#All I will say for now is that it involves Gooey

[lady-zephyrine]

Had the sudden urge to draw these two together.

Drawcia's other form is more pink than I realized.

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely I was wondering if you could do a fic about a touch starved reader where she’s just really needy and wants to be held but is nervous to ask? and it’s just very fluffy and sweet, thank you so much!!

Hi sweetheart, thanks for requesting!

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Sirius is cozied up between James’ legs on the couch, tuned into his phone while James watches the football match on TV, and you’re oozing a jealousy so tender it hurts. 

It’s silly, but you can’t help thinking about how warm they must both be. James has one of his forearms draped over Sirius’ chest, their hands linked casually. Sirius’ bony, pale fingers intertwined with James’ thicker ones. They look comfortable and at ease with each other in a way that feels so out of reach. You wish you could join them, but they look too happy like this. You couldn’t ask them to move. 

“Dove?” 

You blink, focussing back on Remus. “Sorry?” 

“I asked how your meeting went.” A bit of concern digs into the space between his brows as he continues stirring the pot of soup on the stove. You give him a little smile, and it melts away. 

“Oh, not bad at all.” Today you had your first team meeting at your new job. You’d been nervous leading up to it, worried your boss would ask you to introduce yourself or present something, but it had blown over smoothly. “I was stressed for nothing, I didn’t even have to talk.” 

“Mm, good for you.” Your boyfriend gives you a knowing look, well aware that your shyness can sometimes get in the way of you sharing your ideas. “I’m glad it went well. I hope you start to feel comfortable enough to talk soon, though.” 

“Maybe,” you say agreeably, moving closer to him so you can rest the side of your head on his bicep. It’s an awkward sort of lean, but the most you’ll allow yourself. 

You can sense Remus’ confusion even without him making a sound. You know that if you pulled back to look, you’d find a familiar little indent hovering above his nose. “Tired?” he asks. 

Your heart gives a pitiful throb. Remus isn’t the most tactile of your boyfriends, but it would take so little for him to reach up with his free hand, wrap it around your shoulders. That’s all you want.

“No,” you reply, though you do sound tired, voice soft and breathy, “just love you.” 

“Sweetheart.” His voice is sticky with affection, and your heart balloons with hope. You feel his arm shift underneath you. His hand comes up to hold your cheek, keeping you steady while he presses a brief kiss to the top of your head. The hand falls away. “I love you too.” 

It feels ungrateful and a bit traitorous to feel so dejected after hearing those words, but you do. You leave your head where it is, heavy with a loneliness that’s completely invalid, while Remus continues stirring the soup, humming now. 

“Look at them.” Sirius’ voice gets your attention from the living room, dripping with faux rancor. He’s glowering at you over the top of the couch. James begrudgingly turns from the match to look at him, half curious what he’s on about. “They’re being all ooey gooey in the kitchen without us, can you believe it?” 

You sort of want to laugh at the irony. 

“You were given the opportunity to join,” Remus reminds him mildly. “I said I needed help chopping, and only y/n came to my aid.” 

“Yes, well I didn’t know there’d be declarations of love involved,” says Sirius, never one to be made to feel guilty. 

James, on the other hand, looks a tad penitent. 

“I didn’t hear you,” he says helplessly, climbing out from under Sirius. “Do you still need an extra pair of hands?”

“No, almost done now,” Remus says, but James comes anyway. He peers over Remus’ other shoulder, pecking him apologetically on the cheek. 

“Smells great,” he notes appreciatively. He leans across Remus to see your face, grinning in that way of his that makes it seem like someone’s brought the sun inside. “Thanks for taking up the mantle.” 

You make a quiet sound of amusement, and James’ smile fades. You hate yourself for doing it to him, even though it wasn’t intentional.

“You alright, lovie?” He scrutinizes your expression. You’re reminded that James is often more perceptive than you give him credit for. “You look a bit sad.” 

“No, I’m good.” You give him a smile. Remus’ shoulder shifts under your head as he looks down, trying to see you. 

James appears unconvinced. He moves behind Remus, over to where you stand. “Hug?” he offers. 

God, you feel like you could cry. That wouldn’t be good.

“Sure,” you say, as if it isn’t the deepest, most desperate desire of your heart. 

You turn into his arms, and he wastes no time in enveloping you. James gives the best hugs. Somehow, intuitively, he always knows just the amount of pressure you need, when to squeeze your back and when to rub it, exactly the right time to let go. It feels like he’s pouring love into you through his touch. He sets his chin on top of your head, and you swallow a happy sigh. 

“I can tell something’s bothering you,” he says quietly. He sweeps a hand up and down your spine, and you shiver, pressing your palms into his back. He does it again. “Talk to me, angel.” 

“I’m good,” you promise him. It’s a lot more truthful now. 

Still, you can feel James��� dissatisfaction. He cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing the baby hairs at your nape. “Anything I can do?” 

You clutch him to you, the fabric of his sweatshirt bunching in your hands. It smells like laundry detergent. “Just this, please.” 

“Aww,” Sirius croons, and it’s not until then that you realize the other two boys have been silent. Probably worried about you. You feel instantly sheepish. “I get it. You just wanted some love, didn’t you babydoll?” You look at him over James' shoulder, and predictably, he’s insufferably smug. He sees you watching and pats the top of the couch invitingly. “Come here, sweet thing, let me fix you up.” 

“I think I’m doing just fine,” James teases, but his grip loosens, one hand remaining on the small of your back as he walks you over to the couch. 

“Yeah, but we can share.” Sirius rolls his eyes. He grabs for you the second you’re close enough, hauling you up against him while James flops down on your other side. “What game are you playing, standing over there and looking all forlorn?” he asks you, peppering your cheek with kisses. A startled giggle spurts out of you, but he remains completely serious. “If you wanted a cuddle, all you had to do was ask.”

“It seemed dramatic,” you admit, though now that Sirius has got your face squished in his hand and James’ arm is draped around your shoulder, your silence feels a bit dramatic too. “And kind of needy.” 

“Babe.” Sirius is heartbroken, pulling back to give you a horrified look. “Being needy is my thing. I hardly think asking for a hug could challenge my hard-earned reputation.”

“You’re not needy,” you say warmly, but Sirius only rolls his eyes as if you’re being difficult.

“Anyway, wanting a hug is hardly needy,” James chimes in. “I’m always happy to give you one.” 

“Same here,” Remus says from the kitchen, sounding a bit apologetic. “Though I wish you would have asked, dove. I can’t read minds like Jamie can.” 

Your chest tightens guiltily. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he says easily. “Listen, dinner’s almost done, but want to put on a film to watch while we eat? I could make it up to you with a cuddle.” 

“That sounds great,” you reply thankfully, and James grabs the remote to begin going through the movies while Sirius gets comfy against the side of the couch. He lifts your legs to drape them over his. 

“Good luck getting you away from me,” he murmurs conspiratorially. James chuckles, arm a welcome weight around your shoulders. “I’m not giving you up.” 

It seems like there was room for you after all.

[corroded-hellfire]

The Bunny and the Hair - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: All you want is a cute photo of your daughter in her bunny costume and a photo of the whole Munson family together. But nothing is simple when the children of Eddie Munson are involved

Note: Happy Easter! Thank you to my darlings @munson-blurbs and @offensiunculaee for helping me brainstorm ideas when the only thing in my head was Eliza dressed as a bunny 💕

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Aww, come on sweet pea. Give me a smile.”

Your five-month-old daughter does the very opposite of that. It seems that Eliza Munson has somehow perfected the art of giving a piercing glare before mastering sitting up on her own without being a little wobbly. 

The fuzzy white bunny suit she’s in, hood with ears and all, paints the most adorable picture you’ve ever seen. It would be even cuter if she would flash a brief look of glee for a single photo. This Easter is warmer than it’s been in the last few years and it’s easy to understand that she’s getting hot, which is making her cranky. But you just want one good picture. 

“Just one little smile for Mommy? Please?” You raise the small silver camera to your eye before remembering that this new fancy one has a digital screen where you can see what the picture will look like without squinting through a little hole. 

Deciding to start snapping shots and see what happens, your forefinger presses the small shiny button that makes a soft click after click. A giggle bubbles out of you as you notice your baby getting grumpier and grumpier with each shot. A flipbook would be a perfect place to put these photos and flip through them to see Eliza Hulk-out in real time. 

She is getting officially fed up now. 

“Boys?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder to where your husband and sons stand, watching your attempt at an infant photo shoot. “Can you make her smile so I can get one good shot? Then I’ll get her out of that.”

If anything can make Eliza laugh, it’s her brothers. Particularly Luke, he likes to remind people. 

“Sure,” Ryan says, looking around for any prop to assist him. His brown eyes snag on the eggs on the coffee table, the ones you and the boys had been in the middle of preparing to be dyed before Eddie came out with Eliza in all her fluffy glory. “Hey! Liza! Watch this!” He catches the baby’s eye and picks up one of the boiled eggs and jumps up, pretending to crack it over Eddie’s head. It brings a small smile out of your daughter. 

“Hey, hey!” Luke says, waving his arms to attract his little sister’s attention. “Eliza, look!” The younger Munson boy grabs an egg and props one socked foot on the edge of the coffee table to leverage himself up high enough to copy Ryan’s actions.

“Oh, Luke, that one wasn’t–”

Your warning comes too late. The ten-year-old had picked up one of the eggs that had yet to be boiled in preparation for decorating. This comes to light when Luke crushes the egg over his father’s head and runny yolk and gooey egg whites plop down onto Eddie’s hair and drip down his frizzy curls. 

The air feels as if it’s been sucked out of the room. All eyes are on Eddie as his shoulders bunch up towards his ears and his jaw drops open, a small dollop of yellow yolk falling onto his salt-and-pepper scruff. It’s hard to tell how long the room is frozen, silent until—

Furious giggles come from behind you and it breaks the tension that kept the four of you rooted to your spots. You whip your head around to see Eliza laughing so hard that she loses her balance and flops down onto her side, unable to remain sitting up straight on her own. Quickly, you’re able to set her up right again and grab the camera getting a few shots of her, giddy as can be in her bunny suit. 

Relieved that’s taken care of, you now turn back to look back at your husband, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Neither has Luke. 

It’s obvious to you by the look on Eddie’s face that he can tell that it was an accident, but your son is wide-eyed in fear, clearly not getting the same sense. 

“E-Eliza, say bye-bye to Luke cause Dad is gonna kill me,” Luke says softly, never taking his bright blue eyes from his father’s egg-covered form. 

Eddie takes a step towards Luke slowly, clearly wanting to keep Luke in suspense until the last second, before he wipes a large glob of the sticky egg goo from his own hair and rubs it into the little boy’s messy curls. A maniacal laugh erupts from deep within Eddie as he tugs Luke against his chest, not letting his son get away as he squirms and squeals, trying to escape the shared messiness. Despite his protests, when Luke pulls back and looks up at his dad, he’s laughing. 

Watching the two of them in amusement, you put your hands on your hips and shake your head. Never a dull moment with the Munson men. The two of them continue to rub egg on one another as you turn towards the only clean boy in the house.

“Ryan, can you go get Eliza out of her costume? Last thing we need is her overheating.”

“Yeah, you get cranky enough already,” Ryan tells his baby sister as he scoops her up. Eliza gives a little harumph, but you think that’s more from the way the twelve-year-old holds onto her tightly than offense at his words. 

You set the camera down on the coffee table, making sure it isn’t near any of the eggs.

“Damn,” you say. “Forgot to get a family picture.”

“We’ll take one when Ry and Eliza come back out,” Eddie says, dodging Luke’s sticky fingers. 

“That’s gonna look great with you two looking like you fell in a vat of slime,” you say with a laugh. 

Your husband and his mini me only continue to get messier until you hear Ryan’s footsteps coming back down the hall toward the living room. The moment your eyes land on your daughter’s new ensemble, you have to do a double take. Eliza is beaming in her brother’s arms, wearing her bright pink bathing suit covered in large, white polka dots. 

Left speechless, your eyes widen and you’re only able to gesture with your hands towards the swimsuit.

Ryan shrugs as he hefts his sister up on his hip. “She grabbed it when I opened her drawer. And you said you didn't want her overheating.”

Your gaze slides from Eliza, over to Luke and Eddie, then back to Ryan.

“You and I are going to be the ones who stick out in the Easter picture,” you tell your oldest. “We look normal.”

“You mean we don’t look normal?” Luke asks, jumping on his dad’s back and scrunching up the man’s eggy curls. 

Sighing and shaking your head in amusement, you snatch up the camera and fiddle with it until you set the timer for three minutes. The entertainment unit is the perfect height to rest the camera so it can get a good shot of the whole family. You set it on the shelf right above the television and nod your family over toward where the lens is facing.

Eddie, still sporting Luke as a backpack, walks over and stands on your right. Ryan, carrying a still-beaming Eliza tucks into your left side. It’s impossible not to look over the gang around you, letting out a laugh as you take in the chaotic bunch.

“Smile!” Luke instructs everyone.

Eddie slips his hand around your waist and pulls your side flush up against his, squishing some of the egg whites against you, causing you to let out a squeal of laughter just as the flash of the camera goes off. Your husband grins and presses a big wet kiss on your cheek

“Now that picture’s gonna be a keeper,” he says. 

[munson-blurbs]

Argyle x Fem!Reader smut

Summary: Your plans tonight only involve ordering a pizza, but a conversation with the pizza boy has you craving something very different.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), phone sex, masturbation (m! and f!), voice kink, Argyle is a simp as per usual

WC: 1.7k

A/N: This was inspired by me and @word-wytch ordering pizza at Steel City Con where the pizza boy did not want to get off of the phone. Nothing spicy happened, but it made us think...what if it had?

Also, big shout out to @munsonmuses for helping me with the ending. Love you, Addie!

--

“Surfer Boy Pizza, this is Argyle speaking. Can I interest you in a delicious pie? Perhaps the Argyle Special?”

You stare at the shiny brochure in your lap, breath catching in your throat when you hear his voice. You were expecting someone brusque, rushing you off of the line so they can collect the next order, but the man speaking to you might as well be laying on a white sand beach. 

“Um, h-hi,” you wince at the way you stammer, tempted to hang up and save yourself further embarrassment, but you keep the receiver pressed to your ear. Lenora Hills is a fresh start, a place where no one knows you, and you’re determined to spread your wings and become more than the ‘shy, awkward girl.’ So, even though you were going to order a small cheese pie, you push yourself to ask, “what’s the Argyle Special?”

Soft laughter trills from the speaker; it’s warm and welcoming without a hint of malice. “Oh, the Argyle Special? She’s kinda my baby.” Good lord, the way he says baby has your thighs clenching involuntarily. You hear him shuffling a bit, adjusting positions to get more comfortable. “So, we start out with your classic thin crust.” Argyle lowers his voice and adds, “You might think you can toss it in the air a coupla times and call it a day, but you’d be wrong. You gotta knead it, get all the kinks out, right?”

“Mhm.” Your free hand begins to dip below the waistband of your denim shorts before you pull back. What are you doing? Touching yourself to a stranger explaining how to make pizza? “I, uh, I gotta—”

“Next comes the sauce,” he continues, not noticing your interjection. “Now, less is definitely more here, y’know what I’m saying? A little goes a long way.”

You nod, too caught up in the moment to remember that he can’t see you. “A-And then what?”

“Cheese. Enough to achieve that perfect amount of gooey goodness, but not so much that it weighs down the slice.” Another peal of laughter, just as kind as the one earlier. “Some people ask for extra cheese, but in my humble opinion, it takes away from the rest of the toppings, y’know?”

There’s a quiet swishing sound coming from his end, and it draws your attention. “What’re you doing that’s making that noise?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yo-yo.” Your question has clearly caught him off-guard; instead of further explaining his baby, he asks, “what’re you doing?”

Immediately, your thoughts flit to the way your fingers yearn to be inside you, the way your clit aches to be rubbed each time he talks. But he can’t know that. “N-Nothing. Um, yeah, nothing.”

You can practically hear his brows raise in disbelief. “Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Argyle teases gently. “In fact, it sounds like you’re doing something important.” He pauses for a second. “Lemme guess: top secret CIA mission?”

“No.”

“FBI?”

You giggle despite the embarrassment washing over you. “Not quite.”

There’s silence; his audible breathing is the only way you know he’s still on the line. “You got a really cute laugh.” 

Is he flirting? This is flirting; it has to be. But he doesn’t even know what you look like. 

You don’t know what he looks like, either, and you were about to masturbate to him, you remind yourself wryly. Anything’s possible. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Sweet but also sexy. A rare combo, if you ask me.” 

You summon all of your courage; the ball is in your court. “I, um, I like your voice.” Heat pools in your cheeks as you say the words. 

“My voice? Shit, I always thought it was kinda goofy. My friend Jonathan says I sound like Cheech and Chong. Well, not, like, both of them, but just…one.” A rustling noise; he’s shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m not good with getting compliments and stuff.”

“S’okay. Me either.” You laugh again, finding the ability to be honest refreshing. “Keep telling me about your special. Your baby,” you amend. 

He exhales a cloud of lust. “Fuck, say ‘baby’ again.” Ah, so it had the same effect on him that it did on you. 

This time, you don’t chastise yourself for the way your fingertips graze your cotton panties. You and Argyle are clearly on the same page. Why fight it? “Tell me more about the Argyle Special, baby.”

“I gotta know first if you’re doing what I’m about to do,” he says breathily. 

“I am,” you affirm, finding your clit easily and applying the lightest pressure. 

A sharp inhale, then, just above a whisper, “Good. So, so good.” He unzips his fly and groans as his hand wraps around his cock. “I’m just gonna talk, and you keep touching yourself for me, okay?”

“Mhm. Just…keep going.”

“Shit, yeah, I got you.” Another moan as he strokes himself, his sentences getting choppier. “The toppings…I like to combine sweet and—mmf—savory.”

You tug your panties aside, slipping your middle finger into your waiting pussy. “Keep going,” you urge, desperate for his silky voice. 

“Some diced g-green pepper…sliced jalapeños…and…” Argyle’s focus is split between listing ingredients and jerking off, and one is evidently winning. 

“And what, baby?” There’s a slight edge to your tone—dare you say, a sultriness—as your ring finger joins your middle, fucking yourself with both of them. 

You’re not the only one who picks up on your newfound confidence. “And pineapple,” he manages. “Comes from a can…fuck, I can hear how wet you are.”

You whimper, forcing air into your lungs. Breathing has never been a manual task until right now. “It’s because of you.” Your fingers move faster; you curl them slightly to maximize your pleasure. “You and your voice.”

“I’d talk all goddamn day for you.” His voice is thick with desire. “I’d do anything you asked me to—oh, fuck,” he grunts. “What would you want me to do if I was with you right now?”

What wouldn’t you want him to do is an easier question, but you try to quickly formulate a response. “I-I’d want you to touch me.”

“More specific, honey,” he tuts. “Where do you want me touching you?”

Everywhere. Anywhere. You think about where your own hand would be if you weren’t holding the phone. “My clit,” you say urgently, “or my…my tits.”

“Mmm, I could put my mouth on one and my fingers on the—”

“No,” you insist, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Fingers only. Need to keep your mouth free so you can talk.”

A chuckle, then, “fair enough. Guess I’ll rub that pretty little clit of yours, huh? Make sure you’re ready f’me.” There’s a soft puh as he spits on his cock to lubricate it. “Wish I was inside of you. Bet you’re so wet…and warm…and—ohh, yeah— so tight…”

“I’m so close,” you whine, absolutely desperate for this orgasm. You tuck the phone between your ear and your shoulder, bring your newly-freed middle finger to your clitoris, now swollen with need. “Please, Argyle, tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Oh, baby,” he rasps, the schlick of his fist stroking his erection becomes louder, faster. “I want you screaming my name. That sweet little pussy st-stuffed with my cock. And I’ll go deeper…and deeper…and deeper…until you can’t—fucking—take it!” He growls out the last four words. 

It’s enough to drive you to the edge. You don’t tell him you’re cumming, but he knows just from the choked moans that you’re there. Your fingers are shiny with the proof of your arousal as you finish all over them, wishing they belonged to Argyle. Wishing you belonged to Argyle. 

“I’m cumming, fucking shit, h-oh, my God.” He’s in another galaxy now, stars swirling around him as his release spurts from his aching tip and coats his hand in his sticky seed. “Holy fuckin’…whoa.” There’s a brief pause. “Gimme one sec, okay?”

Argyle’s racing across the kitchen, phone dangling from the cord, before you can even respond. “Sorry,” he says, panting and laughing when he returns to the receiver, “had to grab some paper towels and clean myself up. Can’t go walking around with jizz on my hands.” 

“Not a good look,” you agree, the warmth from your giggle melting any residual awkwardness. “You definitely need to wash them, like, a hundred times before you make another pizza.”

“Nah, man; I’m actually clocking out now. You were gonna be my last customer, but, uh…” he trails off, and it occurs to you that you never finished placing your order. “We got a little distracted.”

Distracted is putting it mildly, but you’re in no headspace for a semantics debate. “I guess I’ll have to call back the next time you’re working and try again.”

“Y-Yeah, for sure!” Eagerness dominates his tone, and he tries to rein it in. “Or, um, maybe you can come by in person? I’d like to see the girl who made me cum harder than I have since…ever,” he adds cheekily. 

“Mhm. I can do that.” Can you? Yes, you tell yourself, I can. I’m turning over a new leaf, and that apparently involves having phone sex with the pizza guy and then meeting him for the first time at his job. 

You swear you hear a quiet yet triumphant, “yes!” before he says, “You sure? Because I’d totally get it if you wanted to keep this a one-time thing.” His hesitation indicates that he’s no stranger to unrequited pining, like he’s bracing himself for a rejection. “But I gotta be honest with you; I really wanna see you.”

“I wanna see you, too.” You wrap the springy cord around your forefinger. If his voice could make you feel this way, imagine what he could do with his fingers, his tongue, his…

“I work from noon until six tomorrow, if you wanna stop in?” Argyle cuts into your train of thought. “Or if that’s too soon, then we can just—”

“Argyle?”

“Yeah?”

You smile widely even though there’s no way for him to know that. “See you at six tomorrow.”

--

[anantaru]

GENSHIN + YOU’RE MY SPECIAL FRIEND

— ꒰ including ꒱ — albedo, ayato, kazuha, scaramouche, heizou x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, friends w benefits, secret relationship, mentions of 'good girl' in albedos part

— ꒰ ALBEDO ꒱

as someone as occupied in his own research as albedo regularly was, you on the other hand, his assistant, would bend all of your own needs and time in order to be available whenever he required your cooperation.

if you had not allowed yourself to fall victim to his natural charms, his bewitching eyes and way of speech, you'd surely detest an unprofessional relationship as the two of you were currently involved in between each other.

despite the judgment of your rational voice, you'd never ditch the chance to taste his tongue on your sizzling cunt whenever he urged you to lay down on his desk, aptly licking his hungry lips while you're opening your legs like a good, clever girl so he can suitably grind his mouth into your pussy.

"aah— albedo, wait!" you whine with a lilt of unlimited longing fizzling in your lower belly, "break time is almost over." your hand smoothed over his silky locks when he pulled his head up from in between your quivering thighs, casually sweeping your slick off his mouth with his sleeve.

"it is certainly lively outside." he's pointing out the loud chatters and noises from behind the door while leaving his eyes to skim through the empty room.

"but i do not hear any footsteps." he notes and no matter how often you'd spend time with your boss, who was also the guy who'd fuck you silly each night, you never got him figured out once.

you only nod in agreement and despite aiming at the obvious— it being the shortened time the both of you had left, albedo did not falter to lower his lips back on your puffy cunt, the rough tip of his tongue bordering precise strokes on your pussy, pulling at your folds.

"fuck—" you're arching your spine off the cold table, "right there!" and it made you feel barer, more open for him to have a better play on your weeping cunt, after all, for albedo your tasty slick felt like honey dropping down on his wet muscle, "faster!"

his face was solidly pressed in between your clamping thighs, you almost felt a bit silly by how riled up he had gotten you by now, how his mouth rolled up and down your naked core while wholly glazing his cheeks with your gooey slick.

albedo doesn't care, it's natural in his eyes. your liquids, he wanted to swallow it all.

the slight concern of time running out on you was erstwhile buried into the deepest corners of your brain, how could it not when he was that bloody good at this. and you love it, always do always will.

— ꒰ AYATO ꒱

there's not much to say when it comes to the quite, lets say, special— as well as riveting relationship that ayato and you were in.

he has devised your visits strategically and added them onto his active work life, it almost felt like he had someone else to formulate all your meetings together— since they had always been perfectly appended to each of your own doings.

ayato was readjusting his body on top of yours, determinedly delving your legs into your chest as he loomed over you with keen eyes.

"does it feel good when i do that?" you can feel his breath against your lips when he wiggled his hips a little deeper into your core, "or that?" fuck, you almost wanted to shove him into the mattress yourself and ride him mindless but you couldn't, not when he was that good at taking the lead.

"y— yes!" the sudden switch in his strokes drowned the words in your throat, and though his ruts weren't fast, they were all the more deeper and precise, battering each and every drumming blotch in your warm tingling insides.

"what a shame that i can only meet you like this."

his sentence was sudden— and a bit cheesy, you weren't sure if you had imagined it in the heat of the moment. "wha— what?"

your fingers slowly ran up from his shoulders to his sharp jawline when you cradled his left cheek to make him look at you, but ayato didn't speak nor elaborate on his words, even when you asked him once more.

rather did he now indulge in your soft hand on his face, your touch seemed so loving and felt so warm, a weak whine spilling like a subdued chime into your ears. He placed his lips on top of yours and soothed your trembling thighs with slow, benign circles.

every raw drag of his imposing girth had your hole insatiably clench down on him, you could feel your core jammed of his cock, crying out his name which would always fill him with great pride.

it was all the way exhilarating when he began to control your body, bit by bit, when his cock fiercely rubbed all the squealing words out of your straining throat.

his thrusts are calculated, relentless in their sweet ministrations. He eyed the white liquid around his girth when he pulled his cock out— but leaving his tip in, observing how you stammered after each beg, pouted your lips so he'd fill you up again.

— ꒰ KAZUHA ꒱

kazuha was an independent human being who had always dreamed of traveling all across the various nations of teyvat and taking in its beauty.

there was so much to admire about him, really.

however, it wasn't as if he didn't ever think about entering a serious relationship with someone, the thought clearly didn't put him off or anything because if he ever so desired it, it'd be with no other than you.

yet right now, the little thing you both had going on was more than enough in his eyes.

"ah—" he's awkwardly clearing his throat when he noticed your lips tightly seal around his flushed tip, "you're quite impatient tonight." he notes, after all you had him breathless under you, words failing to be spoken out by him when he greeted you with a gentle smile instead.

you're confidently latching onto his cock and turning his body to nothing but jelly while you're gingerly suckling into the sensitive skin.

your fingers travelled from his stiff length to his balls, holding them in your palm. You're toying with kazuha, tracing little heart shapes over his skin when you retorted back in abruptly sliding him down your warm mouth, impatiently gushing around his girth.

kazuha feels your tongue again and his mind rewires, he was squirming and gripping the damp sheets under him, watching you hide his cock in your mouth, over and over, your dainty hand carefully pummeling his balls to add to the coil forming in his belly.

"mhh—" you're humming while looking nothing but innocent, curling your tongue around the rough edges of his cock. You can feel him poke into your throat and how the corners of your lips shimmered with his arousal.

that combining curl, of your corked, pretty lips sloppily guzzling his pre while you're hollowing your cheeks to have it your way, to have his mind corrupted and mind wrapped around the tip of your finger.

kazuha was a thimbleful away to his striking release and he didn't wanted to waste it, not tonight when you've been so good to him, instead he longed to cum all over your burning throat and cover your flesh with a treacly, milky white.

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱

that little gasp you always let out whenever scaramouche first jostled his erect cock past your entrance, one inch— and another, while his middle finger meticulously outlined the contours of your smoldering clit.

could it be due to the fact that you barely saw him as it was? maybe that‘s what made the alluring mischiefs between you both all the more exciting to begin with.

scaramouche only ever decided to come over at your place whenever he had gotten a bit too frustrated over the weeks, maybe angry, as well as bored or (which mostly was the case) all three of those combined into one big flock of rustling emotions.

"what’s wrong?" he’s phony to you, he likes how you roll your eyes whenever he’s a brat to you on purpose.

his spoken words too, had a hidden meaning behind them, but it didn‘t feel bad, the passion was there and so was the rest of the affection— a fervor he had been put out on sight for you.

"m— more please." the shadow of his eyes made you shudder, his looks alone had you in a chokehold— in a daze of refined elation.

those two words you had spelled out, but the way you said it, lewd and between vicious cries, it had scaramouche heavily burn into his own pride, because he needed that confirmation from you.

"oh, really now?" he clicks his tongue, "but of course, anything you want."

his arms hug around your head when he continued to pistole his length into you, turn the swollen, thick tip of his cock further into your hole and send it pummeling through your mushy skin.

you were comfortable under him and pressed your face into his shoulder, your mouth slacked and your throat clamped together. If you did try to sob or squeal at him now, it‘ll sting, so so much you just wanted to tell him how great he fucked you right now and how you deserved to cum already.

at another harsh blow of his hips, the noises of your little pussy grew mushy and wet— the whole thing was disgustingly ravenous and you felt it all, each rill and curve of his cock, thighs clamping down on either side of him when he growled out at the heavy tightness.

how dare you feel so fucking good and how dare your walls clung on his girth him like that? as if you're actually made for him and only him.

"fuck— fuck." his body reacted on its own and he growls at your constricting hole, shoving his face into your neck to hide his— in his words, embarrassing expression, "you better stop doing that!"

— ꒰ HEIZOU ꒱

shikanoin heizou to you, was like a chocolate bar in the fridge, you can take it out whenever you wanted and put it right back where it belonged the second you had satisfied your cravings.

he's nothing but a convenience, something you never quite believed was for you to find him more than just alluring, he was a menace and almost instantly, when his rough hands polish over your skin, your back arches into his sweltering touch.

everything simply felt like it was way too much, you were barely able to seethe of the heftiness on heizou's cock in you.

you hiccup in midst your own wordings, more when he suddenly began to pinch your little clit in step with his thrusts, again and again— you feel hot and throbbing, it stung when he lightly twirled the flesh in between his finger tips.

"heizou— heizou!" the force of his hammering into you had you clamp your hands against his back, your nails scratching alongside the outlines of his burning muscles.

you thought you were certainly going to end up mindless by the realization of his skin meeting your own way faster— better and all the more precise.

"i can't hear you." he coos, noticing how you're clenching down, muscles tensing and then letting go, again, your puffy clit shimmering with your own arousal. "you're doing too— too much."

heizou gave your clit a couple thumps with his hand, smacking the smoldering flesh, not too hard, he actually just wanted to see how you'd react.

now after his words, his intrusion into you had been lowered, slow, painfully slow but wasn't that what you wanted? even if you were to say to him to pick up the pace again, he wouldn't do it, because you lost your privileges to order him around.

because you see, heizou was letting you feel everything now— he's leaving his cock inside, listening to your strangled moans of his name when you sobbed at every vein, jump of his curves and scream when he almost bottomed out again.

"what's the matter? i'm doing what you say." he purrs and muffles himself into your neck to have his lips on the same height as your ear.

"but you can always beg me to go faster, maybe i'll listen."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[fourmoony]

I had an idea that is a little specific and it's okay if you don't want to write it. English is not my first language and I come from a big family that likes to talk loudly/likes to party, but I am introverted. I imagined what it would be like for the reader to date James and they are going to spend time with her family, and he sees the reader in her comfort zone (speaking in her first language and with her family) and just discussing silly things (like rules of some game) and it's all very loud and funny. He sees how you make people laugh and even though he doesn't understand anything he has a smile on his face and admires you for getting to know this new side of you even though you’ve been dating for a while

I love your writing and your work is amazing ❤️

thank you for requesting lovely! and thank you so much for your kind words <3

james x f!reader | 720 | masterlist

You're in your element, James thinks.

He's seen you at your happiest, sure. He's seen you necking pints with Sirius and discussing books with Remus, he's seen the aftermath of girl's night with Lily, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas. He's seen you laugh until your ribs hurt, commandeer your friends into playing your silly drinking games, dancing on tables, singing your heart out. You're a bubbly person, so obviously he's seen a handful of your happiest moments. But James doesn't think he's ever seen you in your element, at your most comfortable, your safest.

There's no hesitation in the way you speak to the group of your family members who are placed haphazardly around your mother's small kitchen. Even though he doesn't understand a lot of what you're saying, James can tell there's humour and wit, love and chagrin, and a little bit of sass to whatever it is you're saying. The conversation is moving too fast for him to pick up anything, because he's been learning small phrases here and there - it's important to him, and it makes you go all soft and gooey when he surprises you with a new phrase or loving comment. You're standing in the middle of the room, pointing at an older cousin of yours, an accusing look in your eye, but you're trying not to laugh.

It doesn't help that there seems to be eight other conversations happening at once, and James wonders how on earth your family ever get anything accomplished. You've been trying to organise a game of drunk UNO for the last fifteen minutes, but from what James has picked up on, no one can agree on house rules or game rules.

Your mother seems to be talking at you, fast and filled with love and humour and you're listening, but you're still talking at your older cousin, pointing at various people as you go, none of whom are listening, but are involved in their own, loud conversations.

If you weren't in the centre of all this, James would feel overwhelmed. Your family is loud and big and they don't seem to know what inside voices are. But it makes the final puzzle piece of you make sense. James understands, now, why you're always so willing to spend time with his overly large friend group, why you never hesitated or got nervous when you met him. You were born into this, and you handle it well.

He thinks you're beautiful every day, but right now you're ethereal. You're happy and comfortable and loud and obnoxious and James is pretty sure he's in love with you. The way you hold yourself, the way your words come from your mouth, fast and practiced and so fucking hot, it's all too much for James. He feels entranced by you, like you're some sort of sorcerer.

You return a few moments later, to his side, a happy smile on your face as everyone also collectively joins the table. James smiles bright when you press your lips to his cheek, rubbing your lipstick with your thumb. For a family who pick up on everything, James is surprised no one comments on your affection.

"Sorry," You murmur as you deal James his hand of UNO cards, "They can be a lot sometimes."

Your aunt - James thinks it's your aunt, anyway - yells at your youngest cousin, pointing here and there but he really cannot make out what he might be getting into trouble for. Eight conversations are happening around James as you deal the rest of the cards, there's people everywhere, but James wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"Not at all," He assures you, a gentle hand on your thigh, "Seeing you in your comfort zone, so happy - I think? You were yelling a lot - makes me happy."

You huff a laugh, "He wouldn't admit that he cheats at UNO."

You give a disdainful look to your older cousin, who gives you a finger in return. You share a laugh with him after.

"You cheat at UNO." James reminds you, and while he wasn't aware the entire table was capable of having their own conversations and listening to his at the same time, he shouldn't be surprised.

Everyone erupts into chaos, and James knows he's in for it when he gets home.

[weebsinstash]

You brought this on yourself. Bringing up Al and Doggy Darling.

Before the show was out(might've changed sense idk), Viv said Al used to actually have a fear of dogs but now only dislikes them. And I live for the idea of Al struggling with that a little bit.

Al with Dog Darling who he expects to be a total slob who can hardly keep focus, only for them to be neat and dedicated to doing any tasks given to them.

Al with a Dog Darling who constantly feels the need to do things for others even to their own detriment.

Al who falls for Dog Darling who acts more like a cat than a dog. Having learned to mute their reactions to things and who is 'ok' with being alone in fear of being used. With him wanting to eventually have them always with him or at his home, never wanting them to lift a finger.

I hate that my first instinct is always to swerve in the opposite direction but "what if Alastor had a dislike of dogs and he expects them to be a dumb slob" AND WHAT IF YOU ARE

Alastor: --and I always do enjoy adding a nice mirepoix to my dishes, although I suppose one of my favorites is a classic crawfish étoufée! Always reminds me of home!

Dog darling: ummmm.... I love pizza rolls and corn dogs! 😋 and mac n cheese!

Alastor and his lovably simple, lovably dim dog darling, with all the more extra nuances and caveats if you've got the soulmate trope in there (I've just really been huffing that gas lately ykwim? The, mechanism for them to feel metaphysically attached to you, their obsession kinda lowkey justified/explained by your sorta-soulbond, them feeling like they need to take care of you "because they're supposed to as your partner "). Alastor who thinks you're just so adorable but maybe just maybe cringes in secondhand embarrassment at some of the things that you do. Alastor who thinks, oh, you're actually so charming and, he sees quite the potential in you, but... he just needs to... fix you up a little bit... fine tune you... grind down some of those rougher edges to polish you up nice and pretty--

Also. Just. You know. The thematic lowkey flirting and menace in him like, saying he has to tame you/train you if you act against him. Having you in literal restraints just like he would with Husk and calling you a bad dog because you like. Snuck off to go to the club. Or hang out with friends he doesn't approve of.

I like my apples and oranges in my fiction and that means that on top of having yandere that love every part of you, I also think of yandere who meet you and think "oh no, honey, oh my gosh let me help you, I need to save you from yourself, what the fuck are you even doing here, just look at the state you're in" which, actually, I have a Velvette post deeper in my drafts I need to dig up, but. Like. Alastor falling for/getting drawn to/soulmated with a dog darling who is just kinda. Rowdy. Dare I say, a little trashy. Like idk, my mind conjures up an image of like, for a woman I guess it would be something similar to, you swear all the time, he doesn't like how you dress, he thinks you hang out with too many guys/the wrong types of guys, you may have an outright fratbro personality. Idk. You're just loud and rambunctious and he thinks you could be just the cutest little lady if he could just... give you a little coaching

But also. Cute lovable dog Darling who, obviously he's not entirely heartless but you just completely Flip His Switch with how sweet and loving you are to him, you just really make him feel soft and gooey. You could just be meeting him for the first time and be wagging your tail in excitement and holding your hand out for a handshake and you don't even mildly conceptualize he's, um, a cannibal serial killer. But then Alastor immediately realizes, oh no, honey, you can't be this sweet to people down here! The people down here are just AWFUL! They're terrible! The dregs of society! He can't let this sweet little pup meet some unfortunate accident involving some methed-out vagrants or something! Guess you'll have to be his little lap dog so he can keep a close eye on you. Meanwhile you're just like "!!!! Best friend!!! Thank you for being so nice to me, it's so scary down here and i was so lonely and scared before you came along 🥺"

Vox 🤝 Reader talking/getting rowdy during TV/media solidarity. Absolutely love the idea of Reader somehow becoming besties with Vox and Alastor is just BEYOND MAD because, he's trying to make you more sophisticated and, "bring out your true potential" and you're sneaking out to chug mountain dew baja blast and smoke weed with his arch nemesis while the two of you, like, marathon older seasons of Family Guy (also just envision your mental image of Dog Reader just like, excitedly being like, "oh! It's Vox! Vox! Vox! Hey Vox! Vox!" And trying to get his attention while he's on a jumbotron or something, basically saying his name like a bark, like, Alastor having old timey cartoon steam coming out of his ears while Vox is just obviously smitten with your adorable clueless ass because your tail is wagging and you're so excited to see your super cool TV friend 😋❤️ Alastor forced to watch you have total chemistry with Vox because you can talk about TV and video games amd Alastor is getting progressively enraged because HOW LONG have you guys been hanging out without him knowing??? And Vox didn't even know you knew Alastor he just legitimately liked your vibe

Reader being inevitably somewhat dehumanized and while he does adore you and want you all for himself it really almost sort of IS like you're a pet to him. He decides what you wear, what you eat, what you do, and most importantly, he really, really, REALLY doesn't like it when other people try and touch his dog :)

[amateurasstrologer]

BY NECESSITY #1 SATURN IN PISCES

Hi babies, what’s up? You thought I forgot about you? 

Well, you’re right, I did. But I’m back, bitches - at least for today - to remind you that astrology is still the shit. So, before I ghost again, let’s talk. This week it’s a Saturn in Pisces special. 

Now, before you’re like, “Are you kidding? This bitch comes back after how long to talk about some random ass placement that doesn’t even apply to me? Ugh.” Just take a breath. Saturn is in Pisces. Right now. In the sky. So even if you’re not getting extra fucked like all the people having their Saturn Return, you’re still experiencing the energy and all the shit I’m about to say still applies to you. 

Alright. First, let’s talk Saturn. Saturn is all about form. It’s foundations, it’s structure, it’s hard, it’s the shit you stand on that you forget you’re standing on (until a transit happens and forces you to look down in ice cold terror). It’s important to remember that Saturn deals with all foundations - which foundation (physical, mental, etc.) depends on which sign you’re working with. When Pisces gets involved, you’re dealing with your psychological, emotional foundation.

Next, Pisces. Pisces is about all dissolution. Pisces is last in line for a reason. All the shit you absorbed during your little life cycle - collective beliefs and ideals, definitions of success, definitions of failure, the shit your parents believed, the shit their parents believed, etc. - someone needs to dissolve all that loud biz (cue Pisces) so you can get back in touch with the real true you (cue Aries). Pisces is on that transcendental shit - it’s here to elevate you, it’s fucking your foundations up in a beautifully painful liquidation process, as in we’re closing everything has got to go this business is over forever goodbye we’re done. 

When you put these two together and you get a fucking shit show. Hardening and dissolving? Opposites. Pisces is like “yes I’m here to love you forget you ever had a structure all of this is meaningless it’s time blend in the timeless space of forgiveness we’ll feel it all and understand the origin of life the mystery of life heart eyes” and Saturn is like “Look at your life! Build something! Be accountable! These are your limits - learn them! Wake up! You dropped your spine! Go pick it up! But also good luck bending over to pick it up because you don’t have a spine! Ha!” 

It doesn’t take eyes to see that Saturn is not comfy in Pisces. And it’s true, Pisces and Saturn do bring very different shit to the party. But relationships are raw materials, babies, it’s what you make with them that matters.

Saturn and Pisces, together, create an opportunity for you to give your psychological, emotional foundation a fucking upgrade. Pisces helps you dissolve the fake ass bull shit persona you’ve been passing off as a self, and Saturn helps you reform into a person who, you know, you’re actually happy to be - a person with a psychological foundation based on inner-truth, not on societal/cultural/ancestral rules and regulations. Bitch, you’re a treasure! You’re a beautiful unique person, not a robot! If you wanted to be all copy paste should have reincarnated as a keyboard smh. Wake up.

Saturn in Pisces is a call to transform yourself on a spiritual level. The deepest level. (Deeper than you Scorpio sorry.) This isn’t some find a new job, find a new hobby bull shit. This is deep unconscious reconditioning. This is scary, triggering shit. You thought Pisces was out here just blending in the gooey goodness of love? Please. Think about what dissolution actually means. You want to be psychologically free? You want to scrub your karma? Get in touch with your essence? Lol. Girl. Get ready. This transformation process is a gnarly, confusing, and, most importantly, it takes time (thanks, Saturn). Just can’t rush it. 

Alright, before you get too scared to continue, let me say it one more time for the people in the back: When Saturn is in Pisces, the unconscious, emotional (Pisces) foundation (Saturn) of your life stops being hidden. Material that was collecting dust (and power) in your unconscious (Pisces) is suddenly visible (Saturn). Surprise, bitch! Time to take a look.

Okay. Now, what happens when you’re confronted with your very own subconscious (Pisces) scaffolding (Saturn)? Well, two options: 

(1) You lose perspective and collapse the transformation process before it has time to do its thing, dissolving your sense of self (Pisces) and hardening around rigid beliefs (Saturn) to bring yourself back to a superficial sense of safety, making your life temporarily more stable and comfy but ten million times harder to confront your psychological foundation at the next opportunity.

(2) You stay focused on the big picture and face your fears, dissolving the toxic beliefs you were unconsciously building your life on (Pisces) and reforming your identity (Saturn) into something real and true, making your life temporarily more lonely and difficult but ten million times easier to relate to yourself and others forever and ever amen.

“Uh wtf who would pick option one?” You, me, anyone allowing themselves to actually feel the crippling existential dread of having to face the unknown (Pisces) or anyone who can’t bear the thought of looking critically at their inherited beliefs (Saturn). It’s not an opportunity for the faint of heart. Or for anyone who doesn’t have, at the very least, one friend. And not some moralizing “forgiveness heals all wounds hang in there” type of friend - I’m talking some real ass, truth staring ass, love you anyways bitch.

So, why did I return from the underworld to tell you this shit now? Because Saturn is only halfway through it’s uncomfortable stay on the Pisces commune. Listen - if you’re starting to feel crazy, like (1) “I swear some shit must be up I just cannot catch a break from feeling like living shit” and (2) “why does the same shit continue to happen to me over and over again like fuck I thought I got over this shit in 1933” it’s because (1) you’re being called to transform and transformation is an active process time to stop being dragged around use you legs and (2) part of this particular transformation process is acknowledging that you did not leave any shit in 1933 and you’ve actually been dragging that ugly shit around in your unconscious and it’s secretly been controlling every decision you’ve made since then. Sorry.

“Ugh, can I just close my eyes and open them when this whack ass transit is over?” Sure. They’re your eyes, babe. But, just between you and me, why would you want to do that? This is a wonderfully unique time to face the truth (Saturn) and give yourself compassion and grace (Pisces), so that you can, oh, I don’t know, turn this car around before you and your unconscious Thelma and Louise yourselves. For a limited time only - the lights are on! There is no better time to look at this shit. The cosmic support is here. Right now. Let these lunar lovelies carry you through. 

The key to navigating this transit successfully (and consciously), is to pay attention to what you’re dissolving, and what you’re hardening around. Be suspicious about the shit you take for granted emotionally - investigate that foundation - ask yourself: Where did this shit even come from? Is this the psychological foundation I want to perpetuate? Don’t keep trying to wrap yourself back up in that shed skin, babies, it’s not a good look. Embrace the rawness.

The energies are active, the pressure is there, but if you open yourself to working with the energy of the times instead of just closing your eyes and hoping for the best, you can completely transform your life over the next 12 months. No joke. No exaggeration.

Until we meet again, bitches, happy charting.

XO BULLSHIT FREE ASTROLOGY 

[aces-personal-whore]

PossessiveDom!Doflamingo x Subordinate!Reader Smut

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter3] [Chapter 4]

Hello everyone, and welcome to my very first post here! I have a passion for smut, so please enjoy! I'm going to need to separate this into chapters; I will note the chapters with smut, but this chapter doesn't have it.

Doffy is a very guilty pleasure of mine, so I had a bit of fun with this story.

☣️WARNINGS: NSFW, MDNI, eventual smut, violence

[Chapter 1]

~~~~~~~~~~

"Fufufu~ What do we have here?" Doffy laughed deviously, staring at you, as you were tied to a chair in the empty, dark basement of his castle.

"He-hello..." you said nervously, unable to make eye contact.

"Don't be shy, my dear." He approached you slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the basement. As he got closer, you could see his piercing red sunglasses that contrasted vividly with his blond hair.

"Name's Y/N, I presume? Don't worry, I won't let you rot down here. No, no. I have better use for you." Doffy chuckled, his voice clear and hoarse as it carried in the emptiness.

"You see, I have a little game in mind, one that involves you, some potions, and a good dose of the power of the devil fruits... and, well, let's just say that you could find yourself in a fairly interesting situation." He grinned, his teeth gleaming. "Think of it as an adventure. Mind you, you have to stay strong and play along if you want to make it out of here in one piece. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?" He traced a finger along your chin, making you shiver at the cold touch.

Your breath hitched at his touch "Y-yes, Master..."

"Oh, I like that. A submissive one, hmm? Very well, then. Let's get started, shall we?" Doflamingo released your chin and snapped his fingers. A tall figure appeared from the shadows. It was a man with a white and blue coat and a twisted grin. "Trebol, this is our new plaything," he said, gesturing to the gooey man. "Make sure to take her upstairs and prepare her for the experiment. We wouldn't want her to escape, now, would we?" He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Now, off you go, my dear," Doffy said, pushing you on your back to make you fall into Trebol's waiting arms. "I'll be watching you closely, so don't disappoint." He winked and turned back, leaving you in the hands of his staff officer.

"Yes, Master..." you breathed nervously, your body shaking.

"Come along, then," Trebol said in a rattling voice, his grip tight on your body. "We've got work to do, and Doffy doesn't like to wait." Trebol picked you up and carried you up the stairs, his goo encasing you.

As you ascended, Doflamingo chuckled in the background, the sound almost maniacal. "Ah, it's superb how easily she fell into place," he mused aloud. "We'll see how far she'll go in the end. Who knows, maybe she'll even enjoy it." He snapped his fingers once more, and a big vial of green liquid appeared in his hand. "That's the potion I'll use on her. A delightful blend to make her... obedient." He laughed, and the echoes of his voice followed you all the way up to the laboratory.

Your heart races, your breath shallow "Y-yes, Master..." you muster.

"You'll get used to it, don't worry," Trebol said to you.

The laboratory came into view, and you could see several vials and beakers on the table, the stench of chemicals filling the room. "Now, let's get started," he grunted as he placed you on the table, your body becoming encased in Doffy's thread.

A beaker filled with the same green liquid Doffy had was brought to your lips. "Drink up, my dear. It's for your own good," Trebol encouraged, pouring the contents down your throat.

After a few moments, as the potion took effect, you felt a wave of submission wash over you, making it harder to resist. "There we go. Much better. Now, let's see how we can use your body for Doffy's amusement." The gooey man chuckled darkly as he started preparing the next steps in Doflamingo's little game.

Your heart was still racing as you drank the mysterious liquid. It had a pleasant sweet taste to it. You eagerly gulped it down, the liquid seeping from your lips.

As the potion continued to work, you felt yourself becoming more submissive and eager to please. Trebol started by taking random samples from your body, causing you to flinch at the pricks of the needles yet finding your arousal increasing. The slimey man smirked, pleased with the outcome.

"Alright, now to add the icing on the cake," Trebol said, picking up a vial containing a viscous red liquid. "We'll mix this devil fruit juice with the concoction Doffy came up with. This should give Doffy exactly what he wants from you."

With a practiced hand, he injected it into your body, and you felt a sparkle of power stir inside of you. Trebol continued, drawing a line of symbols on your skin, each one triggering a surge of energy to course through your veins. "And we're done," he declared, admiring his work.

"Get ready, Y/N. Doffy's going to want to see his new toy in action." Doflamingo released the strings that bound you, and you found yourself standing unsteadily, eager to fulfill your new role as Doflamingo's submissive plaything.

Your eyes looked over nervously at Doflamingo, unsure of what's going to happen next what... "What kind of devil fruit did you give me...?" you whimpered out.

Doflamingo appeared in the doorway, his grin as wide as ever. "Ah, my dear, it's a unique one. A nearly-extinct type that doesn't affect your body, but rather, allows you to manipulate others. For now, you can only control those weak-willed, but don't worry, it'll grow stronger with time," Doflamingo explained, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "A perfect match for your new... entertainment career," he chuckled, his voice echoing in the lab. "Now, let's see how well you can perform, shall we?" With that, he walked into the lab, beckoning for you to follow him. "I have a little surprise waiting for you. A perfect target for your newfound abilities," he teased, eager to see the results of his twisted experiment.

"Young Master.... May I please be by your side?" you nervously asked the Heavenly Demon.

"As always, my dear," Doflamingo said, intertwining his fingers with yours, a satisfied smirk on his face. "But remember, you exist to serve me, and your powers should reflect that loyalty. The weak will be at your beck and call, while the strong will only bend for me. Now, let's see if you can learn your place." With a firm squeeze of your hand, he led you to your first test - to show how well you've adapted to your role as his submissive servant.

You took ahold of Doffy's hand. Taking a deep, shaky breath, "Is it alright if I ask you something, Young Master?" you asked

"What's on your mind, Y/N?" Doflamingo asked, glancing at you with curiosity.

"What do you want me to call you and refer to you as? Do you like Master, or is Doffy okay?" you mustered out, your voice quivering.

"Master is lovely, but Doffy works just as well," he chuckled, squeezing your hand. "Whichever makes you feel more submissive. After all, it's all about thrills and emotions, wouldn't you agree?" With a wink, he led you towards the chamber where your first "entertainment" would take place.

"Which makes you feel better for me to say? I only want the best for Master," you said, the serum working, coursing through your veins.

"Master is certainly the most... regal choice. It fits your submissive role the best," Doffy said with a wicked grin. "But remember, it's all a game. And as long as you're playing it to the best of your ability, I'll find you irresistible." He smirked and opened the door to the chamber, the first of your loyal subjects waiting for you within. The perfect pawns in Doflamingo's twisted game, ready for you to test your newfound powers.

Irresistible? The words echoed in my head. "What do you want me to do with these subjects, Master," you questioned as the two of you reached the chamber with the test subjects.

"You're going to show them who's in control. I want you to bend their wills to your desires," Doflamingo said, pushing the door open. "Take their freedom, and in return, they'll serve you and me with blind obedience. Easy, isn't it? Now, Y/N, put on a show for me. Prove that you're worthy of your new role," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "And should you falter, well, don't worry. Trebol and I will make sure to give you a refresher." With that, Doflamingo stepped aside, ready to watch as you dominated your first subjects in a display of power that he alone could unleash.

You stammered into the chamber, still holding Doffy's hand. "Yes, Master, but I... I don't know how," you nervously admitted.

Without further hesitation, Doflamingo gave a sharp nod toward Trebol, who stepped forward with a menacing grin. "Don't worry, we'll make it a lesson you won't forget," he said. He gently held your hand, guiding the symbols drawn on your skin back into motion. A surge of power flowed throughout your body as the symbols glowed with newfound energy. "Now," Trebol instructed, "Focus on the weakest one in the room. Draw a line from your body to them, and your power will flow through it."

You could feel your control seeping from your fingertips, reaching for the first subject. The line between you and the weak-willed man glowed, a physical manifestation of your influence. "Try to make him speak, Y/N," Doflamingo encouraged you, his eyes shining with anticipation.

"Y-yes Master..." You do your best to feel your energy flow through the imaginary string that connected you with the first subject. Communicating through the string, you command him to declare Doffy as the greatest emperor of Dressrosa. As your power and energy reached out to the weak-willed subject, he stiffened, and his eyes met yours. The line between you grew brighter with each passing moment.

"Master... Doffy... is... the greatest... Emperor of... all of Dressrosa..." he muttered, his voice shaky yet obedient.

"Excellent, Y/N!" Doflamingo praised you, clapping his hands together. "You're catching on quickly, it seems. Now, see if you can make him demonstrate his obedience further."

The subject's eyes wandered to the floor, his body tense and ready to take further commands. The string between you and him, a symbol of your newfound dominance, pulsated in time with your heartbeat. He bowed deeply, his forehead touching the floor. "I am yours, Master Doffy, through my mistress Y/N. I am here to serve you both with my whole being," he declared, his voice rough from the forced submission.

Doflamingo's smile grew wider, his satisfaction evident. "Bravo, Y/N," he praised you. "You're off to a great start. Now, show the others that they too will bow before us. We'll see just how far your power can stretch."

With the taste of control and the approval of your master, you felt emboldened. The thread between you and the weak-willed continued to glow, and you focused on the next subject. Slowly, you began to make them submit as well, each one falling under your influence.

Doflamingo watched with a content expression, relishing in the sight of his new toy in action. You were proving yourself capable of entertaining the strong and weak alike, your role as his submissive servant and his tool of control solidifying by the moment.

Where your newfound powers would take you, only time would tell. But one thing was certain, the chamber echoed with your newfound dominance, and beneath it, the shaky breaths of the defeated, their wills now yours to command.

As your will swept over the subjects, the air in the chamber changed, heavy with the tension of pending violence. "Hear me, the weak and the lowly," you commanded, your voice echoing within the room. "Prove your loyalty with your strength. Only the strongest among you shall join as my master's loyal subjects. The rest shall perish, offering their lives as a sacrifice to their new ruler, Lord Doflamingo."

Your hands moved, drawing forth the symbols marked upon your skin. The lines of power extended from your body, binding your subjects to your command. The symbols shimmered, bathing the room in their luminous glow as the subjects' eyes hardened with determination.

As they turned on one another, their cries and groans of battle echoed through the chamber. Doflamingo stood by, his face a mask of delighted anticipation, as you manipulated the course of the fight. This was your master's twisted game, and you had become an essential part of it.

By forcing these subjects to shed blood in pursuit of loyalty, you deepened the bonds of devotion. The victors would owe their very existence to you, while the losers offered up their lives in the name of Doflamingo's greatness. You reveled in your newfound control, serving your master with absolute devotion, a pawn in his grand, twisted chess game.

As your master watched you orchestrate the bloody battle, his gaze never faltering, Doflamingo smiled, proud of his new acquisition. "You've shown quite the dedication, Y/N" he praised, the sound of combat and grunts of effort still lingering in the air. "You're a quick study, and your zealousness is quite commendable."

He approached you, his hand stroking your exposed neck, tracing a line from your collarbone to your heart. "And with this, you've proved your submission to me. The game has only just begun, so let us continue this dance of dominance and submission." Doflamingo leaned in, whispering into your ear: "Your loyalty has already earned you my favor, Y/N, and you'll find that in my world, that's enough to guarantee you a place at my side for as long as you promise to serve."

Doffy's touch sent a tinge of arousal down your spine, gently gnawing at my mind. Feeling his breath hot on your neck and ear, goosebumps ran across your skin. "Thank you, Master," you breathed. Arousal stirred between your legs.

With those words of encouragement, he turned, heading back towards the exit. The future was a twisted, promising path for you, a journey that began in a dark basement and had no bounds to its potential. As your master's devout servant, your role had been cast, and the time had come for you to step fully into it.

The world of One Piece now had a powerful new player, a submissive subject to Doflamingo, ready to bend the wills of whomever crossed your path in the name of the most enigmatic villain in the series.

Doflamingo easily read the desire that flickered in your eyes. He kept you firmly in his gaze, his voice hushed. "Let us see who emerges from this brutal contest you've enacted. It'll be a fine testament to your influence, one I can't wait to witness."

As the battle waned, leaving behind a winner and a trail of the defeated, Doflamingo's attention returned to you. His hand trailed down your arm, sending shivers through your body at his touch. "I believe you've earned a reward, for your enthusiastic efforts today," he said, his voice dripping with promise.

With his other hand, he gently turned your face to his, your eyes growing wide in anticipation. Doflamingo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a chaste kiss. "Y/N, as your master, I claim you," he whispered as he pulled back.

"Of course, Master. Anything for you," you told Doffy, your breath heavy.

An innocent first kiss, but it marked the beginning of your submission to him on a more intimate level. The bond between you and Doflamingo had already shifted, this time forever sealing your allegiance to him in every sense of the word. Your journey had crossed a new threshold as your master's servant, and with Doflamingo's claim now etched in your existence, you eagerly looked forward to what lay in store. This was the path you'd chosen, and in Doflamingo's arms, you were poised to become a formidable force in this twisted world you two will soon create.

"That's the mindset I love to hear from you, my dear," Doflamingo replied with a gentle smile. "Now, let us celebrate our new union in the proper way. Trebol, arrange a feast for us, one befitting our newfound triumphs."

As his slimey assistant moved to carry out the order, Doflamingo guided you out of the basement and back into the heart of his stronghold. The world raced by as he led you through the opulent halls. A mischievous glint in his eye, he leaned in, nuzzling your hair. "Tonight, we'll toast to our successful partnership, Y/N, and chart the course for our future exploits."

The grand feast awaited in an ornate chamber, the scents of exotic dishes wafting through the air. Doflamingo's hand found its way to the small of your back as he seated you beside him.

The darkness of your kidnapping was now a distant memory, replaced by the vivid reality of your new life. As you sat before Doflamingo, a wicked grin spreading across his lips, the first course was served, signaling the start of an unforgettable night. The chef, one of Doflamingo's unyielding subjects, had used exotic ingredients, cooked with the passion that fueled your master's empire.

As the night unfolded, the bond between you and Doflamingo deepened. Wine flowed freely, the candles flickered, and the air hummed with the secrets of a dark empire. You, the newest pawn on its chessboard, had begun your journey, a commitment to servitude that promised a twisted, wondrous adventure.

~~~~~~~~

Your body draped over Doflamingo, your obedience never wavering. Your only desire being to serve under the Young Master, the serum taking full effect.

As your body lay comfortably against Doflamingo's, the night's festivities had long since faded. The room was dimly lit, the flicker of a dying fire the only illumination in the large bedroom.

Doflamingo, content with your willing submission, trailed his fingers through your hair, his grip firm and possessive. "Rest easy, Y/N," he murmured softly, his voice a lullaby. "You've earned your reprieve from the struggles of the day, and in my care, you'll find solace." He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Trust in me, and together, we'll shape this world to our whims, breaking the wills of the weak and bending them to our will. As we sleep, the stars above can only dream of the schemes that brew within our minds."

Drifting off to sleep, you snuggled closer to Doflamingo, your dreams filled with the promise of a future forged under your Master's guidance. The journey ahead had only just begun, and with the enigmatic Doflamingo as your anchor, you looked forward to the twisted turns and unforeseen revelations that the world would unveil. Your loyalty was unwavering, your devotion absolute, and the intricate dance of dominance and submission with your master had only just begun.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Thank you everybody for reading! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like to continue reading to the next chapter 💝

[foxymoxynoona]

So...did we ever actually get a drabble with Jungkook getting to hold Kai for the first time after he's born? 🥺 the lil' boy who's made up of him and the woman he's loved for decades 🥺

I got carried away 😅

Story: Amended Characters: Isabella & Jungkook Length: 7,322 CW: Birthing scene with references to cutting cords and placentas and stitches, health complications at birth, stress, fluffy fluff

“There’s evidence of meconium in the amniotic fluid,” were not the first words Jungkook had expected to hear the seconds before his son’s head began to emerge from between the legs of his wife. It was surreal, what he witnessed, it had seemed like an impossible thing –like a cartoon, not something women actually went through. But Isabella was real, really going through this, really clenching her fists against her chest as she curled forward and pushed with everything in her, his tough strong girl who had agreed to go through all of this again so they could do it together. She had known what this was like. He kinda did but, he was learning in the moment, not really. 

Watching Isabella go through this pain and being unable to fix it was a guilt second only to knowing the pain he had caused for her when they were younger. Well, he had sort of caused this too… but she had asked him to! Very sexily! How was he supposed to have resisted sex and getting to have a baby with her! No mortal man could resist that.

“Head is out,” the doctor called and Jungkook realized he was both present and not. They had suggested he watch. He would never be able to unsee what he was seeing now, but it was trippy –not just the baby’s head, covered in gooey gunk and some kind of white… cheese looking stuff??-- but this whole image, this whole experience.

“What does that mean, meconium?” he belatedly asked as the nurses encouraged Isabella to wait, not to push, as they quickly wiped off the baby’s face and sucked snarfy sounding stuff out of the nose and mouth. A head of hair he hadn’t expected stuck out at odd angles as the baby’s mouth opened and closed in protest, eyes firmly shut in what looked more like anger as the injustice of this introduction to the world.

Do they look like me? he wondered, feeling like the room had gone still despite the rapid actions of the doctor and nurses.

Isabella yanked him out of it, demanding, “Do you see the baby? How’s it look? Is everything ok?”

“The meconium,” he repeated, not sure someone had answered.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” one of the nurses said. “It may mean nothing, we just want to get Baby really clean to keep it out of their airway.”

“What if it’s–”

Jungkook was interrupted by the doctor calling, “Ok let’s get this baby clear–” The baby’s cry interrupted him, like it was say yeah get a fucking move on here, I’m a head sticking out of a vagina!

Jungkook grabbed Isabella’s hand, wanting to be helpful and involved somehow but feeling absolutely unnecessarily. For most of labor Isabella had not wanted to be touched. It had all moved so much faster than he’d expected. It wasn’t like he could contribute much of anything as Isabella curled forward, face sweaty and red and everything in her clenched as she expelled a tiny human from her body.

“Fuck you’re so hot,” he rushed –not quite what he’d meant to say, but absolute admiration for her loosened the words.

“The fuck?” she laughed. “Doctor this man is harassing me.” Her breath was panted, her words a cheat as she stole a break

Maybe those were the first words their child heard from their mother, if the baby could hear anything over the crying.

“One more push, one more push, you’re almost done!” the nurses chanted and Jungkook saw with amazement that a baby from the hips up had now emerged. He couldn’t process that it was real, that this was really happening, that Isabella had not just grown a big belly and that there really had been a tiny person in there all along. Their tiny person.

“I love you,” he said to her, to the baby, to both of them. “You’re so cool, Isabella.” He had the sudden need to rush out as many good things as he could, so the baby would be born surrounded by words of love and kindness. He assumed Isabella had showered Ezra and Lily with love at their births but he knew their “fathers” had not, not the way he did now for them, not the way he would for this baby.

He had wanted so badly for everything with this baby to be different and now he had contributed basically nothing to Isabella’s labor. She hadn’t wanted the massages or the kisses, she hadn’t found it amusing that he’d driven her to the hospital in his cop car with the siren on, and it had all moved too quickly for him to walk her up or down the hall with their arms linked and his words of devotion carrying her through her contractions. 

They’d arrived at the hospital approximately eighteen minutes ago and here she was pushing out the baby.

This wasn’t what he’d planned. He wanted to be better than Landon and Stig.

“I love you, baby, you’re amazing,” he said. Isabella grabbed his hand and squeezed it this time with her push –a short one, replaced with a stunned, open face and a gasp. OUt of the corner of his eye, Jungkook saw the baby suddenly slide down, followed by a rush of fluid and the cheers of the medical staff.

“It’s out!” Isabella cried.

“He’s been screaming, didn’t you hear him Mama?” one of the nurses joked. 

“Dad, are you going to cut the cord?”

“A boy,” Jungkook cried over his son’s cries, hands itching to grab him and comfort him. He glanced at Isabella to see if that was ok, that they’d had a boy. She had insisted so many times she didn’t care either way but… but a son, a boy might be like him… would Ezra be ok with a brother…? 

Isabella was reaching forward, eyes glassy as she called, “Give him here.”

“One second mama, we want to make sure we got his mouth cleared–”

“Does it look like he aspirated–”

“I see some in the mouth but–”

“Dad, you cutting this cord?” the doctor called, stretching an intestinal-looking thing as a nurse held out a pair of scissors. Jungkook took them in a stupor. He didn’t really want to do this thing, it felt wrong to cut a body party, a piece of Isabella and their baby, but in the moment he was too overwhelmed to remember he’d meant to say no. He’d never forget the way the cutting felt in his hand and quickly thrust the scissors back, attention turning towards the baby who was now being dried and looked over, a stethoscope pressed to his chest as his little legs kicked and his hands reaching for a parent who was already failing him.

Jungkook didn’t realize he’d put his hand on Isabella’s head until she grabbed his wrist, her other arm hanging in the air as she called, “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Jungkook, I can’t see–”

“They’re looking at him and listening to his chest,” Jungkook said. Isabella’s panic made his rise. Was something really wrong?

“Hey, what’s going on?” he demanded, leaving her side and striding over to the rotisserie-chicken-heating looking thing the baby was on now. He didn’t know the doctor who had suddenly appeared from nowhere in all the chaos.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Gardner,” she said, “I’m the pediatric specialist here.” She held her finger up and listened again to the baby’s chest, though he’d stopped screaming. It was more of a gentle, plaintive cry now, as if he was giving up on life–

Or comforted by Jungkook’s sudden near voice.

Jungkook shifted the active part of his brain away from the doctor and to the baby –his baby– who needed him.

“Hey, hey little guy,” he cooed, leaning down and reaching right out to stroke a little chubby cheek. He got goosebumps, saying that to his son, to a real baby that was his. The baby’s head turned, wobbly, as if trying to press against his finger. “It’s ok. It’s ok you’re just born now, and your mama is waiting to hold you close.”

The pediatric doctor was rattling things off –a weight, a height, an APGAR score.

“I hear a slight crackle,” she told the nurse writing things down. “Breathing is slightly elevated but hard to say whether that’ll linger. Let’s check his vocal cords…”

“Excuse me, Dad. You can hold his hand but I need his head,” a nurse said, nudging him out of the way to first slide on a tiny yellow hat and then hold the infant’s head steady. Jungkook felt a jolt of alarm as the doctor suddenly slid a massive camera light clamp tool thing into the tiny little mouth. The baby didn’t seem more upset by this than he already was, didn’t even flail about it, though a nurse held his legs still anyway.

“Wait, what’s going on? Is this really necessary?” Jungkook demanded, worried he was already failing his son. He needed to understand what they were doing before they just did things! 

“Koo?” Isabella called. “Someone tell me what’s happening!”

“Hands and feet are still bluish but may be pinking up,” the nurse holding the legs said.

The doctor nodded and removed the tool –which Jungkook saw now was just a light, not even as big as his panic had made him think. The baby screamed louder and he felt a surge of anger that no one was answering their questions.

“Excuse me,” he said, not as politely as he intended, and promptly scooped his baby up right from beneath the doctors. There was so little weight to the body as Jungkook’s hands lifted, his skin warm and oddly dry-feeling but with a softness to it he couldn’t describe. Jungkook didn’t know what he had expected, but not for the this newborn to feel like such a baby. He was only minutes old, how did he feel so real?

Unphased, the doctor touched Jungkook’s arm and cooed at the baby, “Good good. I’m sorry, little sunshine, we just have to make sure you’re ok.”

The baby continued to cry. He was so small! And yet, not quite as small as Jungkook had expected. Sorah had been miniscule, and Amelia just about. This baby felt bigger than Sian and Parker and Sam had been, but maybe he just didn’t remember? Jungkook tucked the baby down into the crook of his arm, nestled against his chest, and took it all back; suddenly the baby felt tiny! Impossibly small! He felt like his arms were too big and awkward despite ample experience holding even very fresh babies. Many times! Not quite as fresh as this one. 

He was moving on fumes now as he bounced and hummed and tried to believe this was real.

“It’s ok, you’re ok, shhhh, I’ve got you.”

“Jungkook? What’s going on?”

“We can go to mom,” the doctor said, touching Jungkook’s arm. She had a smile on her face which soothed Jungkook because it had to mean nothing was badly wrong, though he couldn’t quite fight off the resentment that this doctor had already upset his baby and delayed his comfort and not even answered his questions.

He turned away from the chicken-roaster and saw Isabella watching with absolute terror that seemed totally disconnected from the doctor and nurses still working between her legs. She looked completely ignorant of that, her whole attention trained on Jungkook and the baby. Everything right now was so weird.

The baby gave a full body shudder and a nurse suggested, “I’ll get a diaper.”

“Who cares about a diaper,” Jungkook snapped, offended she’d think he was afraid of whatever the baby might produce. He was just born! Jungkook was his dad, he didn’t care, let babies be naked! “A blanket? Please.” It was tacked on. Politeness wasn’t at the front of his mind right now; his baby needed things and what, they were worried about some pee or poop? If that would make him feel better, he could poop all he wanted!

Jungkook’s throat felt thick as he tucked the baby higher, pressing his jaw gently to the hatted top of head as he carried him over to his anxious eomma. It was crazy. It was unbelievable. He was holding the baby and he couldn’t even make sense of that yet because it actually didn’t feel that weird at all, of course he was holding his son, hadn’t he always been holding his son since the dawn of time? Wasn’t this all just a really nice dream?

A nurse held out a blanket but first Jungkook lowered the baby into Isabella’s waiting arms, then took the blanket himself and tucked it around the baby. Isabella’s gasped and immediately pushed the hat off and stoked the hair and chubby little face and papery-thin ears as tears spilled over. 

“Oh my god, our baby. Look at him.”

Only then did Jungkook more fully appreciate that he had held his son for the first time. His real living breathing in-the-world son. The baby’s cries quieted to a single final chirp of complaint and then nothing, just peace on his mom’s chest. Jungkook decided the baby had been real a moment ago, there was this haze of unreal around everything until Isabella and the baby were together. Now it was real. Impossible, but real.

“Oh my god,” Isabella said again. “He’s got so much hair!” Jungkook laughed and reached out to stroke the baby’s face again too, leaning close on the bed beside Isabella, ignorant to the bustle around the room. That was just background noise now. All that mattered was that suddenly they had a baby and Isabella was holding their baby.

He felt complete in a way he had not known was missing. Him, Isabella, Ezra, Lily, Gidget, and now this baby to tie them all together, he felt whole. He suddenly desperately wanted everyone here so he could hold everyone at once. His heart would burst. 

“Was that you?!” Isabella gasped, looking up at him. The whining noise had come from him, not the baby at all, though it sounded like a baby noise. He tried to explain himself but only a cracked non-word came out and he blinked rapidly against the tears. “Oh my god you’re going to cry,” Isabella giggled. Her face glowed with sweat and effort and joy and Jungkook wasn’t surprised at all the way their son stared adoringly up at it. What a beautiful first view.

“I’m trying not to,” Jungkook admitted and laughed as his eyes threatened to run over. He pressed his face to Isabella’s shoulder and drew a deep shaky breath. The blanket moved against his chin, a little foot cycling. “Hey, are you trying to kick me already?!” The baby was a solid warm lump under the blanket, so warm Jungkook couldn’t believe it as he patted the little butt he’d been shown so many times on the ultrasounds. 

“Ok, I’m sorry to interrupt again, we want to draw some blood,” the pediatric doctor said.

“You have to take him?” Isabella asked, shifting as though trying to sit up. The doctor down south told her not to move, so Jungkook slid his arm across her, trying not to notice that there were stitches happening in a place stitches shouldn’t be. How was Isabella not pay any attention at all to that?!

“In a moment, but you keep holding him now. Often that helps a baby improve and wake up, which is what we want to see, he’s still a little sleepy. Right now we’re just going to stick his foot. I will explain while the nurse does that. We noticed meconium in the amniotic fluid right before he was born. Meconium is the baby’s first stool, it’s this blank inky stuff–”

“We have two other children, I remember it,” Isabella interrupted. The joy was gone from her face, she looked so serious at the doctor. Jungkook could read her mind. Spit it out already.

“The concern is whether the baby aspirates the meconium into his lungs. If so, it can make it difficult for him to get the oxygen he needs. The good news is, he looks really good, his color is good, he is responsive and strong. There were no signs of fetal distress during labor and you delivered quickly, but a quick delivery can be hard on a baby too. I do hear a slight crackle in his lungs,” the doctor continued. Jungkook watched the nurse grab their baby’s tiny foot with a needle and resisted the urge to push her away. The baby didn’t seem to notice or care anyway. He was just… existing against Isabella, breathing quickly like he couldn’t quite trust the air of this new world.

“That’s bad,” Isabella said. “Is that why he’s kind of breathing fast? Does he need oxygen or something?”

“It’s not good but we don’t know if it’s bad yet. We’ll run a blood gas to look for low blood acidity, low oxygen or increased carbon dioxide. The most accurate way we can look to see if he’s aspirated is with a laryngoscope, which we’re setting up now.”

“Right now?” Isabella asked with alarm. “He was just born!”

“The last thing we want is your baby not getting the oxygen he needs to do well,” the doctor explained. “If he needs to go on oxygen therapy, better we do that quickly.”

“But…” Isabella trailed off, face distressed, but she was already shifting to hand it over. “You can check quickly?”

“I don’t understand, he’s in danger?” Jungkook tried to catch up.

“We hope not but we want to make sure so we can react quickly. Your baby’s APGAR score was a 5, which means–”

“He needs help,” Isabella said. “Take him, do what he needs! But tell me what’s going on!”

Jungkook felt like he’d done the wrong thing bringing the baby over now. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t what he’d planned. He and Isabella were just supposed to snuggle their new baby now; he wasn’t supposed to trail after the doctor carrying his son back to the chicken oven where medical staff had set up several tools next to an incubation bed. Just the sight of that was terrifying and known. It meant something was really wrong.

Jungkook barely held himself together as the baby was braced again and the doctor slid an actual camera this time down the tiny throat. Jungkook wanted to push them all away but was frozen with the terror of it. What did it mean if the baby didn’t have enough oxygen? He didn’t understand in a real way, only that it was bad. What was happening to their baby?

“Faint staining,” the doctor said, looking at a grainy image on the small monitor that meant nothing to Jungkook. He wanted to scream at the awful image of his newborn child with a camera in its mouth. This was wrong, this was a nightmare.

“Very faint though,” she said as she withdrew the tools and set them on a tray for a nurse to carry off. “Let’s recheck APGAR.” Jungkook could only stand there as they ran through a series of questions again –about baby’s skin tone, response to thwacking on the heels, a pulse check, temperature. Jungkook felt like he’d shit himself, he was so anxious, but mindlessly called things over to Isabella before realizing she’d just delivered the placenta. Did he want to see it? No, he told the nurse; how could he care about that when they were listening to his baby’s lungs again? Also, kinda gross…

Suddenly the baby jolted and cried out.

“Ah! Sorry, little one, was that cold?” the doctor grinned and shared a smile with the nurses. She concentrated on listening and nodded, then glanced over her notes as the baby began squirming. 

“What’s happening?” Isabella called again. “Someone tell me!”

��Your baby’s APGAR score is improving,” the doctor called back. “That’s good. That’s very good.” She slid her finger along his arm and palm and smiled when little fingers curled around it. “That’s better. That’s better, little one, you’re waking up.”  

“Oxygen?” the nurse asked.

“Set up for the chest x ray, let’s do that since I saw the staining but… but these signs are good… come, let’s get baby back to mom for now.” 

Jungkook wasn’t thrilled the doctor picked the baby up this time, after the nurses had added a diaper. Something about the diaper seemed wrong, like they were already trying to clean the baby up when he and Isabella just wanted to be with the baby, no diaper needed, just them. He trailed along as the doctor whose name he’d already forgotten returned the baby to Isabella’s chest, offering her a reassuring smile. Isabella looked terrified and Jungkook didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t sure his touch would be comforting since it hadn’t been for labor, so he just hovered beside her and watched.

“Good news, mom and dad, baby’s looking a little better. I do see signs of meconium staining on his cords but it’s very, very faint which hopefully means he aspirated very little. The crackle is still in his lungs. This is all very slight but something we want to monitor closely. His heart rate is picking up and his breathing is slowing down, all very good signs. We’ll redo the blood gas in a few hours as well but there’s a balance to strike between making sure he’s supported and not being too aggressive with anything that will tax his little lungs.”

“So what does that mean?” Isabella asked, bless her, because Jungkook didn’t understand a fucking thing.

“It means he is looking better by the minute despite aspirating the meconium so right now I want you to take the time you want to do skin to skin like you are, try to nurse him, just love on him. But we will want to watch him closely for the next few hours and if anything changes, put him on oxygen, so you’re going to see a lot of us until we’re sure he’s all right.”

“Should we do that right now?” Isabella asked. “I don’t want to hold off just for my sake–”

“No no, I promise I would not risk anything. Right now the best thing is for him to be surrounded by you and watched. When you sleep though, we will want to take him to the nursery for close watch, ok?”

“I’m here,” Jungkook reminded. “I can watch him while she sleeps.”

The doctor smiled and agreed, “Yes, absolutely. I will explain the things to watch. But both of you should rely on medical staff while you are here to get the rest you need to take care of him at home. We may have him stay here a couple extra days.”

“In the NICU?” Isabella asked.

“I don’t think he needs NICU as of now, we’ll just keep watching. He is seeming stronger by the minute, we just want to make sure we’re quick to react if that changes. See, he’s rooting, that’s a good sign too.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but feel like she’d tossed a bucket of stress over them. He watched the baby with more anxiety than fascination as Isabella went through the motions of stroking his face and pressing her nipple into his mouth –something that seemed old hand to her after two kids but Jungkook thought was pretty fascinating. The pediatric doctor remained to watch too, a whole party of nurses as well, but Isabella didn’t seem to mind the audience.

“Is it bad?” he asked her quietly, hoping she would know more and could give him an answer.

“I don’t know… he looks so perfect… I think if it was really bad they’d have him on oxygen so they’re just watching…” She looked nervous. Conflicted. He resented that the doctor had interfered with their joy. He felt like worry was making him miss everything. 

“Ready to move her to a room?” a nurse at the door called. 

Jungkook trailed after them, not sure how he was supposed to fix any of this and angry that they hadn’t had more than a minute to bask in each others presence after birth and terrified that a big hand was going to suddenly reach down and steal his son away before he even got to know him.

**

The baby had been born shortly after seven o’clock in the morning. It was weird to get messages from family members about delivering the kids to school, about work, wanting to know when they could visit and asking for pictures. Jungkook hadn’t even taken pictures during labor or immediately after the baby was born. Another failure. He tried to make up for it in the room, snapping photos of Isabella exhausted but mooning over the baby, the baby snuggled against her chest, the baby trying to nurse because Isabella said that was fine to photograph. 

Eomma and Appa came by right away and couldn’t believe a whole baby had been born in such a short period of time. Soona came too, and Gina. They all fluttered around Isabella and the baby and Jungkook was glad to have something to do, taking pictures, fetching Isabella water and food, reciting the things the doctors had said even though they didn’t make sense to him. He wished he could believe everyone’s assurances that the baby would be fine, but they didn’t know.

Soona went with him for the baby’s x-ray because he insisted, needing to feel like he was doing something for his baby. His sister was a doctor, no one would refuse to answer her questions, and Soona would tell him what they were really saying. It was all so scary. It didn’t matter that the doctors were saying things were improving, there was still that crackle in his lungs, and they decided to start him on antibiotics because he was running a fever, and Jungkook worried worried worried. A newborn baby shouldn’t run even a small fever! He was glad to have his big sister there to ask the right questions.

It was several hours before family left to let Isabella rest before more family would come by later. Jungkook nodded seriously when Eomma told him to be firm if they wanted fewer visitors –that was another thing he could do. But he knew Isabella would want the kids to come by and meet their brother as soon as they were out of school. He hoped the baby would be healthy and strong enough; it wasn’t risky, right? And–

“Jungkook.” He went at her call in an instant, leaning down on the side of the bed. “You’re worried,” she so wisely detected.

“Yeah.”

“But he’s doing ok,” she said.

“Shouldn’t they put him on oxygen just to be sure?” Jungkook asked. He’d made the mistake of looking up on his phone what it meant to aspirate meconium in a quiet moment. Low oxygen at birth could cause all sorts of brain trauma. They might not even see it for months or years. He might seem fine now but then get worse later.   

“Koo.”

“Hm?”

“Snuggle down with me.” She shuffled over as best she could in the bed, and he kicked his shoes off before balancing on it with her, not trusting it would hold them both until it did. The baby had fallen asleep on her chest, sound asleep, mouth open, perfectly at peace.

“What if he’s got brain damage?” Jungkook whispered, afraid the baby would hear.

“Then we do whatever he needs,” she said. “But it wasn’t much meconium. It’s light staining. His blood gas wasn’t bad.”

“But–”

“I know,” she murmured. “Everything is so scary. Everything can go wrong and they’re so little and you feel so helpless to do anything. I feel that terror too. But look at him. He’s here, and he’s strong, I can tell.”

Jungkook had to admit the baby did look healthy and peaceful. He looked less blue and more like a little plump puffy baby. He didn’t even seem to be having a hard time breathing right now; his whole chest didn’t convulse like it had off and on all morning.

“Is he breathing?” Jungkook suddenly gasped.

“He’s breathing. I can feel it. He’s just content right now,” Isabella said. “He’s good.”

“He’s good,” Jungkook repeated.

“We have a baby.”

“We have a baby,” Jungkook repeated, then added, “And I only cried a little. There wasn’t time to cry.”

“I know. That was scary but… but it’s quiet now.”

It was. It was so quiet and peaceful. Isabella was a beast and seemed to have come through labor as if it was nothing, which he did not understand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her, realizing he hadn’t in a few minutes.

“I’m still fine, Koo,” she laughed. “Puffy and sore. They’re going to come tell me to try and pee soon and I’ll probably cry about that. I don’t want to get out of bed.”

“You should rest. You… did a lot.”

“You think?” she giggled.

He stroked her face to get her to look up so he could kiss her and finally his touch seemed welcome. He hadn’t had time to entertain the fear it would be permanent, that space she wanted, but it was gone now anyway, just a figment of labor. He could feel she was sleepy by the low energy of her kiss, warm and soft and lazy. 

“It’s so different,” she murmured. 

“What is?” he asked. He kissed her forehead, his hand dropping down to rest against the lump of the baby because he needed to be part of this joyful love too. Whatever happened, the baby was loved and wanted and Isabella was right, they would figure out whatever he needed if something did go wrong later on.

“This part,” she answered. “It’s so weird. When Ezra was born, I almost felt bad for Landon because I just had this instant connection with the baby, he was mine and… and I think Landon felt very left out. He didn’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re amazing, Koo. When he was first born and the doctor had him over there and I didn’t know what was happening but you were there.”

“Doing nothing.”

“Being there. When Lily was born, you know it was just the two of us, me and her, and that felt right too. I would have liked to have a partner there but not Stig. He didn’t belong in that moment with me, meeting my daughter. She was never his. And this time… honestly, I was kind of afraid I would resent you being here.”

“Resent me like… being present at all?”

“I’ve never been someone’s wife. I’ve never had a partner the way you are. Just… people who interfere, Landon, Stig…  failures as parents… I was a little afraid the baby would be born and I would just want him in my arms and everyone to go away, even you.”

Jungkook swallowed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had similar fears but it was terrifying to hear Isabella admit them. She’d fought so hard to protect and raise her children, and he’d never done this before, he fully expected his bumbling might make her defensive.

“But seeing you hold him, it feels the same as if I’m holding him,” she said. “There’s nowhere in the world our kids are safer than with you.”

Relief flooded Jungkook’s body.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Koo. Labor sucks and I couldn’t have done this again without you.”

“You seemed to do just fine,” he mumbled, abashed by her affection.

“I know I didn’t want much touching but… but you were here. And you listened when I said something and you nearly shoved that elderly couple out of the elevator so I could get in–”

“I thought you were going to have the baby in the hall,” he chuckled. “They thought so too, everyone was jumping out of the way.”

“I almost did!”

“It went faster than I thought it would.”

“Me too. My perineum isn’t happy about it.”

“Ah, the tearing…”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“I’ll still eat there all the same but–”

“Jungkook!”

“We’ll wait until you’re all healed up and then I’ll take care of things,” he assured her, overjoyed by her scandalized glare. 

“You just watched a child emerge from my vagina. I would think that’d cool your engines for a while–”

“No way. You’re so cool, Bella.”

“Here, take him.”

“Oh do you need–”

“No, just you hold him now. I bet he won’t even wake up, he’s so out. Maybe he’s going to be a heavy sleeper like you.”

“Is that bad?” he asked.

“Having a baby who sleeps well would be the greatest blessing.” He was barely listening to her because she’d started to drag the baby towards him, the whole little burrito. At the last second Jungkook recalled all the conversation about skin to skin and yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it away.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh… they said that uh, skin to skin with dad is–”

“You’re so cute,” she grinned, and dumped the baby burrito onto his chest. He was so warm Jungkook thought he must still have a fever though the nurse’s said the fever was gone. His hands and feet were now a healthy pink that Jungkook hadn’t even known to hope for. 

He adjusted the little one against his chest –who, as Isabella suspected, barely stirred. His face rubbed against Jungkook’s pec and for a second he thought the baby was rooting and would wake up, but he just relaxed and slumbered on. 

“What a lucky baby to have two parents with big tits,” Isabella mused.

“I’ll scream if he goes for my nipple.”

“Count on it.”

Jungkook’s laugh trailed off. He was too mesmerized. Dark hair peeked out from beneath the cap, feathery soft over little skin rolls at the back of his neck. He wasn’t swaddled, just draped with a blanket, his little body curled up like he’d probably been inside Isabella. He was so, so new, so fresh. Jungkook knew within weeks, months, years this baby was going to turn into a little person but it was hard to believe right now. Jungkook slid his thumb into the little fist, long papery fingernails barely a scratch against his skin. He had that feeling again he’d had earlier: I am complete, my family is complete. I’ve been waiting for you and now everything is good.

“Maybe we should have let Ezra and Lily skip school so they could come sooner,” Jungkook said. “It feels wrong they haven’t met him yet.”

“They’ll meet him soon and have every day with him. Enjoy the quiet now.”

“That’s true… I just miss them…”

“What are we going to introduce him by?”

“What do you mean?”

“What should we name him, Jungkook,” she snickered, and kissed his shoulder. He kissed the side of her head, briefly again distracted by how amazing she was to have delivered a fucking baby and now just be hanging out talking to him like it was no big deal. She hadn’t even cried. He’d cried from constipated shits before and now she was asking him what they should name this baby she had made?

“We had that list of names.”

“You choose.”

“What?!”

“You pick his name,” she said again. “As long as it’s not something I hate. No Wolf.”

“But you gave birth…”

“And you’re his dad. I got to name our first two.”

Jungkook studied the little face pressed to his chest. He tried to fit a name to this person, but how? Nothing fit. He was a brand new baby, a blank slate. There was no personality yet to tag a name onto, only a little potato with a head of dark hair and a history of scaring the shit out of his parents from the first minute.

But there actually was a name on the list that had seemed familiar to him from the moment he’d written it down. Isabella had not seemed to react any particular way to it, but she hadn’t struck it out, and he’d been almost afraid to point it again in case she didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure where he’d even heard it, it had just lodged in his brain.

“Kai,” he said.

“Kai?” she repeated. “Kai Jeon?”

“It sounds cool, right?” he asked hopefully. 

“It sounds like a manga character,” she said, then grinned. “The protagonist. I like it.”

“Really?”

“Ezra, Lily, and Kai. It sounds good together.”

“Yeah, I thought so too!”

“So you’ve thought about this.”

“I just liked the name… OK, and what about Ronin for the middle name? The ronin were samurais who no longer served a master or family, only themselves… kind of like wandering knights… That’s cool, right? Ah, too geeky?”

“Kai Ronin Jeon sounds cool.”

“And it’s kind of like Ezra Ryan and Lily Eleanor… and Kai Ronin… it sounds good, like you said.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Hi, Kai. You are going to have a way easier time learning to spell your name than I did so you’re welcome,” Jungkook murmured, patting the little cushy diapered butt. “Kai.” He felt a joy course through him. Yes, the name was right, he felt it in his heart. The baby was right. The family was right. The woman was definitely right.

He wanted to say that, to tell her how much this meant to him, to tell her that he recognized the miracle it had taken for them to be together like this and married and having a baby, and that she had done most of the work. He wanted to tell her he would never take this for granted, that she’d been willing to do it all one more time with him even though the last times had been so hard for her.

What came out was, “Hey I look pretty good for a dad of three, huh?”

“If you weren’t holding him, I would push you off the bed.”

“You look banging as a mom of three–”

“Jungkook–”

“Your tits are…” He trailed off, realizing they were definitely getting bigger. He’d know. He studied them carefully.

“Yeah, I think my milk is coming in faster this time, so he better have an appetite. I can’t believe he’s over nine pounds…”

“Yeah, is that good?”

“It’s big.”

“Is it? I don’t know baby sizes. He seems bigger than my nieces and nephews were.”

“It’s big.”

“He’s strong,” Jungkook decided.

“I think it’s mostly his head. He got your head.”

“Wha? I have a normal sized head.”

“Tell that to my fourteen stitches.”

“Is it really fourteen?!”

“I don’t know, I made that up, I wasn’t listening –he’s awake.”

Jungkook’s gaze snapped immediately down to the little face, to the little dark eyes cracking open. His brow and mouth were scrunched, making him look very grumpy to get woken up.

“Oh hey look at that scowl, he’s definitely yours, Bella–”

“I swear to god, Jungkook.”

“Ah, I think he’s doing that breathing thing again,” Jungkook frowned as the baby began to breathe with his whole chest again. “I’ll give him to you to nurse and get a nurse to check him again.”

“You think we should?” Isabella asked and Jungkook was floored by the question, by the way she looked up at him, by the trust he felt from her. She was the one who’d had babies before! But she was relying on him as the father to help make sure their baby was ok. That Kai was ok.

“Yeah. I’d rather check too much and annoy the nurses than wait too long if he needs oxygen, right? I’m sure he’s fine but I’ll get the nurse.” He felt puffed up with the responsibility of it as he gently eased Kai over to Isabella. Kai let out a cry of complaint, just a little single yowl, and Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat.

“You like me already, huh?”

“Your tits are better,” Isabella teased.

“Definitely not true, sugar butt. I’ll be back.” He said it just to get her huff of annoyance at the saccharine pet name. Good. He loved Isabella grumpy with affection. He loved her needing him and trusting him and pulling him close when it would be so easy for her to push him away in her exhaustion and fear over their baby. 

He hadn’t felt like it wasn’t true, but he felt for sure now that they were in this together. Maybe that was partly where the sense of completeness came from, not just from holding Kai and feeling like his family was complete, but this bone-deep proof now that he was Isabella’s –to have, to hold, to rely on– in a way he thought he never could be.

He went off to bother the nurses again, gladly, because there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his wife and kids.

*

Isabella felt it too: that connection, that worry, that relief, that wholeness. 

Kai would be all right, she believed it because she had to, and because he had his daddy to take over when Isabella couldn’t. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t come into this with the parenting history she did. He was Kai’s dad, and he wouldn’t quit until he got it right, until Kai had whatever he needed –just like he had with Ezra, and Lily, and Isabella. 

Kai was perfect, just as both her other children had been. She had the most wonderful children in the world, and any of her fears that blending a family would be hard vanished when she held Kai. He belonged here, and Ezra and Lily would feel it too, just like they had with Jungkook even before she did. 

Jungkook came back, chatting animatedly with the nurse. He’d been up all night with her once the labor pains started, trailing her like a duckling as she paced the house, timing them because she was impatient and couldn’t remember to do it, bringing her ice water, keeping his distance when she said she needed space, jumping to her side when she needed someone to lean on.

“I think Kai needs a new diaper,” she shared as Jungkook and the nurse reached her. She peeked in the back of the diaper to confirm because these early meconium poops were odorless and easy, but she’d sensed it in the way he had just curled and relaxed. She was right. Maybe some of this baby stuff would come back to her, more easily than she had feared. 

Jungkook stretched his arms out, cracking his knuckles, then beamed, “All right, let’s get diaper duty started, huh? We’re going to ease into this, right, Kai? Start me off with some non-threatening stuff, yeah?”

Jungkook’s gasps of horror at the tarry stools a moment later had Isabella suppressing the laughter, her body too sore for this kind of thing. 

God, every time she didn’t think she could possibly love Jungkook anymore than she already did, she found she could. 

----------------------------------------

There are more Amended drabbles on my masterlist or read the main story here

[moonstruckme]

Hey love!

Was wondering if you could write a poly!maurader x fem!reader fic where (boys being boys) they had a bet who could go longer without sex and about a week reader decided to tease them a lil bit where she would flirt or like bend over to pick up smtg.

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: mature themes

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s so boy of them to discount you like this. Like, the bet had been funny at first, each of your boyfriends doing whatever they could to put the others in hot and heavy situations with you and each other, but after you and Sirius had gotten locked in a closet for the better part of an afternoon, they’d decided to take things down a notch. And as far as you’re concerned, that was when the fun part came to an end. 

The thing is, they’re guys. While they’re having their little stint of celibacy, they can at least still get themselves off. Multiple times a day, if they feel like it. It’s not that easy for you. So for you to not even have been involved in the bet, and yet be the one feeling its consequences most acutely…well, it’s beginning to grate on your nerves.

So you decide to make it fun again. 

“Oh, shit.” You say, getting James’ attention from where he’s going through the closet, trying to find a pair of pants to wear. “I dropped my wand under the bed.” 

He moves towards you. “I’ll get it for you, lovie.” 

“No, no, that’s alright.” You say, getting down on your hands and knees. “I’ve got it.” 

James falls silent as you arch your back under the pretense of reaching under the bed, letting your short skirt slip up to show the pretty, barely-there panties you’d picked out this morning. You linger for a bit longer than necessary, letting James take in the view from where he stands across from the bed. 

“Got it.” You emerge with the wand, sitting back on your legs and turning to James with a smile. 

His mouth is slightly open. He blinks, eyes dazed and pupils blown behind his lenses. “That’s, uh…” He blinks a few more times, faster. “That’s great, sweetheart. Glad you found it.” 

♡ ♡ ♡

“Gods.” Sirius nearly chokes when he sees you in the kitchen. “You’re looking nice today, angel.” 

You almost roll your eyes. You’re only wearing a tank top and underwear, but apparently that’s all it takes when your boyfriend’s been so long without any of you. Instead, you plaster on a coy smile.

“Thanks,” you say, as though you hadn’t noticed. “You look nice, too.” 

Sirius is making eyes at you as he leans his elbows on the counter. Like you’re the one who needs to worry. “Whatcha making, sweet thing?”

“Chocolate mousse. I’m just working on melting the chocolate right now.” You dip your forefinger into the warm, gooey liquid, bringing it to your mouth and sucking the chocolate off. You keep your eyes on Sirius’, so you can see the exact moment when his darken. “Mmm, want to try?” 

Sirius swallows. “Huh?”

You don’t bother looking innocuous, letting your eyes go droopy and suggestive in the way you know how. “I said, do you want some?” 

He’s silent for so long you think he might ask you to repeat yourself again, but then he clears his throat and stammers, “Uh, no—no thanks, doll. I’m good.” 

You pout. “It’s really good, though. Here, have a taste.” You cross the few steps between you and kiss him. 

Sirius takes a second to kiss you back, but when he does it’s so wanting that you don’t even have to be sneaky about winding one of your hands into his hair while using the other to bring his to your ass. He squeezes, and you moan into his mouth, grinding your hips into his just slightly. 

Sirius gasps, breaking away. He takes one step back, then another, putting distance between you as he tries to blink the glaze from his eyes. “Minx,” he whispers accusingly, and flees the kitchen. 

♡ ♡ ♡

“Thanks, baby.” You bat your eyelashes up at Remus as he brings you a glass of water from the kitchen. 

He lets out a low chuckle. “I know what you’re doing.” 

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you hum. 

Remus gives you a deadpan look, but there’s a glint of amusement in his amber eyes. “Earlier this morning, I went into our bedroom to find James, pantsless, with a hard-on.” It takes every ounce of control you have not to grin, but Remus quirks a brow like you have anyway. “And then a little while ago, Sirius came running out of the kitchen like something was chasing him, and he could barely speak. You didn’t have anything to do with that, dovey?” 

You let your eyes go wide and innocent as you shake your head. “Maybe they’re just getting sick of your competition.” 

“Mm, unlikely,” Remus hums, and his surety of his own willpower only worsens your determination to make him falter. “But if that’s the story you want to stick with, that’s fine.” 

You frown at him, the glass of water slippery with condensation in your palm. “Well, I—oh, damn!” you tip the glass of water into Remus’ lap, soaking his pants. He freezes, gasping at the cold. “I’m so sorry, honey. Here, let me help.” Luckily for you, you’d (completely coincidentally, of course) left a tea towel nearby earlier. You take it, blotting at Remus’ crotch with touches that start urgent but become lingering as you go on. After a minute, there’s really nothing left to sop up, and Remus hands are laid flat on the couch, every inch of him tense as you dab at his bulge with slow, tantalizing touches. 

When he speaks, his voice is low, gravelly. “You’re a lot more conniving than we give you credit for, you know that?”

You let your lips curl into a smile, leaving your hand to rest on his crotch. “I know.” 

Remus tips his head back, letting his eyes slip closed as he takes a slow, deep breath. “Fuck it.” 

You blink. “Huh?”

In the next second, Remus is gripping your hips and hoisting you up against him, your chest pressed to his. You inhale sharply as he stands, wrapping your legs around his waist, and he’s kissing at your throat, master of multitasking while he carries you into the bedroom. 

He nips at your jaw, and you giggle deliriously. “I won?” you ask, hardly believing it. Of all your boyfriends, you thought Remus had the least chance of breaking down before the others. 

His chuckle reverberates through you, and warmth flares in your core in response. “Sure you did, sweetheart. Though I think by the time we’re done here, who exactly won will be a bit more debatable.”

[btsgotjams27]

the nanny diaries ~ myg

ara's dad tries to come back into the picture and yoongi isn't having it.

✨ title: the nanny diaries (drabble series) | the way you are ✨ pairing: yoongi x single mom!reader ✨ word count: 1.5k |✨ genre: light angst, fluff / housemates!au |✨ rating: pg ✨ warnings: ara’s dad comes back into the picture for a split second, yoongi has unrequited feelings(?), protective Yoongi, reader is oblivious to Yoongi’s feelings, a small kiss on the cheek, minor language ✨ a/n: i missed nanny/housemate yoongi, so here he is <3 also, i'm sorry if the tenses change from the previous one to this one?? i'm trying something new and i'm seeing what i like better.

[ DRABBLES MASTERLIST ] | prev ~ the i-had-no-choice nanny

Yoongi watches you puff out your cheeks, almost as if you're holding your breath. You swish it from one side to the other, staring at the phone in your hand. He sips his coffee, wondering what you had in such a fuss. Your contemplation hasn't gone unnoticed these days. You’re being fairly quiet, hardly conversing with him, like you're trying to avoid him.

“What’s going on?” he asks, watching you cower before him.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow, hardly believing you. “Something has your panties all in a twist. A new guy or something?”

The biggest sigh leaves your lips. “Nope, I wish. You remember Jake? Ara’s dad?”

Yoongi pretends to gag. “How could I forget? He’s the biggest lowlife I know, and how do you date someone named Jake and then go and have a baby with him?”

You roll your eyes, annoyed with him. “You said you’d be nice.”

“Did I though?” Yoongi teases. “What does he want now?”

“He wants to be more involved in Ara’s life.”

Yoongi tuts. “You’re kidding me, right? Now he wants to be more involved? I’m more involved than he is.”

“I’m truly grateful for that, but Jake’s her dad, and I can’t deny him wanting to be more involved.”

“Actually, you can. When he chose to leave you and Ara, he gave up that right. What kind of dickhead leaves his girlfriend and kid?”

“Yoongi–”

“What? I’m just saying that you deserve better. You and Ara deserve better than Jake.” He watches you contemplate your next move, your thumbs lightly tapping on your phone, and guilt overtakes his recent comments against the guy that left you. He stands, making his way beside you on the couch. He sighs. “It’s yours and Ara’s life, and I can’t tell you what to do. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

You turn to him, your lips thin into a closed smile, before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “You’re really sweet for caring so much about us. Whoever ends up with you will be so lucky.”

Yoongi pulls away from you, clearing his throat. “Why are you getting all gooey and shi–”

Ara’s cry interrupts your conversation. The two of you look at each other in sync, saying, “I’ll go get her.”

“Yoongi, you’ve done so much lately. Let me get her.” He nods and lets you do your thing.

The fact that you’re allowing Jake to come back into your and Ara’s life frustrates him. He watched you date the guy, let him move in, knock you up, and then leave. Sometimes, he just wants you to use your brain and think about Ara and how she’ll have to grow up with a man in and out of her life. She doesn't deserve that; she deserves to have someone love her, sings her to sleep, hold her when she is scared, and play with her–not someone who shows up when they want to. He also thinks you deserve more than just a wishy-washy man who can't commit, but he's just your neighbor turned housemate. He doesn't have anything greater to offer you.

“Jake, you remember Yoongi?” You say, standing between the two in the doorframe.

“Hey–man, what’s up?” Jake holds out his hand for Yoongi to shake, which he does with a reluctant groan.

Ara is ready to escape from your arms when Jake tries to say hi. “There’s my baby girl.” Yoongi rolls his eyes because that’s what he calls her, but he knows it’s not exclusive to him. “Where are you going?” Jake teases when Ara holds her arms out toward Yoongi.

He suppresses his smile and gladly takes Ara from your grasp, and the most obnoxious baby voice comes out of him, “Hello–why yes, we want to stay. Don’t we?” He glances at you and Jake quickly before taking Ara toward the living room. “Let’s get your shoes on, shall we? Baby girl has a big day out with mommy.” Yoongi refuses to acknowledge Jake as her dad.

You look at Jake and see him clenching his jaw when he sees his daughter with another man. “Here–take her diaper bag, and I’ll grab Ara. Go wait outside, and we’ll be there soon.”

Jake grumbles under his breath, begrudgingly taking the bag from your hand, and heads out the door.

You stride over toward Yoongi, kneeling beside him. “I thought you were going to be nice.”

“See, you keep saying that, but I never promised anything.” He makes a face at you as he finishes buckling Ara’s sandals.

“Yoongi–”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be nice.”

The few hours you're gone, Yoongi tries to work on his project but can't concentrate on anything. He plays the same song beat until he can't stand it and pushes his keyboard and mouse to the side out of frustration.

He shouldn't be so angry over you and Ara going out for a few hours. The two of you have done this plenty of times, but this was different–Jake's with you. Does he know what Ara's favorite lovey is and about the backup one in case the first one goes missing? A lot of things could go wrong in a short span of time.

Yoongi paces repeatedly in the living room, looking through the blinds to see if you've returned. Eventually, he gives up and falls asleep, his arms and legs crossed while on the couch, awaiting your arrival.

The digital keypad of the lock wakes him from his rest, wondering how long he's been out. The fumbling of the doorknob causes him to become flustered, pretending to go back to sleep.

"Ow–" you mumble as you enter the apartment, accidentally stubbing your foot on the shoe rack.

Yoongi chuckles quietly, turning toward the back of the couch.

"Where's your room? I can put Ara down," Jake says while holding his arms out for her. You reluctantly hand her over, hoping she doesn't wake up during the transfer. Your little chunky monkey's growing up too fast before your eyes.

Surprisingly, Jake does a good job putting her down without waking her up. You turn on the white noise, putting her favorite blanket on her before leaving the room.

"See, I'm a natural," Jake suggests, patting himself on the back.

Yoongi scoffs quietly. It's been one time, pure luck, he thinks. Imagine having to do it every day without any help.

You walk Jake to the door, and you stand before him. "Not bad for your first time."

Jake eliminates the distance between you, rubbing your arms up and down. "You guys should just come live with me," he suggests, squeezing your arms.

Quickly, you glance over at Yoongi, who's still fast asleep. "Yoongi's been good to us, and I don't think I want any major changes right now."

"Come on, baby. I said I wanted to be more involved in your and Ara's life. Isn't that enough? Don't you still love me? We're so good together."

At this moment, Yoongi wants to jump up and pummel the guy, but hopefully, you can handle him yourself.

"Don't come around with empty promises. Ara and I deserve more than that. You hung out with us once and expect me to let you back into my life? It's gonna take time before I can trust you again."

Yoongi smiles. He knew you could do it. He pretends to stir and groan to make it known that he is about to wake up from sleep.

You look over at Yoongi as he stretches his arms and legs. "You should go, Jake. I'll talk to you later."

"Babe–we're not done talking yet," Jake whines.

"She said, 'You should go, Jake.'" Yoongi pops up and deadpans to Jake.

"You heard the man of the house," you say, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms.

Jake scoffs, clenching his jaw, annoyed with both of you. "Didn't know you were someone else's bitch already."

Yoongi quickly stands. "You really should go now."

You open the door, waiting for him to leave. He tuts and mumbles and curses under his breath before walking out as you slam it behind him.

Both of you stare at each other, waiting for someone to speak.

Yoongi blinks. "What did I tell you?"

"I don't know. What did you tell me?"

"That he's a no-good lowlife who just wants to get his dick wet."

"You never said that."

"Well, we were both thinking it."

You sigh, walking over to him, sitting on the couch, and Yoongi mirrors you. "Come on, just say what you want to say. Tell me, 'I told you so.'"

He doesn't want to be right. He understands the tough situation you're in. It's not your fault your ex is a jerk. He shakes his head, "I'm not gonna say that."

"Okay, then. Thanks for putting up with him then and humoring me in my hopeless situation."

Yoongi turns to you. "Stop that. You and Ara deserve better than that guy. You guys are perfect the way you are, even if he doesn't realize that."

"Oh my god, is Min Yoongi just a big ball of fluff now?" You tease, playfully pushing him away.

"I'm serious. You're a great mom to Ara, and you should have someone who loves you and wants to take care of you."

Your lips curve into a small smile. "Thanks, Yoongi. I mean it." Your pinky is unbearably close to his hand, just as you notice his index finger stroking your hand.

He looks at you. "Don't mention it."

[killercooksblog]

KillerCook Baking Challenge

Howdy - In celebration of starting this blog, I present a challenge! If you've read the book, you'll know the first chapter was about BROWNIES! AKA the best dessert ever, probably. I'll post it below so if you have no idea what I'm talking about you can catch up and participate!

I love a good brownie, and I think everyone has their own unique way of baking goods that makes the recipe special in its own way! Yes, even box mix, cause I know not everyone is following those instructions all the time. If you're a raw batter eater, you're amongst safe company!

The challenge: I want you to make a pan of brownies with you're own secret ingredient that makes it *chef's kiss.* To participate, you gotta submit a pic of your brownie platter to my submissions or ask box by 3:00 PM EST Saturday, June 8th. Additionally, you need to submit a summary of the flavor and texture of your recipe, without saying the name of your secret ingredient.

For example: in my double mint chocolate brownies chapter, I would summarize it as - a dulcet double layer of cacao richness that's not too cakey and not too moist, that will leave you with a fresh and happy ending.

Or something like that. Get creative! I wanna rate your brownies! I'll be playing along too and for the sake of it, I won't be doing mint chips so I can leave y'all guessing too ;)

With the camera set in place, Killer dusted his apron and straightened his helmet one last time before pressing the ‘Go Live’ button, muttering a quick, "It's show time," under his breath.

“Hello, Killer here,” raising a hand in the air, the quarter sleeve of his dress shirt rolled neatly on his forearm. “Time for another day of relaxing vibes and delicious desserts. Today, I’m making Double Chocolate Mint Brownies. I love a goody, gooey brownie, especially when there’s mini chocolate chips and ganache involved.”

As he spoke the well-rehearsed introduction, Killer wandered around the kitchen pulling out mixing tools and fixing himself a glass of bubble milk tea, congregating on the island countertop. Oven already preheated, eggs and butter on standby and at room temperature. Slurping up a tapioca ball, he paused for a minute while he chewed.

“Mm, ‘scuse me, didn’t expect that one to come up all the way. Tasty. Moving on, you know my number one motto: A clean and sterile working environment is best when dealing with things you intend to eat. And please, enough with the Jason Vorhees jokes, my mask looks nothing like his. I’m trying to make a name for myself as an independent serial killer……of hunger and all your hearts,” he brought his hands together to make a heart shape for the audience.

The ping of a microtransaction being made caught Killer’s attention, leaning close to his phone. Someone had bought and redeemed a highlighted message, and it was one of those moments he wished he hadn’t added that incentive, now being forced to read and answer it live.

“MurderinoSquadAssemble has this to say – ‘a serial killer of hunger and OUR hearts? Seems sus but ok. #redflagbehavior.’ Calm down armchair detective. For the record, I haven’t been caught yet and it won’t be to the likes of you.”

Biting down a chuckle, Killer stepped back to put on plastic gloves, a baking hat, and his favorite apron. It was a faded blue color but what really made it endearing for him, was the print.

That’s Hot

It had a small whisk and measuring spoons sprawled on the bottom, and the capital T had a baker’s hat falling off it. Underneath the text, a stovetop on fire. A gift from Kid on his 25th birthday.

Smiling privately, Killer turned to give the audience his side profile as he tied the apron strings. His dress shirt clung to his muscled arms, threatening to burst if he flexed too hard. His ass looked firm and thick in the dark chino relaxed pants he wore.

Prepping the baking tray, Killer explained the ingredients he was using and his choices for alternatives. He preferred to use ethically sourced chocolate and tapioca flour instead of all-purpose flour. He used vegan butter but liked to brown it first to caramelize a bit before combining it to the batter.

“This flour is what I used to make the tapioca pearls for my milk tea in my 14th video. It’s still up if you want to check it out and give it some love,” he poured the batter into the pans.

Turning around completely, he walked to the oven to place the pan on the middle rack. Killer didn’t need to bend down as much as he did to place the pan inside. He also didn’t need to jut his hips backwards a little to make his butt look bigger on camera, but it was nice hearing the pings echoing in the kitchen as he was gifted with tips and praise. Not that he’d admit that to anyone of course.

Killer turned the volume of his Bluetooth speaker louder, enjoying the lofi channel playlist he chose for the day’s stream. It was hard to find good music these days, not with a DMCA lawsuit one flagged video away.

“You can find where I use the same ingredients for the pre-made mint filling layer in my 20th video, when I made my homemade No-reos.”

Underneath the kitchen island countertop was a small red button that Killer pushed. That was the alarm indicator Kid had installed to notify the redhead that it was time for him stop what he was doing, get dressed, and join the video for the taste test.

Hoping beyond hope that Kid would be wearing the clothes Killer laid out for him, the masked man entertained the audience. Acknowledging the redeemed gifts, answering comments and questions and taking a much needed bathroom break. Letting the ads run a bit longer to milk the revenue, Killer stood at the doorway waiting for Kid to make an appearance. Asshole was running late, unbelievable. HE WANTED to be in the live streams, Killer didn’t ask him to be a part of it.

Shaking his head, he sat down in front of the camera, preparing to be KillerCook once more. The oven had three minutes left on the timer and the smell of chocolate wafted. The stream continuing, he began whisking the ganache to pour over the brownies.

Killer heard Kid walking through the hallway as he whisked. Bursting through the door, shirtless, his golden piercings that littered his nipples, nose bridge and ears shined from the open kitchen windows that showed a beautiful sunny day outside.

Timer going off, Killer fumbled to the back while hissing out, “Put a fucking shirt on! Why do you do this every time?!”

“C’mon Kill, they’re not gonna ban you for male nipples, be real.”

“Not risking it, we’re already on thin ice for using copyright music after 2 warnings. Remember? That’s how you lost Your Job as the video editor. Put on a shirt or I pull the plug.”

Angrily swearing, Kid walked back through the door to find a shirt.

“The last step is pouring the ganache over the mint layer and spreading it evenly for a smooth coating. Then you’ll want to store it in the fridge to let the top layer set. This will take up to an hour or you can keep it in longer until you’re ready to eat.”

Cutting into the pan to prepare a square for Kid, the masked baker placed both the pan and the taste test piece in the fridge. Killer once again entertained the audience for the 5 minutes it took for Kid to come back, in a ruffled black vest that was unbuttoned. Killer pulled out a chair for him and went to retrieve the taste test square, placing it on the table in front of Kid.

Coming into view of the camera with an annoyed pout on his face, Kid shot a sneer at Killer before tightening his jaw and looking directly into the lens.

“Alright, now the reason you’re all really here. To watch me eat shit you can’t have and look hot doing it.”

Standing straight, he stuck out his right arm and flexed, slowly moving it down with deliberate motions that further focused on his bulging muscles instead of the baked good. Bringing it to his face, Kid licked his maroon painted lips before taking a bite with a grin. Letting out an approving grunt.

“How’s it taste?”

“Tastes damn good, brother,” Kid responded, biting into the brownie again.

“Can you uh elaborate some more for the audience?”

“It’s chocolate, tastes like chocolate,” he grunted out in between bites.

Sighing deeply, “Does the texture feel balanced? Is it too dry? Can you even taste the mint I added with the chocolate chips?”

Licking his fingers clean and wiping his mouth with the back of hand, Kid shrugged. “Tastes perfect. Like any good brownie should be, it’s moist,” devilish smirk on his face and he faced the camera.

Feeling Killer’s serious as fuck glare through the mask, “Yeah yeah you can taste the mint. It doesn’t overwhelm the chocolate but it wasn’t overstated either. Like a little nudge wanting acknowledgment.”

“And there you have it, moist and acknowledged. Tune in next time when I make one of my favorite dishes, Spaghetti aglio e olio. It’s simple to prepare and like everything else I make, slays. This has been Faffaffaffa-Food with Killer.”

End Livestream.

Killer lifted his baker’s hat, helmet and took his hairnet off, pulling his hair from the tight wound rubber elastic he’d put it in.

“One of these days you’re going to get me banned, dickwad. Think about that the next time you want to fuck around. All those comments of praise and validation gone just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “Because you can’t stop being a dumb whore for 5 minutes.”

“I’m a whore?! Oh stuff a brownie in yer mouth and calm down. You’re not you when you’re hangry,” Kid snickered, ducking out of the kitchen to avoid the stainless-steel bowls flung at him.

Bonus: The comment section

ICantEven101: Killer-san, why won’t my sauce stick to my noodles? KillerCook: You may be using too much oil or butter. A good trick is to add in pasta water to thicken the sauce. Corn starch is a good binder as well.

VanillyExtract: PunkNeverDied69 can I take you on a date? 🥺 PunkNeverDied69: You can’t afford my tastes.

GimmeDa’Za: Day 15 of asking for a Heat cameo and dutch oven pizzas. FlamingHot420: Why are you people obsessed with me? I walked into the kitchen ONE TIME.

[dyrewrites]

Hi I'm a day late but happy Storyteller Sunday! How does agriculture work in your world? Are there harvest rituals or festivals? Are the growing seasons affected by any unusual factors?

Never too late for fun questions!

If discussing Mar as a whole, there may be something to find near the twin cities, where seasons are actually a thing and there are more creatures interested in plants.

But, as I've not delved into too much off the Spine (and what I know is wrong now because this book went and ruined it all), we'll stick to Weald and Wen.

You won't find too much in the way of agriculture, as everything complex enough to do it on purpose in the twin woods are carnivorous.

However, the Auru, who are fairly new to the woods and make their homes on the Rim of the grand rock those woods grow from do know their way around a farm. Well...a garden. But all they can get to grow in the fungal Wen they edge are plants already found there, and not only in the woods but in that specific patch of the wood. The plants do not seem to enjoy being planted anywhere but their own dirt. One herd boasts delicious tea made from a flower that only grows on the Weald side's Rim--half a world a way for what dangers lurk between. None know how the herd manages and their leader will insist it was sheer force of will.

No rituals involved for the process, or the sowing/harvesting. Auru of the Wen refrain from, well, a certain crystal gremlin would say 'anything fun' and she could be right.

Now there are harvest festivals in the twin woods, but they're reserved for Fyrni in the Weald and they're not related to plant-life.

They're akin to hunting parties but with a ceremony attached. It is one all Fyrni in the warren are part of, and many of them continue the festival after the harvest departs (praying for their safety and success). There's also a relatively painful magic used to hide what they are before they leave their warrens, which includes a little song and lots of snuggles.

The 'harvesting' comes after subduing their prey with blood-sung weaponry not meant to kill but to stun--this is reliant on the emotion of the user, so accidents happen. They then beg the Lady through Song and Breath and complex runes drawn in blood, and some invasive poking of claws into flesh, to allow them a gasp of life from the subdued. Something to add to their own, to keep them living.

It ends up a gooey little ball they gotta shape into something a tad more practical to carry about and munch on, but they're essentially eating little bits of souls. Harvesting little bits of souls. Those who perform this harvest are known as Reapers. Typically there's also a Weaver, who tends to wounds, and a Speaker, who can Sing a path through the Breath for a quick return home. Together this party provides their warren with nourishing 'hyla'...the soul bits all mushed and melded to an edible gelatin substance.

They're very important to the warren, and there's a huge party if they make it back and many privileges awarded.

->Weald and Wen Taglist<-

~Lemme know if you want on/off~

@sapphicwizards @tragedycoded @rowanmgrey-author @watermeezer @badscientist

@hyacinthslibrary @olliexwrites @wyked-ao3 ^.-

[librawritesstuff]

Here in America review from The Guardian via Yahoo

(Yahoo link doesn’t work and Guardian paywall)

Here in America: A small London theatre punches above its weight

Real-life political clashes have proved fine dramatic fodder for Britain’s leading playwrights in recent years. Peter Morgan’s 2006 play Frost/Nixon was based on the interviews the former president gave following the Watergate scandal, while in 2021 James Graham’s Best of Enemies dramatised the televised political debates between Gore Vidal and William F Buckley Jr.

Veteran political dramatist David Edgar now turns to the falling-out between playwright Arthur Miller and director Elia Kazan amid the febrile anti-communist mood of 1950s America. When Kazan was subpoenaed and called upon to “name names” by the House Un-American Activities Committee or risk being blacklisted from Hollywood, his decision to inform left Miller disgusted. Kazan had previously directed Death of a Salesman to great acclaim and, as Here in America posits, the pair had been like “brothers”. They didn’t speak for 10 years.

It’s certainly a fascinating and fertile subject matter: this feud between two greats of theatre and film had great artistic consequences. Miller was inspired to write The Crucible about the Salem witch-trials – a clear allegory for McCarthyism and the effects of wrongful accusation – while Kazan’s 1954 film On the Waterfront, where Marlon Brando’s dockworker stands up to a corrupt union by informing, won eight Oscars. Meanwhile, Marilyn Monroe, who both men were involved with, was a central figure during all of this. Miller used his engagement to Monroe as political capital when he himself was hauled in front of the HUAC – a speech that is reenacted compellingly here.

Edgar, who has written more than 60 plays since 1970, has managed to cram all this history – albeit with some not very subtle exposition – into a nifty 80-minute four-hander comprising Michael Aloni’s Art, Shaun Evans’s Gadg (Kazan), Faye Castelow’s Day (Kazan’s wife) and Jasmine Blackborow’s Miss Bauer (Monroe). Imagining the showdown between the two men at Kazan’s house in 1952, Edgar asks questions about betrayal, a theme that plagued Miller throughout his works. Both men had already betrayed their wives through infidelity. Should Kazan stay loyal to communists who had previously betrayed him? Will Miller betray Kazan by publicly denouncing him as a traitor?

Evans’s Gadg seems hesitant about the decision he has to make but withers under pressure from his more opinionated and assertive wife, physically leaning on her for support before he gives testimony to the HUAC. When Art relays his intentions with The Crucible, Day fierily argues with him while Gadg can only look on dumbstruck. And when Art himself has moments of doubt, Blackborow’s Marilyn is there to rally him. “The man I want to be with is the man who tells the truth,” she says.

As for Marilyn, Blackborow deliberately gives us a sketch of the woman, as versions of how Art and Gadg saw her at that time. Similarly to the “flashbacks” in Death of a Salesman, she appears as a memory or as an imagined presence interjecting in the conversation. With Gadg – with whom she had a sexual relationship – she is more sultry, pulling him between her legs and grabbing his face. With Art, she is a thrilling whirlwind but also vulnerable and bashful, gazing up at him with gooey-eyed admiration.

Here, then, is another example of the Orange Tree punching above its weight. The minimal staging devices largely seem sophisticated, with blocks seamlessly shifting the scene from a park bench to a living room to a courtroom. Black leaves litter the stage and the stars of the American flag light up the floor during the hearings. “I had this thought,” Art explains about the Salem witch trials, “that if we came to understand what happened then, then we might start to understand what’s happening in the here and now.” From the banning of books in schools to the links between McCarthy and Trump, the comparisons Edgar invites us to make with the state of modern-day America are all too clear.

The push and pull between the four actors, almost like they’re in a dance, is captivating to watch. The intimate 180-seat Orange Tree space proves the perfect setting for these non-verbal dynamics to play out: a glance of admonishment here, and a raised eyebrow of disbelief there convey meaning beyond the words and breathe life into speeches that might otherwise feel overly dense and stuffy.

[cibeeorsomeshit]

Stolitz Week Day Five & Six: Love Letters/Duet & Date Night/Slice of Life (Ao3)

Your sort-of boyfriend thought he was a bad father. It was extremely stupid so you had to correct him. In a bar. By singing. That was just how things went sometimes.

A/N: the song blitz sings in this is HS by Tom Cardy lmao

Solitude led to thinking, and contrary to what most would like to think, Blitzø’s brain wasn’t completely void of thoughts. Sometimes he would stop in the middle of a task because his mind suddenly went into overdrive, sometimes he would knock himself out (with drugs, sex, or picking a fight and then not really fighting back) so he would be blissfully, deliciously not thinking.

Weekends were the bane of his adult existence. When sinners and hellborn that managed to hold a job rejoiced at the idea of finally having a break, Blitzø was left alone in too many ways. He scowled at those “I hate Monday” mugs and hated the fact a sentiment shared across Heaven, Hell, and Earth and probably beyond somehow eluded him because he was just that pathetic. He would be counting downs the seconds when he could go back to work, go back to being needed by clients, to vexing Moxxie and joking with Millie, to sliding up to Loona to say “whatcha doing” instead of knocking on her door tentatively and asking if she wanted to watch a movie.

But it took seeing one of those stupid overused mugs again for Blitzø to realize he was feeling less of the usual intense hatred and more of a tepid annoyance, because he had been looking less forward to Mondays now.

“What are you looking at?” Stolas bent backward and rested his head between Blitzø’s horns.

“This stupid mug.”

“Do you like it?” Stolas stood up and moved to go into the shop, which meant he was dragging Blitzø as well, seeing that they haven’t let go of each other’s hands since Stolas took it in the car.

“No, I fucking don’t. So don’t think about buying it.”

“Oh.” Stolas sounded genuinely disappointed. “But I really want to buy it for you.”

“Buy me a horse.”

“I offered!”

“Loona said she’d move out.”

“I can keep it at the palace.” Stolas said. “And then you will have to come over more.”

“Bitch, I already spent most of the week at your place.”

“But I want more—” Stolas whined and draped himself over Blitzø, this time further down so he could look at his eyes upside down.

“If you get more I’ll be living with you.” And then Blitzø immediately regretted that, and Stolas immediately pounced on that.

“That would be so wonderful, oh, Blitzy! Just think about it—”

They both knew Stolas was mostly joking, but the undercurrent of unfeigned desire was just as transparent in the way Stolas never really managed to conceal when it came to Blitzø. His voice and manner and gaze all exuded something nearly feverish. The first time it happened it was when Stolas almost said the Three Words that Blitzø knew he was not ready for. Some Devine or Hellish intervention must have been in place because rather than hightailing out of there to have his panic attack in a bush somewhere, Blitzø actually managed to stay and have his panic attack in Stolas’ arms instead. During the breakdown with colorful metaphors (i.e. lots of cursing involving body parts), Stolas saw that somewhere deep down Blitzø wanted the same things but his heart and brain had been rearranged in a way where nothing worked properly, and those things — those terrible things like respect and the L-word and unconditional affections — Blitzø couldn’t handle in large doses. Stolas had learned to trickle these things, like tricking a cat into drinking water just to survive, and often Blitzø wouldn’t even notice he was receiving the L-word long after he was feeling gooey and healthy and not shitty.

But just as Blitzø couldn’t handle it, Stolas sometimes couldn’t help the onslaught of the L-word he apparently have so much of for Blitzø (what the fuck), and if Stolas at least attempt to restrain himself for Blitzø, Blitzø also tried to accept Stolas’ occasional leakage. It was called compromise or some shit, according to Moxxie, and apparently it was a good thing so he would just have to accept it.

The image Stolas was painting of, not just waking up next to each other (they did that already) or walking in while the other had their pants down (they also did that already), but the life of always having someone with you, to return to and be returned to, was not something Blitzø could handle in the middle of the street in front of a shop selling shitty mugs.

Physical restraint was in order. Blitzø climbed Stolas like a tree, grabbing his face and using his tail to cover Stolas’ mouth, looking into eyes and choking out a “Birdy,” nearly pleading and definitely pathetic. Stolas blinked the love-sick haze out of his eyes and wrapped his arms around Blitzø, taking all of his weight.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Stolas muffled, and Blitzø moved his tail away, trailing the tip along Stolas’ jaw in a small gesture of reassurance. “I got too excited.”

“No shit.” Blitzø buried his face into soft feathers, trying to regain some sort of composure. He closed his eyes and mumbled, too low to be heard properly: “I have too many cracks to live with, no need for you to live with them too.”

Stolas started walking with Blitzø still clinging to him. They were attracting stares but honestly they do that just walking normally anyway, so Blitzø couldn’t give a fuck.

They didn’t talk the rest of the way, but Stolas slotted his talons in between the spikes on Blitzø’s back, pressing into the tender flesh, and Blitzø absentmindedly chewed on Stolas’ neck, leaving bruises no one but themselves would know.

The bar they were heading to was a new one, a recommendation from Moxxie. When Blitzø left work today, Millie wished him a good date, and Blitzø belatedly realized, yeah, this was a date, right? Or were they past that? And if so, what was happening?

(Blitzø might have had this little crisis on the drive over, and Stolas simply hooted his soft laugh and took his right hand. And if Blitzø had to park the car without changing gears, then everyone else on the road would just have to deal with it.)

Their table was in the center of the whole place, Blitzø knew from experience with Verosika that restaurants always seated the pretty and the famous in the middle so everyone could see them and also make the pretty and famous feel important. Usually the ugly people and tourists got shoved to the side or the back and were basically forgotten. Somehow Blitzø always managed to snag someone who was center-seat pretty.

Stolas didn’t really care about feeling important though (most likely because he was very important) but the lighting was low and soft enough that he didn’t mind. He stretched his legs out to Blitzø’s side, and Blitzø rested his boots against them, something he realized after a dozen or so times that Stolas wasn’t actually looking for some fun under the table, as fun as they both find it to be, Stolas simply liked Blitzø in any way possible, all the time.

Dates, people might call these, but in some way it was exposure therapy for Blitzø. After Ozzies’, Stolas went out of his way showing he was Blitzø’s (not the other way around.) The tabloids were feral the first few weeks, though Stolas didn’t seem to care, saving all of the clippings because he thought Blitzø “looked very handsome in them.” Dumb bitch also stopped Blitzø from doodling on (scratching out) his own face.

Fizz also loved sending any gossip that was reminiscent of Asmodeus and his relationship when they first came out, though coming from Fizz it was more like encouragement masquerading as shit-talking.

Now it wasn’t so hard for Blitzø to sit straight and look Stolas in the eyes when they were out. He could even take the jabs the bartender threw at him when he went to get drinks. Blitzø just launched an empty beer bottle right at him and didn’t pay him. He was with Stolas, what was that fucker going to do?

It was odd that Blitzø was the one bouncing on his feet and Stolas was the one with downcast eyes, but that was what he came back to.

“Do they have absinthe?” Stolas asked, and of course they did, so what Stolas was really asking was for Blitzø to ask why he needed it.

“Christ’s ass, what happened? I was gone for like two seconds.”

“You were gone for ten minutes and started the fight at the bar.”

“Started a fight and won.”

“And won. Sorry, darling.”

“So what happened?” Blitzø would also need that absinthe if Stolas was upset about him — them — fuck.

“Stella called.”

Somehow that was worse.

“What did the harpy want? Another crown for the tenth ego she sprouted?”

“About Via.” Stolas sipped his wine, then took a bigger gulp. On stage , the band started setting up their equipment, while the singer crooned a melody for warmup. Stolas leaned closer to Blitzø over the music, “Stella hosted some guests today and apparently Via didn’t follow proper etiquette. She wants to keep Octavia there longer so she could ‘fix the damage I caused.’”

Blitzø stared, dumbfounded to the point he was unable to muster up any of those scathing insults that made Stolas giggle through his misery.

“That’s such bullshit. Octavia was probably messing with those privileged shitbags. I’ve seen her, she knows what she’s doing.”

“Do you really think so?” Stolas covered his eyes with a slender hand, so delicately that made Blitzø want to hold his face for him. “I try to raise her differently than I was…but maybe I was too lenient, maybe not giving her the skills to be a royal will be damaging because I can’t protect her forever, no matter how much I want to. So maybe I did raise her differently but still messed it up all the same.”

“You are so smart, but sometimes you say the dumbest shit.”

Stolas removed his hand and glared. “Excuse me?”

Blitzø climbed onto the table and crouched in front of Stolas, grabbed his face until it was squished together between Blitzø’s hands. “Most of the time she is the smartest, toughest, most functioning person in any room, and that’s because of you, not your ex-bitchwife, not all those fancy tutors or all the other Goetias, you, but because you are a fucking bitching dad.”

“Bitching dad.” Stolas repeated dazedly.

“The bitchingest.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Of course it is. I just said it.”

Blitzø finally got Stolas to giggle. “You are too nice to me. I can’t believe everything you say or else I will be too cocky.”

Blitzø pressed his mouth to the ticklish spot Stolas had just below his chin. “Oh, what, you think I’m a liar?”

Louder giggles. “I didn’t say that.”

“I guess I’ll have to convince everyone to convince you then.”

“Oh?” Stolas’ smile was teasing, most likely because he didn’t know what Blitzø had in mind, and the teasing bled into confusion when Blitzø pulled away, then finally settled on flustering when Blitzø got to the stage and started whispering to the lead singer.

Blitzø could be very charming when he wanted to be, and not a few words later he was on stage and climbing onto the stool while the lead singer retreated to the back with an air kiss to Stolas. Blitzø fake coughed to get the attention he already had from everyone.

“How’re you all doing? I would say sorry but I’m really not, this is an intervention because there is a certain demon down there that needs some sense knocked into his pretty head.”

The band started playing. Stolas’ face hurt from how much he was trying not to smile. Blitzø stuck his tongue out between his teeth and grinned in the way that always made Stolas want to drop everything and simply kiss him, kiss him, kiss him until there was nothing else they could do.

Sadly that had to wait. Blitzø was belting on stage to the hoots and cheers of the crowd: “Now and then, we all get a voice that stops us in our track—”

Blitzø was not the best singer, but his charisma made the amalgamation of singing-talking-rapping-mumbling extremely enjoyable to experience. By the end Stolas was full-on laughing. His phone was ringing and he knew it was Stella calling to simply ruin his day again, but Stolas couldn’t even bother with hanging up on her. He was too busy having fun.

“So get on up here and tell this world what you are—” Blitzø was jumping violently on the stool now, and Stolas was out of his seat running, reaching the stage in time to catch Blitzø jumping off and into his arms. “What are you?!”

“The bitchingest dad!”

“The bitchingest! The hottest! You’re not shit you’re the shit!”

“I’m the shit!”

“Fuck yeah!” Blitzø screamed into the mic and Stolas screamed with him. The whole bar was a mix of screams joining in or curses telling them to get the fuck off stage.

“Thank you,” Stolas whispered. “You’re right.”

“Yeah well, I’m pretty smart.” Blitzø's tongue was still sticking out, flicking in the air playfully, probably tasting the joy in the space between them. “Let’s get fucking drunk.”

But Stolas was not done yet. His voice was raw from laughing and it was with that voice he said, low, covering the microphone so only Blitzø could hear: “You might think you are cracked, darling, but I think you’re just well-worn, like a love letter I read over and over again. I will caress those torn parts you have.”

And Blitzø could have absolutely killed Stolas there, because there was no reason to drop that when they were surrounded by a bunch of randos. Blitzø clung to Stolas, gasping for something other than air. “God damn it.” Blitzø trembled and kissed Stolas. “Buy me that fucking horse, then.”

(Day Four) ← →(Day Seven)