catboymoonknight

[catboymoonknight]

 mermaid! au because i couldn’t get the idea out of my head 

you’re a marine biologist, working on the west coast (i’m biased to say Washington, but it could be Oregon or California), studying the rising levels of pollution. your observatory is right on the coast, so you’ll take hikes down to the beach and work there. one day, you notice an alarming amount of seagulls surrounding a little inlet in an area of the beach you’ve never gone to before. 

curious, you hike over there. noises that sound like a humans, but are…wrong, distorted somehow come from the inside of the cave. you’re a little scared, but you keep going. at the end of the cave, you find eddie. (he’s a thresher shark btw) there’s a large gash on his side, and his breathing is labored and shallow because of how low the tide is. 

once you shake off your shock, the doctor side of you takes over. initially, he tries to bite you, but relents when he’s too weak + realizes you’re here to help. you stitch up the wound, holding his hand when he makes what you assume are pained noises. internally, you’re freaking out. you’d dreamed about mermaids since you were real, but you always knew that they were a myth. until now.

by the time you’re finished, the tide’s higher, and you can help eddie swim out back to the sea. he’s making noises the entire time, and when you see volt, you realize they’re mating calls. volt is…beautiful, to say the least. iridescent scales, with little bursts of rainbow flickering the longer you stare at him. (he’s an albino leopard shark. not sure if that exists but idc) him and eddie nuzzle together, and you look away because you feel like you’re witnessing a private moment. 

you’re surprised when volt comes up to you and lets you touch him, rubbing up against you as if in thanks. (nope. he’s horny + he likes reader and is trying to signal to them that he wants to be mates) when you realize that it’s getting dark, you start backing up out of the water. eddie and volt make sad sounding noises, and you tell them that you’ll be back as soon as possible. volt’s tail swishes back and forth as he watches you climb up the cliffs. he’ll make sure you come back, one way or another.

[catboymoonknight]

lovesick

synopsis: a fever isn't the worst thing in the world, not with him by your side warnings: eating and food mentions, general being sick talk but it's not gross pairing: Zayne x fem!reader wc: 2.6k an: idk what this is lol blame laufey and my desire to be taken care of

When you wake up in the morning, the itch in your throat doesn’t mean much. Atleast, it doesn’t at first. It’s faint, like the echo of a bad dream, something easily dismissed. You sit up slowly, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. The air in the room feels unusually dry. You reach for the bottle of water on your nightstand, fingertips brushing clumsily against it.

You drink. Once. Twice. Three gulps. It’s cold, soothing. But the itch lingers. Worse, actually, it catches at the base of your throat, scratchy and raw. Your stomach sinks.

You swallow again. No change.

Suddenly, you're acutely aware of what this means. And what it will become.

You shift in bed, instinctively reaching a hand toward the other side of the mattress, only to find it empty and cold. The covers are tucked in neatly, the pillow barely indented. Zayne must’ve left hours ago, early shift, like he had warned. Still, you hate waking up without him.

It isn’t just about the warmth of his body beside you, it’s about the quiet comfort of it. The stillness of his presence. The small, tender things he doesn't say, but somehow always conveys. A hand brushing over your waist before getting up, a murmured “sleep in,” the smell of aftershave on his skin when he leans down to kiss your temple.

But this morning, there’s nothing. Just aching limbs, an angry throat, and the silence of a too-big bed.

You drag yourself out of it anyway.

The floor is cold beneath your feet. Your socks are missing again. You don’t bother to search. The light stings your eyes as you shuffle into the bathroom and begin your routine on autopilot, brush teeth, splash water, fumble for your clothes.

You’re clammy by the time you’re half-dressed, skin already burning beneath your sweatshirt. You sit on the edge of the tub for a moment, catching your breath. It’s early still. If you move now, you’ll make it to work on time.

You don’t even consider calling in. The thought flits across your mind like a warning sign, but you bat it away. You’re fine. Just a sore throat. Just a little warm. Nothing serious.

It takes more effort than usual to pull on your boots. By the time you’re outside, the sunlight feels too bright, the noise of the street too sharp. Your head throbs in rhythm with your footsteps. The train ride is a blur.

You last three hours.

Captain Jenna doesn’t even let you finish your shift. She catches sight of you hunched over your desk, eyes glassy, face pale, and just sighs.

“You look like you’ve been microwaved,” she says. “Go home. That’s not a request.”

You’re too exhausted to argue. You nod, mumble something that sounds vaguely like gratitude, and pack your things with trembling fingers. The ride back home is worse. The air is too warm. You don’t remember changing trains. You don’t remember unlocking the front door.

All you remember is the weight of your limbs when you collapse back into bed, clothes still on. The room spins slightly. You close your eyes.

You don’t know how much time passes.

Then: a hand. Cool and steady, pressing against your forehead.

You don’t move right away. For a moment, you wonder if it’s a dream. Your body is heavy, your mouth dry, your thoughts fuzzy. But the touch lingers, soothing and precise.

You let out a small breath, voice like sandpaper. “You’re home.”

A quiet chuckle answers you. The mattress dips beside you, and fingers, gentle, cold, unmistakably Zayne’s, rake slowly through your hair.

“I’m home,” he says, voice low and even. “I heard I’ve been assigned a very important patient.”

You exhale through your nose, the effort of smiling too great. “Who told you?”

Zayne’s thumb brushes your temple. You open your eyes just enough to catch the faint upturn at the corner of his mouth. That elusive, quiet smile he wears when he’s letting himself be a little smug.

“One of your colleagues,” he murmurs. “Called me when you started swaying.”

You groan softly, shifting your face into the pillow. “Snitch.”

He doesn’t reply, but you feel the soft pressure of his lips brushing your hairline. It’s fleeting, careful. A whisper of affection, restrained.

You flinch a little. “Don’t. I don’t want you to get sick. You have…patients.”

He exhales, almost like he’s holding back a sigh. “I’m not worried,” he says simply.

You open your eyes again, just barely. He’s leaning against the headboard now, his hand still moving through your hair with measured strokes. “You always say that.”

“And I’m always right,” he says, voice so flat it’s almost deadpan. But his touch doesn’t stop.

You shift slightly, trying to get comfortable again. “You shouldn’t be this close.”

“You’re not contagious yet,” he lies.

You groan again. “You’re annoying.”

He brushes his knuckles over your temple, cool and steady. “Sleep,” he says quietly. “You’re burning up.”

You want to argue, but your body betrays you. You’re already halfway back under.

And just before you drift off, you hear him exhale again, slow and long, like he’s only just letting himself relax. His hand never leaves your hair.

It’s late in the evening, or at least you think it’s evening, when you open your eyes again. The room is dim, your skin clammy, and every inch of you feels like it’s been steamrolled by fever. But then you catch it.

A smell, drifting up from the hallway. Warm, earthy, savory.

Soup?

You blink sluggishly, the edges of the ceiling blurring as your eyes adjust. A few seconds pass, and then the door creaks open.

Zayne steps in, balancing a tray in one hand. His sleeves are rolled up, collar slightly crooked. He’s already changed out of his work clothes, which means he’s been home a while, long enough to shower, long enough to make whatever’s in that bowl.

His gaze finds you immediately.

“You’re awake,” he says quietly, almost like he’s surprised. “I estimated you’d sleep through the night.”

You shift under the blankets, groaning softly. “Was trying to. But something smells…edible.”

Zayne’s mouth twitches. “That would be your dinner.” He sets the tray down carefully on the nightstand and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, adjusting the bowl slightly. “It’s just soup. Nothing fancy.”

“You cooked?” you rasp, brows raising in faint disbelief.

“Don’t sound so shocked.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it, just stirs the contents slowly. “I can follow a recipe.”

“I figured you’d send a drone to deliver takeout with a thermometer taped to the side.”

He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “I thought about it.”

The bed dips slightly as he turns toward you, pressing the back of his hand gently to your cheek. His skin is cold, always colder than yours, but it feels good against your feverish skin.

“Still warm,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You watch his face as he checks your temperature, as he folds a blanket down near your shoulders. He doesn’t say much, doesn’t fuss, but he’s clearly been keeping an eye on you. There's a small crease between his brows, subtle but there. You know that look. It's his worried one, the one he doesn't let stay on his face too long. With his real patients, he’s an expert at hiding his expressions.

An odd part of you feels a sense of pride to see him like this.

You try to sit up, but the ache behind your eyes pulses too hard. Zayne’s hand finds your arm before you even make a sound.

“Don’t strain,” he says, helping you shift into a more upright position. His grip is steady but careful. “Just lean back.”

“You’re really going to feed me soup?” you mutter, trying to hide behind sarcasm, even as your body feels like it's melting into the pillows.

“No,” he says evenly. “I’m going to hold the spoon. You’re going to drink.”

The corners of your mouth curl tiredly. “That’s what feeding me soup is.”

He exhales again, quiet and almost fond, and lifts the spoon toward your mouth. The edge is warm where it brushes your bottom lip.

You take a sip. It’s good, surprisingly so. Light but rich, with just enough salt to make your dry mouth feel a little more human.

“Wait,” you say after a second. “Is this the soup your mom makes?”

Zayne nods once, barely perceptible. “I called her. She walked me through it.”

You blink slowly. That’s not a small thing. He’s never been culinarily inclined.

“I didn’t know you remembered the recipe.”

“I didn’t,” he says, voice even. “But I remembered the fact you liked it.”

You fall quiet after that. There’s a softness to the silence between you, filled only by the occasional sound of the spoon tapping against the bowl and your quiet sips. Zayne never hovers, never rushes you.

When you slow down, hand drifting weakly toward the bowl like you’re thinking of holding it yourself, Zayne simply shifts and rests the tray on his leg so you don’t have to reach.

“You’ve had enough,” he says after a moment, his voice low. “You’re falling asleep again.”

“I’m not-” you start to protest, but your eyelids are already drooping.

Zayne doesn’t call you out on it. He sets the bowl aside, then gently helps you lie back down. You notice, distantly, that he folds the edge of the blanket up again, neat and careful, tucking it under your arm.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but the next time you surface, the world feels strange.

Your limbs are heavy, and your head pulses with heat, thick and throbbing behind your eyes. The sheets cling uncomfortably to your skin, and every breath tastes like cotton. The room swims in and out of focus. You shift, sluggishly, barely able to roll onto your back.

And then you feel it.

A sharp contrast.

Coolness. Something soft, damp, placed carefully across your forehead.

Your brow twitches. You try to lift a hand to touch it, but your arm feels like it’s moving through wet sand. The cloth stays in place, gentle but firm. A weight you didn’t know you needed.

“Don’t,” a voice says quietly. Calm. Familiar.

Zayne.

You blink slowly, your lashes heavy. The ceiling swims above you. There’s a shape beside the bed, his outline, seated and still. Elbows on his knees, hands probably interlaced like they always are when he’s thinking too much.

“I’m dreaming,” you murmur hoarsely, or maybe you only think you say it.

There’s a pause.

“No,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear. “You’re awake. Just not all the way.”

His hand, as always, is cool. It brushes hair off your damp temple before adjusting the cloth slightly. He doesn't press too hard, just folds it over once, letting the new side rest against your burning skin. You can almost feel the edge of the terry cloth dragging against your cheek.

“Mmnh,” you breathe. It’s not really a word, more of a noise, some mix of gratitude and discomfort.

Zayne exhales slowly. “You were muttering earlier. I couldn’t make out what you were saying.”

“I wasn’t,” you croak.

“You definitely were.”

He sounds composed, but not unaffected. You’ve known him long enough to hear the smallest fractures in his voice, how it gets quieter when he’s worried. More level. Like he’s anchoring himself while you drift.

“I probably said... ‘you’re cold,’” you mumble, your mouth barely forming the words. “Like a lizard.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, so softly, you think you hear a huff of air. It might almost be a laugh.

“Better than being hot enough to cook an egg on your forehead,” he replies evenly.

You blink again. The ceiling shifts, then stills. His fingers slide down briefly to the side of your neck, checking your pulse, not with urgency, but like he’s done it a hundred times before.

You breathe through the warmth rising behind your eyes. The fever is making everything swim, but his presence is so solid it almost hurts.

“You stayed,” you whisper, like it surprises you.

Zayne doesn’t respond immediately. He swaps the cloth again, this time soaking it in the bowl of cool water on the tray beside him. He wrings it out with careful fingers, movements precise. Silent.

Then he lays it across your forehead again. It smells faintly of laundry soap and his hands something grounded and clean.

“Of course I stayed,” he says at last, quiet like a secret. “I’m not going to leave you like this.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

“I dream about you,” you whisper, delirious. You don’t mean to say it. Not really. “Sometimes.”

He stills.

You feel it. The exact moment he stops adjusting the cloth, the way the air shifts with the tension in his body.

“I know,” he says after a moment.

You think he’s going to pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he presses the backs of his fingers briefly to your cheek, then leaves them there.

You lean into it.

Zayne doesn’t say anything more. But he doesn’t go anywhere.

Even when you start mumbling nonsense again, half-dreamed thoughts and disjointed words, he listens. He brushes your hair back, refreshes the cloth every so often, and never once moves far enough for you to lose track of him.

He stands for a second, walking over to your dresser. You think he’s getting another blanket, but instead he returns with the thermometer he must’ve stashed earlier and quietly places it on the nightstand. Then he clicks off the lamp and slides onto the bed beside you, movements slow and deliberate, as if trying not to disturb the already-fragile peace of your body.

His presence radiates calm, not warmth, not in the literal sense, anyway. His hands are still cool, his body lean and quiet against the mattress. He doesn’t pull you close, doesn’t whisper reassurances or promises.

But when your hand, sleep-heavy and clumsy, reaches across the small distance between you, Zayne doesn’t hesitate.

He laces your fingers together gently. Doesn't say a word.

In your haze, it feels like floating. Like he’s the only thing tethering you to the bed.

Later, when you wake in the early hours of the morning, dry-mouthed and aching, you find him exactly where you expect. Eyes closed, breathing slow, hand still curled loosely around yours as he lays beside you.

Even in sleep, he hasn’t let go.

[catboymoonknight]

Imagine being Caleb's streamer significant other.

Imagine it was supposed to be a normal stream.

Imagine it was just a regular night of you. Your headset and some mildly concerning energy drinks. You were three matches deep into ranked, half losing your voice, half losing your sanity and fully locked in.

"Alright, alright, we push A this time." You said, already running in site. "No thoughts. Just aim. Trust. Have fun." And then a familiar name popped up in chat.

1sht1kll: Be honest. You got a boyfriend?

Imagine the way you raised a brow. "Boyfriend?" You peeked A short, headshotted Reyna and casually leaned back. "Nah" You said smug. "Who needs a boyfriend when I've got recoil control and abandonment issues?" The chat exploded.

Ztrope: LMAO BYE

Abcdefg: Single queen alert

Ladsslave: THAT'S why your aim's so clean. No distractions.

2days3days: So you're saying I can apply??

Imagine the way you grinned as the you clutch the round. "Applications open. Must bring snacks and not ask me to log off. Ever." And then.

10,000 DONATION: ColonelApple

Message: Interesting. When did I get replaced by snacks?

Imagine the way your heart stopped. And the name. The name. You blinked at the screen like it personally betrayed you. "… Huh?"

Ztrope: WHO??

Abcdefg: 10K TO CLAIM YOU??

Ladsslave: They said no boyfriend and this guy shows up swinging.

2days3days: Bro what kind of username is ColonelApple

Imagine the way your headset nearly slipped off. "Chat. Relax. It's just- He's… a friend."

15,000 DONATION: ColonelApple

Message: A friend who literally pays your rent?

Imagine the way you choked. "CA- Caleb-!" Chat exploded again.

Ztrope: EXCUSE ME WHAT THE ****

Ladsslave: Not them saying 'friend' while living with a sugar daddy

Abcdefg: Rent??? That's a boyfriend or a very expensive ghost

1sht1kll: Girl if he's a friend I'm a space pilot

Imagine you were already blusing so bad trying to form words when a new notification came in.

20,000 DONATION: ColonelApple

Message: Drink your water. Don't make me call a restaurant again.

Imagine the way you wheezed. "I was going to drink-"

30,000 DONATION: ColonelApple

Message: Do it now.

Imagine you eventually grabbed the water bottle with trembling fingers. Mumbling something about being cyberbullied by your own boyfriend.

Ztrope: OH SO HE IS YOUR BOYFRIEND

Abcdefg: Chat W

2days3days: I knew it. I KNEW IT.

Ladsslave: You lied to us and got caught in 4K by your rich, passive-aggressive boyfriend

Imagine you ran a hand down your face. "Okay. Look. Technically… I never said I don't have a boyfriend. I said I didn't need one."

25,000 DONATION: ColonelApple

Message: Keep talking. Let's see if you still get your GPU upgrade.

"You're bluffing." You froze.

30,000 DONATION: ColonelApple

Message: Am I?

Imagine you screamed. "Caleb! You're being so dramatic- stop donating, you're gonna bankrupt yourself!" He didn't respond. But the chat did.

Ztrope: I want a jealous sugar daddy too 😭

Abcdefg: show his face. no more faceless rich boyfriend propaganda

1sht1kll: Guys 100 says he's mid

Ladsslave: 200 says he's hot and smug about it

Imagine the way you laugh and held up your hands. "Okay, okay. No face reveals today. He's not even home. Probably doing something military and mysterious. You know, colonel things."

Imagine right on cue your door creaked open. You froze. "... No way." Caleb stepped in like he belonged there. Which to be fair, he did. Wearing his dark jacket, underneath you could already see his sleeves rolled up, holding your favorite takeout in one hand and your cat in the other.

Imagine he looked at you. Then at the camera. And smirked. "Still single?" You died. Your chat died harder.

Ztrope: I AM ON THE FLOOR

Abcdefg: BRO??? BROOOOO???

2days3days: NOT THE BARE ARMS. HE'S HANDSOME. I'M MAD

1sht1kll: 100 down the drain. I was humbled.

Imagine Caleb walked over like a man on a mission. He set the food down, handed you the cat then leaned into the mic with all the casual confidence of someone who could win a war and still be home for dinner.

"Next time they ask if you have a boyfriend." He said, eyes on the screen. "Just tell them this guy's got his own aircraft."

50,000 DONATION: ColonelApple

Message: And they still think they have a chance?

Imagine the way you screamed again. "Caleb!" He kissed your cheek. "Hey. You told them you were single. I'm just correcting misinformation."

Ladsslave: I can't even be mad. he’s EARNED the smug

Ztrope: the aircraft reveal… the timing… the face…

Abcdefg: Yeah I'd flex him too

2days3days: we lost. good game everyone.

Imagine you sat there, still holding the cat, still blushing like a maniac, totally forgetting about your game that is now over while your chat grieved their collective delusion.

Imagine Caleb opened the takeout for you, adjusted your chair, and whispered. "You're streaming for another hour, right?" You nodded weakly still processing how everything unfolded. "... Yeah."

Imagine he pulled over another chair. "Good. I'm queueing with you." Your jaw dropped. "Wait- Caleb. You don't even play- Do you even know how to play valorant?"

Imagine he already had the second PC starting. And when the queue popped? He actually top fragged. Casually. Effortlessly. As if he wasn't a military colonel who flew fighter jets and apparently now stole hearts on stream too. And chat? Chat was never the same again.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

[catboymoonknight]

Dad!lads with their children while they're exercising!

(⁠?⁠・⁠・⁠)⁠σ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier — Requests are open :)

Tumblr was lagging so bad.. i had to rewrite THIS WHOLE FIC four times before it finally posted.. TT

RAFAYEL —

Rafayel stirred awake, the warmth of your body against his was a temptation to stay in bed forever, and for a while, he did, just resting there, arms gently curled around your waist, nose brushing your hair.

But eventually, he had to get up and go have his exercise.

He carefully untangled himself from you, moving like a whisper so as not to wake you. After a kiss to your temple and a soft brush of his fingers against your cheek, he made his way to the closet, pulling on his usual black joggers and a black compression workout sleeveless shirt.

Before leaving the room, he returned to your side to whisper softly, "I'll just go for a morning jog, I'll be quick," planting another kiss on your forehead as you sleepily hummed in return.

The hallway was quiet and dim as he was just holding his bottle of water, but just as he passed by your daughter's room, the door creaked open.

Tiny footsteps padded toward him, and there she was, Seraphina, rubbing her eyes with one hand, the other reaching toward him.

“Daddy..? Where you doing..?” she asked sleepily, arms lifting for him to carry her.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he bent down and scooped her up.

“I’m just going for a quick morning jog, sweetie,” he said, brushing some hair away from her face as she nestled against his chest.

“Can I come..?” she mumbled, already melting into him.

He chuckled again, gently pinching her cheek. “Mhm, well, aren’t you still sleepy, sweetie? You won’t be able to run in that condition.”

“I’m awake!” she immediately perked up, suddenly squirming out of his arms and darting back to her room. “Wait for me, Daddy!"

He blinked, still holding his half full water bottle, and soon heard the sound of frantic rummaging and closet doors banging lightly. Two minutes later, she came rushing out proudly, wearing a white t-shirt with a cartoon fish, her favorite jean jumper over it, and mismatched socks. She lifted her arms expectantly.

“Button me, Daddy.”

He knelt to button the front of her jumper, pressing a kiss to her forehead when he finished. “Perfect. You’re the cutest jogging buddy I’ve ever seen.”

Their "jog" was more like a slow stroll around the neighborhood. Rafayel kept his pace slow, his long strides shortened just so his daughter could keep up. She held his hand the entire time, skipping a little when she had energy, giggling at squirrels, and occasionally stopping to examine flowers or pebbles like they were the most fascinating things in the world.

But ten minutes in, she started to lag. The energy that had burst out of her earlier now dimmed as she tugged on his hand.

“Daddy, I’m tired…” she pouted, lips trembling slightly as she dramatically started lowering herself down the pavement.

Rafayel quickly scooped her up before she could sit on the dirty sidewalk.

“Hey now, we don’t sit on the street, little guppy,” he said, lifting her into his arms with ease. “Did you overestimate your stamina, hm?"

She rested her head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. “M’not tired… just… my legs are.”

He laughed softly. “That’s what tired means, sweetie.”

He adjusted her comfortably against him and continued walking, his jog long forgotten now. As he moved, she helped herself to his water bottle, nearly finishing it in a matter of gulps.

He raised a brow, amused. “Remind me next time to bring two bottles if I’m training with you.”

Seraphina, cheeks puffed from the water, gave him a cheeky grin.

“You’re the best exercise,” she mumbled sleepily. “You carry me.”

Rafayel smiled, pressing his lips to her temple. “Of course I do. Always.”

And as the sun finally rose higher, father and daughter strolled through the soft morning sun, not quite jogging, not quite working out, but very much in sync.

CALEB —

You were in the living room folding some laundry when the soft shuffle of tiny footsteps approached. Your daughter came into view, clutching her little container filled with colorful hair ties, clips, and sparkly accessories like it was the most sacred thing in the world.

She looked up at you, messy strands of hair falling into her face, and asked in a soft voice, “Mommy, where’s Daddy?”

You reached over to gently brush her tangled hair back with your fingers, smoothing it as best you could.

“Why, baby? Daddy’s in the spare room. He’s exercising right now.”

She gave a little nod. “Oki, Mommy. I will go to Daddy!” And with that, she turned and toddled off, still holding her container like a tiny trick or treater on a mission.

The door to the spare room was left slightly ajar, and she didn’t bother knocking, just pushed it open with her little hand and entered.

Caleb was in the middle of stretching, preparing for his push ups when he heard her voice, “What are you doing, Daddy?”

He turned his head and smiled when he saw her by the doorway, her hair in a cute mess, her arms wrapped around the plastic container she now set down beside her feet.

“I’m exercising, baby,” he said as he sat up on the mat, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. “Getting stronger for you and mommy.”

She nodded seriously, then sat cross legged beside him. “Can I stay with you? And… can you fix my hair first?” she added, pushing the container toward him.

He chuckled and leaned forward, pulling her gently into his lap. “Of course I can. What kind of hairstyle do you want today, little lady?”

She placed a small red apple clip in his hand. “This one. And two ponytails. Like bunny ears!”

Caleb smiled as he carefully combed her hair with his fingers, untangling the knots with gentle precision. He used two colorful bands to tie twin ponytails, then added her favorite clips, small paper crane clips, butterflies, even a tiny apple slice. He made sure everything was symmetrical, as symmetrical as you could get with a squirmy child, and once satisfied, held up a pretend mirror with his hands.

“There. All done. Look at you, the most stylish and cute bunny I’ve ever seen.”

She giggled, pleased, then stood up and dusted off her little pajamas before saying, “Okay! Now I exercise with daddy!”

Caleb just chuckled, “Oh? Gonna do push ups too?”

She simply climbed onto his back like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caleb laughed under his breath, adjusting his arms as he lowered himself into position. “Well… i guess that works too..”

As he began doing push ups with her riding along, she pulled out more tiny clips from her container and began decorating the back of his head, carefully clipping them in place with intense focus.

“Daddy, don’t move too much,” she scolded gently, trying to balance another pink lotus flower clip on his hair.

“I’m literally doing push ups with a tiny human backpack,” he grunted, smiling despite himself.

She leaned forward, resting her little hands on his shoulders. “This exercise is easy, daddy. I'm having abs now too" she said while she was just sitting in his back.

And as his daughter kept talking and his back slowly turned into a walking hair clip display, Caleb smiled through every rep, because honestly, he wouldn’t trade this workout partner for the world.

SYLUS —

A It had been a full, laughter filled day in the house. Your daughter had spent hours with the twins, Luke and Kieran, who had gladly taken up babysitting duty from morning to late afternoon. You could still hear their voices echoing through the halls earlier, playful yells, scattered giggles, and a few loud thumps that were always followed by one twin yelling, “Mini boss won!”

Now, however, things have calmed down.

She was finally at Sylus' personal gym, the space tucked neatly into the back of your home, sitting cross legged on a mat while watching her dad with full concentration. The steady sound of fists hitting leather echoed in the gym, accompanied by the low, rhythmic thud of Sylus’ punches slamming into the heavy bag. His muscles flexed with each strike, sweat trailing down his jaw as he kept his focus sharp, or at least, it looked like he was fully focused.

But he felt it the moment she stepped in.

He didn’t have to look. The moment his daughter peeked into the room, he caught the soft shuffle of her small feet against the floor. Her presence had a weight he could always recognize, no matter how quiet she was. After all, she was his only daughter, and Sylus always knew when she was near.

Without a word, she stood up, waddled over to the smaller, child sized punching bag you’d gotten for fun a while ago, and started mimicking him, her little fists pushing awkwardly at the bag, grunting softly with every “punch.”

He finally glanced over his shoulder, softly smiling as he spotted his daughter, cheeks flushed from playing with the twins all day, hair a bit messy, her grape juice box on the floor as she was mimicking his actions with the punching bag.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he dropped his gloves and made his way over.

“Hey, princess,” he said, kneeling beside her. “You trying to beat up that bag, too?”

She looked up at him, proud and slightly flushed. “Like you, Daddy!”

“Well, you’re missing some technique,” he teased as he gently took her hands and showed her how to make a proper fist, adjusting her stance, and explaining the difference between a jab and a cross. She listened intently, nodding seriously at every instruction, as if she was training for a championship fight next week.

And for the next twenty minutes, she was completely absorbed in learning how to throw proper, yet gentle, punches at the bag. Sylus guided her softly, his big hands covering her tiny fists when demonstrating a move. He never corrected too harshly, only with praise and a proud smile.

By the time training ended, your daughter had one mission.

'show off to mommy and big bros(luke and kieran)'

Now every time she saw Luke or Kieran pass by, she’d leap up, throw a pretend combo into the air and yell, “BANG! Look! I’m strong like Daddy!”

And when you walked into the room with a towel and water for Sylus, she rushed over to you next. “Mommy, look! I punch like this now!” she demonstrated with exaggerated form, accidentally almost punching your leg.

Sylus sighed, standing behind her, already anticipating the chaos and softly chuckling.

“She’s been punching air non stop,” he said with a small smirk, towel now over his shoulders. “She's been trying to use her tricks with the twins.”

Your daughter looked up at you with an adorable grin. “Daddy said I got perfect form!” she beamed, hands on her hips.

Sylus knelt beside her again, pulling her into his arms as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

You chuckled and softly reminded her, “You do have perfect form, baby. But punching is for training. Not for attacking your big bros, yeah?”

Your daughter grinned, wrapping her arms around her dad’s neck. “But Daddy said I got fighter blood!”

Sylus just chuckled in response and stood up, still carrying her.

You shook your head, hiding a smile as you watched the two of them, one who's literally the Onychinus's Leader, and the other… his proud little baby girl.

ZAYNE —

A The soft hum of music played from Zayne’s speaker in the corner of the room, but he was focused, both hands gripping the pull up bar, arms flexing with each controlled lift. His face was calm, only the faintest crease of effort on his brow as he powered through his set.

But he wasn’t alone today.

Just a few feet away, sitting cross-legged on a mat, was his daughter, happily munching on a tiny box of macarons. She was mid-bite into a pink one, watching her dad with the kind of wide eyed curious look only a child could manage.

After a few seconds of silent observation, she tilted her head and asked, “Daddy… is that like the monkey bars?”

Zayne stopped mid pull, then dropped down with a light thud. He turned to her, amused.

“Monkey bars?” he repeated, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands. “it's quite similar, i guess.”

She stood up, brushing a few crumbs off her shirt. “But why don’t you swing?” she asked, walking over to him and looking up at the pull up bar like it was some grand playground structure. “You’re just going up and down.”

He crouched to her level, brushing a macaron crumb off her cheek. “It’s not for swinging, sweetheart. I’m doing pull-ups, it’s an exercise. Makes Daddy strong.”

She looked skeptical. “…But I think it’s monkey bars.”

Zayne chuckled softly, then stood and gently picked her up with ease. “Alright then. Let’s try it your way.”

Her small hands reached up to the bar as he lifted her, and she immediately started kicking her legs in the air, trying to pull herself up with all her might, but of course, her arms weren’t quite ready for that kind of effort.

So Zayne took over.

He supported her by the waist and gently moved her up and down, mimicking the movement of pull ups. “There. You’re doing it very well, sweetheart.” he said with a soft smile, watching her squeal in delight.

“I’m strong like Daddy now....!” she declared, still hanging on as he lifted her again.

“Stronger,” he whispered with a smile, planting a kiss on the side of her head as she lightly giggled. “You’re definitely stronger.”

Soon they weren’t really doing pull ups anymore. She just wanted to swing back and forth, and Zayne gladly held her, gently swaying her in the air as she laughed and begged to go higher.

He was supposed to be training, counting sets, burning muscle, but in that moment, with her tiny fingers still gripping the bar and her laughter echoing through the room, he figured this was the best workout he could ask for.

XAVIER —

The low sound of the cycling machine filled the corner of the room, the soft rhythmic clicking of gears blending with Xavier’s steady breaths. His hands rested on the handlebars, one earbud in as he cycled through his usual routine, nothing too intense today, just enough to keep the momentum going.

Across the room, sitting on the floor with his legs sprawled out and spaceship toys surrounding him like an orbit, was his four years old son.

Xavier glanced at him between at least 3 minutes, just enough to make sure he wasn’t sticking a toy into an outlet or trying to sneak and play with the ipad again.

Then came the inevitable.

“Daddy?” his son piped up, standing and wobbling over in his socks, a little spaceship toy clutched in one hand. “Why are you biking without moving?”

Xavier slowed his pace slightly, pulling the other earbud out with a raised brow. “Hmm?”

His son looked at the cycling machine with visible confusion. “You’re biking but… you’re not going anywhere.”

Xavier gave a soft laugh, ruffling the boy’s hair. “It’s called a stationary bike, buddy. It’s for exercise. Kinda like biking in place.”

“…So it’s pretend biking..?”

“Exactly.”

His son squinted at the machine, thinking very hard. “Can I pretend bike too?”

Xavier smiled and tapped the handlebars. “C’mon, climb up.”

He reached down and carefully lifted his son onto his lap, making sure he was sitting safely, feet dangling way too short to reach the pedals. He adjusted the seat a bit, holding his son in place while the little boy clutched the handlebars like he was about to race in a championship.

“Ready?” Xavier asked.

“Go...!” his son declared, softly giggling.

Xavier began pedaling slowly, just enough to keep the wheels spinning without jostling him too much. His son squealed as he bounced slightly from the movement, pretending to steer with dramatic turns and sound effects.

“Vroooom! Zoom! We’re going to uncle Jeremiah!” he said.

Xavier leaned closer, playing along. “Left turn, captain. Don’t miss the ice cream stand.”

His son cackled, twisting the handlebars and yelling, “I’m going super fast now!” even though Xavier was moving at the slowest pace possible to keep things gentle.

They biked “around the world” in circles of imagination, racing through invisible cities, dodging flying dinosaurs, and somehow ending up in space at one point.

[catboymoonknight]

Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.

[catboymoonknight]

[catboymoonknight]

Cracked Confidence

Amir x ftm! Reader

Summary: You've been getting dysphoria and pushing yourself a bit too hard. Amir wants to try and help.

✧.*✎~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~✎*.✧

Some of the dateables have noticed how strange you’ve been acting all week.

You started wearing baggier clothes, attending to others’ needs until you were emotionally exhausted, and barely looked at the mirror at all.

The last one offended Amir deeply. He watched you run around the house. Ignoring every mirror or reflective surface, which meant you were ignoring him.

“Fine! I'm going to bed.” He hears you call out to Dorian before the door shuts on your face. Forcing you to actually get some rest.

Amir sees this as a chance to finally talk. Watching you sit on the bed with a huff, facing away from the mirror, it all ached him inside.

“Azizam, is everything okay?” He asks, taking a seat beside you. “I have to agree with Dorian that you've pushed yourself too far.”

“I'm fine, just a bit stuck in my head…” You mutter as your fingers play with the edge of your sleeves.

Amir looks at how you fidget, then puts a hand on your leg as comfort. He frowns, noticing that you flinched at such a simple touch.

“Did I do something to upset you?” His voice goes low, you turn to him with wide eyes.

“What? No, of course not.” You shake your head and give a gentle smile to reassure him. “I’m just a bit tired today.”

Though your answer didn't satisfy his questions, Amir noticed how you struggled to put on a smile, and that you hunched over yourself.

“Well, eshgham, just know that you need to wear your confidence out more.” He decides not to push it for now, but puts a kiss on your forehead.

He heads out, but the worry still doesn't settle down.

“Have you noticed something different with… them?” Amir asks Johnny, since he may be the only man who could probably give him a straight answer. “I tried talking to him yesterday but he won't budge.”

“Hm?” Johnny pauses his loud singing to turn to the mirror. “Ah, I never know, he hasn't used me often the past week.”

Amir frowns, you never taking a shower was concerning.

“But, I did hear something about them being insecure.” Johnny mutters, more to himself.

“Insecure?” The word felt like a slap to the face, you were gorgeous in his eyes!

Hector chimes in from the vents, voice low and smooth. “Yeah, I asked Mac about it.” He sounded hurt as he brought it up.

“Something called dysphoria. They said it's when you feel uneasy or dissatisfied, psychologically speaking.”

“Doesn't sound like a good thing.” The shower turns to Hector, who hums in agreement.

Amir processes the words, sure he was vaguely familiar with dysphoria, but now he knew why you couldn't even look towards him.

“Man, I’m feeling deeply sorry for him.” Johnny sighs as he leans on his shower cane.

“I kept trying to help! But I don't really know what to do with these kinds of things…” Hector whines as he confesses. “They won't even accept any of my praise, even if he deserves it. I kept apologizing.”

“He won't even look at me.” Amir whispers, his frown deepening. “Hm, I will keep these in mind.” With that, he plans his next actions on how to help.

Night fell and you got ready for bed. Usually you'd be at the Breaker Box tonight, but Volt and Eddie insisted that you should take an early rest.

Amir appears beside the bed where you were lying down with your face in the pillows. You acknowledged his presence with a small groan.

He sits down, running a hand through your hair as the air was filled with a long silence.

“Eshgham, you know that you're gorgeous, right?” The words break the silence, you hum to let him know you were listening. “How do you want me to help?” You finally face him while still lying down.

“I don't know.” You hesitate, an arm coming up to cover your face.

“Then I'll stay until you know, azizam.” He lies down beside you, playing with the strands of your hair.

He places a hand on your back, slightly pushing you closer, whispering to you. “You're so handsome and wonderful, omram. No matter what your thoughts say.”

“How about tomorrow, we give you a haircut, go through your wardrobe and talk to Barry.” Amir suggests with a smile on his face.

You reciprocate the smile and move closer to him, leaning on his thigh. “Maybe that's what I needed, thanks Amir.”

“Then go get your rest, joonam.” He places a kiss to your hair and rubs circles on your back.

[catboymoonknight]

Hi everyone! Here's your Daily Reminder to Click for Palestine!

And if you can spare a dollar, donate to ANERA!

[catboymoonknight]

So far in LA an Australian news reporter has been shot in the leg by a rubber bullet, a British reporter has been shot by a sponge bullet and sent to the hospital for emergency surgery. A NY Post reporter has been shot in the head with a rubber bullet and went to the hospital for a large bruise on his forehead, whiplash and neck pain, and CNN reporters were handcuffed and escorted away being told to not come back or they will be arrested BECAUSE they are reporters.

It seems like all reporters there to give the real story are being targeted by police/ICE/military in LA.

[catboymoonknight]

have any of you ever considered: maybe he has a average sized dick. small even.

[catboymoonknight]

biker!vi x masc/butch–biker!reader

Sunlight sliced through the open garage door, hitting the Yamaha like a spotlight on a stage. Dust floated in the air like ash, golden and slow. Somewhere in the garage, a fan hummed low and lazy, moving warm air that smelled like burnt rubber and metal.

Vi was crouched beside your matte-black R1. Her gear was abandoned somewhere, replaced with a simple sports bra and distressed jeans. Her forearms were tense and her shoulders were bright with the edge of the afternoon. Her fingers moved with deliberate precision. There was a smear of grease high on her jawline and sweat at the nape of her neck.

You leaned in the doorway, cracked open a cold soda with a snap-hiss, the sound sharp in the stillness. You didn’t say anything at first, just watched, admiring and appreciating the view.

The soft sound of a ratchet turning echoed under the frame of the bike, all tension and click. Click. Click.

"Unreal," you finally said, not bothering to lower your voice.

Vi didn’t even look up. "What now?"

You took a slow sip, smirking around the rim of the can. "Do you try to be this hot, or is it just some kind of cursed blessing?”

She arched a brow without breaking her focus. "I'm elbow-deep in grease."

"Still." You answered with a shrug.

She reached for a socket wrench, her bicep flexing under grease-streaked skin. Her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.

“You really wandered in here just to cause problems, didn’t you?”

You stepped inside still wearing your gear, the scuffed heels of your boots tapping against the concrete. "Please. You left the door open. You wanted an audience."

Vi muttered something under her breath—definitely a curse this time—and slid a tray of tools closer with a sharp metallic scrape. She didn’t look at you, but she knew exactly how close you were.

You crouched next to her—not because the bike needed attention, but because she had yours. You watched her hands, the subtle twitch of muscle in her forearms, the calm under pressure. The engine hissed faintly with leftover heat.

“So,” you said, dragging the word out, “what’s the verdict, doc?”

“Chain tension’s off again. Someone’s been riding like they stole it.” She answered, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

You widened your eyes, mock innocent. “You saying I was rough?”

Vi’s hands didn’t stop moving. “I’m saying you were riding it a little too aggressively.”

You laughed, low and warm. “Maybe I was trying to keep pace with my girlfriend. Ever think of that?”

That cracked her. Barely—but you caught the curve of a smile before she crushed it back down with a grunt and a turn of the wrench.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, but it came out soft. “And a distraction.”

You stretched out your back, rolled your shoulders. “Should I take my shirt off? Even the playing field?”

She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her arm, the motion revealing the full stretch of her back under that sweat-darkened sport bra. “You do that, and we’re not getting anything done for the next hour.”

“Was that a threat or an invitation?”

This time she looked at you—eyes dark and sharp, threaded with heat and exasperation.

“Sit your ass down,” she said, nodding toward the stool near the workbench. “And try not to combust.”

You dropped onto it without hesitation—not before leaving a kiss on the back of her neck—, relaxed and taking off your jacket, eyes glued to her like she was the main event.

Because she was.

And judging by the smirk tugging at her mouth now—she damn well knew it.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟

[catboymoonknight]

Heyhey!!! Dont know if u already did it or not but I WOULD LOVEEE arcane women x chubby girl. <3 love your writing

of course! thank you for the request <3

domino dancing by pet shop boys on repeat rn

summary; headcanons of arcane women with a chubby girlfriend.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest

tags/warnings; fluff, talk abt body of course, some talk about body image but i wanna keep it positive, just a lot of fluff

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* to say jinx loves every inch of you is a cruel understatement. she loves your voice, your mind, your heart, your smile, and of course your body. how could she not?

✧.* jinx marvels at just how soft you are so much of the time. your arms, your tummy, your hips, in her mind you’re the perfect size to hold and love. more of you to embrace, soft and warm in her arms.

✧.* jinx loves your thighs. she’ll often lay her head in your lap, relishing in the soft feeling and letting out little sighs. you make an incredible pillow, she says- way better than any actual pillows or beds. also sits in your lap frequently and wraps her arms around your neck, laying her head on your shoulder.

✧.* “comfy down there?” you tease, looking at your girlfriend- utterly blissed out with her eyes closed and head on your lap. “mhm, very. this is heaven.”

✧.* jinx is usually the type to give constant (although off the wall) compliments, and that wouldn’t change based on any body type. she’s constantly telling you how beautiful you look, pinching your cheeks and giggling, telling you being this gorgeous should be a criminal offense.

✧.* it’s often you’re in jinx’s hideout trying on outfits, sometimes her own clothes (she has several items that are baggy on her), and jinx positively melts every time she sees you. “holy shit!” she gasps, running over to look you over more accurately. “you’re gorgeous all the time, toots- but damn!”

✧.* jinx is also constantly kissing your stretch marks and sometimes just running her fingers over them in comfortable silence. she finds every part of your body beautiful, including these- lovingly referring to them as ‘stripes’ or ‘tiger marks.’ also enjoys the texture.

✧.* “y’know i love these?” she murmurs, often in quieter moments between the two of you. “they’re great, just like the rest of ya. but i like feelin’ em.”

✧.* cuddle time is sacred, no matter what. but jinx insists on being the big spoon most of the time, no matter how much taller or shorter you may be than her. she loves snuggling into the crook of your neck, hands wrapping around your waist and arms resting against your belly or knee resting against your soft thighs, just to feel closer.

vi;

✧.* we already know vi is an absolute lover girl, and she’d adore your body. every dip and curve and roll and mark, she’s in awe and sees you as some kind of divine being. vi often asks herself how she got so lucky.

✧.* that being said, though, vi tries not to make any spectacle- unless you want her to, of course. she’s considerate of your feelings and you are so much more than just a pretty face or a body to her, as beautiful as said body is.

✧.* though if there’s any lingering insecurity, vi is quick to try and shoot that down. insecure girlfriend? not on her watch. the second she sees you staring in the mirror for just a little too long, she’s gently coaxing you away and pressing sweet kisses to your temple. “hey, don’t worry about that stupid mirror. you’re perfect.”

✧.* borrowing vi’s hoodies and smelling her on them while she isn’t able to be with you <3 you’re similar sizes due to her being rather bulky, and she often buys oversized outerwear! and best of all, she doesn’t tell you when she’s leaving them. you’ll get a call from vi, her telling you to check the third drawer in your dresser or something along those lines.

✧.* “i- huh? why?” you’d mutter, but still move to the dresser. “just trust me, babe.”

✧.* you’d find one of her black hoodies folded up with your clothes, with a little post-it that reads, “i know you’re busy, and we won’t be able to see each other for a few days. i hate it as much as you do :( but i left something for you to keep while i’m not there, at least physically.”

✧.* vi is pretty partial to physical touch in general, but especially with you. she loves hugging you from behind and feeling the soft plush of your hips and arms, nuzzling into your neck and breathing your scent in. feeling your arms wrapped around her, vi swears she’s in paradise. you’re unreal.

✧.* especially drawn to your cheeks, for some reason. she doesn’t necessarily squeeze them or pinch them (though she has been tempted to), but she loves how well they suit your face. loves the way they look when you smile at her, and how they look when flushed.

✧.* and you can bet vi is constantly telling you how gorgeous you are. vi is the type of girlfriend to worship the ground her girlfriend walks on, telling you at every turn things like “you’re the most gorgeous thing i’ve ever seen,” and “you get more beautiful every day. i don’t know how you do it.”

mel;

✧.* from the moment mel laid eyes on you, she thought you were the most stunning thing she’s ever seen. better than any glass chandeliers, or rolling mountains, or gold jewelry.

✧.* of course there's no spectacle, but mel absolutely adores every physical trait of yours. your hips, your stomach, your thighs, any stretch marks or cellulite. your face shape and just how sweet you look, whenever your gaze falls on her.

✧.* mel does try to help where she can though, especially in the hotter months when your thighs are prone to chafing. of course she's got anti-chafing products for you- only the best of the best for you. one of the many perks of dating the richest woman in piltover. but she's got baby powder and vaseline ready if you need that as well.

✧.* "do you have everything you need?" she hums, getting her own bag together. piltover's heat is unforgiving, and the last thing she needs is for you to be uncomfortable when you're supposed to be having a nice time. "water, a light snack, sunscreen, baby powder?"

✧.* and she also has access to some of the best tailors in piltover. if there's something you've been eyeing but doesn't come in your size, mel has it covered. no questions asked. she'll even ask if you want any changes to be done to the design, because the woman just wants something that feels like you.

✧.* mel does not shy away from letting you know just how stunning she thinks you are. it's often that you'll be getting ready in the morning, and you'll feel the woman's arms wrap around your middle from behind. pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder and murmuring, "you're as stunning as ever," and "it's almost unfair that you wake up this beautiful every day."

✧.* if any insecurities are present, mel does her best to comfort you through them. while she understands that these things are easier said than done and you can't just get over it, what she can do is be there for you. to assure you that there's nothing wrong with your body, every inch of you is perfect. every roll and bit of extra skin.

✧.* she loves being in your arms. not only does she feel comforted by your warmth and softness, but she feels safe. mel feels like nothing in the world can reach her- no violence, no corruption. as long as you're holding her.

sevika;

✧.* sevika cares for every part of you- your mind, your heart, your soul. your body is absolutely a plus though, seeing your eyes light up and your smile. the way your tummy spills over your jeans a little, and your hips are the perfect size for her to hold onto while you're out.

✧.* she's incredibly loyal, and incredibly protective. can't have anyone laying a hand on her girlfriend, especially not with you looking as gorgeous as you do.

✧.* sevika is handsy, but in an absentminded, instinctual way. sometimes she grabs onto one of your thighs and gives a gentle squeeze while she's sat next to you, as a silent reassurance that she's there. sometimes sevika holds onto you from behind, hands on your love handles while she presses soft kisses to your neck.

✧.* you could be cooking, cleaning, reading a book, sevika doesn't care. she just needs to be touching you at all times, both for her peace of mind (although she'll seldom admit that out loud), and because you're just so soft.

✧.* "..hey, pretty," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around you from behind. you're stood in front of a gas stove, preparing today's lunch. trying to. "hi, sev... trying to cook." you chuckle, but there's no actual malice in your tone. "i know, i know. just couldn't help myself."

✧.* sevika may be brash and rough to the majority of zaun, but she lets her guard down around you. it takes a lot of time and a lot built trust, but there comes a time when she'll seek your comfort after a long day. laying her head on your stomach while you card your fingers through her hair, murmuring sweet nothings to her.

✧.* "mm... you're comfortable," she hums, her words nearly slurred with exhaustion. "i am, huh?" a breathy chuckle escapes you, but you can't pretend this isn't endearing. "yeah. comfortable."

✧.* sevika absolutely lets you borrow her clothes. although she may not outright say it, she wants you to wear her clothing. she's always thought it looked better on you, anyways- and the scent of you after you've worn them is a plus.

caitlyn;

✧.* caitlyn has always been captivated you- that's the only way she can describe it. your drive and passion was the first thing that caught her eye, but she couldn't help noticing how beautiful you are. she's only human, after all.

✧.* she's not really the type for pda, but you can bet that the second you're alone, caitlyn is all over you. she loves cuddling in general, and the softness of your stomach and hips might be her favorite part. being held against your chest, almost like you're her own personal cushion. maybe it's your warmth, or maybe it's exhaustion from her long days, but she ends up falling asleep more often than not.

✧.* it's hard not to, when you're rubbing your hand along her back in little circles and whispering sweet things to her- like "i can't get enough of this," and "i love you so much, you have no idea."

✧.* caitlyn often has her clothes tailored, but she might start buying some items that are baggy on her. "i'm just exploring my style," is her excuse, but it's really just so she can lend you clothes. any time you mention needing something to wear while you do your laundry or you're too cold for what you're wearing right now, your girlfriend comes swooping in.

✧.* caitlyn's always been a rather good cook, and one of her love languages is acts of service. so the second you mention being hungry, the woman is already in her kitchen while you sit prettily at the island, making your favorite.

✧.* she also does her best to make sure you're comfortable, any kind of chafing or dryness is something she wants to prevent. baby powder is something she always keeps in her bag, any kinds of lotions or creams you might need. caitlyn knows you take good enough care of yourself, but she wants to help where she can.

✧.* "dear, it's hot out," she murmurs, reaching into her bag and closing her hand on a bottle of baby powder. "are you sure you don't need anything?" "i'm sure, cait, but thank you."

✧.* if there's any insecurity there, caitlyn does her best to reassure you. although she doesn't really understand why you feel that way, because you're nothing short of perfect in her eyes.

✧.* taking your coat off and hanging it on her rack while she tells you "don't hide, you're beautiful. you have nothing to be anxious about, trust me when i say that."

lest;

✧.* lest fell for you gradually, not typically being a relationship girl due to her line of work. but she's always had an appreciation for your company, and of course, your looks. she's always admired the softness of your upper arms, she's wondered what it might be like to feel your plush thighs in her hands.

✧.* by the time you are in a relationship, lest is so incredibly sweet to you. you see a side of her she doesn't often show others, completely unguarded and free-spirited. and she does not shy away from touching you or letting you know how stunning you are.

✧.* she loves laying on your thighs, especially after long and tiring days. reaching a clawed hand up to caress your cheek. "you're so comfortable," she murmurs, her voice low and smooth. "don't move... please. i'd like to stay here as long as i can."

✧.* lest understands insecurity. she's always been beautiful, but her acclaim and her need to appeal to clients- and the public by extension has made her scrutinize her looks from time to time. while it might not be the same, she gets it if you feel self-conscious about your body. that being said, she will do her best to comfort you through them.

✧.* you could be standing near a scale, and the moment lest notices, she nudges it away with her foot. "hey, darling." she'd say, her tone soft yet firm while she grasps your shoulders. "you're more than that thing. you're beautiful, regardless of some number."

✧.* also is pretty skilled with a needle and thread, although that's one of her lesser-known skills. so she'll tailor any clothes you need, maybe even adding her own embellishments that she thinks you'll like.

✧.* lest loves walking alongside you, usually tugged to her side while you lead her through the streets of piltover. her hand is planted firmly on one of your hips, and she just relishes in the feeling.

[catboymoonknight]

the art of dancing in the kitchen

carmy berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,479

warnings: literally nothing? this is pure fluff with slight swearing and little baby innuendos. i did make reader a hairdresser because i just love the idea and it makes so much sense for this.

synopsis: nothing brings you more joy than spending time with carmen…except maybe having him help you bake.

a/n: i swear to you, i think this might be my favorite fic that i’ve ever written. i love it so much and it made me so happy to write. i found myself smiling at the screen while typing, if that tells you anything. i think i’d definitely like to continue writing things in this universe, too! carmy is so fun for me to write and i love coming up with ways to make him feel tangible. (also shoutout to the first pic because if you know, you know.) i hope you enjoy this one and happy reading!! <33

————

Carmy never sees you run as fast as you do when you’re leaving work. In this case, it’s just so he can eat lunch with you, but you rush out of the salon door just as fast.

Your sundress catches the wind, the hem flying behind you as you jog up to the passenger side door. You catch a glimpse of Carmen through the dirty window. His curls are crushed underneath that worn blue cap, but today it’s turned the wrong way around on his head.

It makes him look boyish. The hand rubbing over his mouth in an effort to hide a grin doesn’t help his case. 

If you’re honest, you’ve been giddy since six that morning, when you got up and remembered that Carmy was meeting you for lunch. And when you got to work and found it was much slower than expected, with no show after no show, you were so grateful for the blue eyed man waiting for you outside. In a loading zone, no less. 

You hop into the car, pulling the door shut behind you distractedly. You’re too eager to see him, and before you can even say hello, how are you, how’s life—anything—you’re kissing him. 

His lips feel a little chapped against yours, the skin slightly dry and cracked, but you don’t mind. It feels like he’s just shaved, his jaw all smooth, and he smells like cinnamon and dish soap and cigarettes, but you’d be a liar if you tried to claim that wasn’t the best smell in the world.

You pull away from his kiss, locking eyes with him, where his pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed like he’s been pinched. “Hi, gorgeous,” you say. 

Carmen laughs, that little shy one that’s more of a big puff of air than a chuckle. He shakes his head at you, still not used to someone being so excited about his presence, so…enamored by him. 

“Hey, you,” Carmy answers, placing both of his hands on your cheeks. He stares at you for a moment. He’s trying to drink you in. He does this every chance he gets because he literally cannot believe you’re real. He’s not dissociating, he’s not daydreaming. This is his life.

Your already broad smile widens as you take the opportunity to stare back at him. Your eyes wander to his just-too-long sideburns. “I think it’s time for a trim again, Carm. Lookin’ a little grizzly there.” You ruffle his curls, which feel surprisingly clean. 

Carmy watches you bite your thumbnail in an effort to conceal the laugh threatening to burst from your throat due to your own horrible joke. 

“Ha, ha. So funny.”

He puts the car in drive and listens to you giggle to yourself as you fasten your seatbelt. Neither of you say much on the very short drive to the park across the street, knowing you’ll be able to vent as much as you please while you eat. 

“Cross your fingers our bench is free?” you say, raising your hand up towards Carmen. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as if that also counts as a way of manifesting your favorite seat. Carmy lifts his fingers in the air, the middle crossed over the index and gently knocks his hand against yours. 

You pull into the parking lot, the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires filling your ears, and your gaze immediately flies to the bench underneath the biggest tree with the most shade and the best view for people watching. “Fuck, yeah!” you shout, a brilliant smile blooming on your face as you unbuckle. 

Carmy laughs for real this time, the corners of his eyes going all soft and crinkly at your joy. “Run over there and claim it, yeah? I’ll grab everything.”

You push open the car door and stand quickly, smoothing the sweet ruffles of your dress. You wink, already starting to happily jog away. “Yes, chef!” Carm catches your salute just before he reaches in the backseat for the cooler and bag of food he brought with him from the restaurant.

On your bench, you prop your hand on your chin, tuck your foot under your thigh, and watch as Carmen walks up the short little incline to you. He looks gorgeous.

He’s wearing jeans, Levi’s that hug his ass and thighs just right. He has on an old “I heart New York” t-shirt that he only wears when he hasn’t caught up on laundry (and only bought for that same reason a few years ago). 

His curls and necklace bounce almost in sync, and you can’t help but think that he just looks so pure and free.

And he’s got this glint in his eye that’s directed right on you. 

“Ebra made your favorite. He heard I was meeting you for lunch and insisted he do it,” Carmy says, snapping you out of your how-could-this-man-get-any-more-sexy daze. 

He places the tin foil wrapped sandwich in front of you, pretending not to notice the way you’re gawking at him. “I swear he’s never been so gentle with roast beef.”

You smile, pulling up the strap on your dress where it’s started to slip. Carmy leans over the table to press a kiss to your shoulder. It makes your stomach flip. 

“Did he make yours for you?” you ask, mouth watering impatiently as you lift the still-warm bread up so you can take a messy bite. 

Carmen hands you a napkin. “Put that over your chest—yeah, like that. So you don’t get your dress dirty.” He rips open a bag of chips for you to share. “But to answer your question, fuck no he didn’t.”

You toss your head back and laugh. “You’ll have to tell him I said thank you for making such a yummy lunch for me.” Your boyfriend watches as you suck a stream of au jus from your thumb. 

Carmy scoffs playfully. You wink at him. “I did have the cutest delivery boy though.”

His brow raises, and the corners of his mouth quirk while he chews on the handful of potato chips he’s just shoved in his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You hum. “Yep. Cute even with roast beef stuck in his teeth.”

Carmy falls for it, quickly taking a sip of his drink like he’s going to wash the beef free. But the twinkle in your eye tips him off. “You’re fuckin’ with me?”

You wipe your grinning mouth. “‘Course I am, Bear.”

Carmen raises up from his side of the picnic table just enough so that he’s leaning across to meet you halfway. He waves you closer with his hands. “Come on now, you owe me a kiss for bein’ a little shit.”

You brace your palms against the worn—and slightly damp from last night's rain shower—wood, quickly connecting your lips with Carmy’s. 

You do this thing where you start smiling into the kiss and in turn it makes Carmen smile because your giddiness to have your mouth on his is insanely fucking contagious, and he’d be a damn fool not to join in.

When you pull apart you make sure to quickly kiss both of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “There’s your tip for being such a pretty delivery boy and bringin’ me lunch.”

The both of you settle into quiet conversation, catching up on whatever as you finish your sandwiches and drinks. Carmy reaches across the table to hold your hand, rubbing the pads of his fingers over your polished nails. He likes the way they feel.

As a surprise to end your lunch hour, he pulls out a little back holding two oversized oatmeal raisin cookies. One for each of you. And he knows those are your favorite. You do a happy little wiggle in your seat when you see them. It makes him laugh, makes his stomach flip. 

“Marcus made a batch of these, just tryin’ out cookie recipes? We thought having them out front for people to grab on their way out would be smart.”

You take the cookie from him. “That is smart. And I already know it’s gonna be yummy.”

“Damn straight. I ate like, four of them as my breakfast and lunch yesterday. But that’s not important. How’s work so far?” 

You’ll have to berate him about that later. The man cannot eat cookies and wash them down with Pepto Bismol and call it a day. 

You demolish your cookie within seconds. “Work has been so fuckin’ slow today, Bear. We’ve had all these no shows, so I got set up and then they don’t come and now I’ll have to send them the files about the fee.”

“You want me to yell at ‘em for you? Tell them how they’re missin’ out on the world’s best haircut and color?”

You smack him playfully on the wrist. “I just love my job, y’know? So it sucks when I sit there playin’ on my phone instead of listening to all the gossip my customers bring me.”

Carmy downs the rest of his Coke and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “If it helps, I’ll let you give me that trim after service tonight.”

“At least I know you won’t cancel on me.”

Carmen watches you for a minute, losing himself in now fucking ethereal you are. He’s never imagined himself using the word, but that’s the only proper way to describe you. And he secretly loves you cutting his hair because your hands feel so good, especially when you wash it for him. 

“I’ll tip you real good too, baby.” Carmy blushes at his own joke and it makes you laugh. Mid-laugh though, your eyes widen like you’ve just had an idea. It feels a little devious to him.

You pull out your phone. “Oh! When I was doomscrolling this morning, I found this video of blueberry muffins—dammit, of course I can’t find it now—but they had the…the…”

You lift your hand, wiggling your fingers in a sort of sprinkly motion like you’re try to demonstrate what you’d seen. “The crumbly shit, Carm! I don’t know what the fuck it’s called.”

You reach over and take both of his hands. “Point is, they looked really yummy and I wondered if you’d help me make them?”

Carmy starts chuckling. He definitely knew what you were talking about with your hand gesture, since you’re always making them and he’s got them memorized by now, but it’s so fucking fun to see your brain work. 

He begins to gather up your trash and put it back in the bag he brought it in. 

“Yeah, I think I have enough flour and shit. There’s some frozen blueberries in the back of the freezer. But do you want the crumbly shit, or streusel?”

“Carmen, sweet angel baby, I don’t know what streusel is.”

“It’s usually got cinnamon and nuts and shit, so that’s what we’ll do because I know how you like your nuts, love.”

You take his hand when he offers it to help you stand. You smack a big, wet kiss on his lip. You let your eyes drag up and down his form before you begin to walk back to the car. 

“Sure do, Carmy.”

————

“You don’t need a recipe or anything?”

Carm presses a sweet kiss to your lips and passes you a few fresh blueberries to snack on. He’d grabbed some at the store on the way home because was he really going to teach his girlfriend how to make muffins with a questionable bag of frozen blueberries? Fuck no.

“Nah, it’s all pretty simple. I’ll tell you everything to do, and I can write one out for you if you ever wanna make ‘em when I’m not home.”

You pinch his sides, raising up on your tippy toes to express your giddiness. “Really? Holy shit, I love that.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Yeah?” Carmen cups your chin, tilting your mouth up to meet his because he wants a kiss.

You start to talk while his lips are still on yours. “It’s your handwriting. I have a thing for it.”

He bites your bottom lip playfully. “You’re insane,” he says, smiling through each syllable. He pulls back briefly. “That reminds me, I got you somethin’.”

Carmen walks to the living room and pulls something out of his work bag. “Does this have to do with my insanity?” you ask, jokingly. 

He shakes his head. “Only with your insanely cute ass.” He holds up an apron. “It’s your honorary chef apron. Ta-da.”

It’s the same blue as his at work, except it has a ruffled hem and the logo for The Bear embroidered on the chest. Your brows shoot up.

“You got this today, Carm?” The alarm in your voice makes him smile. 

Carmy walks up to you and starts tying it around your waist. “No, no, not today. I got it awhile back, but you bringing up muffins made me remember I’d ordered it. It came with the chef’s whites and shit.”

“You got it made for me?” Your voice pitches up a notch, causing Carmen to spin you around so you’re facing him. 

“‘Course I did. Couldn’t leave my number one out. And yours is cuter than everyone else’s.”

Your eyes water, just slightly, and you start smothering Carmy’s face with kisses until he starts to giggle boyishly. “Okay, okay!” he fusses, “No tears, only muffins.” He grabs your hips and moves you in front of the counter where he’s laid out all the ingredients for you. “Let’s get movin’ now, yeah? This shit is making me hungry.”

————

“Why do they tell you to fold it in? I’m not doing fuckin’ laundry, Bear.”

Carmy is sitting on the counter next to you, watching you intensely. There are floury handprints on your apron and you have your tongue poking out in concentration. He keeps bringing a straw to your lips every few minutes to keep you hydrated, like this is a very important surgical operation. 

“Probably ‘cause it looks like folds when you do that?” You smack him on the knee and continue to fold in all the ingredients, pretending like you don’t see exactly what he means.

Once you feel like it’s all combined you let go of the spatula and turn to Carmen. 

“What now, Bear?”

“You gotta mix up the sugar and the flour and the cinnamon, and then you can add your little nut mixture and I’ll show you how to do the butter.”

You reach for the collection of small glass bowls Carmy set out for you. “So sassy,” you say, shaking your shoulder just a little. 

He smiles at you and extends a socked foot out to lightly kick you on the butt. But you were expecting it, so you reach behind you and grab his ankle, tickling the bottom of his foot, which is where he’s most ticklish. It’s his Achilles heel. 

Carmy releases a short bout of laughter before pulling away from you to catch his breath. “Fucker.”

You grin, leaning over the sink to wash your hands for the umpteenth time. “But I’m your fucker, angel boy.”

He hops off the counter, scooching in behind you to press a kiss to your clammy cheek. “Can’t argue with that,” he says. 

Carm watches over your shoulder as you add a small mix of crushed almonds, granola, and pecans to your streusel topping. “Good job, baby. Now I need you to cut a few pats of butter and add ‘em in. Just do a few—yeah, just like that—and you can start mixing it up. You can use your hands if you need to since it gets so difficult to stir.”

The warmth of Carmy’s chest against your back should be unnerving, what with him observing your every move. 

But it isn’t. Rather, it's comforting. When the butter combines with your little potion mix as much as it can, you use your hands to make sure nothing gets left behind. 

“You’re very good at making sure the crumbly shit is crumbly, lovebug.”

You look over your shoulder at Carmen as you finally slide the finished tray into the oven. “I’m givin’ you a run for your money, aren’t I, Bear?”

He smiles at you, reaching around your waist to untie your apron and lift it over your head. He hangs it on the little rack meant for keys. “Might have to tell Marcus about this. Get you in there, helpin’ him decorate donuts and shit.”

You push up on your toes and wrap your arms around Carmy’s neck. His go around the small of your back like that’s the only job they’ve ever had. 

“So you can throw them on the floor?” you quip, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. You know you’re being a little shit, but at least it’s a memory you can all laugh at now. 

Carmy’s lips quirk up at the corners. His right hand lowers and squeezes at the fat of your ass, a little menacingly, but loving all the same. “Never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

You lower your forehead so that it’s resting on Carm’s chest. He feels your giggle against his skin. Feels the way your fingers play with his necklace where they rest at the back of his neck. It’s giving him goosebumps. 

“Nope,” you say, that cute little teasing lilt to your voice. 

Carmy tightens his grip around your waist and lifts you up into the air, spinning you around his small kitchen a few times. Just enough that you squeal out of surprise, out of pure, unadulterated joy because of this romantic ass gesture that feels straight out of a story book. You pop your feet up for good measure. You could never let Princess Mia down like that.

When he sets you down, you both stare at each other for a moment, catching your breath with these stupid happy smiles on your faces. And right there, you both feel that little bolt of electricity. The one that tells you this will never go away. This connection is everlasting. 

It takes a minute for you to register that you’re both shuffling lightly across the floor, in gentle, sloppy circles. 

You look down at Carmy’s socked feet and back up to meet his eyes. “Does this count as dancing?”

He scratches his nose. “Couldn’t tell you.”

You kiss the spot where he was self-consciously rubbing. “Maybe we should practice, you know, in case we need to dance someday.”

Carmen snorts. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

You play with the curls around his ears, remembering your promise to give him that trim. “Have you ever danced, Mr. Berzatto?”

He kisses you. “Only alone in my room.”

You kiss him. “That what you do when I’m not around?”

He kisses you a second time. “Yep. Busted. But Richie used to try and make us play Just Dance with him when he got drunk.” He grins at the little chuckle you let out. “What about you?” he starts. “Have a past dancing career?”

You shake your head, admiring every little freckle on his face. Every little dry patch of skin, every line. 

“In high school, me and my girlfriends would usually just hold hands and spin around in a little dance circle since we were all single. It was very cool of us.”

“I would’ve paid to see that,” Carmy says, cupping your jaw. You grin up at him, eyes twinkling. You imagine you’ve got big ‘ol pink hearts fluttering back and forth at him. 

You both melt into each other after that. Slowly shuffling around the kitchen, hips swaying to music that isn’t there. Usually Carmy would be on the verge of shitting his pants in a situation like this, but…it’s you. You’re safe. 

Why wouldn’t he dance with you? 

Carmen brings his lips to your ear. “Is there music in your head right now?”

“Rick Astley,” you whisper. 

Carmy blinks. 

And then he tosses his head back, laughing. “Seriously?” 

“Nope. I just wanted to hear you laugh,” you say, and kiss the chuckle right off his lips. He kisses you back, pecking your lips three times in quick succession because one is just never enough. You tug on a curl. “We’re stupid in love, aren’t we?”

“We’re dancing, shuffling like old people really, in my shitty kitchen on a weeknight, and waiting on blueberry muffins that I’m pretty sure we’ll finish within the hour.”

“Oh my god, Bear.”

“Yeah, baby. We’re stupid in love.”

You are. And when you sit on the kitchen floor, your socked feet in his lap, eating warm muffins and getting butter all over your fingers and down your wrists, that only confirms it. 

Those are the best damn muffins you’ve ever had. And Carmy’s lips taste like blueberries for the rest of the night. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[catboymoonknight]

learning in public

pairing. carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto x female! reader

an. well. what can i say. white boy of the month :/ porn without plot :/ an absolute thirst post of epic proportions :/ the bear is tv at it’s finest and while this is literally filth, i cradle the show like a baby bird and give it sweet kisses. i dont know if anyone is going to read, but if you do, pls comment and reblog if u liked<3 (@ohcapfics​ for my latest fic updates) 

synopsis. you didn’t think he’d enjoy it that much. didn’t think he’d want more, too. 

warnings. 18+ ONLY. you copy my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving oral and fingering, semi public sex, hair pulling, spit as lube and mentions of panic attacks. 

Keep reading

[catboymoonknight]

There are just random unexplainable things they do to you

For example, when LUCIFER is walking past you in a narrow way, like in the kitchen, he would always bump his hips on to you to make you stumble a little bit and walk away like he did nothing.

Whenever MAMMON uses his deluxe 666 car and spotted you in the streets, best belive he's gonna press his foot on the gas and make that annoying "Vroom vroom~" sound at you, pull down and wink at you like a street pervert.

On the other hand, LEVIATHAN will always make you download every single app that makes it seem like you're a couple. Those widgets that has you taking care of the same pet and he would constantly remind you throughout the day to "Feed our children."

While SATAN is the one that would unconsciously hold doors open for you, would unconsciously hold the corners of tables when you bend down to pick something up.

ASMODEUS is cheeky, whenever he would see you, and I mean, anywhere. He would sneak up behind you and give your ass that hellishly painful pinch and run away laughing.

And BEELZEBUB is the type to massage you randomly. Like when he saw you sitting down, he would randomly place his hands on your shoulders then he would unconsciously start massaging you.

BELPHEGOR is still a menace and he knows when to strike. Whenever you're busy holding too many things, he would sneak behind you and press or kick you behind the knees to make them fold.

[catboymoonknight]

"How come you always fuckin' smell so good, huh?"

Oh, Frank is drunk. There's a subtle flush to his cheeks, he's blinking slowly, and his shoulders are, for the first time since you've met him several months ago, completely relaxed. He hangs his head to the side, watching you sip on another Dirty Shirley before answering his question.

"Because I don't use five-in-one shampoo, conditioner, body wash, motor oil-"

And he laughs. A full belly, eye squinting laugh you've never heard. It's a lie of course; the implication that he doesn't smell good. He smells so fucking good that you have to force yourself not to drool whenever he's around.

"It's just my perfume," you add. "Makes me smell like fruit punch. You like it?"

He hums, nodding with a distracted look in his eye. "Yeah. Like it a lot."

[catboymoonknight]

The Bear

Ramen -

Carmen x College Student Reader (Oneshot)