you thought a whole bottle of rum and a pint of beer was enough. How does it feel, hm?”

Shanks could only chuckle in despair, nursing a tall glass of a water like he wasn’t thirsty at all. On top of everything, he leaned against the door frame leading into his quarters with a sway that is just too uncoordinated to be careless. He’s completely and utterly wasted… like he most often is, that fool!

“Ah, my dearest personal nurse. Come in, come in. You can sit… uh… here? Sit wherever you like! Are you going to feed me now?”

...This guy, he always did this! His bedroom looked like a total mess. Sure, you haven’t seen a harbour in two months, which means your supplies were dwindling, which means that everyone was going a little insane, but Shanks was always the most ridiculous. He’s a social butterfly that craves attention, so as soon as he cannot distract himself with strangers, he’s totally trying it on you. It’s become a habit at this point.

“I’m not a nurse, Captain. And you’re not that old to warrant a personal one yet, Sir.”

“Oh~ You wound me!”, he dramatically touched his chest with his sole hand before fiddling with his black coat, “And I thought we had something special. Once again, you let this poor man suffer. Worst thing is that I let you –…”

“–because you love me?”, you interrupted, chuckling disapprovingly.

“–because I love you!”, he echoed immediately.

You sighed. Stupid Shanks. Stupid Benn for making you do this in the first place. Stupid crew for laughing at you when you whipped up some leftovers with a groan. They knew you had a compulsion to take care of everybody on this ship, especially when you’ve been at sea for too long. You liked to keep yourself busy; you were meant to be a free adventurer, not watch Yasopp lose a game of cards for the sixtieth time or sort potatoes in the ship’s hold because most of the unsused ones were sprouting by now…

You hummed, looking away from Shanks as he dug into his food. You instead stole glances around his room, ignoring all the laundry that ended up on the floor. This was someone else’s problem, clearly – you had your own forgotten hamper shoved into the back of your closet to deal with. Once you see a glimpse of freshwater, it’s going to be over for you – you’ll be scrubbing your clothes until you hands are raw and bloodied.

But something else caught your eye.

“It’s actually so sweet that you put up Luffy’s poster over your desk.” You smiled genuinely, remembering how fondly Shanks talked about his little friend from Foosha Village all those years ago. You hadn’t been a part of the crew then – you were far too young to be a pirate at that point, even if you already dreamt of travelling the world. The others frequently talked about it, though.

“W-well! That… that’s because-” The captain almost choked on the kale you gave him, opting for something light and healthy to help with his hangover.

“You’re a great man, Captain.”

Shanks blushed bright red, trying to dismiss your comment with his flailing arm and shy giggles. His legs shifted around under him, which means that the food was just inches away from spilling all over his bed. You just ignored him, knowing that he wasn’t serious. He wasn’t ever serious, he was fun – that’s why you admired him so much. He took all of your anxieties about sailing away since he was so reliable; you owe him so much.

“I still remember it clearly,” you sighed longingly, looking out of the only window in the room that was partially covered by curtains, “Mihawk looked like a man on a mission – the scouts were so scared! But all he did was deliver good news – the best news we got all week at the time. Hope I can meet this Luffy soon; he’s so cute – he’s smiling so brightly in his picture! He must be so happy to be a rookie pirate. Quite the bounty for a rookie, really impressive. I’d love to talk to Luffy, get to know him… see what makes him so special. Nobody should be this cute when they’re so strong!”

“…I don’t think it would be a good idea to meet Luffy, darling.”

“And why’s that, Shanks?”, you replied sarcastically, thinking he was trying to tease you. He was so predictable!

“Because you’re mine, love. Don’t forget it, m’kay?”

...Oh.

Your heart stopped beating for a moment, but Shanks was just playing. He was a shameless flirt, that’s how he got ‘em every time. Ha, two can play that game!

“I… I’d never leave, Shanks. Here to dote on you for life.”

“Good.”, he said, no hesitation in his voice. And, worst of all, he looked really serious about it.

He started eating again, visibly happy. Giddy. That blush of his still hasn't died down. You stayed silent.

…So… Is neither of you going to address this now?!

SABO

8.5/10

“So… this is where it all began, the heart of the revolution. I must admit, it’s more peaceful than I thought… I was expecting oppression and civil war, not… this.”, you mused, petting a bunch of cows as you fed them hay nearby a farm just outside of Foosha Village.

You were here on a spy mission alongside some trusted revolutionaries. Well, you and a certain someone were crazy enough to travel through half the island because it was easier to navigate from East to West, even if your fellow commanders thought the idea was bonkers. You weren’t that high up the ladder, which meant you had a supervisor with you. Someone… who took this mission without a second thought, really eager to see his home once again.

“Well, I can’t promise civil war, but you’re in for a lot of crimes against humanity and a caste system that rivals that of the Red Line once we're within city walls. We’ll just have to climb that mountain there and traverse the Midway Forest until we’re at Gray Terminal. Maybe we’ll climb the walls during the night to be quicker, but we’d have to check for guards first! So we will sleep in the forest. I know just the place! Uh… if it’s still there. I would need to see it first. It’s only going to take-”

Sabo rambled on and on, his expression unusually happy. He hated talking about injustice, but he did love this place. It was clear to anyone that the thought of reigniting lost childhood memories excited him.

He didn’t even notice that he was standing too close to the fence.

“They’re eating your coat, Sabo.”

“W-wah!”, he shrieked, tearing the fabric away from the hungry cattle. He wore an angry grimace, but couldn’t be too mad at them for too long, choosing to pet them alongside you.

Sabo was frighteningly competent for someone so young. Sure, he knew this place like the back of his hand – even if some things had changed – and confidently trod through the muddy paths leading up the mountain all while avoiding groups of bandits whose locations he was strangely familiar with. All the rain that had crashed down the mountain landed in the freshwater rivers near the villages you passed through, which meant everything was surprisingly humid and – despite all the physical ability your boss put you through, it was getting cold once the sun set.

“Are you cold? You can have my coat.” Sabo, thoughtful as ever, enquired. Even though his head was still facing forward, he noticed your discomfort.

“Oh, thanks, but-”

“Here.”

“…Thank you, Sabo.”, you accepted his offer because he had already taken it off…

Sabo took care of his people without putting a moment of thought into his actions. He was protective like that, had a heart made of pure gold. Maybe that’s why he became a revolutionary – it was simply his calling. He would have ended up in this place no matter what. He couldn’t stand the sight of the privileged taking advantage of the marginalised. To him, it was a disgusting display of sin – one that deserved to be felled.

Taking care of others was the right thing to do, but he always took it up a notch when it came to you. Always a tad bit too touchy, always a tad bit too possessive.

“Oh, this is quite the cliff. Come here, take my hand. Hold onto me, and step very carefully. I'll be your guide.”

You tried following his instructions, but you weren’t used to being so close to him. The army didn’t prepare you for this at all!

“Great job!”

It really wasn’t, but Sabo made anyone feel appreciated with his smile. That trait of his took up almost as much space in his heart as his moral compass did.

"You, too!", you replied, smiling, "Thanks for all the help."

"A-ah!", he exclaimed nervously, hiding his face from you, "It's fine. You did most of the sailing, now I have to pull my weight, okay?"

Sabo was a great guy. Maybe too great, because he made you... think. His words - surely he meant them platonically - were... so sweet, all the time.

“You trust me so easily, being with you is so natural...”, he chuckled, looking back at you while trying to hide his smile, “Makes me feel… really special, you know?”

He had some nerve… saying that after he almost made your heart leap out of your chest by pulling you in by the small of your back, helping you cross a tiny canyon… smiling at you like you were the love of his life.

MARCO

7/10

As a ship doctor, Marco had a keen eye for spotting anyone’s ailments. Whatever burdens plagued the crew, he was there to set it straight. You knew that he was attentive and relentless in his care for others, never truly letting up. He always claimed that it was to avoid work – if more people ended up in the med bay, he’d start a riot all by himself, but you knew that it was just who he was.

With such a large crew, he was always busy. You’ve seen him reset dislocated joints countless times, wipe copious amounts of blood off his hands just after rudimentary emergency surgery and make up medical treatment on the go with the little supplies they had…

You thought bothering him with your silly problems would just take some necessary resources away from others. You knew that it wasn’t exactly right to let any problem fester, but you didn’t want anyone other than calm, collected Marco to know about it. You don’t want to seem weak; you were capable and independent, a pirate with a high bounty yourself…

But you didn’t know that Marco had already sniffed you out, eyes always on you.

You were dealing with nightly troubles due to heightened anxiety for seemingly no reason. It was frustrating. This was just your life now, you realised.

You hadn’t been sleeping at all that night, and you knew that it was futile at this point. You knew your body – this was just torture at this point.

Getting up was the worst. You were exhausted enough to feel like the weight of the world rested on your shoulders but, at the same time, worried too much to truly be at peace with yourself.

As soon as you stepped into the empty kitchen to drink some coffee from the day before – yuck – you felt a presence graze your back. Your heart rate kicked into overdrive, adrenaline flowing through your veins and erasing any traces of desperate need for sleep. You probably looked a mess too, but who would be-

“Marco?!”

“I’ve been waiting for you, yoi.”

His tone was stern, but not accusatory. You knew exactly what he meant. Of course he’d been watching, of course he noticed! Those eye bags were probably getting obvious by now, how in the world did you think you could fool someone as intelligent as Marco?!

Instead of the med bay, though, he took you to his room. It smelled like lavender – oh, he’d set up incense. How… nice…

“Drink this.”, he said dryly, handing a mug.

Without even looking at its contents, you took a sip. It was warm milk and honey. The temperature was perfect and warmed you from the inside.

“Marco, I’m sorry I didn’t co-”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re here now.”, he countered, gesturing towards a plush chair he’d probably stolen from another commander’s room…

You sat down, facing him with shame dancing in your eyes. Though he implied that you shouldn’t worry about it, you felt like a child caught with their hand still stuck inside the cookie jar.

“You can take my bed. I will be here, waiting. Might read a book, but feel free to interrupt anytime. We don’t have to talk, but I won’t leave you.”

…You nodded, smiling ever so slightly. That was beyond kind of him. He was such a good person. You knew that one night of this wouldn’t cure you immediately, but… well, you would definitely come to him with your burdens from now on. You… respected him, just like he respected you by speaking to you in private about this instead of having the crew around.

You were still in your sleepwear, so you got under the covers and stared at Marco, who suddenly hovered above you.

“I hope you’ll sleep well. Again, I’m here. I will be here. You are safe with me.”

With those words, he blew out the candles on his bedside table, giving you one last look before he retreated into a corner of the room where the moonlight shone through.

You turned around, laying on your side. The bed smelled like him – well, of course it did. It was his bed! But you never noticed how pleasant it was. You never noticed that Marco had been watching you, a consistent presence in your life. You never noticed that there was someone who was there… unconditionally.

You were suddenly very nervous for a different reason. Worst of all: you absolutely couldn’t tell Marco about this one either!

COUNTERPART POST - One Piece: Clueless and Clumsy

[foxtrology]

thank fuck you're not complete done with that harry castillo universe because I've barely finished the last chapter and I already miss them 🥹 could you write prompt 31, pretty please? 🥺

dad! harry castillo

prompt 31: harry takes adella to the bookstore and ends up reading four picture books aloud on the floor. two people recognize him. he doesn’t care.

prompt list

⸻

The plan had been simple.

In and out.

One quick stop at the bookstore for the new release Adella’s preschool teacher had mentioned—the one about a grumpy squirrel and a weather balloon or something equally ridiculous—and then back home before lunch.

That had been the plan.

But Harry Castillo had long since learned that plans—especially ones involving six-year-olds with untamable curls and big, curious eyes—meant absolutely nothing.

It was drizzling when they left the house, the kind of late spring rain that didn’t quite warrant umbrellas but still managed to soak through clothes if you stayed outside too long.

Adella had insisted on wearing her yellow rain boots even though the bookstore was only a few blocks away, and Harry—who had once made men cry in negotiation rooms—simply nodded and grabbed the matching coat from the peg by the door.

She splashed in every puddle along the sidewalk.

He didn’t rush her.

The bell above the bookstore door chimed softly as they stepped inside. It was warm and dry, the kind of cozy space that smelled like cinnamon and paper and the faintest trace of whatever candle the owner kept burning on the front counter. The lights were low and golden, and the jazz playing through the speakers was gentle enough to feel like background breathing.

Adella gasped.

Not dramatically—just that quiet, delighted sound she always made when entering places she loved. Her mitten-sized hand tightened around his, and Harry looked down just in time to see her eyes go wide at the sight of the children’s section.

“Can we stay a little bit?” she asked, already tugging at his arm.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Of course.”

She led him there like she’d been born in that bookstore. Past the poetry wall, through the shelves of new fiction, around a table stacked with cookbooks where she paused to point at a pie and whisper, “You should make that for mommy.” Harry grunted in agreement, mentally adding lemon meringue to the next grocery list.

By the time they reached the children’s nook, her raincoat had been unzipped and her curls had started to frizz from the weather. She didn’t care. She had spotted the beanbag chairs. And the bookshelf shaped like a tree.

Harry didn’t bother with the adult-sized reading bench. He was on the floor in seconds, long legs folding awkwardly beneath him, back pressed against the soft cushion of a floor pillow that clearly hadn’t been designed with six-foot men in mind.

Adella dropped to his side with the dramatic flair of a child in her own kingdom.

“Okay,” she said, breathless with excitement. “Pick four.”

“Four?”

“Four books, daddy.” She grinned, one front tooth missing, the other slightly wiggly. “That’s how many we can read before snack.”

He gave a mock sigh. “Only four?”

“For now.”

He let her choose.

Of course he did.

The first one was about a cow who wanted to be a ballerina.

Harry read every word. In a very bad French accent.

Adella giggled so hard she snorted, and he grinned so wide it made the edges of his eyes crinkle.

The second was about a brave girl pirate with a pink eyepatch and a sidekick parrot who only spoke in riddles. Adella leaned against him the whole time, warm and heavy, her head on his shoulder, legs kicked up like she didn’t have a care in the world.

By the third, a quiet story about a raccoon who built a treehouse for all his friends, she had started mouthing some of the words along with him.

And by the fourth—a ridiculous tale about a dragon who was afraid of the dark—Harry had stopped noticing the faint ache in his back or the way his foot had fallen asleep.

He was fully in it. All of it.

Reading in the corner of a bookstore with his daughter in his lap, surrounded by pillows and the soft rustle of pages and the occasional squeal of a toddler from the other aisle.

People stared.

Of course they did.

Two women near the café section exchanged hushed whispers behind travel mugs. One of them snapped a quick photo with her phone, trying to be subtle. Another man, standing by the nonfiction shelf, did a double-take.

Harry Castillo. That Harry Castillo. On the floor of a bookstore with his knees poking out awkwardly from a child-sized nook, his voice animated, his tone ridiculous, his daughter giggling so hard she nearly fell over.

Harry didn’t notice.

Or maybe he did.

And he just didn’t give a damn.

Because this—this was what mattered now.

Not the company he’d once obsessed over. Not the Forbes headlines or the nameplate on the door of an office he hadn’t stepped inside in almost three years. Not the whispers about his age or the commentary about becoming a father so late in life.

He was late. Sure.

But he wasn’t too late.

And she—his daughter, his firecracker, his reason—was worth every second of that delay.

At one point, Adella looked up at him, curls slightly sweaty from leaning against his chest, eyes heavy with the kind of soft, satisfied glow only good mornings bring.

“Mommy would like this one,” she whispered, pointing to the ballerina cow book again.

“She would,” Harry agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“We should bring it home.”

He nodded. “Done.”

“And we should tell her about the dragon.”

“We’ll act it out at dinner.”

“And maybe next time—”

“There will be a next time,” he interrupted gently, squeezing her hand. “There’s always a next time with you.”

She beamed.

Eventually, they did head home.

With five books in a paper bag—Adella had added one last-minute “for Frances”—and two hot chocolates from the corner café that Harry said were overpriced but bought anyway.

By the time they walked back through the front door, her boots were soaked, and her cheeks were flushed pink, and Harry’s shirt had a faint smear of whipped cream down the front where she’d hugged him too quickly with sticky fingers.

His wife was in the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, humming to a song playing low from her phone speaker.

She looked up as they entered, eyes warm.

“Good time?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Harry nodded.

“She made me read four books on the floor,” he said, setting the bag down with a mock groan.

Adella grinned. “He did voices.”

She laughed, crossing the room to kiss his cheek. “Of course he did.”

Later, after lunch and a bath and a half-hour of chasing Frances out of the pantry, Adella was curled up in bed for her nap, and Harry stood at the foot of her mattress, just… watching.

Not hovering.

Just being.

“She’s getting so big,” he murmured.

His wife came up beside him, slipping an arm around his waist. “She’s still your little girl.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just nodded.

And when he slipped his hand into his back pocket later that night, emptying the day’s contents onto his dresser, he found one of the bookstore receipts folded neatly around a crayon drawing Adella had made while sipping her hot chocolate.

It was a picture of them. Him on the floor, book in hand. Her curled up in his lap. Frances, inexplicably wearing a crown.

He tucked it into the drawer next to the watch he rarely wore anymore.

And smiled.

Because even in his sixties, even after everything, Harry Castillo had never been happier to be recognized as just a dad.

And he knew, deep in his bones, he’d read her another book tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the next.

Forever, if she’d let him.

[nightingale2004]

Gravity falls Hcs: Throughout the years, pt. 1

The town of gravity falls continues to remain normal, but still has its weird strange flair

More and more tourists come and go from Gravity Falls Oregon, especially after Weirdmageddon

Tyler is still mayor and going on strong

Dipper and Mabel still visit Gravity Falls every summer, and they remain close with their friends from Gravity Falls

Mabel, Grenda, and Candy's friendship still remain strong as they all grow up (since they got phones and computers, they text and videochat 24/7)

Dipper and Mabel have their troubles in school, especially after what they've been through, but no matter what, the pines twins stick together through thick and thin

Dipper is still not so popular, but he found his people, and he managed to create a "Dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons" club in school

Mabel is still to this day an arts and crafts master and also a master of knitting and clothing designs.

When Mabel was granted access to the world of the internet. She made her own business website showing the clothes she made, along with making video tutorials on knitting, art, and making wax figures

On one of twins' birthdays, great uncle Ford and Mabel gave Dipper three journals so he could find his own discoveries and adventures and write them in the journals (Dipper loved the gift and takes great care of them.)

Mabel still never misses a scrapbook-ortunity

Wendy and her gang of friends are still hanging out and still close (they've slowly started to treat Thompson nicer)

Robbie and Tambry are still together and are getting married (Wendy is Robbie's best woman and Tambry's bridesmaid)

When Soos got married, everyone was there, and it was all very emotional. Especially for Soos who cried at his own wedding more than anyone

When the pines twins come to gravity falls over the summer or the holidays, the townspeople all know their name, give them endless hugs and high fives, and it's pretty much the happiest moment for the townspeople

Old man Mckgucket still invents, but this time, it's for the benefit of town.

As time went by, Fiddleford started fixing his mind little by little with his son's help. He is also slowly rebuilding his relationship with his son and Stanford

When Mabel and Dipper's parents met with the Stan brothers, they demanded an explanation. Stanley and Stanford came up with a very believable lie involving Stanley owing a bunch of debt to dangerous men, and then he faked his death to get them off his back with Stanfords help.

Bill Cipher's statue is still in the woods of Gravity Falls, and everyone makes sure that people, including tourists, go nowhere near the statue out of fear

Stanley slowly starts remembering everything, but he asks his family and Stanford for clarification on memories that are a bit of a blur

Every time the Pines twins come to gravity falls, it's always a new adventure, and Candy, Grenda, Wendy, and even Pacifica started joining them on their adventures

Soos named Stanley the grandfather and the pines twins as the godparents. Melody wanted to protest, but she could never say no to Soos

Wendy found a girlfriend and still helps out at the shack, but now she is working as either a lumberjack or working on construction

Since money was tight for the Northwest family, Pacifica took a job at the diner thanks to lazy Susan, and now she earns her own money to help out, and she FaceTimes Mabel and the girls a lot

Pacifica gives Mabel fashion and design tips

Sev'ral Timez still lives in the woods and somehow managed to mate and multiply with nature. Now there are mutant hybrid Sev'ral Timez children running around Gravity Falls

Ivan or Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle is traveling around the world to find his song that is in his heart, and so far, he has released a few Banjo songs but not many

While living in California was nice, Waddles, after some time, was no longer aloud to live with the Pines twins family, which broke Mabel's heart but Soos luckily volunteered to take in Waddles after he convinced Melody to be on board which Mabel immediately was happy about

Sheriff Daryl Blubs and Deputy Durland are married and have adopted a boy together

After the weirdmaggedon, everyone has their trauma, and everyone deals with it in their own way, but the town who went through it all go through the healing together or with those that they trust