#he does this by the dozens until something sticks

[randycider]

Thinking about Shockwave being a human in that mecha pilot Jazz au. (au of an au?? Sure)

I’m picturing an eyepatch, buzz-cut, sinister voice and even sinister unethical human experimentation— that drift technology had to come about from someone, right?

They call him Shockwave because he just showed up one day and revolutionized the mech field overnight. Or that’s just his name, who knows.

Very Doc-Ock from Spider-Man situation going on for him; he found Cybertronian or Quintesson tech and integrated it into himself, now he’s got mechanical arms and a gigantic gun for an arm or whatever, and he works as fast as possible to replicate it on other people, no matter how unethical or morally dubious, because if he could do it to himself, then he can do it to others for the sake of science. (Maybe someone else did the experimenting on him??)

Idk I just need the angry and violent and visceral Shockwave personality carrying over to him being the Top Guy on earth who is responsible for finding people to test new and developing drift technology on. Some of those first pilots probably died during the drift connection, and he just kept putting new people into the mecha over and over until something stuck

Maybe he’s responsible for sending out recruitment programs that test people’s DNA to see if they’re drift compatible and THEN they have to go through all that rigorous training and testing

[fluffylino]

no nut november with minho 🍮

you realise eating pudding is his way of controlling himself...

-contains suggestive themes (plz he's pudding boy)

you think minho is great at holding out.

its november and from the very first day of the month, he grumbled about how stupid the whole idea was.

accepting the challenge when you tell him you made a bet with jisung for fun.

both of you being full of pride could not possibly lose to jisung, who you were sure would end up jerking off on the 2nd day of november.

to your surprise, he had faithfully vowed to practice no such actions.

minho, on the other hand seemed to get through his days fine. a little too fine, because even you found it difficult to not drool over your boyfriend.

you know him to the extent that you know how he sticks to challenges.

there is no way he would ever let y'all lose against jisung. just so he could rub it in his friend's face about being the winner.

he does the normal things he does. washing up, sitting with his head on your lap after a long day, eating pudding with you.

lots and lots of pudding.

dozens of them stacked in the lower shelf of the fridge.

its the 26th of november and you have to admit its getting harder and harder. for you atleast.

"min, whatcha doing in the fridge?"

you walk into the kitchen, finding him crouched down. he had been there for longer than five minutes.

"mmhmm" is all you make out with what he's saying.

"huh?" walking over to him in confusion.

"m' eating pudding" he tries to say more clearly. and you peek over the fridge door to see three empty glasses of pudding.

"didn't you just eat pudding like two hours ago?"

and he blinks at you extremely slowly.

still seated on the floor with a glass of pudding in his hand. keeping his eyes locked on yours as he feeds himself another spoonful.

in defiance. like a cat doing something its not supposed to do but would do it anyway to prove that its not listening to you.

"you're an addict. i swear, you're addicted to pudding!"

you laugh. patting his head even though you know the risks of doing that.

"a man needs his pudding to keep going"

minho mumbles while going as far as to tipping his head back to lick the inside of the container clean. it does something to you and you mentally slap yourself.

if he was so good at keeping himself sane, you were sure you could do it too.

"theres caramel on your nose pfft"

the thick sugary substance painting the tip of his nose. theres some more on his chin and...

"minho, you have it on your cheek too!"

it was getting funnier. and he glared at you, clearing his throat.

"i was hungry." he mutters, packing up the other puddings. you notice his eyebrows furrowing in discomfort when he stands up.

typical old man behaviour.

"give me a hug" you whisper, wanting to actually hug him.

maybe being close to him would make your unforgiving sex deprived mind shut off for a while.

"no" closing the fridge and placing his hands on his hips.

"minhooo give me a hug, please?"

standing on your tip toes to peck the tip of his nose. he turns his head away, trying to control his expressions.

you take the chance to catch him off guard, jumping onto him to tackle him into hugging you. he playfully matches your energy until he freezes in your hold.

"ah-"

a small moan escaping his lips. his eyes widening while he bites down onto his bottom lip. stopping any other noise from leaving him.

your mouth dropping open in shock when you feel his hard-on pressing against your thigh.

"did you get a boner-"

"no."

he whispers, masking his surprised expression with faux annoyance. you squint at him with a glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

"were you eating pudding to distract yourself?"

"...no."

placing his hands on your shoulders to lightly push you away. creating some distance between your bodies.

"im not that deprived, trust me" minho mumbles quietly. your lips pursed together.

"what if i say its getting harder for me..." you mutter, moving closer to him. he doesn't stop you.

"really, baby? can't live without my dick for a month?"

you stay silent. looking away from him sadly. you're not embarassed anymore.

because now you know how he copes when he gets horny. pudding!

"...can't live without you either" and you smile. happy that he admits it.

he groans, throwing his head back dramatically. squeezing his eyes closed.

"god, i can't stop imagining you crying my name when i push into you. its haunting me. for fuck's sake"

minho grumbles, groaning when you hug him again. his arms wrapping around you.

"and i can't stop thinking of you pushing my head down into the bed while you fuck me from behind"

you pull your phone out of your pocket hastily when it buzzes nonstop.

"its jisung..."

"what'd he say?"

"he...LOST!"

you shriek. practically jumping onto minho. trusting him entirely. he picks you up with no struggle.

"does that mean..."

"yes. im fucking you. right now."

"but november isn't over!"

"jisung lost. our opponent lost. that means this stupid no nut shit doesn't apply to us anymore" he grumbles. you catch onto him tight when he practically darts to your shared bedroom.

"admit it...you missed it, didn't you"

a huge smile on his face. a glimmer of pure happiness in his eyes. like how he'd look at his favourite pudding.

"have you ever seen me this excited before-"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

pudding boy lino. i watched his whole live and then ate pudding🍮

[whateveriwant]

might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;

Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader

Price

Three words: full body massage

That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)

He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his

He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin

Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted

Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)

By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut

Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone

Ghost

We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in

…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is

Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)

You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work

He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home

He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name

I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses

Gaz

He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening

First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining

Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off

The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes

When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet

He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it

Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion

Soap

‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck

However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up

He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you

Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)

He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting

And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there

By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…

[keefechambers]

I wanna be blunt about this ongoing James somerton suicide threat issue but I don't want to connect it to my IRL Twitter to comment on the dogshit takes I'm seeing there or the good and well meaning but maybe too kind takes I'm seeing here.

Obviously, I hope that this is a false alarm cry for help fake threat. Yes, it would reinforce that Somerton is a self-centered egomaniac who can't handle consequences but that's preferable to dead.

But I work in local news and let me tell you something. I've covered half a dozen family annihilating murder suicides and heard hundreds of men making suicide threats over police scanners and a huge swath of these don't happen because they're depressed or because people are mean to them on the Internet. They're punishment. A person with an enormous amount of entitlement towards people around them gets backed into a corner and they punish the people closest to them by killing themselves or threatening to kill themselves.

No one wants to talk about this feature of suicide because...you want to help people who are struggling and guide them away from this path and being blunt about the fact that sometimes people die of suicide as a consequence of their own shittiness towards the world does not really help actively suicidal people. But suicide rates are higher in men not just because they have higher rates of untreated mental illness (a societal issue we must address for the sake of all) but because some people, often men, use suicide (but more often the threat of suicide) as a tool of abuse and control.

I'm not saying somerton is like, an icky abuser bad guy, he's just a run of the mill grifter scumbag, but his actions in the past show a clear pattern of escalating behavior that aligns with this.

Somerton gets called out -> somerton alleges physical threats of violence against himself and his fans rally around him supportively -> Harry calls somerton out in a bigger way -> Somerton says he's hospitalized but there are inconsistencies with the story but no one wants to talk about that because you wanna be nice-ish about a guy who just tried to kill himself and now he's trying to be framed as tragic but it doesn't really stick -> somerton apologizes again but his apology is rightly called out for lies and manipulative framing as well as his continuing attempts to profit off the community he betrayed -> James posts a suicide note publicly putting the onus of his own suicide on the loss of his friend Nick who he repeatedly threw under the bus and now everyone is rallying to say nice-ish shit and wring their hands in concern over poor james -> indefinitely repeat this vicious cycle forever until he actually does die or finally gives up and gets real, intensive therapy and a day job.

Thats not to say anyone's concern is misplaced, it's 100% better for him to be a living scumbag than a dead one. He deserves the chance to grow and learn and have a life outside of youtube.

But you don't have to portray this as the action of a sad depressed man who got bullied off the Internet. It's manipulation, whether he intended to go through with it or not and whether someone intervened or not. Not denying that internet bullying is a thing, I'm sure there were some people who were shitty directly to James but he made the choice to not unplug from this and to try and keep being a public figure rather than taking care of himself. He could have deleted Twitter, blocked anyone who was an asshole, gone to therapy and tried to move on with his life but if he'd deleted his channel he'd have lost monetization... Can't have that, right? So he posts some apology videos so his channel stays active and then complains about how ruinous this is while never trying to take real accountability.

But the reality is that people would have forgotten about him so quickly and maybe his job prospects would've been impacted but...that's on him, and that's for him to figure out but it's not actually life ruining. He chose to continue to engage knowing he'd get backlash and hate and he'd feel worse and worse and things would never get better without the time and space for people to forget.

He made the choice to make a public spectacle of his own alleged suicide. That is the action of someone who wants to put the weight of their suicide on someone else's shoulders and is morally wrong. He can be held to account for that, alive or dead.

[chiliyue-archived]

Lipstick Smudges

Includes; Riddle Rosehearts, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Malleus Draconia, Silver

Tags; slightly suggestive— but it's all sfw and a lot of smooches 😚

Gender Neutral Reader -> Reader does wear lipstick

Requested ! [Twst M.List] ♡

-

—Riddle Rosehearts

A death wish

If you wish to be berated about public appearances and whatnot, then this is is just the thing for you 😀

On the bright side, the red of the lipstick compliments his red hair and of course, the growing blush on his face

An innocent single kiss to his cheek, which quickly became less seemingly innocent in the form of a dozen pecks. Riddle lost all sense of control at the first kiss, your lips simply soft, gentle, and intoxicating. His chest was burning for oxygen, but he didn't want to pull away - not yet, just a couple more seconds, he reckoned. He was practically drowning in the overflowing feelings amongst the moment.

You pulled away, your face flushed from the heated moment, eyes half lidded as you attempted to catch your breath. Suddenly, your eyes widened, a fit of giggles following from you soon after. Riddle rosed a brow at that, his heart fluttering at the sound of your laughter. " What's so silly my rose?"

" Your face...!" You couldn't stop another chuckle from leaving you as you attempted to calm yourself. Perplexed, Riddle took a quick glance at the mirror perched at the side of his room. Low and behold, the great dorm warden of Heartslabyul— rendered a disheveled mess with flushed cheeks and... lipstick marks over his lips. If it was even possible, his face became many shades redder, placing the roses in the garden to shame.

To be honest, you couldn't tell if he was mad or simply surprised, perhaps a mixture of both knowing your boyfriend. As for the boyfriend himself, Riddle couldn't quite place a finger on what he was feeling. He should be angry, really, that if anyone witnessed him this state, it would truly be embarrassing. But it's wasn't that... bad. If anything, it just made his heart thump faster, and palms become fidgety.

But oh- if you thought you were off the hook, then you're horribly mistaken. But for now, he'll let it slide and perhaps get a couple more kisses from you.

-

—Azul Ashengrotto

He's already red at the thought of kissing and now having some very obvious red marking of your kissing(which wasn't really that intimate) ?! He feels like he may explode on the spot

To be honest, if you don't point it out him, he's not going to notice for a while until some poor soul garnered the courage to tell him

It was a goodbye kiss - a goodbye which left a bright red mark on the corner of his mouth. Azul was curious as to why everyone was giving him a lingering gaze, some looking away to chuckle to themselves. We're they teasing him? Did he have anything in his teeth, perhaps?

A quick glance to the mirror answered all those questions, and he was mortified. The first thing he did was seek you out and demand - no, he can't raise his voice at you- nicly question, what caused you to do something so... so scandalous! Why do this to his face? Were you trying to make him have a heart attack?

He was too dumbfounded to even wipe it off, contributing to a very amusing scene to play before your eyes; your boyfriend out of breath, face flushed terribly red and just a tiny bit of your lipstick sticking to his lips.

" Darling, look what you did to my face." He sputtered, his face flushing an embarrassed pink as he pointed to the innocent mark. You giggled slightly at his dramatic antics, earning you a dramatic gasp from his end.

" Sorry Azul, didn't mean to leave a mark."

" Everyone in the school saw, and no one considered telling me." He mumbled out dumbfounded.

"It's really not that bad." You attempted to soothe him, grabbing a tissue to wipe it off. You were surprised when he caught your wrist suddenly, the material just shy from his lips.

Oh?

" Now now, I never say I didn't like it. Just be more cautious, Angelfish. Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it from the twins."

Oh.

-

—Jade Leech

Really it's you who gets more flustered than he does.

If anything, he looks rather unfazed by the mark. Makes matters worse by teasing you for it, chuckling lightly as you scrambled to save your dignity

"Oh Jade... I got some of my lipstick on your face, " you muttered rather sheepishly, pointing the vibrant red smudge against his mouth as you pulled away. Your lover merely rose a brow at that, for he was already fully aware that it's there! But it presented an opportunity to make a gentle tease at the situation, and given how you're becoming red, it was worth it.

"Oh?" He tilted his head, a smirk already playing on his lips as he examined myself. "Why it seems you have, my dear." He exclaimed with a faux dramatic sigh before giving off a light-hearted chuckle.

Really, Jade paid little mind to the mark - though painfully obvious in contrast to his blue hair. However, people are too afraid of him to make fun of him for it, and besides, he felt entranced by it some way. Marked by his lover in such an innocent and unintentional way? You're really pulling at his heartstrings.

He pointed to the smudge, the pigment rubbing against the corners of his mouth, then he pointed to the other side bare and lipstick-free. Before you could even reciprocate your confusion, Jade suddenly leaned forward, a puff of hot air tickling your cheek. Your gasp of surprise only acted to empathize that smirk of his whilst the pads of his gloved fingers brushed along your spine, ecliting goosebumps along the curves of your body.

" Why don't you leave a couple more, my dear? Mark me as yours, hm?" It's safe to say that you were a little late to your class, your lips noticeably a little puffy and red.

-

—Malleus Draconia

Malleus, who doesn't really understand why you're making a big fuss about in the first place. It's just a small little mark, it can be easily wiped off with his sleeve.

He's intrigued by it; however, it wasn't something he can place his finger on but he stared at the smudge with some form of interest in his eyes

Tbh he's too busy kissing you to even pay attention or care 😗

Honestly, Malleus hardly even noticed or felt the texture of the pigment rub against his lips as he chased you for another kiss. He was too intoxicated in the moment, his chest heaving as he pulled another searing kiss that made the tips of his fingers go numb. It's only when you suddenly pulled away, your eyes widening slightly did he consider that something might have been wrong.

" Why are you staring at me like, my treasure?" He inquired with a tilt of his head, scenarios starting to run through his brain. You shyly pointed to his face, a faint red creeping on your cheeks from mild embarrassment. He hummed as his eyes quickly danced over to the nearest mirror, and there it was; a smudge of color against his face.

It was hard to read his expression within that moment, his brows were furrowing slightly but he remained stagnant in his motion. As you started to internally panic, Malleus let out a soft chuckle, his lips spreading in a small smile as he flickers his attention back to you.

" My love, it's just a little smudge. Don't be so concerned." He lightly chastised as his hands snaked around your waist and pulled you a little closer. " I truly pay little mind toward public appearances and if it came from you, then it certainly is worthy to be on my face."

His finger reached out to trail along your bottom lip, effectively accumulating a little more pigment on his fingernail. He chuckles at the reaction it eclicts from you as he leans in, lips brushing against your own. His voice is low as hushed whisper, sending shivers down your skin.

"However, let's conern ourselves with that later. Allow me to enrapture you in some more kisses."

-

—Silver

Literally does not care. He has no qualms with going to class with a smudged face of your lipstick. So what if they point and whisper? He really could hardly care

Really, he's too busy chasing after your lips to really concern himself over it. Why fuss over a small mark when he can kiss you breathless and maybe add a couple more of marks while he's at it?

Soft sighs were the only audible thing that registered in your brain as you felt your chest be knocked out of oxygen for the nth time. The only coherent feeling was Silver's lips on your own, swollen and blemished as he retreats for a quick intake of air before repeating the action. However, before he could lean in for another round of fervish kisses, you propped your hands on his shoulder, halting in him in place.

" Is something wrong?" He mumbled, hot breath pricking your cheek— it took all your willpower to not shudder, even as his fingers brushed along your upper arms. A couple more seconds of silence passed before you spoke; " I- I got some of my lipstick on your face." Your voice was barely audible and he had to strain his ears to hear.

He seemed to consider this for a moment, eyes flickering to the ground as he processed the words. His expression was unreable. You almost started to panic had it not been for the soothing circles he rubbed along your bare skin. Then, before you could ask, he leaned forward to press a chaste peck to your lips, followed by a:" I don't really care."

And with that, your cycle of kissing each other breathless until you're both heaving for air resumed and tenfolded with each passing second, touches becoming rough and impatient as you littered more smudges along Silver's face.

-

Anon, you didn't specify which fandom, so I went with twist. I hope that was okay ✿

[merakiui]

perverse phantasmagoria: a tentacular theatre for the timid.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, mentions of death/murder, obsession note - something short to satisfy the craving for shadow monster azul.

The monster under your bed is a marvelous magician.

Most marvelous indeed—for he can ensorcell with all manner of fantastical tricks! In flickering candlelight, shapes shift in shadow—a rabbit hopping to and fro or a bird taking flight in a flurry of feathers. A ship sinking in a sinister sea or a worm wriggling through soil. Illusions waltz upon your wall in a graceful ballet, a comforting distraction meant to soothe you to sleep when you grow somnolent.

You are the only one to witness the magnificence of this tentacular theatre. It is confined within the cubic space that is your bedroom, a nightly display projected onto the walls and ceiling, just beyond the curtains of your creaky four-poster bed. He entertains until you’re properly heavy-eyed, slipping through the slivers of reality into fruitful slumber.

While cradled in a sea of sheets, buoyed by curious, curling limbs, you dream of devilish pleasures—of treacherous temptations so visceral they would certainly scandalize the sisters at the church.

The monster under your bed never utters a word, but you know he is there.

He is cold and calm like Death, yet merciful and mystical like an angel. He carries with him odors of the ocean, enveloping you in his briny embrace every night. Tentacles loop gently around your body, sliding beneath silken nightwear, and he plays in the same skillful way he manipulates shadow. You’re strung along the highs and lows of bodily bliss, rocked gently by a creature who dwells in the darkness.

The monster under your bed does not possess a true form, but he holds bright shallows in his eyes.

Shapeless and transient, wavering through dozens of features, he mesmerizes with his stunning hues. They blink at you in the darkness, twin beacons set into a towering lighthouse. You reach for him, pushing past pitch-black phantasmagoria, and beg to see his face. He swallows all light sources, so you will never truly know if there is anything more to those beautiful blues.

The monster under your bed does not have a name, so you call him Azul. Much like his eyes when they pin you to the bed, the name sticks.

A terrible tempest rages outside, rattling the windows in their frames, battering the glass like bullets, and howling through the trees in a most fearsome gale. You lie in your bed, wide-awake and disturbed, and gaze at the canopy. Lightning cracks across the sky in a violent arc, brightening your room for a single second. The thunder follows, rumbling in deep, foreboding notes. With a shiver, you pull your duvet up to your chin. Fear is encroaching. You steel yourself, steady your pounding heart, and inhale sharply.

The monster under your bed is gentle.

He has never hurt you and you suspect he never will. But he is vindictive, a dangerous force who lurks in forgotten corridors and corners during the day. Though he remains out of light’s reach, avoiding the sun’s fingers as they spill in from windows with parted curtains, nothing escapes his glance. He is always watching. You can feel it.

The monster under your bed is brilliant pest control.

He rids the manor of rats and insects alike, swabs the ceilings of cobwebs. He feasts on venomous spiders and snakes, blood drained from carcasses small and large. Trespassers wander far enough to find themselves tangled in the tendrils of a beast. Skeletons snap and shatter in his grasp, so startlingly fast and brutal. There isn’t a scream. No tears. He does not grant them the permission to confess last words.

Flesh rots away, stripped clean from the bone. There is no distinction to be made here. Suitors are trespassers. Thieves are trespassers. Trespassers are trespassers, and they will die as such.

The monster under your bed has a sweet tooth, a discovery you’ve only recently determined. You plate pastries and slide them under your bed, and the porcelain china is returned by morning, licked clean of crumbs.

For all of his mysterious qualities, the monster under your bed is your paramour.

“Azul,” you whisper, your voice much louder in disconcerting quiet. “Are you there, Azul?”

Shadows slither up the expanse of your mattress, crawling over wrinkled linens, to meet you in the gloom. The tip of a tentacle nudges your cheek. The monster—your monster—is here.

“A detective came by today…” Blue meets you in the dark, snapped open at once. “To inquire about a select few.”

He blinks, offering silence as his stubborn reply.

“Missing lords and ladies. They say my manor is cursed and that it is these very disappearances that keep the grounds so lush. An immature accusation.” You search the shadows for a response. “You mustn’t send them to their graves, Azul.”

Another tentacle peels the duvet back to find your hand. It fits into your palm, wrapped tight like a bow on a present. Slowly and slyly, more appendages rise from the space beneath your bed to coil around your person. They massage soothing circles into your skin, exploring eagerly and peppering your flesh in frigid kisses. The effect is soporific. You slacken against the sheets, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mmh… Azul, I’m quite serious…” You close your hand around the tentacle. “You mustn’t—oh!” Your legs are yanked apart then, and a thick tentacle presses up between your thighs. You peer into his narrowed eyes. If you could see his mouth, you’re certain it’d be turned down in a petulant pout. “Won’t you listen to me?”

The tentacles curled around your thighs constrict. He teases your special spot, fine-tuning your body to sing the sweetest of songs. Two more attach to your chest like lecherous leeches, tweaking your nipples under soft suckers. You sigh, pent-up emotions unfurling from their ravel. Lightning flashes again, the rain insistent, and so he drapes a tentacle over your eyes.

“There’s no need to do that.” You run your fingers over it, but you don’t pull it off. “I want to see you. I want to hear your voice. Tell me—” you whine in relief when he pushes in, your anatomy accustomed to his size after months of midnight whimsy— “Let me… Oh, won’t you speak to me, Azul? Tell me—promise me you won’t act so callous the next time I welcome visitors.”

“Intruders,” he finally answers. Despite the malice shot through those three syllables, it is a musical intonation. His voice is deep and dulcet, tickling your ears in the best way.

“You’re being rather unfair in your narrow-minded assessment.”

“And you are not narrow-minded enough,” comes his rumbling reply, synced flawlessly with the thunder just outside. “I shall protect you and this property for as long as I continue to exist. That is my priority.”

Your lips part in a retort, but all that comes out is a shuddering sigh.

“Visitors are not villains,” you manage after you’ve found your voice. “P-Please—aah—be kind… You mustn’t hurt them. They’re—haa—only visitors. I promise you I’m safe.”

“Visitors are the same as intruders. They’re unwanted. Unnecessary. Nuisances. Pests.”

Azul rocks the tentacle deeper inside you. Your nails dig into the one in your hand, and you heave a wobbly sort of groan.

“I won’t arg—ooh—won’t argue with you. I only ask that you understand. They are not dangers.”

“They are,” he snaps, pistoning roughly. You cry out when he pierces a specific spot nestled within. “They will take you away from me. Poison your head with foolish ideas. Destroy our home…”

“T-That will never happen. Not if I can help it.”

Another beat of lightning. Thunder follows suit. Gingerly, he lifts the tentacle veiling your visage. Blue blinks back at you.

“Promise.”

His whisper is broken and sad. Strangely, your heart aches.

“Only if you promise to cease your slaughter. It’s not—” A tentacle presses against your mouth, silencing you. When it draws away to give you another chance, you sigh, knowing just what to say. “Thank you…for protecting me, Azul.”

Satisfied with your submission, he smooths his pace out into slow, sensual lovemaking. You ride the waves of mutual merriment alongside him, no longer fearing the raging storm beyond your room. The world shrinks down to fit inside your bedroom, where paradise is found in the sheets, and nothing else matters here. Swathed safely in shadow, wrapped around the monster under your bed, you drift off into sleepy delirium.

He remains, ever-present like a parasite, the sole actor standing on the stage in this thrilling, tentacular theatre.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When I Say Run 1

Warnings: dark elements, such as chasing and kidnapping.

Note: I do appreciate all your feedback if you read this. I will hopefully have the next few part done soon. I don't intend this to be very much more than three or so parts.

Inspired by @navybrat817's Monday Thot

You've seen the man before. Often the market is overcrowded enough that you rarely see the same face twice, but you recognize him at once. His deep blue eyes are hard to forget along with the grim shadow cast over his unaltered and unamused expression. You know him because he always seems to know you. 

More than once, you caught him watching you. At first, you convinced yourself he was looking past you, or through you, as it felt. But he doesn't look away that day, you do. 

You move to the next stall to examine some figs. You realise why you really noticed him. He doesn't belong. What it seems, by his fraying ball cap and canvas jacket, is that he is hiding from someone. 

The more you think about him, the more uneasy you are. How is it that you see him every time you come to the market? You come early and he is there, late and he is there. The coincidence feels too canny to be believed. 

Still, you aren’t convinced it is more than that. You get carried away and make up ridiculous hypotheticals in your mind. There are many who come to the market every weekend. You probably run into a dozen people over and over and never even realise it. Why then, does he stick out in your mind? 

You grab a carton of cherries and a couple of peaches. You pay and take your change, brushing against someone as you pull your hand back. You feel something fall on your foot and kneel down to help gather the dropped plums. The man’s gloved fingers touch the bruises on the skin and you hold back a gasp as you look him in the face. 

“Sorry,” you utter as you hand him a dark plum, “I didn’t see you there.” 

You stand as he takes the fruit and slip your own into your cloth bag. You sling it over your shoulder as he assures you it's fine but you don’t wait for a conversation. You hadn’t even noticed him get that close. Before, he was well across the plaza with a horde between you. That he moved that fast, so seamlessly is eerie. 

You enter a tent a few stalls down and pretend to admire the patterned china of a teapot. There is a putrid taste in your mouth, the rotten flavour of paranoia on your dry tongue. You check the tag on the pot and leave without purchase. 

You look around as you emerge back into the late morning sun, the heat of the crowd adding to the sheen of sweat over your brow. You clear your throat as you don’t see the man and keep your head down as you resign yourself to your light haul. You will feel better once you got home. 

You weave through the swarm to the edge of the market and dip down the side street as the hum of voices fades behind you. Your apartment is a few blocks down, nestled above a bookstore cafe. It's s humble and affordable, but you can’t complain. 

You pull out your change purse as you near the shop but as you reach the front door, it swings open before you can reach for it. It’s him. Again. The leather gloves, the vibrant irises, the dark shanks of hair that frame his squared jaw. He is striking in more ways than one. 

You thank him as he holds the door and enter the small shop. You’re nervous. You can get your coffee and wait him out. You don’t want to lead him back to your apartment just above. Or you could lead him on a chase through the city until you lose him and circle back. Your mind races as you try to convince yourself you’re overreacting but you just can’t. 

You order your cinnamon blend but the man once more curtails you. He hold a bill out to the cashier and grits for her to keep the change. 

“Sir, you don’t have to--” 

“I’d like to buy you a coffee,” he insists as he waves the bill at the cashier, “want something sweet to go with it?” 

His accent is subtle. He doesn’t speak your language naturally but he does it well. You shake your head and step away from the till. He follows you to the corner where you await your order. 

“You can have the coffee,” you say, “I’m not interested.” 

“Why not?” he asks. His bluntness makes you squirm. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you lie as you rub your neck, “here--” 

You unclasped your coin purse and he stops you, squeezing your hand until the clasp clicks shut. “No, you don’t,” he says, “it’s my treat.” 

“I don’t want it,” you recoil from him and repeat, “I’m not interested.” 

You make to brush by him and he catches your arm, “why not?” 

“Because,” you jerk away from him, “why are you following me?” 

“Following you?” he scoffs, “you feel special, don’t you?” 

“No, I told you, I have a boyfriend.” 

“You know, when you lie,” he says, “I can see it…” he hovers his finger along your throat, “right there. Your pulse picks up.” 

You push his hand away and sidle past him. You’re shaking as you hurry to the door and look back. He watches you but stays where he is. Your order is called and he turns to grab it. You leave under the chime of the door and peer up and down the street. 

You go to the left, heading for the market to hide among the sea of people. It will give you time to figure out what to do next. The station is on the other side of the plaza, you could probably get there without much trouble. That will scare him away. 

Your footsteps echo around you like a movie scene. You grip your bag on your shoulder and stop short as a figure appears from the alleyway. You can hear the market just ahead of you, just one corner away. 

“You forgot your coffee,” the man says as he blocks your path, “don’t you know that it’s rude to refuse a gift?” 

You swallow and back away, speechless. You glanc around. How did he move so fast? You spin on your heel and walk in the other direction. You listen for him behind you but when you dare to peek over your shoulder, he is gone. 

You quiver and hook around the next corner, hoping to loop to the west entrance of the market. He’s there too. He tilts his head as he grins and tosses the coffee so it spills down the brick wall. You retreat away from the splash and blink at him dumbly. The street is mostly empty but you hear someone else. 

You spin back and fight not to break into a sprint. That time, you don’t look back. You head back along the same way you came but turn down another street before you get to the alley. A metal rattle sounds from overhead as a blur drops down in front you from the rickety fire escape above. The man fixes his hat and chuckles. 

“I think you should start running,” he taunts. 

You nearly trip over your heels as you rear back. Fear bubbles in your chest and you fall into a run, spurred by his ominous timbre. The bag bounces against your side as you squeeze your change purse in your other hand, feet hitting the old brick road heavy and hard. You stumble as you glance back but find no pursuit. 

You slow as your chest burns and stop to catch your breath. It take a moment to get your bearings. You bend over and gulp. You straighten up and face the street behind you, searching for the man in the grey jacket. There is only a couple holding hands and a group of young boys giggling as they kick around a beaten football. 

You look up along the rooves of the buildings and the balconies. You don’t see anything. You shake your head and puff. Fucking creep. Probably just wanted to scare you. 

You don’t go back to your apartment right away. You’re too agitated for that. You can’t help but look around every few steps and peek down every alley and street before you pass. It’s a good forty minutes before you realise you're lost. You never come to this part of town. 

You swear under your breath and cringe. You should have gone to the precinct like you planned. You were so panicked you didn’t think. You were more focused on getting away than getting safe. 

You drop your change purse into your jumbled bag of cherries and peaches. You reach into your pocket and your heart drops. You search both pockets. Your phone must have fallen out when you were running. 

You resign yourself to a listless trail back home through the urban maze. You could figure it out, there has to be a map around here somewhere. You are sure you just passed one a moment ago.  

You start down the street and mourn the loss of your phone. That would take a while to replace with your lousy wages. Fuck. Why didn’t you buy the warranty? 

The roar of a motorcycle cuts through the din of the city streets and echoes all around you. You ignore it and follow the sidewalk as you squint at the street signs above. You try to find something familiar, something to find your way. 

Suddenly you're taken off your feet, a crushing grip knots the back of your shirt as you're hurtled forward. You scream as the brickwork hazes beneath you and suddenly the engine revs and you’re turned sharply with its motion. You float just above the ground, dangling from your shirt. 

You looked up in confusion, the strength of the man holding you with one arm sends ice through your veins. The twinkling eyes, the angle of his jaw, and the slight curve of his lips makes you wince. He thrusts you closer and bends you over the front of the motorcycle so that you're trapped between him and the tank. 

“Better tuck those feet in,” he warns as you're folded over the metal on your stomach, “I told you to run.” 

He veers suddenly and the momentum pushes you against him as you clung to the bike, wind whipping your face as it hovers before the dingy pipes of the bike. It feels as if you’ll fly off at any second. You reach to grasp onto the man's jacket as you clench every muscle of your body to keep from slipping. 

The engine rips through the air as your head spins. You have a choice; fall off and die or hang on and live. 

[queenvhagar]

It’s hilarious when TBs cry “Rhaenyra TRAINED to be heir” because that honestly makes her look worse. Wdym she spent 20 years training and managed to fuck things up more than Aegon, who got pulled out of the trash 2 days ago?

Legitimately and it's why nerfing the Greens was such a dumb choice 😭

Like what do you mean you apparently trained your whole life (which btw spending years away from court hiding from bastard rumors "managing" Dragonstone is not really training for ruling an entire kingdom, especially when it comes to navigating political realities when in power) (but then again that's something she no doubt figured she could ignore in favor of ruling with hardcore fire and blood and fear of dragons and Daemon)

Like apparently you "trained your whole life" for this and you're somehow the only one divinely ordained and suited and qualified enough to rule...

AND YET SOMEHOW up against these apparently incompetent, short-sighted, impulsive Greens, who are made up of:

- a drunk dude who's apparently never been trained to rule despite him ruling being the plan since he was a baby, who appoints his unqualified and unnamed frat boys to Kingsguard, bullies his brother in public, drunk flies his dragon to battle, and executes a dozen dudes for "no reason" causing a "PR disaster"

- a kinslayer attempted kingslayer who took out one of his side's only dragons and rider because he got bullied :( and now he hates his brother and wants power and also he's gonna nuke a village for no reason except to feel powerful and manly I guess... also he unfairly does nothing about Rhaenyra's blockade and it's HIS fault people are starving from the blockade apparently and that's why the common people LOVE Rhaenyra SO much

- the dowager queen who converted to Team Black out of sapphic longing for a woman she was friends with decades ago for a couple of years, who willingly sells out her entire family to the enemy, including the son she crowned, two other sons fighting for the war she started, her father who was her only ally at court, her brother who was the only one to sympathize with her position, her sworn shield who lives to serve her and protect her family, her uncle and his men leading the Hightower host out of Oldtown, most of her family's dragons who will die defending their riders... all for the chance to win the favor of a woman who never showed any ounce of care for how her life turned out and the sacrifice she made (in fact the woman who was remorseless about her son's eye getting cut out, who blatantly pushed lies that endangered her whole family, who married a man who hates her whole family and wants them dead) (she fails in winning her favor) but girls stick together - girl power! And she's finally free from the confines of medieval feudalist patriarchy :) (except there's nowhere for her to go and no way to live her life as a free woman in any capacity as the wife of the former king and a highborn lady, unless she wants to try to be a survivalist in the wild or go to Essos and join a pleasure house, which, again, not really "free" and sustainable long term options for her)

- a poor helpless infantalized neurodivergent woman who can't even ride her dragon because she doesn't like it for some reason and she's incapable of acting outside of autistic stereotypes, also she's totally fine about her 6 year old getting murdered in front of her very eyes now, and actually she's gonna use her visions to condemn the brother who's always had her family's back up until this point and instead help the man responsible for her child's death, because she's seen the Grand Design and wants to help Team Black now :)

- "misogynist incel" but somehow also at the same time "Alicent worshipping and unreasonably Rhaenyra hating sex toy" (don't think about why he might have valid reasons to hate this particular woman) who doesn't think ahead and is apparently the most violent terrible hypocritical person in this show (don't think too hard about the show making him Dornish and casting a brown actor and the implications it has for this character on and off screen because the show and mainstream fandom won't!)

- offscreen brother nobody barely remembers who only just started riding his dragon apparently

- former Hand of the King immediately fired and sent away and captured off screen after doing nothing to help the war effort apparently

- Lannister twin off to Essos to fuck several wives and mud wrestle LOL!!

- foot fetishist shadowy creep (don't think about how they made a disabled character have a fetish involving their disability for no reason)

AND YET SOMEHOW against THESE villains... she can't even beat them 😭 she can't beat THESE guys who at this point are actively helping her out... she can't take and hold the throne against THESE Greens...

Like way to just completely make her and her team look equally incompetent by failing to take on THESE foes and instead elect to... mope... complain... do nothing except what others tell you to do... basically make no real decisions of your own except... dress as a nun and sneak into enemy territory with no real plan, leaving nobody in charge while you're gone despite a war looming... and burn a group of people alive for no reason to get dragons that you immediately refuse to use... ride dragon... speak a foreign language... cry... kiss your advisor immediately after she opens up about being violently assaulted and mutilated and never bring it up again... girlboss 💪💅

Truly astounding how badly they managed to fumble the bag with the show. Like. My god 😭 THIS was your vision for the historic Dance of Dragons aka the worst civil war in Westerosi history where both sides were Targaryens with dragons who destroyed each other and the Realm in their quest for power? Like THIS is what the singers in mainline ASOIAF books were singing about? 😭😭😭 bruh 😭😭😭

[aikaterini-drag]

The Sweetest Surprise PART 2

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rafe returns from work and you have a sweet surprise for him.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18+, lots of fluff and sweet moments, pregnancy announcement, shameless smut. Enjoy!!

This is belongs to the ‘Loving You Series’. Find it here.

At first you thought the tiredness and anxiety were due to the wedding preparations and your busy schedule at the museum. With only five months until your wedding to Rafe, the things you had to do daily were overwhelming. The only thing that made you calm down was Rafe.

But for the past ten days, you’d felt more unwell than usual. Sometimes you were lightheaded, and some scents seemed to turn your stomach. Just that morning, the nausea was so bad you had to leave work early. You went straight to the pharmacy, bought a dozen pregnancy tests and rushed home.

A while later, you were pacing back and forth, your heart pounding as you stared at the two lines on the pregnancy stick. Positive. The moment had finally arrived. You and Rafe had done it. You were pregnant! Joy and a little anxiety bubbled within you as you thought about how to tell him. He wanted a baby just as much as you, and you wanted the reveal to be perfect.

After a lot of pondering, you decided to surprise him that evening once he came back home from the company. Getting busy, you cooked his favorite meal, set the table and prepared for a cozy and intimate night in. By 8 pm, the table was ready, the delicious scent of homemade lasagna filling the air. You hid the neatly wrapped gift box into the a cabinet and fumbled with your hands, nervously waiting.

When you heard the door unlocking, you went to greet him, you whole being vibrating with excitement. Rafe closed the door, locked it, and opened his arms. You ran into his embrace, and he encased you protectively, lifting you off the ground for a few seconds. His natural scent teased your nose, dark and musky, it didn’t bother your sensitive stomach.

“Someone missed me more than usual,” he said before bending down to claim your lips.

“Hmm, missed you,” you muttered in between wet kisses.

“Something smells amazing.”

“I made your favorite,” you replied as casually as possible. “Why don’t you wash up and join me? Dinner’s almost ready.”

You shifted away to check on the food but he grabbed your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You wore a flowery mini dress that hugged your breasts and showed off your collarbones. Rafe seemed highly affected by it. His hands traced your hips, waist and the outline of your breasts before stopping at your shoulders.

“You wore my favorite dress,” he said, his voice low and sultry. “You know what that does to me.”

“You will be a good boy and wait.”

“Babe.” His breath was warm against your neck as he whispered, “It’s hard enough for me to keep my hands off you, especially when you wear this dress.”

You flushed but managed to slip out of his hold, smiling playfully. “Dinner first. Pussy later.”

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent a thrill through you. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“And don’t you love it,” you teased as you strolled back to the kitchen. Rafe followed after you, smacking your bum lightly before making his way to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, he was fresh out of the shower with his short hair still damp. He had changed into black trousers and a loose white shirt that he left partially unbuttoned, giving a glimpse of his sculpted chest. He sauntered over to you and hugged you from behind as you served the meal. You smiled and breathed in his clean masculine scent.

“Missed you, love.” He kissed the side of your neck. “I’m starving.”

“Everything’s ready.”

You sat down and enjoyed your dinner. Rafe talked about his day at work, then just watched you with a hungry look in his eyes. You ate a little, but with his probing, you finished your plate. He nursed a glass of wine—you had juice and that made him flinch for a moment.

“Something’s different today. What is it?” His eyes settled on you, warm and appraising.

You stiffened a little. He always read you like an open book. You smiled and decided it was the right time so you took out the gift box, setting it in front of him on the table.

“This is for you, baby. Open it,” you said, your heart racing.

Rafe stared at your with widened eyes. He muttered a husky “Don’t tell me it’s what I think it is” while he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. He exhaled in gratitude as he pulled out the pregnancy stick. He looked up at you, his eyes so full of love and adoration.

“Yes, yes yes!!” he shouted, jumping up from his chair so quickly that it fell over. He reached you in an instant, lifting you into his arms and squeezing you tightly.

You clutched him, tears of happiness in your eyes. “Yes, we’re going to have a baby.”

“Oh my God, baby, we’re having a baby!” He set you on your feet and kissed you deeply, tears of joy rolling down his eyes. You wiped them, but realized you were also crying, even harder than he.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, beautiful,” he said gently as he kissed your tears away. “Don’t cry, please I can’t take it.”

“Happy tears.” You sniffled, smiling through your tears. He kissed you softly, peppering touches until you’d stopped crying.

“We’re in this together, okay? You and me.” He framed your flushed face and kissed the top of your red nose. “No more crying, alright? I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your heart swelling with joy.

Kneeling, he lifted the hem of your dress and kissed your still-flat stomach tenderly. “My precious baby is carrying my baby.”

“I am,” you laughed, shivering at the feel of him against your skin.

He pressed his cheek to your soft belly. “Hey there, little one. I’m your daddy,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to meet you. Stay safe and help me take care of your mommy, hm?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, ready to cry again at the tenderness of the moment.

“Rafe, I’m so happy,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

He stood up and pulled you close, his eyes bright with mischief. “Not as much as I. I finally made it happen,” he said, a triumphant grin on his face. “I knocked you up.”

You laughed. “I never doubted you would. You’ve been so determined.”

He slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and kissed your collarbones. “I can’t wait until you’re showing. I want everyone to see that bump and know you’re carrying my seed.”

“You’re impossibly obsessed.”

He nodded, unabashed. “I am. I’m a slut for you. And for your pussy, your breasts, and your pert little ass. Actually, I fucking worship all of you.”

His words awakened a warm flush through you. “I’ll have you know I’m just as crazy about you.”

He kissed the tops of your breasts, his hands roaming your body. “Well, I can say for sure I’m even crazier.”

“And excited,” you added, sliding your hand down the front of his pants. He was fully erect in your palm, his balls swollen.

“You always make me excited. Even when you’re not with me, just thinking about fucking you gets me hard. And now that you’re pregnant, I’m gonna be in a constant state of hardness for you.”

“Poor baby.” You gave his crotch a gentle squeeze, making him groan. “I can take care of it.”

Growling his approval, he unbuckled his belt and stripped down his trousers and boxers until they pooled at his ankles. You were planning to take him in your mouth, but he sat down and pulled you to straddle him, your legs on either side of his thighs.

“Not fair,“ you pouted, reaching down to pump his cock slowly, feeling the veiny skin against your palms. “I want to suck you.”

“I know, babe…hmmm,” he groaned as you rubbed his ballsack. “Later, perhaps. Now all I can think of is burying myself deep into your warm little cunt.”

You shook your head defiantly, deciding to keep jacking him and running your thumb over the trickle of pre-cum at the head.

“Naughty baby,” he grumbled as he let you have your way— for now —while he worked to remove your clothes. He slipped off your dress and growled at the sight of your tits. Plump and high, they looked delicious enough to eat and he did just that, putting his warm mouth around each rosy nipple. He cupped the underside of your smooth mounds and jutted them up toward his lips.

Choked moans left you as you wiggled shamelessly on his lap, begging him to keep going. Rafe whisked one nipple with his tongue, smiled, then moved to the other. Your hands pumped his shaft weakly, the stimulation was too much, and quickly got out of hand when you heard the sound of your underwear ripping.

“Rafe!” you meant to sound angry but a long moan escaped you when he cupped your pussy.

“What?” he asked sweetly.

“Nnnngh…” you could only whimper as his fingers rubbed your slit, slicking up his fingers in your abundant wetness.

“Such a good girl for me, dripping for me,” he praised, gently probing with two thick fingers. The digits entered you with great care, sliding deep and curving inside you.

“Yesssss,” you clutched his shoulders, realized he still wore his shirt so you impatiently tugged it off. Satisfied, you raked your fingers over his strong chest and broad shoulders.

Rafe fucked you with his fingers while his mouth feasted on your nipples, his wet tongue suckling and circling each tip. Your chest was rosy and marked with his touches and you arched frantically against him, your stomach quivering. Your release hit you so hard that you wanted to scream, but you bit your lips to keep the noise down.

Noticing, Rafe slapped your clit lightly. “Don’t you dare hide your moans from me. I want to hear you.”

You winced, trembling with aftershocks as he kept his fingers inside you and added the gentle pressure of his thumb against your clit. He went back down on your tits, licking the curve and around the flushed areolas.

“Please, fill me up,” you whined, panting heavily. “Inside, deep, come on!”

Smiling against your skin, he grabbed your hips and stood up with you in his arms. You locked your hands at his nape as he pushed you against the wall. You felt one hand cradling your back, protecting you from the hard surface, the other cupping your ass.

“Whatever my goddess wants, my goddess gets.”

You felt the blunt tip at the entrance of your pussy, slowly pressing into you, your walls stretching around the incredible thickness. Pleasurable chills travelled through your body and you wrapped your legs around him, moaning as you felt every inch of him invade you. Rafe lowered you down his cock, your pussy accepting him inside to the hilt.

He groaned and held himself still. “Fuck, your pussy is heaven.”

“More,” you clutched him for dear life needing him close. It was too much yet not enough.

“Easy.” His thick cock pulsed inside you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay, Rafe. I promise.”

“We have to be careful from now on,” he said casually as if he wasn’t buried balls-deep inside you. “First thing tomorrow, we’re going to the doctor. I want to make sure you and the baby have the best care.”

“Fine, daddy, now fuck me, please?” Your voice a was playful whisper.

His eyes darkened. “Want my dick so bad, baby?”

“Hmm… want this fucking big cock that knocked me up.”

And that did the trick. He fucked you with a passion that turned you into a sobbing, blubbering mess. His cock was drenched in your juices, both of you panting for air. Thrusting in and out of you steadily, you rocked with force and pulled his head for purchase. Your nipples rubbed against his chest, tits squeezed delightfully until he decided he wanted a view, so he leaned back and watched as your tits heaved with each thrust.

“Gonna…ngh... gonna—"

“Let go baby, I've got you," he drawled. “Cum, baby. Cum all over my dick.”

At his command, your pussy clenched, pleasure making you frantic. You wrapped yourself around him, your teeth grazing his collarbone as you rode your high. He kept fucking you through it and with a bellow, pushed as deep as he could go and let go, spurting thick white streaks inside you. You milked him dry, your breath rugged against his neck.

Several long minutes later, you felt him push from the wall and make his way to the bedroom.

“Rafe..." you muttered as he walked with his raging cock pulsing inside you. You clung to him, letting out a series of soft whimpers.

Rubbing your back comfortingly, he sat at the edge of the bed. "All good?" he asked, his eyes locked on yours.

"Yes, my love," you smiled, running your hand through his hair. “Want you to fuck me again.”

He chuckled darkly. “Such a filthy word from such a lovely mouth.”

“Want to suck you, too.” You smiled when his thumb trailed your lips and, eagerly, you took it in your mouth.

“Damn… I’m yours, baby. I’ll do anything you want.”

“I’m at my happiest,” you grinned, kissing him softly on the lips.

“Not as happy as you’ve made me, baby. Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, you rock my world.”

“And your cock.”

“And that.” He gave a shallow push to remind you that he was still deep inside you. “I’ll take care of you.”

You grinned. “Not if I take care of you first.”

Next part will be something fluffy that gives depth to their relationship. Stay tuned.

[moonstruckme]

Your poly!marauders writings are giving me life rn!!

Could I please request the boys comforting anxious reader who has a tummy ache from being so overwhelmed and stressed? (Not projecting rn at all 🙃)

If you aren’t feeling, it absolutely no worries! I will still ready everything you write about the marauders 🩷

Thanks for requesting honey!

cw: mentions of anxiety, nausea

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 706 words

You hunch in on yourself, trying to ignore the persistent and growing pain in your abdomen as you type determinedly on your laptop. You’ve been to the bathroom half a dozen times in the past hour, hoping you might be sick or something that would relieve the discomfort, but it seems to want to stick around and torment you. A soft whimper escapes you as the muscles in your stomach spasm abruptly, and you press the back of your hand to your mouth to smother the sound. 

“Sweetheart,” James protests, sounding as pained as you are, “are you sure you didn’t eat something bad?”

You don’t cease in your typing, worried that if you stop you’ll have trouble willing yourself to start again. “I don’t think so,” you manage, grating your teeth against the pain. “Nothing was expired, I checked.” That had been one of your first courses of action when the aches started; digging containers out of the trash to check sell-by dates, but everything you’d eaten that day seemed fine. 

Sirius closes his own laptop to study you. “You’re not supposed to be starting your period, are you?” 

“Not for another week, and I never have cramps this early.” 

“Is it just in your stomach?” Remus asks. “You don’t feel sick at all?”

You let your eyes flit away from the laptop screen, taking a hasty inventory of yourself. “A little nauseous, and I feel kind of sweaty, but that’s it.” You return to your work. “It’s fine, it’ll pass.” 

Remus seems unconvinced, pressing a cool hand to your forehead. “You are a bit warm,” he murmurs, his eyebrows scrunching together worriedly. “Where is the pain coming from, exacty?”

“I dunno.” You’re almost done, just a few sentences to go, and then you can finally— "Hey,” you protest, looking up at Remus, who’s shut your laptop. “I was working on that.” 

“Dove, this could be serious,” he says. “Pay attention. Where in your stomach does it hurt?”

“I…” you try to concentrate, your mind still running over the next few phrases you’d needed to type. “In the middle, I guess.” 

Remus looks relieved, the gravity in his expression softening back to regular concern. “Alright, that’s good. But you feel like you could be sick?”

You nod, moving your laptop to the side and drawing your legs into your chest. “I haven’t been able to, though.” 

James makes an awfully tender pitying sound, and something in Sirius’ gaze changes, his head tilting as he considers you. “Do you think you might just be stressed?” 

You blink at him, your face scrunching in confusion before clarity washes over you. “Oh,” you say, feeling silly. All three boys relax slightly, relieved to have an identified culprit. “I hadn’t even considered that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you guys over nothing.” 

“S’not nothing,” James says softly. “Your body’s telling you you need a break, sweetheart.” 

You glance to your laptop, doubtful of whether you can oblige it, but Sirius catches the look. He tuts at you, taking your laptop out of reach and putting it beside his own. “You’ve done enough work for today,” he agrees with James. “Give that big brain of yours a rest, yeah?”

You sigh, but there’s no use fighting them. It’s three against one, and anyway, a relaxing afternoon doesn’t sound like the least pleasant thing in the world. Recognizing your acquiescence, your boyfriends go to work. James sets about finding a movie to watch, Sirius declares he’s getting snacks, and Remus moves to make more room for you on the couch. 

“Lay down, dove,” he says, waiting until you do to kneel beside you, pressing gently into your abdomen with deft fingers. 

“Oh, you’re so lucky.” James looks at the two of you longingly. “He did that for me when my leg was cramping last week, it was the best.” 

Remus smiles a little at the praise, and sure enough, some of the tension in your stomach starts to ease under his ministrations. The sound that escapes you is half sigh and half moan, and you turn to putty beneath his hands. 

“Merlin,” Sirius teases, coming to sit at your feet with a tin of biscuits. “Feeling better already, are we?”

[mercillery]

DAD KUZAN? DAD KUZAN.

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD + HEADCANONS + OOC? WHO KNOWS…

NOTES: I wrote this because I think Kuzan would be an amazing father figure…or maybe it’s just me, I don’t know.

If I’m being completely honest here, I really can’t picture him being someone’s biological father either, to be honest. It’s not like the guy doesn’t have the capacity to care—he’s got that hidden soft side—but the image of him actually settling down and having kids of his own? Yeah, no. This is the same man who would rather nap under a tree with his bike leaning nearby than deal with any sort of responsibility beyond his own whimsy.

However, father figure? Now that I can see. I can easily imagine some random kid just latching onto him, following him around after seeing him do something cool (like freezing an entire sea, y’know, normal stuff), and deciding, “Yep, you’re my dad now.” Maybe they start pestering him, asking questions while Kuzan, in his typical fashion, is just casually napping or lazily giving half-hearted responses between long stretches of silence. He’s probably half asleep half the time, not even realizing he’s gained a tiny shadow until weeks later.

He’d probably just go along with it. He’s not one to fuss or overthink things. One day he’d wake up from his nap, find this kid sitting right next to him, and be like, “Arara. Still here, huh?” before shrugging it off. He wouldn’t necessarily raise the kid in any traditional sense—there’s no way he’s waking up early for breakfast or doing school drop-offs. But he’d have a way of teaching them things, unintentionally at times, through his actions. You’d learn a lot from just being around him, whether it’s his strong moral compass or his ability to take life at his own pace, despite all the chaos.

So whether you’re his biological kid or just some random child who decided to stick to him like glue, I can definitely see Kuzan filling that fatherly role, albeit in the most Kuzan way possible: relaxed, a tiny bit distant, but undeniably cool.

First things first, as Kuzan's child, there's no question—he absolutely keeps you as far away from Blackbeard and his crew as possible. Listen, Kuzan may have a reputation for being lazy, but when it comes to your safety? There's not a shred of laziness in him. The man might be laid-back, but he’s sharp, and there’s no way he’s going to let you get tangled up with that bunch of pirates.

For starters, he knows exactly what they're capable of. He’s not naive; he knows Blackbeard and the crew would have no problem using you against him, trying to manipulate the situation, or worse, straight-up threatening you just for the fun of it. He knows that they aren’t exactly a “family-friendly” crowd. And let’s be real—he also knows that being around them would be a terrifying for any child. Their idea of a normal Tuesday is probably your worst nightmare.

So even though he's technically rolling with the Blackbeard Pirates now, when it comes to you, Kuzan’s got this invisible barrier setup. It’s like he’s saying, "Yeah, I’m with them, but you’re not." He’s always one step ahead, working from a distance to make sure they stay away from you. And if, by some unfortunate stroke of fate, you or one of the Blackbeard pirates get too close to each other, Kuzan's immediately on alert. He’s already brainstorming a dozen ways to steer the situation without anyone noticing.

The bottom line? He absolutely does not want you affiliated with the Blackbeard Pirates in any way, shape, or form.

If you’re an ice lover and chewer, then congratulations—you’ve hit the jackpot. Kuzan is basically a walking, talking, 10-foot-tall popsicle. Need ice? No problem; Kuzan’s got you covered. With him around, you’ll never run out of the frosty goodness you crave. Want some ice to chew on? He’s more than happy to snap his fingers and conjure some up for you. But—and this is a big but—there’s a catch.

Because, as much as Kuzan loves to spoil you (in his own laid-back kind of way???), he’s not about to let you go to town on some gigantic ice chunks. You’re just a kid, after all, and he knows your teeth are still those little baby ones. He’s not about to let you chip a tooth on his ice or, heaven forbid, choke on a massive chunk. So instead of giving you the satisfying, crunchy ice pieces you’ve been dreaming of, he hands you the tiniest, thinnest shards of ice you’ve ever seen—basically, ice confetti.

And, of course, you’re disappointed. You wanted the good stuff, the crunchy stuff, but nope—Kuzan isn’t having it. He’s too chill to be strict about most things, but when it comes to your safety, even the king of "I don't really care" has his limits. And broken baby teeth, or you choking on a huge piece of ice? That’s no-go for him.

So no matter how much you whine, complain, or throw a fit about it, he’s only giving you these sad, little wafer-thin pieces of ice. You could scream at the top of your lungs, stomp your feet, or even give him the full-on puppy eyes—and he still wouldn't. I wouldn’t give you those big chunky pieces of ice you wanted.

He’s way too chill to be swayed by your tantrums, and when it comes to ice, safety comes first. So while you might dream of munching on a big, satisfying ice cube, all you’re getting are the Kuzan-approved baby-safe ice slivers.

If you’re cold, Kuzan’s solution is simple: he’ll casually hand over his blue bandana and his dark green trench coat—both of which are comically too large for you. Honestly, you could disappear into them like a turtle retreating into its shell. The bandana? Yeah, it doesn’t just cover your head; it swallows it whole. You’d be lucky if anyone could even find your face under all that fabric. And the trench coat? Well that thing might as well be a sleeping bag. It drapes over your entire body like a blanket, probably dragging on the ground as you shuffle around, but hey, it keeps you warm, right?

Kuzan wouldn’t be lying if he said he finds the sight quite amusing. Every time he hands over his bandana, he watches as it completely engulfs your head, covering your eyes, nose, and most of your mouth. You’d look like a tiny version of him, minus the ice powers and the towering height. And the trench coat? Forget it. You’re practically swimming in it, the sleeves flopping past your hands, making it impossible to move without tripping over the hem. You’re like a walking coat with legs peeking out.

He probably gives a lazy chuckle every time he sees you bundled up like that. “You alright in there?” he might tease, though you know he’s secretly enjoying how ridiculous and adorable you look buried under his oversized clothing. This is his way of keeping you warm, even if it looks like you’ve raided his entire wardrobe.

And if you decide you want to keep his bandana or trench coat? Well, he doesn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, he’ll let you hang onto them for as long as you want. You could wear that bandana like it’s your new identity and drape that trench coat over yourself like a cape, and he wouldn’t even ask for them back. At this point, it’s almost like you’re robbing him of his iconic look. He’s probably already decided you look better in them anyway they don’t cause they’re too big on you, but he finds it cute, so go ahead and keep it all.

I’m not even exaggerating when I say you could probably fit entirely in that knapsack Kuzan lugs around everywhere. Whether you’re too small or his knapsack is just too big is a mystery we may never solve. But seriously, if you ever got tired, cold, or just couldn’t be bothered to walk anymore, there’s a good chance he’d plop you right inside without a second thought. It’s roomy enough, and let’s be honest—it’d probably be more comfortable than trying to match the stride of Kuzan’s long legs.

Because let’s face it: mini-you trying to keep up with Kuzan’s ridiculous height is a losing battle. His casual, lazy pace is like a light jog for you, and after about five minutes, you’re probably huffing and puffing while he hasn’t even broken a sweat. So what’s the solution? The knapsack, of course. He could carry you around in that thing as easily as he would his eternal stockpile of snacks (because we all know Kuzan’s gotta have those, but you eat them all anyway while you’re in there).

In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he alternated between carrying you in his knapsack and in his arms just to keep things balanced. One day you’re nestled in his arms like a baby penguin, and the next, you’re bouncing around in the bottom of his knapsack like a little stowaway. You might peek out of the top every now and then, catching glimpses of the world while he continues strolling along, totally unbothered.

It’s not that Kuzan’s trying to baby you, but he’s practical. There’s no way he expects you to keep up with his towering form, and let’s be real—it’s much easier for both of you if he just hauls you around like a piece of luggage. Plus, it’s not like he’d mind. You being small enough to fit in his knapsack is likely just a bonus in his book. He’ll act like it’s no big deal, but you know there’s a little part of him that finds the whole situation amusing.

Basically, he’s got you covered, whether you’re in his arms or stashed away in that bottomless knapsack. Either way, you’re getting from point A to point B without having to wear yourself out trying to keep up with those long legs of his.

He definitely annoys you a lot by constantly pinching your cheeks. Seriously, he just can’t help himself. Your face is like some kind of magnet for his fingers. The second he sees those squishy, soft cheeks of yours, it’s game over. He’s gotta pinch them at least once a day, or he might just lose his cool—or, y’know, whatever counts as “losing it” for someone as chill as Kuzan.

It’s not like he does it to be mean; in fact, it’s the complete opposite. Your face is just so ridiculously squishable that even the usually laid-back, low-effort Kuzan can’t resist. He’ll walk by, casually ruffle your hair, and then BAM!—before you know it, his fingers are pinching your cheeks. And of course, it’s never just a gentle pinch, either. No, he’s gotta give them a good squeeze, just to hear that little noise of protest you make. It’s part of his daily routine now, like drinking coffee or something.

And yes, Kuzan definitely thinks you’re the epitome of adorableness. Your squishy cheeks are just the physical manifestation of that. Sure, he acts too cool to make a fuss about it, but if anyone else tried to pinch your cheeks, you bet he’d have something to say about it. Those cheeks are his to squish, and even though he’ll play it off like it’s no big deal, it’s his way of showing that he cares.

So whether you roll your eyes, push his hand away, or try to hide your face, it doesn’t matter. Kuzan’s still going to get his daily cheek-pinching fix, and you’re just going to have to deal with it. Sorry!—but when you’re that adorable, even someone as composed as Kuzan can’t resist giving those cheeks a little squeeze.

His hair is definitely something interesting for you—curly, and cut to chin length, with the tips fanning out in a way that practically begs you to mess with it. And honestly, as a kid, you just can’t resist. It’s like his curls are calling out to you, practically daring you to poof them up, so of course, you do. Every chance you get, you’re right there, fluffing up his hair like it’s some kind of art project. It’s basically your own way of revenge, especially after all that pinching and squishing he’s done to your chubby cheeks.

And it’s not like Kuzan really stops you. Nah, he’s way too lax for that. You could spend a solid ten minutes working on poofing up his curls, making them all bouncy and frizzy, and he wouldn’t say a word. He might even take a nap while you go crazy with his hair. You’d get it all puffed up, looking like some kind of fluffy masterpiece, only for him to casually shake his head afterward and completely ruin it.

Every. Single. Time.

You’d stand there, arms crossed, absolutely deflated as he runs his hand through his hair, casually smoothing it back to its normal look. All your hard work is gone in an instant. It’s like he doesn’t even realize the effort you’ve put into making his hair a giant, fluffy cloud. “Nice try, kid,” he’d say, maybe throwing in a lazy smirk as if he’s not fully aware of your disappointment.

It’s almost like a game at this point. You mess up his hair, poof it up as big as possible, and he calmly restores it to its usual state. Rinse and repeat. Sometimes he’ll even shake his head extra hard, like he’s trying to prove a point, his curls falling right back into place as if mocking you.

But here’s the thing—he doesn’t really mind. He’ll never say it outright, but there’s something about the way he lets you mess with his hair that shows he’s cool with it. You could poof it up every day, and he’d sit there with his usual lazy expression, letting you do your thing. It’s probably more entertaining to him than anything else. Plus, it’s not like he has much to do while he’s lounging around, so why not let you have your fun?

At the end of the day, though, you know what’s coming. No matter how much effort you put into puffing up those curls, Kuzan’s going to smooth them right back down, leaving you with a mix of pride in your work and the frustration of seeing it undone in seconds. But hey, he doesn’t stop you from trying, and that’s probably his way of saying, “Go ahead, kid. Keep at it. I’ve got time.”

Kuzan and cooking are like oil and water. The man is horrible in the kitchen; no question about it. It’s like his natural talents just stop cold (pun intended) when it comes to making food. You get hungry? Well, buckle up, because he’s about to embark on a culinary disaster.

But hey, to his credit, he tries. He’s a lazy guy, sure, but he’s not so lazy that he’ll just leave you starving. The problem is that his cooking skills are NONEXISTENT. You’re lucky if you don’t end up eating something that’s either charred beyond recognition or still weirdly undercooked, despite being in the pan for way too long. It’s like he manages to both overcook and undercook food at the same time, and you’re left wondering how that’s even possible.

He’ll stand there with his usual half-bored expression, poking at the food with a spatula, looking like he’s not entirely sure what’s happening. And when it comes time to serve it up? Yeah, you’re basically eating burnt stuff at this point. There’s no way around it. The irony of the fact that the man who can literally freeze the sea can’t stop burning food is not lost on you. You’d think with all that control over ice he’d at least be able to chill out on the stove, but nope. It’s crispy all the way.

And yet, he genuinely puts in the effort when you’re hungry. He might be lazy about most things, but when it comes to making sure you’ve got something to eat, he’s willing to give it a shot—even if that shot results in something resembling charcoal. “Here, kid,” he’d say, sliding a plate of vaguely food-shaped items toward you, “I think I nailed it this time.” Spoiler: He didn’t.

But don’t worry—his cooking will eventually start getting better. You’re still eating mostly burnt stuff, sure, but it’s less “oops, I made a rock” and more “oops, I made something that’s only slightly overdone.” You can still tell it’s food, at least. And honestly, at this point, you’ve developed a sort of tolerance for the burnt bits.

You’re still not exactly dining on gourmet meals, the food’s still a little crispy, and you’re not always sure what’s supposed to be edible—but it eventually becomes more tolerable, trust. He’s a new dad in the making, and cooking isn’t really his strong suit, but he’s slowly getting there. It’s progress, and as long as he keeps improving, there’s hope that one day you’ll be eating something that’s not 70% carbonized.

For now, though, you’ll just have to settle for a lot of burnt dinners and Kuzan’s deadpan “Enjoy” as he hands you a plate. But at least you know he’s got your back, even if that means the occasional charred meal.

If anyone even thinks about messing with you, they’re in for a serious awakening—because Kuzan doesn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense. There’s no way he’s going to just sit there and let someone mess with his kid. If it’s an adult causing trouble, that chill demeanor can quickly become intimidating. He’s not about to let some random person push you around—he’ll get serious real quick if he needs to.

Now, Kuzan’s not the type to jump straight to violence, but he’s more than ready if the situation calls for it—but only if absolutely necessary. He’s calm, yes, but make no mistake, he’s prepared to throw ice hands if the person causing trouble doesn’t back off. Of course, he knows you're a kid, and he doesn’t want you to see him go full-on badass mode in a fight, no matter how much you’d probably think his ice powers are “super duper cool.” He’d much rather keep you away from that kind of violence. If things are about to get messy, his first instinct is to tell you to look away, close your eyes, and cover your ears. He’s not about to let you witness something like that.

And if the other person just won’t back down, well, that’s when Kuzan’s icy side really comes out. The temperature seems to drop, and that stoic expression of his hardens as he steps up, ready to put the person in their place. He won’t hesitate to freeze someone’s feet to the ground or send an ice wall between them and you. Yeah, he’s basically downright intimidating and dangerous when he needs to be.

Now, if it’s another child bullying you, things are a bit different. Kuzan’s not about to go full Ice Age on a kid, obviously. But here’s the thing—most kids your age would probably take one look at this towering, six-foot-plus giant of a man and rethink their life choices. The second they see him strolling over, calm as ever, with that unbothered look in his eyes, they’re already backing off. I mean, who wouldn’t? Kuzan’s height alone is enough to make anyone think twice about picking on you. You’ve basically got scary dog privilege—except it’s not a dog; it’s your super duper cool dad.

But if the bully is feeling extra brave or just a little too dumb to realize what they’re up against, Kuzan has his own way of handling it. He’ll crouch down a little to their level, still towering over them, and in that low, calm voice, he’ll firmly tell them, “Hey, cut it out. Stop bothering my kid.” Just like that. There’s no need to raise his voice or get angry—just his presence and tone are enough to get the message across. It’s that parent-like authority that makes the bully shrink back, and just like that, the situation’s handled. No need for ice or fights—just a few well-placed words from Kuzan, and the problem is solved.

So whether it’s an adult or another kid trying to mess with you, Kuzan’s got your back. He can be as cold as ice when he needs to be, or just intimidating enough to send a bully running for the hills. Either way, you’re safe with him, and anyone who tries to test that? Well, they learn pretty quickly that messing with Kuzan’s kid is a terrible idea.

Kuzan is surprisingly chill when it comes to the usual trouble kids get into—like cursing or sneaking a piece of candy from the store. He’s not one to overreact, mainly because he gets it. Kids are learning, and part of growing up is figuring out what’s right and what’s wrong. He remembers being a kid once, running around and cashing some mischief himself. So he tends to take a more relaxed approach. But don’t let that fool you—he will call you out when you mess up.

For instance, if you dropped a curse word, he might raise an eyebrow, give you a glance, and calmly say something like, “You kiss your mama with that mouth?” It’s not a scolding, more of a gentle reminder that maybe you shouldn’t be swearing like a sailor. No need for long lectures—he’ll just make a little quip and leave you to think about it.

Now, when it comes to stealing, things are a bit different. Let’s say you swiped a candy bar from the store. The first time he catches you, Kuzan will probably let it slide with a casual, “C’mon, don’t make a habit out of that.” He’s not going to drag you back to the store right away, but he’ll definitely make it clear that you shouldn’t do it again.

But if you do pull a stunt like that again, well, that’s where things get interesting. Kuzan’s the type who believes in learning through experience, so you can bet he’ll march you right back to that store, have you return whatever it is you took, and make you apologize. And no, there’s no escaping it. He’s firm but still calm about it, and honestly, having to face the consequences like that is a bigger punishment than any time-out could ever be.

The real kicker, though, is what happens if you keep testing his patience. Kuzan may be lenient, but he’s not about to let you get off scot-free forever. If you’re being particularly stubborn or if you keep pulling the same tricks, he’ll start thinking of creative ways to teach you a lesson—ways that are a little more embarrassing for you. Maybe he’ll announce loudly in the store, in front of everyone, “Hey, my kid took something they shouldn’t have. Let’s go return it and say sorry, okay?” Cue your mortification.

The embarrassment is enough to make you never want to do it again. You’ll probably sulk and shoot him an angry look afterward, thinking that you hate him for humiliating you like that. But deep down, you know he’s just trying to steer you in the right direction.

Even if you’re mad at him in the moment, Kuzan’s not too bothered. He knows it’ll blow over. He’s doing it all because he cares, and even if his laid-back nature makes it seem like he’s not paying attention, he’s got your best interest at heart.

When winter rolls around, Kuzan’s definition of “keeping warm” becomes a bit… extreme. You’d think that being an ice man, he’d have a perfect understanding of cold temperatures and how to handle them, but ironically, he’s so accustomed to the cold that he has no clue what “too cold” feels like for a regular person—especially for a kid like you. To him, being cold is just another day in the life. So naturally, when it starts snowing, his protective instincts go into overdrive, and he wraps you up like a little walking bundle of fabric.

It starts off with one coat, then another, and another, and one more, and two more, and three more, and probably four more…and before you know it, you’re waddling out the door buried under layers of jackets, scarves, gloves, and sweaters—there’s probably a beanie or two shoved on your head for good measure. You’re practically swimming in oversized clothes, struggling to move your arms because they’re weighed down by puffy jackets. Honestly, you’d be warmer than a marshmallow roasting by a campfire at this point, but Kuzan just keeps piling on the layers. He just wants to make sure you don’t freeze.

"Uh... Dad?" You mumble, muffled by the scarf he wrapped around you about five times. “I’m kind of... sweating.” You’re not cold at all—actually, you’re overheating under all these clothes, which is kind of impressive considering you’re outside in a snowstorm.

Kuzan just looks down at you, eyebrow raised. “Really? It’s freezing out here. You sure?” He’s genuinely puzzled because to him, 20 degrees Fahrenheit feels like a tropical vacation.

You nod—or at least try to, but the scarf kind of restricts your movement. “Yeah... maybe we can take one jacket off?”

Kuzan hesitates. He doesn’t want you catching a cold or getting sick, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to completely disregard your comfort either. After all, if you say you’re warm, maybe you are. Still, he’s reluctant, giving you a look that says, “Are you sure you want to do that?” He’s probably thinking of all the ways you could end up freezing the moment you take off even one layer.

“Alright,” he finally relents, tugging one of the jackets off your overly bundled body. “But keep the scarf and the hat. You never know when it’ll get colder.”

Of course, even after peeling off one layer, you’re still swaddled in a ridiculous amount of winter gear. Kuzan doesn’t do anything halfway when it comes to keeping you safe and warm, so you're still looking like a walking ball of puff. At least now you can move your arms a bit more.

If you weren’t a napper before, well, you better get used to it because now that you’re hanging around Kuzan, naps are mandatory. The man is the epitome of relaxedness, and somehow, his sleepy energy has rubbed off on you. It’s like the moment he decides to take one of his classic mid-day naps, you feel your own eyelids getting heavy. You might not even be tired, but seeing Kuzan lazily sprawled out, snoring away somehow makes you want to nap too. It’s practically contagious.

And if you’re feeling particularly snuggly? No problem. Kuzan isn’t one to complain about extra warmth, even if it’s from your tiny little self. If you want to curl up next to him, he’ll wrap one of his long arms around you and pull you close. He’ll probably even shift a little to make sure you’re comfy, tucking you in like you’re the perfect-sized teddy bear. Because you are. Except you’re not really a teddy bear.

Now let’s say that one day, instead of lying next to him, you decide to sprawl right on top of him—because why not? He’s big, he’s cozy, and he’s basically a human-sized mattress. You could literally flop right across his chest, stomach, or even lie across his back, and Kuzan? He’s perfectly fine with it. The man doesn’t even flinch. He just adjusts slightly, like, “Oh, you’re using me as your bed now? Cool, go for it,” before drifting right back to sleep without a second thought.

So congrats, you’ve officially been drafted into the nap life. Whether you wanted to or not, you’re now a professional napper, all thanks to Kuzan.

Remember that old sleep mask Kuzan used to wear back when he was still a Marine? The one he’d casually pull down over his eyes while everyone else was busy stressing out? Well, I like to think that even though those days are long behind him, he still keeps that mask tucked away somewhere in his knapsack.

And let’s just say that one day, he just hands it to you. No big speech, no grand gesture—just a lazy “Here, you can have it.” Now, the thing is massive on you. I mean, the mask is practically half the size of your face, and it keeps sliding down over your nose or up into your hair. But hey, Kuzan doesn’t care. He finds it pretty amusing how it looks on you, especially when you try to wear it seriously, like you’re mimicking him in some way.

Whether you’re sleeping or just goofing around, that sleep mask has pretty much become your thing now. Sometimes you wear it just because you can, even though it’s comically oversized. Other times, you carry it around like a prized possession, tucking it into your own little bag like it’s something important. Maybe you don’t fully understand why he gave it to you, but that doesn’t matter—it’s yours now, and you wear it with pride.

Kuzan doesn’t mind, of course. If anything, he’s probably glad it’s getting more use now that it’s yours. Every time he sees you waddling around with it over your eyes, almost bumping into things, you can catch him smiling. He never says it, but you can tell he’s kind of proud that his old Marine memento has become your new signature look.

Yeah, overall, Kuzan’s a great dad. Super chill, unbothered, and a literal human ice pack when you need it. If you're in the market for a dad who can nap at any given moment, pinch your cheeks just because, and accidentally turn your lunch into charcoal, then come get your own Kuzan today! (now only 5 berries down, 5 berries a month—frostbite risk included for free!!!!!)

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me?

I just finished this first part of my Eddie adopting Steve in his senior year after his fall from grace and wanted to put it up.

Tag list of 50 has now been filled. Any other requests for tagging will be denied. I’m sorry.

Edit: Also if you saw the title as something else? No, no you didn’t. And any reblogs you see with anyone instead of anybody are a figment of your imagination. (*thuds head on laptop* I have the title right on here...in my file *wails*)

*

“Mr Munson?” the teacher called.

Eddie’s head snapped to the front of the class from where it had been watching King Steve Harrington throwing up in the garbage can.

“When Mr Harrington is done spilling his guts, would you please take him to the nurse’s station?”

Eddie pointed at himself and mouthed the word “me?”

He looked around the classroom and was shocked to find that Steve’s friends were either trying not to look at him or were actually snickering.

The teacher sighed. “Yes. If you would please.”

“Yeah Munson,” someone called. “Freaks should stick together after all.”

Eddie made a note of who it was and vowed to never to sell to the asshole again. He stood up and walked to the back of the room. He knelt down next to Steve and put his hand on his back.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You okay?”

Steve looked up at him blearily. “Munson?”

Eddie looked up at the teacher. “Would it be okay if we take the bin with us? So we don’t disturb the rest of the class?”

The teacher nodded, looking relieved.

Eddie helped Steve to his feet and made sure the other boy had a good handle on the bin and gently walked him outside. The cool air of the hallway hit them like a truck. But Steve beside him sighed in relief.

Eddie finally got a good look at Steve’s face, blackened and bruised as it was. “Who did you in?”

Steve’s head lulled back like a rag doll. “Billy Hargrove.”

Eddie’s eyebrows went up and led Steve over to the wall next to the door. Steve slid to the floor, clutching the bin.

“Aren’t you two on the basketball team or whatever?” Eddie asked, moving to sit next to him.

“The king is dead, all hail the king,” Steve slurred.

Eddie scoffed. At least someone was getting something from their history class because it sure the hell wasn’t him.

“With the second concussion in two years, I’m off the team anyway,” Steve continued.

“Second?” Eddie asked, his eyes wide. “What the hell have you been doing man?”

Steve’s eyes focused momentarily. “Picking fights with boys that can kick my ass because they’re picking on kids that can’t defend themselves.”

“Actual kids?” Eddie asked his opinion of Billy dropping further than it already was.

“Does a thirteen year old still count as a kid?” Steve asked seriously.

Fuck.

“Yeah, yeah it does,” Eddie replied softly.

“I have this kid that I watch once and while,” Steve murmured, “actually I watch a half dozen, but anyway. Lucas Sinclair is really good at basketball and he tried out for the team. Billy decided to be a racist bastard about it. I clocked him and he laid me out. Literally.”

“Is that the reason for the...?” he waved at the bin and Steve’s face.

“Yup,” Steve said, closing his eyes. “Did you know that the nausea and dizziness of concussion can last longer than the actual concussion? Because I sure the hell didn’t.”

Eddie winced. “You up for the trek to the nurse’s office yet?”

Steve opened his eyes and looked over at the other boy. “I worry it’s the moving that’s making me puke.”

Eddie blinked and the cocked his head. “That’s a fair assessment, but you won’t know until you try.”

Steve nodded and then hissed. Eddie got his arm under him and gently lifted him to his feet.

Steve moaned.

“You good?” Eddie asked.

“Give me second,” Steve mumbled. He breathed heavily, trying to stop the world from spinning. “Okay. Yeah.”

Eddie moved them slowly through the halls to the nurse’s station. He didn’t throw up once which Eddie counted as a win.

“Messers Munson and Harrington,” the nurse greeted. “What causes you to darken my step today?”

Eddie grinned. “Nurse Ratchet, what a pleasure it is to see you again. I am here under orders to bring King Steve to you as he up chucked his lunch in math class.”

“It’s Nurse Kincade to you, Munson,” she bit out. “Put him on the table.”

Eddie steered Steve over to the table and looked him over. Steve was sweating from the exersion which considering he was in better shape than Eddie was that was a problem.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Do you want me to stay?”

Steve looked up at him and gulped. “Nah, man. You need to get back to class. You don’t want to be caught associating with me anyway.”

Eddie reared his head back. He was pretty sure that was his line. But he knew better than to argue. So he held up his hands and backed away slowly, listening to Steve explain to the nurse what had happened. Eddie grabbed the bin and cleaned it out before he returned to class. He had briefly thought to leave as a prank. But they would know it was him and he promised his Uncle Wayne that he wouldn’t get detention this year.

And while he also knew Uncle Wayne meant the school year, the year of 1984 was ending and he could at least last that long.

He got back to class and stood at the door. He really didn’t want to go in but class had fifteen minutes left and that was too long for him to wait. So with a heavy sigh he yanked open the door.

The teacher clocked him immediately. “You left Mr Harrington alone?”

Eddie threw up his hands again. “Dude wanted me to leave, I know better than to overstay my welcome.”

The teacher rolled his eyes. “And yet, here you are in my class for the second year in a row.”

Eddie grinned. “Aww, teach. That’s not overstaying my welcome, that’s tenacity.”

“This is algebra Mr Munson, not English,” he moaned. “Please take your seat.”

He could hear the snickering behind him, but he didn’t care. He thought about a boy who looked after kids that were barely teenagers and took beatings for them, to protect them. He thought about mismatched hazel eyes, one almost swollen shut. He thought about the inherent kindness of a beat down soul and wondered what made him kind in this cruel world.

*

Eddie spotted Steve at lunch, sitting by himself, pushing the food around on his tray. He was probably still feeling nauseous. He went to the vending machine and got ginger ale. As he passed by Steve, he looked at the bottle in his hand.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “I wanted a Coke. Hey, Harrington, you like ginger ale?”

Steve’s head snapped up in shock. “Uh, yeah. I’ve been known to like it on occasion.”

Eddie tossed it at him. “Here, you have it.”

He went and sat down by his friends. All three of them were juniors but he been friends with them since the talent show in middle school. They were in a band together called Corroded Coffin and they were pretty damn good if he thought so himself.

“What was that about, man?” Jeff asked.

Eddie turned to Jeff. He knew of all the boys at this table would understand why he threw Harrington a bone. He leaned in close so only his friends could hear.

“Harrington got his bell rung by Hargrove for protecting the Sinclair boy,” he whispered.

All three boys lifted their heads to look over at Steve who was sipping the ginger ale and starting to eat a little.

They hunched back into their circle.

“Looks like Hargrove got him good,” Gareth said. “What was the ginger ale for?”

“It’s good for nausea,” Eddie whispered. “He threw up in math class and I had to take him to the nurse’s station.”

“But I thought Carol and them were in that class, too,” Brian murmured.

Eddie shook his head. “They are, man. But Steve’s on the outs with the whole lot.”

Jeff frowned. “I didn’t think that Mr Harrington would have let his boy hang out with the Sinclairs.”

Eddie looked over at Steve and then back down to his friends. “I’m only telling you what he told me.”

His friends nodded. Whatever was going on, the Corroded Coffin boys were too far down the social ladder to be in the know.

Eddie looked over at the lonely boy one more time. Something didn’t feel right. Something else was going on, something darker. One didn’t simply go from the top of the social elite to less than the weirdos overnight for nothing. And Eddie was going to find out what.

Now with part 2 and part 3 part 4 part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9  Part 10 Part 11  Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

[celenawrites]

Mornings like these are rare. 

You wake up and look outside the window, seeing the dawn rise on you as you estimate that you only have an hour until the sun shines through the beige curtains of your room. An hour before you have to get up and leave for work. 

You yawn audibly, and then you turn to face your boyfriend, Simon. He’s sound asleep, which is a first, especially since he’s usually up and running - years of serving in the military ingrained in him a sense of strong discipline, something that even soft domesticity cannot break him out of. He was always up by four o’ clock(maybe out of habit, maybe because he couldn’t sleep as well as he wanted, maybe because he had a nightmare he wouldn’t burden you with)  and he stayed in bed for ten minutes or more, until muscle memory forced him to leave the soft bed and take a cold shower to get himself awake. Then he’d eat a protein bar from the pack you had ordered for him the week before he was supposed to come home, and then he’d put on his running shoes (all clean and nice due to you) and he’d go for a morning run with his face covered with a black surgical mask instead of his usual balaclava or skull mask. 

He’d come back around six o’ clock, all sweaty and heaving as he sits down on the rickety armchair in the living room as he catches his breath. He’d look at the clock and notice the time, slowly making his way to the kitchen to brew two cups on Earl Grey tea and he carefully pours it into the mugs with cute puppies scribbled on them (you got them for a steal from a flea market, and all he could do when he saw your shopping bags was huff in amusement with eyes twinkling as he aids you into arranging the small trinkets, utensils and potted plants around the house). He’d take out your favorite cookies to serve along with the hot beverage, plating it up on the tray like you usually did and he’d enter your room again, softly running his scarred hand through your soft hair as he’d gently ask you to wake up and share some tea with him before the day begins. 

This small window of time, where you and Simon do nothing, speak nothing but let the tea and the love you have for each other warm you up was the highlight of the day for the both of you. 

Then he’d send you off to work while he busies himself with all the overdue handiwork needed around the home you share with him. Fixing creaky doors, mowing the lawn, putting nails in the wall so you can hang up more paintings, hooks - anything that would make this place more homely than he ever remembers it to be. On days you didn’t have work, you would stick around him - half a dozen steps away from him as he went around the house and worked to fill in the hours before lunchtime. Sometimes you’d make him lemonade to drink in the scorching heat, and other times you’d rope him in to watch a movie with you, only to end up sleeping on his shoulder as he gently shuts off the television and whisks you off to the bedroom, holding you in his arms and letting himself have the much-needed rest his brain refuses to let him have at night. 

If he wakes up before it’s evening, he’d gently urge you to grab some lunch, maybe an early dinner before curling up beside you while you read your book as you gently muss up his badly cut hair, promising to him that you’d help him fix the uneven cut he’s had to give himself while he was deployed. He hums contently, letting himself feel like he deserves this as he dozes off in the night. Like he deserves you. 

Today he does none of it. 

It is rare for Simon to sleep through the night uninterrupted, and even rarer for you to wake up before him. So you soak up this moment, hoping that the memory that follows it will do you justice as you try to remember the few times you got to admire your other half the way he usually gets to do with you. You count his soft eyelashes, your eyes squint as you look at his hair as the sunlight shines upon his head like a halo. Terrifying as he may be with his persona as Ghost, you were certain that this is another sign that Simon, your Simon, was nothing short of angelic. You sigh as you look at his crooked nose, broken by a very violent bar fight he had engaged into when he was young and brash and thirsting for senseless violence and blood. (He won the fight, despite his inexperience. He had told you so with a dry chuckle, and you tried not to let your amusement show through as you shook your head in disappointment)

You look at the scar that runs from his temple down to near his left earlobe, white and thin like lightning as if Zeus had struck this behemoth of a man for being mortal and still putting all the heroes of past eons to shame.  You look at his lips - pink, dry, thin and scarred, and you almost let your fingertips touch them as you memorize this rare visage of your lover. But you know Simon’s tired (oh so tired), and you’d rather give up on the opportunity to admire him than interrupt him when he’s finally asleep after fighting fruitlessly to finally rest for the past three weeks. 

However, your attempts at being quiet fail you anyway. 

Suddenly, as if he can almost sense your awake state,  his eyelids flutter and his breath picks up as he blinks awake. Brown pupils meet yours as he intently stares at you with sleep-laden eyes, his blonde eyelashes flickering whenever he tries to blink off the fatigue plaguing his weary bones. You smile at him kindly, letting your hand gently rest on his face as your fingers curl up into the blonde tufts of hair on his head. He leans into your touch, softly kissing the inside of your wrist as your fingers trail over his head, around his face. 

“Good morning, Simon”, you greet him softly, and his breath hitches slightly as he looks at the love you carry in your eyes for him. At the love that drips from every word you say to him. 

“Would you like me to make you some tea?”

Note - I felt like writing some domestic fluff with our beloved Lieutenant right after watching Barbie, so here we are. Hope you enjoy.

Divider by @/firefly-graphics on Tumblr.

Find me on AO3!

[icantspellthings]

Watching Saltburn has made me realise I have Felix levels of oral fixation since I never even noticed him constantly sucking on things until I came onto tumblr and saw people pointing it out. So here's some headcanons of things that Felix does subconsciously without realising it based on my own behaviour.

The most obvious one is he chain smokes like a bitch. And sorry to say it but whenever vaping becomes popular, you can bet your ass he has a dozen of them in different colours and flavours (his favourite is strawberry)

Sucking on lollies is also another obvious one, he probably has at least one or two in his pocket at all times

Defiantly has a bedside stash of hard candies, lollies and various sweets to chew/suck on

When he's not sucking on something he's chewing gum his mouth is never empty. Probably carries around a pack of gum all the time. (At my peak I went through one pack of gum a day)

All of his pens and pencils has fucked up rubber and caps since he sticks it in his mouth to chew on when thinking. Also sticking the wrong side in and just eating ink has totally happened more than once

Chewing on drinking straws

Sticking his own finger into his mouth for no damn reason

Sticking his tongue out when concentrating

Licking, biting, and chewing on his lips constantly. It makes it look like he is being a flirt but he just does it without thinking.

When anyone sticks anything near his face will just open his mouth to bite at it automatically

Sucks on lollies extra hard when he's concentrating or trying not to give a reaction ie: when ollie is around 🥰

Okay that's it lol

[seashellisinmyheart]

I Never Watch Television: A 31 Minutes Novel

English Translation

Chapter One: Part One

I am splitting the chapters into two parts since the post would be too long otherwise.

Please note that I am not a professional, so I cannot guarantee that there won't be grammatical errors. Enjoy!

Chapter One - Part One

‘This is very, very, very, very, extremely strange.’ Juanin Juan Harry says to himself. 

The small, hairy television producer feels something strange as he pedals quickly on his tricycle through the streets of Titirilquen.

Something is happening, or rather... NOTHING is happening. That's what's strange!

Like every morning, Juanin is on his way to his beloved job at 31 Minutes, the most truthful news program on television. Juanin lives, and works hard for his job. He left last night, after turning off the channel's lights, and he is always the first to arrive the next day!

This morning, however, feels different. He doesn't hear the traditional honking of angry vehicles. Nor the shouts of Freddy Turbina and his fellow cyclists protesting against the angry vehicles. No Huachimingo desperately chasing fluff stirred by the morning wind. There is not even wind or fluff! No accidents, no crying babies, not even a little bird being chased by a cat…

And the most incredible thing: Nobody is talking during that fateful morning hour! Everyone moves forward, like never before, happy with their travels. Smiles are the only thing Juanin sees, amazed.

He arrives at the station. So intrigued that he leaves his tricycle at the entrance and runs up the stairs. In the 31 Minutes press room, the always full screen that shows ‘tragedies, emergencies, and disasters’... does not indicate any activity.

Zero tragedies, zero emergencies,, zero disasters. At that moment, Juanin realizes nothing newsworthy is happening today. There is simply NO NEWS! 

The stagehands, small stick-like beings who officially prepare the broadcast everyday, move energetically through the studio.

Juanin, meanwhile, is spinning around worriedly. Thinking about what to do. What worries him the most is how Tulio Trivino will react to this unprecedented situation. 

Tulio is his beloved and admired boss. The most famous news anchor in Titirilquen. And the only one. Tulio is a somewhat eccentric, ridiculous, slightly ignorant journalist and not exactly a genius. Some even say that he is an egoist who only think about himself. And it is true. But Juanin considers him his friend and will always be grateful for being given his reason for living: his job.

Minutes and hours pass without Tulio arriving, but that is no surprise to Juanin. “He must have fallen asleep again,” he thinks. Tulio sleeps at least sixteen hours a day, as instructed from his personal holistic therapist. He also has a bad habit of turning off his phone, alarm clock and doorbell in his mansion. And of course, he sleeps with earplugs over his earplugs.

As is often the case, Juanin decides to do the most practical thing. Call a helicopter to bring Tulio to the station with his bed and everything, piloted delicately so as to not wake him up until the last minute.

But that is not necessary. Suddenly, through the windows, he hears the powerful roar of his boss's latest model grey convertible. A gift from his personal friend, the Sheikh of Flufistan. The vehicle was sent to Tulio as an unbirthday present via Philippine canoe, along with half a dozen dwarf hippos. 

Tulio parks in his exclusive place by the door, marked by a large star on the floor with the words “reserved only for Tulio with absolute and eternal exclusivity until the end of time. Amen.”

Juanin runs to tell Tulio about the problem with the lack of news. 

“Tulio, Tulio! We have a little problem!”

“Now is not the time, Juanin...”

Tulio is too rushed to listen to his faithful producer. He walks down the long corridor of the channel, while being made up and dressed by his subordinates. 

“But, Tulio…”

“Enough, Juanin. First you forgot to wake me up and now you try to delay me with your blathering! I remind you that I have a newscast to host!” 

The journalist arrives at his desk fully made up and dressed in his custom made ue suit.

Just in time! The music starts, the cameras turn on and Juanin has no choice but to give the signal.

“We're on the air!”

The cameras focus on Tulio Trivino's face. His yellow button eyes shine under the powerful light of the spotlights. All the attention of every television in Tititilquen is, as every day, centered on what news will be presented today.

Tulio Trivino runs his hand through his head, combing his non-existent hair. Then he clears his throat and looks directly at the camera.

“Hello, friends, I'm Tulio Trivino and this is a new edition of 31 Minutes, the most important news program on television. Let's get to the latest news…”

Tulio waits for the information. Everyone on the set does too, but nothing happens. “Cri-cri.” Some crickets chirp. Tulio looks at Juanin, nervous.

“Where is the latest information, Juanin?” he asks, impatiently.

“That's what I wanted to tell you, Tulio.” The producer answers. “Nothing has happened in the last minute.”

“NOTHING??”

“Actually, there has been no news all day…

“No? Oh, but, what do we do, Juanin?!”

Surprisingly, the producer seems very calm. The hours of waiting for Tulio have given him the opportunity to reflect and draw happy conclusions from what is happening.

“Oh, Tulio… I was nervous like you too, but not anymore. Relax.”

“How do you expect me to relax? Don't be ridiculous!”

“But Tulio. Think about it carefully. There has been no theft, no crime, no injustice, no war. Doesn't that make you happy in the depths of your soul?”

“Of course not!”

“No???”

“But Juanin, this is a newscast. I AM A NEWSCASTER! We live off the misfortune of others! We need news, tragedies, disasters, and nonsense, you pacifist! We have been here for years reporting the greatest events in history… Who revealed the torturous route of the poop? Where did we finally manage to interview the elusive Mr. Invisible Mute? Who immortalized the mass photos of naked puppets by Jacob Fotonolowski? We informed the world about the end of the world and also its restart immediately after! We made the world aware of Denis Danis's fast paintings and made the first live coverage of a robbery, reported by my daring niece Patana! And what about the Zapandilla that ravaged the streets of the city? Or the true identity of the tooth mouse? Or the balloon that that poor innocent Carlitos Lechuga lost? Or the serious case of obesity from last year's gloves? We denounced the horrors of the Sea War between Salsacia and Conservia! Without us, nobody would know the exploits of the great superhero Calcetin con Rombos Man, nor the plague of zombies the day before yesterday, nor the crimes of the master of disguise Lulo Serrucho… So many other hot and delicious news!!!! Understand once and for all, Juanin, a newscast without news would leave us without work!”

Hearing this, Juanin begins to tremble. As we know, working is his great passion. And his only one.

“No job? Oh no!”

“Oh, yes!” Tulio replies.

“But then, what do we do???” Now Juanin is the desperate one. 

“Relax, I have a solution, Juanin. I'll tell it live on camera 1.”

Tulio adjusts his tie and looks back at the camera, doing his best influential public figure voice.

“Dear viewers, I'm very sorry, but there's no news today. So, while the producer of this show somehow solves the problem… I'll take the day off. Let the music and the final credits roll! And I'm off to the beach!”

The credits of the show appear on the screen, accompanied by it's characteristic music. Tulio throws the cards with nothing written on them into the air and runs away, happy. Finally, he will be able to test drive his new yacht with a double jet engine, a gift from his personal friend, the Prince Consort of Nadalisburgo!

“But… but… was that your solution?” Juanin shouts confused and alone. 

Juanin freezes, or so it seems. All his years as a producer have not prepared him for this moment. He, who knows perfectly well what to do if a meteorite falls on Earth, or if the bathrooms flood, or if a baby elephant invades the cafeteria. He, who knows by heart the protocol for fires, floods and incendiary floods! The only one who knows how to calm down the interviewee who gets angry because Tulio is a pest, or Tulio if he gets angry because the interviewee is a pest.

But a newscast without any news? Is it time to think about another profession? Just when poor Juanin begins to fear a long vacation, a miracle happens… 

[winterweary]

GOOD MORNING guess who's emotional about Asmo

.

Wake up. Alone.

Cold compress over eyes. Tepid shower. Exfoliate, soothe, hair mask, softening shampoo, deep conditioner.

Serums one through four. Under eye gel. Facial moisturizer. Hand lotion, body lotion, heel lotion.  

Dress, blow dry hair, begin make up. Something light today. Effortless. Brightening, to hide the undereye shadows that just won’t fade these days.

A tap on Belphie’s door, and one on Levi’s, the two hardest to get up up in the morning. Then to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Fruit smoothies with lots of devildom spinach for the iron. A few dozen eggs, most set aside for Beel. Ham and Bacon and toast. Start a pot of coffee that will rotate throughout the morning. Bitter black for Lucifer. Black with a secret sugar cube for Satan. Cream for Mammon, extra sweet for Levi, green tea with honey for the twins.

Another round of wake ups, this time sticking head through door and chiming as bright a greeting as you can manage. Give them something to grumble about, get them moving, maybe even crack a smile. Satan and Lucifer already awake, if they even went to bed. Mammon unresponsive, a sullen lump on his bed, though he’s surely awake as well.

Back to the kitchen. Feed Beel plate one, try to get Belphie to finish dressing (did he fall asleep halfway through putting his sleeve on?)

Smile. Smile. Smile.

Final round. Cajole, threaten, bribe Levi from out his room, making sure he takes his seat even if he’s buried in his hoodie. Snatch the book from Satan’s hands and promise he can have it back at the breakfast table. Sing Lucifer the time and remind him he promised not to leave for work early today. Climb into bed with Mammon and squeeze him close until he feels himself enough to huff embarrassment and follow you into the hall.

Tease, flutter, flirt, giggle. Smile. Smile. Smile.

This is your job. Your duty. Lucifer leads you all, Mammon guards. Levi the unspoken entertainer, Satan the educator. Beel protects and Belphie comforts. You, who can’t do any of that, not to your standards, does this.

Keeps everyone together. Keeps everyone moving. Keeps everyone waiting.

Because you know they’ll be back. You know Solomon could never let you down. You know it’s only a matter of time until your family is whole again. In the meantime, this is how you help. You make sure your brothers are fed. Make sure they sleep, and shower, and brush their hair. Make sure they bicker, and fight and occasionally even laugh.

You make sure that when they come home at the end of the day, there is always a home waiting for them.