#this was a sketch that got OUT OF CONTROL but they deserve it ;-:

[vrystalius]

Yearning and crushing.

What do they act like when they are utterly in love and yearning for you?

Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Zevlor, Rolan, x gn!Tav!reader

Summary: During the early stages of your misadventure, he cannot help himself but never stop yearning for you.

Genre: Fluff, lime (does anyone use lime and lemons anymore?)

Words: 2.3k

Note: I’m hosting a small event over at my blog. Check it out if you’re interested <3 I’m choosing four participating users at random to receive a personalised letter from their fav char<33 All of this is happening in act 1 btw.

Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf

Yearning scale: 8/10

He denied himself the pleasure of thinking about you in a romantic way other than to use you to get protection, power and a willing source of absolutely delicious blood. Really falling for you would be very stupid and have no benefit, really. Astarion never viewed himself as someone who deserved love, especially yours.

But during every battle Astarion’s concentration began to waver more and more. His eyes scan the area in panic until he finally spots you somewhere, being very occupied by trying to finish off the gnoll growling at you. He knows you’re capable defending yourself and finishing off some enemies and it is a delight to watch you fight, but that caused him to miss more and more, with both daggers and his crossbow.

You notice how his whole face lights up whenever you saunter over to him to do some small talk after a long day. His eyes look much softer and his smile becomes less guarded, less planned. It was adorable but you never mentioned it to him, or else you might never see that off-guard smile again.

At first you were adorned by Astarion and showered in flirts and compliments to love-bomb you and bind you to him, something he has done wo many countless times, but slowly he feels himself regretting playing up his flirtatious persona. He thinks you might not like him anymore when he stops with the over-the-top flirts, the nightly trysts and most importantly, the sex.

But deep down he was hoping and praying you’ll still like him for him.

Slowly, Astarion will insist on staying close with you no matter what. The group splits up to explore a cave efficiently? He is definitely sticking by your side. You’re heading to the Emerald Grove to stock on some food for tonight? Don’t mind him tagging along, he just needs a couple of healing potions. You’re injured and need healing? Out of the way Shadowheart, he got this with some alcohol and bandages.

“I’m sure you wont mind taking me with you to that grove again, I wanted to talk to that Tiefling by the forge. I’m thinking about asking very nicely to have a little taste of his blood… But I won’t if you get jealous easily, my darling.”

Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.

He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings he’ll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.

He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethel’s mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. He’s not really talented in it but it’s a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.

Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep

Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner ™/10

Let’s be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.

Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.

He wasn’t even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.

With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasn’t met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.

He can’t act on his feelings yet, though. Gale can’t even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.

It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.

His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.

But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like “A perfect hit!” or “You are doing absolutely amazing!” from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and he’d accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.

Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Tara’s favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.

His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.

Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider

Yearning scale: 6/10

It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and weren’t even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.

Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.

“Go, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend all your time on me, I’m sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.”

He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor can’t deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isn’t stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.

A dream he didn’t allow himself to realise.

Besides, he’s an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldur’s Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.

Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.

For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didn’t allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.

He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. It’s a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.

For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldur’s Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called “Shadow Lands” are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.

Rolan // Wizard’s apprentice

Yearning scale: 8/10

Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.

He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolan’s eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.

He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan would’ve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.

His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didn’t even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his sibling’s knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.

Rolan doesn’t really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.

He knew you’d make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.

After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolan’s eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldn’t help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of you— of course. You’re the hero of the party.

Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesn’t matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.

But alas, there’s an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldur’s Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesn’t mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.

Maybe you’ll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. I’ll be answering asks and requests soon tho!

Check out my personalised letters event <33

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33 You are loved.

[aleksatia]

Don't know if you will accept this one because not everyone is comfortable with writing for pregnancy trope. But i will try. 😭

Imagine the reader is pregnant, and for some reason, she can't get to the hospital or opted for giving birth at home, and the labor starts with just the reader and the boys, how would they react? (Zayne would go well, I guess lol)

Anyway, I gotta say I am obsessed with your writing ✍️ 🤤🥰

It honestly took me forever to get this request done, but here it is—finally! I ended up splitting it into two parts, including a bit of my own experience with childbirth.

The main challenge was that, even when extreme, birth tends to follow a similar pattern. I didn’t want to lean into unnecessary drama, so I approached it differently: wrote one complete mini-fic and turned the rest into short drabble-style sketches, which I’ll be posting here.

You can read more about Xavier/MC’s story here. I chose him simply because I hadn’t written anything focused on him in a while—and it just flowed (from pen... well, keyboard) that way.

CT/WT: birth scene, childbirth, emergency birth, home birth, water birth, airplane birth, snowstorm birth, intense emotional content, partner support, soft!men, vulnerable!men, protective partner, found family, twins, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, fatherhood, new dad energy, birth fic, drabble collection, first-time dad, emotional whump, soft smutless intimacy, love confession, trauma comfort, birth complications, raw vulnerability, medical emergency, no smut just feelings, domestic intensity. Headcanon!!!

🖤 SYLUS — The Moment He Realizes It’s Up to Him (Home Birth, Unprepared Conditions)

The Second It Clicks: You gasp. Double over. He’s at your side in a heartbeat. “Is it time?” You nod. Pain. Panic. Wet warmth. His blood freezes — then boils. No hospital. No doctor. No help. Just him.

His First Thought? “Fuck. No. Not like this. You deserve better.” Not chaos. Not uncertainty. Not cold floors and towels that aren’t sterile. He’s Sylus — he controls everything. But this? This is the one thing he can’t delay, buy, or dominate. It’s coming. Now.

Terror?Not for himself. For you. For the pain in your eyes, the grip of your hand, the sheer fragility of the moment. His entire being rallies like a war horn blaring inside his chest. “If the universe put this in my hands, then it’s getting the best fucking performance of my life.”

What he does first:He lowers you carefully to the bed. Kisses your knuckles, even as he’s barking quiet orders into a phone no one picks up. His voice is deep, steady. But his heart is galloping. He never lets you see it. Never lets his fear break through. You deserve certainty, and he’ll give it to you — even if he’s unraveling at the seams.

What He Says:“Kitten. Look at me.” You do. Eyes wide. Brave. Terrified. “You trust me?” You nod. “Then breathe. I’ve got this. I’ve got you. I always have.”

What He Feels:You’re vulnerable. And you’re still the strongest creature he’s ever seen. He wishes he could take the pain. Rip it from you and carry it in his own bones. But this is your war. And all he can do is be the sword and the shield. “Don’t you dare break on me, baby. You’re almost there. We’re almost there.”

And when you cry out —Something inside him shatters. Not weakness. Not panic. Love. The kind that could burn cities. The kind that makes gods kneel. He wipes your brow with trembling fingers, and for the first time in years, he whispers: “Please. Just let me do this right.”

The First Push:Your nails dig into his forearm. Hard. He doesn't flinch. He leans in, forehead almost touching yours. “That’s it. Breathe through it. I’ve got you.” Your body trembles. He sees it — the pain, the fear, the fight. And God, he’s never loved you more than in this bloody, imperfect, holy moment.

The Next Contractions Hit:They're relentless. And so is he. He’s on his knees beside the bed now, sleeves rolled, jaw locked, hands steady but heart breaking. “You're doing so good, kitten. So fucking good. I'm right here. Ride it. Ride it out. You're the strongest thing I've ever seen.” He keeps talking because your cries are the sound of his soul ripping open. He wants to scream with you — but he doesn’t. He can’t. You need him iron-clad.

When the Baby Crowns:For a split second, he freezes. The sight undoes him. It's real. His voice catches. He swallows hard. Then acts. Fast. He speaks softly but firmly. “Almost there. Just one more, baby. Give me everything you’ve got.”And when you do — when you scream and bear down and sob his name — the world shifts.

The Birth:The baby slips into his hands. Warm. Fragile. Alive. He catches it like it’s made of light. For a moment, he just stares. His lips part, but no words come. This. This is his child. His hands are shaking now. Bloody, trembling. But when the baby cries? He lets out the most ragged breath of his life. “You did it,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You fucking did it.” He ties and cuts the cord. Precise. Careful. Reverent. Wraps the baby in a soft towel and places it in your arms. And then? He just watches. Like the world cracked open to show him something he never thought he was worthy of.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He doesn’t move from your side. Doesn’t let go of your hand. The men in white bark questions. He answers in clipped growls, still on alert. They try to move in too fast, and he snaps, “She’s fine. You move when she says so.” The room is full now — but all he sees is you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:He sits beside you, one hand on your leg, the other gently stroking the baby's tiny back. His shirt is soaked, his knuckles still stained, his eyes rimmed red. He doesn’t speak for a long time. Just breathes in the shape of you. Watches you like you might disappear.

And then he says it, raw and low:“I’ve killed for less than the pain you just went through.”“You scare me,” he adds, almost smiling. “Because I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did.”A pause. His voice softens. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

How He Is With You After: He won’t leave the room for the first 24 hours. Won’t sleep unless you sleep. Won’t speak unless it’s to you. Every time you shift, he’s there. Water. Blankets. Warm palms. He touches you like you’re made of fire and stardust. And maybe you are. You brought life into the world — and now he’s a man who’s seen a goddess bleed and survive.

What’s Changed? Everything. You’re no longer just the woman he worships. You’re the mother of his child. And he’s never been more dangerous, more devoted, or more in awe. And when he finally holds the baby in his arms, whispering something in a voice only the stars can hear, you catch the look on his face — as if the king of the underworld just met the one soul that could make him believe in heaven.

🎨 RAFAYEL — Water Birth Gone Off-Script (But You're Still His Masterpiece)

The Second It Clicks:You gasp. A real one. Water shifts behind the door. He hears it — not the splash, but the silence that follows. Brush mid-stroke, he freezes in the studio. Palette still in hand. Then he hears you call his name. Soft. Urgent. Different. His heart misses a beat. Oh. Oh, fuck. It’s time.

His First Thought?“Cutie, not yet — where’s the damn midwife?” This was supposed to be smooth. Music, candles, soft towels, help. He practiced. Took notes. Learned everything. But you’re contracting, you’re gripping his arm like a lifeline, and that carefully prepared plan just drowned.

Terror?Only for a split second. Then? It turns into motion. His version of war. No armor. Just bare skin, water, and wild love. He tears off his silk shirt, drops to his knees beside the tub, and cups your face. Eyes blazing. Smile trembling. “You’ve got this. I’ve got you. Let’s be legends, sweetheart.”

What He Does First:Lights dimmed. Calm playlist turned off. That’s not helping. He speaks instead. Constant stream of velvet and madness — anything to keep you in your body. He checks your breath, strokes your arms, pours warm water down your back. He holds your thighs when the cramping gets too much. “Breathe, Cutie. Moan if you need to. Scream. I’ll scream with you.”

What He Says:“You’re the most divine creature I’ve ever painted and you’re not even trying right now.” “Do you know what it does to me — to see you bring life into the world? I’m ruined.” “I love you. You’re terrifying. It’s magnificent.” “I’m not ready, but I’m so ready. Are you ready, sweetheart?” He laughs and cries all at once. Classic Raf.

What He Feels:Absolute awe. Like watching a volcano give birth to the moon. You’re in pain, and he’d trade his soul to take it away —

But you’re also gorgeous. Power and surrender. Fury and grace. He watches you like a living epic, memorizing every second. And somewhere deep down: terror. Because he’s about to meet a little soul that already feels like the most important thing he’s ever waited for.

And When You Cry Out —He flinches like someone hit his body. Then kisses your forehead. Then your shoulder. Then your fingers. “I know, I know, my love. You can hate me right now. But when it’s over, you’re going to be a fucking goddess in my arms again.”

The First Push:He holds you. Literally. Behind you in the tub, your back pressed to his chest. Whispers in your ear like poetry, nonsense, love confessions. His hands steady your belly. His cheek presses to yours. “Push. With me. Right now. Pretend the stars are watching.”

The Next Contractions Hit:You sob. Scream. Curse. He laughs through tears. “That’s my girl. Go feral, baby.” He doesn't pretend it's easy. He matches the chaos. You scream louder? He screams louder. You sob? He hums a lullaby in broken Lemurian. And when you break? He stitches you back together with every ridiculous, poetic, stupidly beautiful word.

When the Baby Crowns:He feels it before he sees it — the shift in your breath, the way your body tenses like a storm breaking. “Cutie — he’s here. He’s really here.” He helps you lean forward, moves behind and then lower, one arm steadying you as he shifts to kneel in the water. And then he sees it — the beginning of everything. His voice is gone. His hands shake. But he stays.

The Birth:The baby slides into the water. Raf catches him like he’s catching a star falling into the sea. He brings him up gently, lets him cry, and then stares — completely undone. He places the baby on your chest with reverence. Then breaks. Just breaks. Weeps silently as he holds you both.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He answers the door shirtless, soaked, with red-rimmed eyes and a feral look. “Too late,” he snaps. “She did it herself. I just got to be lucky enough to watch.” Then walks past them, back to the bathroom, because he’s not done looking at you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:You’re in bed. Baby asleep. Candles flickering low. Raf’s lying next to you, propped on an elbow, fingers lightly tracing invisible constellations on your arm. His voice is almost a whisper. “You made something I could never paint. Not with all the colors in the universe.”

Confession:“I used to think love was chaos. Fire. Tragedy.” He swallows. “But you — carrying him, birthing him — you made me believe in something bigger than all that. Something gentle.” Beat. “Still chaos. But now… now I want to live in it.”

How He Is With You After:He won’t stop touching you. Ever. Cheek pressed to your stomach. Hand around your ankle. Lips to your collarbone. He calls you his ocean, his cathedral, his everything. Gets jealous when the baby gets more attention, then sulks dramatically — only to melt the moment the baby yawns.

What’s Changed? He didn’t think he could love more than he already did. But now he’s ruined. Completely, gloriously yours. He paints you every day. He stares at the baby like a spell. And every night, he murmurs: “Cutie, I would live a thousand lifetimes just to land in this one with you.”

🛩️ CALEB — 35,000 Feet Up, When the World Falls Apart (And You’re the Only Thing That Matters)

The Second It Clicks:Your breath hitches. You shift. Then freeze. He knows your body too well — something is off. You whisper, "Caleb…" He looks at you. And in that one heartbeat, he knows. It’s happening. Here. Now. Too early.

His First Thought?“No.”Not like this. Not at cruising altitude. Not without equipment, backup, time. You were supposed to have two more weeks. He had a plan. A perfect one. And the baby just threw it out the emergency exit.

Terror?It brushes him. A ghost against the back of his mind. There’s a moment — sharp, almost blinding — where every instinct screams: get to the cockpit, take the controls, force the descent, get her to a hospital, make it stop. Not the birth — your pain. The helplessness. But Caleb is a fortress — fear doesn’t get through the walls. Not when you need him solid. Not when your breathing goes shallow and your fingers dig into his thigh. He shuts it out. Cold. Calculated. He stays. Right where you are. “Handle it.”

What He Does First: Turns to the nearest flight attendant — she’s pale, shaking. “Get blankets. Towels. Water. First aid kit. Everything. Now.”Then he takes your hand. Squeezes once. He shifts the cabin — clears seats, turns it into a command zone. Straps you in, kneels in front of you like you’re his entire mission.

What He Says:“Breathe.” “Look at me, not the chaos. Me.”“You're safe. I'm here. I’ll get you through this.”“No one’s going to touch you but me. You hear me?”Low, controlled. The voice of command — but laced with something raw. The kind of voice that means he’d rip this plane open and land it with his bare hands if he had to.

What He Feels:Failure. Because this wasn’t the plan. Because he let you on this plane, knowing the risks.  Because you’re in pain and there’s nothing he can shoot or order or carry to fix it.  But above that — something bigger. Something anchoring. You’re about to give him a child. His child. And he’s never been more terrified or more in love.

And When You Cry Out —He stops breathing. Just for a moment. Then grabs a wet cloth, wipes your forehead, presses his mouth to your knuckles. “It’s okay. I know. I know it hurts. Just hold on, love.” He doesn’t flinch when you scream. He braces for you. Becomes your wall.

The First Push: He helps you brace your legs. Talks you through it. Counts your breaths. His voice doesn’t shake. You’re gripping his shoulder like you want to break him — and if it helps, he wants you to. “Push. Right now. You can do it. I know you can.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come fast. Brutal. You’re soaked in sweat, sobbing, slipping in and out of focus. He holds your gaze. Forces you to stay present. “Stay with me. Just me. Eyes on mine.” He’s not just commanding your body now. He’s anchoring your soul.

When the Baby Crowns:His jaw locks. There’s blood. Pain. A sound from you that breaks something in him forever. But then— “I see the head. One more. One big push, baby. Do it for me.”He’s never begged in his life. Until now.

The Birth:The baby slides into his hands — hot, wet, alive. He holds it like it’s a grenade and a prayer. He hesitates for a heartbeat, then moves on instinct drilled in from every medical video he obsessively watched in the weeks before. Wipes the face. Rubs the back. Hears that first cry. And his shoulders slump like he just survived a war. He lays the baby on your chest with military precision— But his hands are shaking. And his voice is gone.

When the Plane Lands:Paramedics are already waiting on the tarmac. The moment the wheels hit the ground, he’s on his feet, securing the baby, then lifting you into his arms — no hesitation, no discussion. Your body wrapped in his jacket, his grip unshakable. “She stays with me,” he tells them — low and final. He carries you down the stairs himself, eyes scanning every face like a soldier clearing a field. And when the medics move in, he doesn’t flinch — but he watches every hand. Every word. His eyes never leave you. He’s still on the battlefield.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again: The baby’s wrapped and asleep. You’re in a hospital bed now, monitors quiet, lights dim. Caleb sits beside you — still in his flight-worn clothes, hands resting on the edge of the mattress like he’s holding the line. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you breathe. As if any second, the universe might try to take you again.

Confession:“I don’t know how to do this part.” Soft. Almost a whisper. “I know war. I know strategy. I know how to keep you alive.”A pause. “But you just gave me everything, thirty-five thousand feet above the world. And I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

How He Is With You After: Hypervigilant. Keeps you warm. Fed. Rested. Checks the baby’s breath every ten minutes. Doesn’t leave your side — not even to sleep. Carries you to the bathroom if he has to. Barely talks. Just does.

What’s Changed? He always thought his job was to protect you. Now he knows — you are the reason he fights. You made life, in midair, with nothing but pain and instinct. He’s seen you soft. He’s seen you in love. Now he’s seen you divine. And no enemy will ever get close again. Not even turbulence. And definitely not labor at 35,000 feet — because he’s never letting you board a plane pregnant again. He’s already planning the next birth. Controlled environment. Ground-level. Walls. Doctors. No sky. No chaos. Just you, safe — the way you were always supposed to be.

🧊 ZAYNE — Snowcrest Emergency (Twins, a Storm, and You in His Hands)

The Second It Clicks:You’re at the stove, stirring a pot of mulled wine, the scent of cloves and orange peel curling through the wooden walls of the chalet. Snow presses against the windows like a soft white fist. Then something shifts. You freeze. One hand goes to the edge of the counter, the other to your belly. Your breath catches — once. Twice. Too sharp. Zayne looks up from the hearth, where he was stacking firewood. Sees your face. Sees your hands. His mind clicks into motion before you can speak. Contractions. Strong. Rhythmic. A month early. Twins. It’s happening. Now.

His First Thought?“No hospital. No OR. No neonatal equipment. Two infants. High-risk environment.” His mind races: What’s missing? What can he improvise? What matters most? You. He recalibrates in milliseconds. The plan has changed. You’re the plan now.

Terror?He doesn’t let it register. But for the first time in a decade, he feels his pulse spike without choosing it. This is not a patient. Not a clinical environment. This is you. And his hands — hands that saved hundreds — suddenly feel too slow, too human.

What He Does First:Takes control. Quietly, precisely. “Lie down. Left side. Pillows under your knees.” Gets gloves. Clean cloths. Lantern light. Wipes the counter. Boils water. Checks your pupils, your breath rate, heart rate. Starts counting contractions. Voice — steady as marble. “Vitals are within threshold. We’ll manage.” He doesn’t say "I’m scared." He sets his jaw and becomes the machine you need.

What He Says:“Cut the noise. Focus on me.” “Deep breath in. Hold. Now exhale slowly.” “You’re safe. I have you. Nothing’s going wrong under my watch.” And softer, almost like it slips out against his control: “You’re not doing this alone. I’m here.”Then quieter still, barely audible over your breathing— “I don’t want you to be afraid. Not with me.”

What He Feels:A depth of protectiveness so massive it short-circuits logic. He can’t afford emotion — so it burns quietly behind his ribs. Every sound you make, every twitch of pain — he catalogs it, files it, calculates it. But somewhere behind the math, something whispers: “These are my children. And she’s the one I never deserved.”

And When You Cry Out—He doesn’t flinch. But his jaw locks, and he moves faster. More towels. More warmth. Calmer voice. He adjusts your position, murmurs into your hair: “I know. I know, love. It hurts. You’re strong. You’re going to get them here, and I’m going to catch them. I promise.”

The First Push:““Push with the contraction. Not before.”He watches your breath, cues your muscles, syncs with your rhythm like surgery. You scream. He doesn’t blink. Just steadies your knee, keeps his voice low and close. “You’re doing it. This is the part that ends it. The worst is behind you.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come harder, closer. You’re shaking. Your body starts to give. Zayne grips your hands, brings your forehead to his. “You’re not breaking. You’re giving life. Do it. I’m right here.” He says it like a command. But his voice catches.

When the Baby Crowns:It’s fast. First twin is anterior. Textbook. Zayne’s gloves are slick, but his hold is perfect. The baby slips into his hands — screaming. He wraps, clears, breathes. Then glances up at you, and — for half a second — his breath stutters. One down. One more.

The Birth (Second Twin):This one’s trickier. Breech. Zayne’s hands move with silent grace, guiding you, shifting your hips, protecting you from the risk. It’s intense. It’s dangerous. But he handles it like a master. The second baby arrives blue. He doesn’t panic. Just acts. Clears airway. Stimulates. Waits — cry. Only then does his chest move again.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He meets them at the door. Calm. Precise. These are his colleagues — people he trusts. He listens to every reading, watches every movement. They confirm what he already knows: vitals are steady. No signs of immediate risk. He should transfer you. He planned to. But then you look at him — raw, pleading, exhausted. And he recalculates. “We’ll monitor here. Twelve-hour window. I’ll oversee everything myself.” He’s already wrapping you and the twins in fresh blankets, resetting the monitors. His voice is steady. His posture sure. But his hand doesn’t leave yours. He’s not just responsible. He’s personally invested. In this. In you. In all three lives now resting in his hands.

Confession:He speaks only when you touch his wrist. “I’ve never been this scared.” A beat. “And I didn’t let myself feel it. Until now.” Another pause. “You and them — you’re the only variables I can’t solve. And I think I’m okay with that.”

How He Is With You After: Meticulous. Attentive. Understated. Charts feed schedules. Tracks sleeping patterns. Never wakes you if he can help it. Takes night shifts. Warms bottles. Still quiet. Still reserved. But touches you more often now — almost absently. A thumb to your wrist. A hand at your back. Like he can’t not.

What’s Changed? Something in him has shifted — quietly, irreversibly. He was a man of logic. Now he’s a man of you. He doesn’t smile often — but when he looks at the twins, something in his eyes softens in a way he can’t quite explain. And every time you cry — from exhaustion, or joy, or pain — he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “Tell me what to fix.” Even if he knows he never could. Because he’ll try anyway. For as long as you’ll let him.

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

MR. CHU!

❤︎‬ sol wonders if you're interested in him after you ask about his piercings ❤︎‬ solivan brugmansia x gn reader ‪ ❤︎‬ wc: 2k ❤︎‬ content warning(s): yandere ❤︎‬ solivan brugmansia is from the kid at the back being developed by fantasia-kitt

Like everybody else in the school, you never used to pay much attention to the quiet kid in your art class. It really wasn’t until recently, when you had no choice but to shyly ask him if he’d like to be your partner for a class project, that you finally acknowledged Solivan Brugmansia’s existence. 

You don’t think too much of him. Even now, as he tries his best to pose for you as naturally as he can, your mind is preoccupied with the far-more colorful personalities at Olympeius University while you absentmindedly sketch the details of his face. You wonder what Crowe might be up to right now, or if Jess has made any progress with her ginormous crush on Brittney… 

Your eyes flicker up to where Sol is, and you try to pay close attention to the bottom half of his face. He’s a physically attractive young man, but aesthetics aside, you’re more worried about drawing Sol well so you can wring a good grade out of your insatiable art professor. You squint your eyes a bit, leering at Sol’s lips to try to make out all the details. It’s no biggie in your mind, since you need someone to model for you and you’re simply trying to make your drawing as accurate to life as possible, but Sol?

Sol thinks he’s going to asphyxiate from how fast and hard his heart is pounding.

He can’t believe his luck. It took him all the self control in his body not to start panicking and freaking out when you had approached him and asked him to be your partner, and now he got the honor of hogging all of your attention while you used him as a model. Would it be foolish of him to hope that you like what you see? He knows his fashion sense and style isn’t for everyone and tends to make him a target more than an object of admiration, but… you’re different. You’re understanding and compassionate, and maybe you’d find something worth loving in him.

“Hold still… I’m almost done here…,” you mutter, sticking your tongue out just a little bit as you scribble furiously onto your sketchpad. Sol’s heart skips a beat, and while he can feel a rush of dizziness immediately hit his brain at your cute tongue peeking out from between your lips, he doesn’t want to disappoint you ever. 

After a few determined strokes, you nod at him. For the first time since class started, Sol finally lets himself relax. His tense muscles groan as he finally allows himself to shift positions into a more comfortable seated position, and he looks expectantly at you as if he wants to see your creation. You’re like a mind reader, and without him having to say anything, you gingerly hand him your sketchbook. 

“I’m not an artist like you are, but… I tried my best,” you shyly admit. Sol’s breath hitches audibly when you scoot your seat a bit closer to him to explain to him your handiwork, but you don’t seem to notice. “I- uh- don’t know if I did your piercings justice since you have a lot, but I gave them a shot.”

You could have spat on the paper and handed it to him, and Sol would still treasure and revere it as if it were a masterpiece deserving to be displayed in the finest of art museums. Of course, he would never hand it over to anybody and keep it only for his personal viewing, but in his perspective, everything your hands could create was nothing if not holy. 

“It’s beautiful. You should give yourself more credit. You’re not a bad artist at all.” He thinks he’s going to pass out after class from just how happy he is. A shudder creeps down his spine as he relishes the thought of your eyes all over his face and body, him being the only thing to take up the forefront of your mind. What he wouldn’t give to know what you thought of him as you sketched his face. Just knowing that you cared enough about him to draw him makes him feel as if he’s on top of the world, and he can feel a warm flush overtake his pale cheeks. “Don’t worry too much about my piercings. I know metal can be hard to draw.”

“Yeah, but… I just feel a little bad. They look so cool on you.” You flash him an innocent smile, completely unaware of the mental anguish you’re putting the poor lovestruck boy through. “I’ll keep practicing! That way I’ll be able to draw you perfectly by the end of this project.”

His piercings? Cool? Sol’s heart genuinely can’t take this barrage. What is it about you that has him acting this way? What is it about you that makes him want to drag you away from everybody else and keep you all to himself, to worship and to love? The others around you don’t know how to fully appreciate your generosity and light, how you’re kind to everyone, even misfits like him. He’s the only one who knows how to properly care and cherish you, and he can’t let anybody else steal that role away from him. He’s spent so many sleepless nights chasing after your warmth, eating away bit by bit at the safety of the boundaries you’ve put up. 

Nothing can keep you safe from him. 

You don’t know anything about how he feels though. You’re pure and oblivious to his mental turmoil, completely unaware of the sheer effect you have on him. You keep looking at him as if he was nothing more than an eccentric classmate rather than someone you were fated to, just without your knowledge. You peer closely at his face, before lifting a delicate finger to point at his lips.

“Say Sol…,” you ask him, clearly absentmindedly based on how casual your tone is, “How do you kiss if you have lip piercings?”

…

…

…

Why did you have to ask him something like that?

Sol thinks his brain might have ceased functioning the moment you threw him that question. Nothing—absolutely nothing—has been able to reach him as he plays that memory over and over again in his head. Even the jeers of the school bullies or Hyugo’s incessant chatter couldn’t yank him out of his lovestruck reverie. Sol was on cloud nine, replaying the melodic cadence of your voice over and over and over again within his memories. He could never get sick of you or your many details. Every little bit of information he could glean from you was so precious that he could spend the rest of his life in sheer ecstasy at how perfect you were. 

Hyugo was used to it at this point and knew not to question it. But whenever Sol entered into these almost drunken stupors, it was hard for Hyugo to not worry about him a bit. Sol’s cheeks are dyed a ridiculous shade of bright red, and his hands tremble uncontrollably as he fidgets with his fingers. There’s a lopsided grin on his face, and if Hyugo really pays attention, he can make out a lovesick sigh escape the eccentric young man every now and then.

Sol just wishes he could actually peer into your mind and figure out what you thought of him! What made you ask him such a risque question? Were you interested in him? You had to be somewhat, if you initiated the partnership with him and even called his style cool… Nobody else talked about him that way. Nobody else, save for you, found him interesting. What if you had a crush on him too? Was that why you asked him about kissing? Was this your way of encouraging him to amp up his advances?

It meant that you had to be thinking about his lips. About kissing him specifically. Sol could feel his heart rate pick up dangerously again as he imagines your sweet face approaching his, closing the impossible distance between the two of you bit by bit. How many years, grueling moments, had he waited for this to take place? Maybe you’d be shy and only leave him with a quick peck to his mouth. Or maybe you’d be more gutsy and press your lips fully onto his, making out with him in a way that leaves both of you breathless and gasping for air. His heart squeezes almost painfully inside of his chest at the thought of you being so close, doing something so mundane yet so intimate, showing him a kind of romantic affection that nobody else could share with you…

He wants so badly to be the only one in your eyes. Each minute of class with you feels like torture. He wants nothing more than to close that gap. It doesn’t have to be anything big: placing his big hand on top of yours, poking your nose whenever you get distracted, all the small things that come so easily for normal couples. Kissing would just be the first step. What else could come after? There was a whole myriad of things he could dream of. He’d escort you dutifully to every single one of your classes so that everybody in this school would know that you were his. 

You’d spend more and more time together, and surely, one day you’d invite him over to your apartment that he’s secretly grown so familiar with… Just thinking about it makes his skin bristle with excitement. If everything went as planned, as easily as his daydreams made it look, then he could finally have you in the way that he wanted most.

You had to reciprocate somewhat. You just had to be interested in him as much as he was interested in you. That was what that quick question meant to him, your words construed and twisted beyond belief inside of his delusional thoughts. 

Hyugo puffs one of his cheeks out and peers at his daydreaming friend with a bit of concern. “Are you gonna eat your lunch, Sunny?”

Sol doesn’t respond at all. Hyugo sighs and shakes his head before tapping the side of Sol’s arm. 

“I asked you a question!” The shorter man points at the untouched food in Sol’s lap. Sol bristles to life, the hearts in his eyes melting away as they refocus and Hyugo enters his field of vision again. Hyugo points once again at the abandoned food and raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

Sol deadpans. If Hyugo’s presence wasn’t so convenient, he would have sent Hyugo flying to his death from the rooftop for interrupting his precious time with daydream-you. He lets Hyugo take the food before letting his mind wander again, wind blowing through his air as he wonders what you might be up to right now. Were you thinking of him too? Would you be thinking of him even when he’s not within your immediate vicinity.

He wants to see you so badly right now. He wishes he was in class again, for the first time in his life, so that he could have you right next to him and monopolize your time as he pleases. But Sol knows he has to be patient. One wrong step would have his great expectations come toppling down, and he would rather die than live in a world where he can’t have you anymore.

So he makes up his mind there and then. There was no room for hesitation. You had finally noticed him after all of his time lurking in the shadows, and these passive moments weren’t enough to satisate the brutal appetite you had awoken inside of him. He needs more. He needs more of your time. He needs more of your love. 

If you were so curious about him and his piercings, so curious about the way he kissed, then he’d make the answer as simple as it could get.

He’ll kiss you tomorrow and show you just how he does it.

x

[mashtatosworld]

number 1

summary: it's your baby's first birthday

You found him at 2am again, perched on the windowsill in the soft glow of the city lights, his iPad balanced on his knee, stylus tapping rhythmically against the screen. His hair stuck up in every direction, the product of stress, perfectionism, and love.

“She’s turning one, Ji,” you murmured from the bed, eyes glued to your show on the tv. “She’s not debuting."

Jiyong’s gaze flicked up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s her first birthday.”

He said it like that was answer enough.

You sighed, but the truth was - you loved it. The way he loved her with every obsessive, over-the-top fibre of his being. The way his genius, the same brilliance that had made him so adored, now poured into balloon colour palettes and custom hanbok sketches.

Meanwhile, your contribution sat quietly on the kitchen counter - a lopsided, homemade cake, decorated with flowers and uneven piping. It was imperfect, but it was made by your hands, the same hands that had cradled her when she was only minutes old.

“I’ll handle the cake,” you had told him the day before, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he stood over his table-sized blueprint of the living room transformation. “You handle... everything else.”

He grinned, eyes still pinned to the papers. “Deal.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The first thing you noticed when you woke up that morning wasn’t the sound of Diva calling for her morning rescue from her crib - it was the empty side of the bed.

A rarity, especially on mornings like this, when Jiyong usually snuggled closer, soaking in every second of sleep until his daughter’s demands pulled him away.

The soft rustle of paper drew you out of bed, padding down the hall until you found him.

He was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, barefoot and in his stripy red pyjamas, his legs crossed beneath him. All around him were photo albums, some open, some stacked haphazardly, and in his lap lay Diva’s first baby book - the one you filled with trembling hands in those first newborn weeks, when everything felt so fragile and new.

His thumb was tracing over a photo - when she was only hours old, a tiny burrito in a hospital blanket, her dark hair already thick, her hand gripping his finger like she knew exactly who he was.

“She was just born,” he said quietly, not even looking up. His voice was rough, words thick with the kind of disbelief only parents truly understand.

You stepped closer, lowering yourself beside him until your knee brushed his. “She still is, kinda. One’s still a baby.”

He finally looked at you, and your heart clenched at the shine in his eyes. “It’s going too fast.”

You could’ve said something comforting - that you understood, that you felt it too - but you knew he wasn’t looking for reassurances. He just needed to sit in it, to hold the weight of time in his hands for a minute before letting it go.

“I thought if I planned everything perfectly, maybe I wouldn’t have to think about it,” he admitted, his smile small and self-deprecating. “If I controlled all of today, I wouldn’t feel so…”

“So helpless?” you offered gently.

He huffed out a soft laugh. “Yeah.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, letting silence settle between you for a beat. “She’s not going anywhere, Ji.”

His arm came around you automatically, fingers tracing absent patterns on your thigh. “But she’s already so different. She used to fit right here.” He held out his hand, palm up, like he could still feel the ghost of her newborn weight. “Now she’s… walking and talking... and bossing me around.”

“Yeah... she’s got her Appa wrapped around her little finger.”

“From day one.” His voice wobbled, just slightly, and you turned to press a kiss to his jaw, feeling the tension there.

“She’s going to have the best day today,” you promised. “Because you made it that way.”

“She deserves it,” he whispered. “She deserves everything.”

Before you could respond, a tiny, familiar voice broke through the air, travelling through door with painted flowers, sweet and insistent.

“Appa,” Diva’s call rang out, followed by the sound of her hands slapping the crib rail. “Appa!”

Jiyong’s breath caught - the crack of emotion smoothing into something warmer, something softer. “Okay,” he whispered, like he was answering her and himself at the same time. “Okay. I’m ready.”

You smiled, tugging his hand until you were both on your feet. “Let’s go throw her the party of the year.”

He pulled you into a quick hug, arms tight around your middle, before he kissed your temple and headed down the hall. And just before he disappeared into her room, you heard him - voice bright and sweet and full of love.

“Happy birthday, my baby.”

And that was all he needed to say.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

By mid-morning, the penthouse was unrecognisable - a floral wonderland of soft pink, gold, and ivory. Fairy lights draped from the ceiling like stars caught in a net, and sheer fabric cascaded down the windows, diffusing the light so the whole place looked like a dream sequence come to life.

The long, low table that stretched across the center was covered in silk runners and overflowing with tiny desserts: macarons, baby-sized cupcakes, delicate fruit tarts - each one the size of Diva’s fist. And at the very end of the table, your cake stood proudly on a simple white stand, a little crooked, a little messy, but yours.

Jiyong, dressed in vintage Chanel that matched your dress, hovered nearby, stylus still in hand as he made last-minute adjustments to… something. Probably the custom playlist.

“Don’t touch the cake,” you warned, catching him side-eyeing it.

“I wasn’t going to.” His face betrayed him - a flash of worry, his designer heart twitching at the sight of the imperfect frosting and wonky flowers.

You smacked his shoulder gently. “It’s made with love.”

“Just like our baby.” He smiled, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to your lips.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Diva hadn’t touched the ground once all day.

From the moment Taeyang and Hyorin walked in, bearing gifts wrapped so perfectly they could’ve been art, Diva had been handed off from one loving pair of arms to the next.

“Look at this hanbok,” Hyorin cooed, adjusting the soft pink fabric. “She looks like a little princess.”

“She is a princess,” Jiyong corrected from across the room, where he was rearranging a floral centrepiece for the third time.

Daesung arrived with a helium balloon tied to his wrist and a mission to make her giggle, which was usually a very hard task - if you weren't her uncle Dae. He flashed her goofy smiles accompanied by loud singing, earning himself a half-smile in seconds. She was in hysterics by the end of his balloon dance.

Seunghyun stood awkwardly nearby, waiting for his turn, holding a suspiciously heavy box that if you were to guess, contained some sort of avant-garde sculpture.

“She’s been held all day,” you said as Jiyong came up beside you, his hand finding the small of your back. “She probably forgot what the floor feels like.”

“She’s training,” Jiyong teased, watching your baby clutch Taeyang’s chain necklace like a prized treasure. “VIP baby life.”

But when she spotted her Appa, her tiny hands immediately reached for him, her whole body leaning toward him with unmistakable need.

“Sorry, hyungs.” Jiyong scooped her up, tucking her perfectly into his side like they were two puzzle pieces made to fit. “She plays favourites.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

When it came time for the cake, everyone gathered around the low table - your homemade masterpiece glowing in the candlelight.

“My talented wife made it,” Jiyong announced, louder than necessary.

“Really?” Taeyang’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “It looks...”

“Charming,” Seunghyun offered, which was probably the closest thing to a compliment he’d ever given.

Jiyong leaned down over your shoulder, cheek pressed to yours, “It’s perfect.”

Diva was then placed in her high chair between you and Jiyong, staring at the cake with wide eyes. When you guided her tiny hand to the frosting, she gasped - delighted at the sticky sweetness.

In seconds, her whole face was covered, her tiny fingers grabbing fistfuls of cake and smashing it into her mouth, her hair, her hanbok. The whole room erupted into laughter, cameras flashing.

“You’re just like your Appa,” you giggled. “All or nothing.”

“We know what we like.” Jiyong kissed the frosting off her cheek, laughing when she smacked a sticky hand against his face.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Finally, it was time for the doljabi - the traditional fortune-telling ritual.

On the table lay a small selection of carefully curated items: a paintbrush, a book, a tiny gold crown, a camera, and a microphone. All symbols of different futures.

The microphone, however, stood out - sparkly, bedazzled, and unmistakably Jiyong’s.

“Ji,” you deadpanned. “That’s your mic.”

“Oh, is it?” he shrugged, feigning innocence as if he hadn't set the items down himself. He knew she always whined to touch it, hands out-stretched to the mantelpiece where it was usually displayed.

“She’s gonna pick it,” you muttered. “Of course she is.”

As soon as she was set down, Diva's tiny fingers wasted no time reaching for the glittering item placed in the centre of objects. She raised it to her mouth as if it was a teething ring and Jiyong quickly intercepted with a laugh when she began to smack the table with it.

“She’s our daughter,” Jiyong grinned, lifting her high above his head. “Born to perform.”

“Let's hope she's not as much of a diva as you then.” you teased as your baby held the mic in your direction, offering you the item covered in drool.

But you couldn’t deny the pride swelling in your chest at the sight of your little family. Music had been what brought you together, and it was clear, that was something that wouldn't change.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The birthday party slowly developed into a YG family reunion and you shook your head at the performance your husband and his bandmates were currently putting on.

Diva was falling asleep in your arms, completely unaware of the embarrassment she was serenaded with as Daesung belted out her name whilst the party-goers crowded around the mini stage Jiyong had insisted upon.

Now you knew why.

You held your baby closer to your chest, feeling a pulse of love weave through you. One year ago, as your labour pains started, you'd been terrified to birth a child into the world. You worried for your career, your love life, your friendships... fearing they would all unravel at such a big change.

But in the end, she'd been the stitch that pulled everything together.

Fantastic Baby started playing and Diva's head raised just slightly as all the boys pointed at her, the so-called 'fantastic baby' in sight.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Hours later, after the final guest left and the last balloon drifted to the ceiling, you found yourselves curled up on the couch - just the three of you.

Your baby, now in a soft and warm onesie, lay between you and Jiyong, her hands still occasionally grabbing for his hair.

The penthouse was a mess - an overwhelmingly large pile of presents, crumpled wrapping paper, half-eaten desserts scattered across the table - but none of it mattered.

“We did good,” you whispered.

“We always do,” Jiyong replied, his voice soft, his fingers trailing over Diva’s tiny hand.

“But… you were right.”

“About what?” he asked with a soft smile.

“Everything,” you said, carefully laying your head atop your baby's as she eventually settled. “Today... It was perfect.”

He leaned down to kiss the top of your head, dropping his own to rest on yours, exhausted from months of planning and a full day of entertaining.

And in the quiet that followed, with your daughter asleep between you, and your husband wrapped around you both, you realised - this was the real party. Just the three of you.

The most perfect gift of all.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

as requested! loving the diva requests, writing them makes me melt <3

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure

[signedeclipse]

Ooh, i found your page, and i saw your prompt post about the Multiple/All hashira have feelings for the reader who is the best swordsmith and all want their swords done by her, I think it be funny to also add Hotaru Haganezuka to the mix and him also being like "im not sharing my fellow Smith back off!" :D

I think all would be funny with all hashira, but anyone underage it's like I admire you and you are now my older sibling/parent now.

Giyuu | Gyomei | Mitsuri | Muichiro | Obanai | Sanemi | Shinobu [X Reader]

In which you are the best swordsmith, and the hashira you're assigned to adore you.

Giyuu

He never deserved any kind of special blade, special treatment, or anything above what the average person got

At least, thats how Giyuu thought about things

Recently, his swordsmith had retired, and while he had stated he didn't care who got the job, there was still pressure for him to pick since it was considered some kind of honour

During his visit to the village, he met you at an izakaya, where you were talking with the owner about your proposal for the 'hashira in town'

He felt bad for walking in, knowing you didn't intend for him to hear anything, so he immediately tried to hide in the corner and finish his food sooner

Unfortunately, the owner immediately pointed him out, and asked him to come over to talk to you

Both of you were red with embarrassment, and Giyuu had to insist you stop apologizing

You were nervous about talking about the design, but eventually he caught the gist that you wanted to repurpose another sword into his since older steel was more valuable

You'd clearly done your research because you knew of him and Sabito, and you offered to use Sabito's left-over ore to add to his for some more sentimental value

Giyuu was really keen about the idea, and before the choosing ceremony could occur, he presented himself to Lord Tecchin to request you become his permanent swordsmith

Gyomei

Nichirin blades were the most common weapon used by demon slayers

Gyomei had started with one, but he quickly found his attacks were focused on the impact, and less on the perfect point of precision

He needed something different, but he wasn't sure what

Being a bother was something he hated doing, but he took it upon himself to visit the swordsmith village so he could meet with Lord Tecchin

Even Tecchin was unsure, until one of his guards spoke about you, a budding swordsmith with a less traditional outlook on weapons

Gyomei was willing to try, and he was glad he did

You were a natural creative, he could hear your charcoal sketching along parchment even as it was hidden below melancholic humming

You were interested in his assessment of his inability to use nichirin to its best potential, and after considering several forms of weapons, you both landed on something that could act at various ranges

The flail was a deadly weapon on a stick, but you proposed keeping it on a chain would help him control it, since he could vary how much length he gave the flail to move

"It'll be heavy, though, and hard to know where it's going. How much can you lift?"

"Several thousand kilograms."

"Ah."

You were at a loss for words, but you took him seriously and began working

Gyomei actually had a hand in helping make them, because you could barely carry the flail moulds, let alone the finished product

You instructed his hands on how to feel the weapon, gave him suggestions on use, and described its appearance so he could adjust the colours as he liked

Your patience was appreciated, and Gyomei took it upon himself to make sure you were treated extremely well after the week of gruelling work

Mitsuri

Mitsuri had a very special blade

It needed to be thin enough to bend, but thick enough to remain still when not moving

The only person who had ever managed this perfect precision was Lord Tecchin, but as he grew older, the task became harder

So, there was a contest for a replacement; anyone who wanted to could join

You were intrigued by the idea, but you'd had trouble in the past with your experimental blades, so much so that some friends of yours suggested you leave yourself out

But you wanted to give it a try, besides, you'd heard great things about the love Hashira, and you were sure she wouldn't be mean about it if it didn't meet her standards

Your best idea was to use something other than the scarlet ore to give it further reinforcement, so you created an alluminium-steel alloy that could be coated in scarlet ore by melting the scarlet crimson Iron Sand, which was more flexible than the ore

It resulted in a long, thin, and sturdy blade that could handle nearly triple the force of its original, though it wasn't as flexible as before

On the day of the contest, Mitsuri was extremely interested in your process, and you got to see your creation in its moving form for the first time

Mitsuri was extremely talented, and she had no problem bending the sword with her whipped movements

As it turns out, she had to be careful with her previous swords because she had gotten too strong for them and they got too loose

You easily won, and Mitsuri was beyond joyed to know her swordsmith was not only talented, but also extremely pretty!

She's always sketching herself with her sword on the letters she sends to you and often inviting you out to eat

Expect a lot of recipes sent your way, and a lot of sweet messages detailing how excited she is to see you again

Muichiro

Swords were the least of his concerns when it came to slaying demons

They should always be perfect, always kill without getting in his way; he shouldn't have to ever think about it

But after his run-in with Tanjiro and his previous swordsmith passing away, the concerns bubbled up

He didn't have time to spend waiting on some smith to make something comparable to what he wielded, he needed something just as good, if not better

So the search began, and of course, your name popped up a lot when he'd ask who was 'the best'

You were young, close to his age, and you were hard at work when he found you

Muichiro ignores every craftsman sword hung upon your wall, disregards every talent, and demands you take him on

But stubborn meets stubborn, and when you say no, hes taken back

What do you mean 'no'? Do you have any idea how much of a speck you are compared to him?

The challenge you present nags at him, and he decides youre not worth it; he can always ask someone else

But the idea of anything less than perfect, the annoyance of you denying him, it manages to peer through the mind fog several times to the point of annoyance

Fine, he'll say please and apologize, because your craftsmanship is worth it

When he does get his sword, he's even more irked that it never so much as scratches, and works extremely hard to try and break it just so he can tell everyone you aren't as good as they say

It never happens

Obanai

No one could get his concept right

A lot of people thought he wanted what Mitsuri had, which he thought was extremely well crafted, but it wasn't exactly what he needed

Mitsuri had the arm strength to handle a weapon that long and precise, but he needed something smaller, more sturdy, but with 'joints' of weakness

His concept was rejected by many, and his frustration was beginning to boil

When you came up to him, requesting to make it, he had already given up and mentioned he was leaving soon, and not to bother him

Even after leaving the village and resigning into using the typical blade, he was surprised when you found your way all the way out to his mission point just to deliver him a weapon he never asked for

He didn't like that someone had intruded on his mission, but when you were both attacked and he had a chance to use it, he had a hard time being mad

The weak points of the weapon started far apart and got closer together near the top, giving the blade a wave-like appearance that certainly looked odd

But when moved with enough force and velocity, the joints could be bent further to reach around corners in odd ways, following his movements with a latency that let him fit it through impossible holes and bends

It was everything he was looking for and more, considering he only proposed two joints and you'd delivered nearly twenty in a blade as short as seventy centimetres

Hes impressed, but hes still mad you made this journey and put yourself in danger, so of course he is going to take you all the way back to the village

Personally

With no one else

And listen to you talk the whole time

Yea

Sanemi

Sure, swords were important, but he didn't give them much thought

He was always getting new ones because his always chipped, snapped, and scratched with all the force he was putting on them

The blades were built for flesh, but he didn't care, he practiced cutting rocks and throwing the blade like it was some kind of toy

Eventually, his destructive tendancy drove his swordsmith to quitting, as many others had, and he was once again called into the village to find another

The choosing ceremony was skipped with him, since it often ended up with him insulting everyone and picking the person who cried the least

So now he just went from workshop to workshop, looking at what people could offer

Your workshop looked the newest, with freshly varnished wood and some construction materials still left on the side of the den you worked out of

It was just you in the workshop, with new bulletin boards already covered in sketches and schematics, and a shelf of ores labelled by size, strength, and purity

Sanemi figured since you were new, you'd take longer to break and give up, so he resigned to Lord Tecchin whom he had picked and challenged you to have it done by the next day

It was an impossible challenge, but that was the point

Even so, the next day you were at his door by the crack of dawn, not one, but two identicle blades ready for him to retrieve

They were perfect, left matte instead of shining, and sharp enough to cut a perfect lien through the most delicate and loose fabric

Sanemi hated to admit it, but he appreciated that you'd at least already prepared him a replacement

When he tried them out for the first time, he finds they last a lot longer, and it takes him several months for a chip to occur in it

Even then, he has a second one, so for the first time in years, he's been away from the village for more than six months

You're not perfect, but you're certainly good, and he's thrilled to see what more you can do with a few more years of practice

Shinobu

When Shinobu first started toying with the idea of wisteria poison as an effective killing method, the hardest part was figuring out how to apply it to a blade

Injection was most effective, but needles were chunky and harder to get into demons campared to something broad like a nichirin blade

So she was reffered to you, and you drafted up several ideas that you felt she might enjoy

Other swordmen felt it was an insult to the dark, to remove the central half of the blade, but it was the easiest way for her to have something light without shortening the blade or thinning it out and risking it snapping

The planning resulted in a very unique blade but an even more unique sheath

Shinobu hadn't asked, but you lined it with a spongy fabric so that she could fill it with the poison and automatically apply itself along the blade

It had a drain, anti-microbial and anti-rusting additions, and a beautiful handpainted pattern along its outside.

The amount of thought you put into it really astonished her, and while she never had issues with the design, Shinobu made sure to have a bi-annual trip to visit you

Along with the many letters she would send with news and treats from the butterfly mansion

Being able to share her experiences with you with other hashira or corps members gives her a sense of pride, especially when she gets to show off something she used to view as a sign of weakness

Authors Note - I have wanted to write this prompt for SO LONG!! Its a lot of characters, so I apologize but I left out Uzio, Kyojuro, and Haganezuka to focus on those I had the most ideas for!

Thank you for requesting, anon!

[eobe]

And here he is – Captain Vaughn 🤩

Captain Rex didn’t feel like being Commander, but this is how we got Captain Vaughn, showing his loyalty and kindness only within moments in the 332nd company for Ahsoka (s7e9), so he's one of the underrated clones which would have deserved more sceentime *sigh* ♥️

We never got to see his face, so there’s so much space for head canons, isn’t it? 🥰 His look in this piece is inspired by this gorgeous look (<-) designed by @lonewolflupe 🫶 

I also want to share some process magic while I was working on Captain Vaughn, so ramble incoming 😁 Take a seat and have a caf ☕️ 

It’s always the eyes when I draw. They just lead the main energy of the character and that influences the face. So I sketched line after line and his face got clearer… with some unforeseen vibes! Since I’m not that fixed to templates anymore, there can be more variation, no matter how much I try to catch the right copy paste clone-face angles... or even colors 🤯 

Have a closer look into unusual clone eyes, oh yes 👀

Lupe and I were chatting about his lighter look with freckles in her artwork (a bit Tech color palette with golden and copper tones) and I told her that I don’t know why, but I feel like some heterochromia in his eyes 😀 So his eyes are like this now – not planned and unforeseen, like it is often when art takes over ✨

I really don’t know what the Kaminoans were doing during the cloning process 😂 but we got some varied clones – for example ‚icy eyes‘ Edge from the Tango company, or the blue eyed drunk one meeting Fives in front of the 79s (I named him ‚Blues‘ hehe 😜).

Without guiding my lines along a template, doing everything out of my mind, sometimes I might get either feeling like crooked fingers or odd sight, but this can be the point where the true art magic begins, because I’m not in charge anymore. I can only shrug and surrender to the flow and I love it 🥰

So I don’t know when it happened, but look at him… 👀 WHY does he look a bit like Echo? AND Rex? And there’s something soft in his eyes what reminds me of Kix, too? And it just fits his calm and loyal character!

For Commander Wolffe for example it could never be this face and it would never happen in the drawing process like that, it wouldn’t fit, but… I’m rambling – I could never point to the lines or the moment where things like this happen. Yeah, they’re all clones and share the same face, but faces do shape after their thoughts, experiences and their lives – more frowning or more smiling 😀

Oh, I love this. Not really being in charge while drawing, but achieving so much more without being under the illusion of the concept of control what is we’re all be taught… holy force I’m really rambling and diving

Sorry not sorry, art is my passion I guess and art is my healing thing, too 🤩 I’m proud of you, if you read all this! Enjoy 🫶 

My personal ALT text mission (1 additional ALT text for a previous artwork with each new art posting!):

Captain Gregor's faces part 1 one of my oldest clone drawings, what an improving process since then, I barely can't believe it 🤩

Taglist: @eclec-tech @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @vrycurious @dystopicjumpsuit @chaicilatte @groguandthebadbatch @justanotherdikutsimp @ladylucksrogue

[yayasvalveplay]

YAYA, LIKE A SLEEPER AGENT I RISEEE AT THE MENTION OF TRONUS

AHHH I GOT A HALF ASS SKETCH BECAUSE IM STARTING OFF ON THE RELATIONSHIP STUFF WITH TRONUS IS 🥁 ✨️

THE MATRIX ITSELF

Aka me on my way to give Megatron more reasons to hate the Matrix: 🏃‍♀️

So you know how while I'm not too keen on the idea of Ghost Orion, Tronus DOES deserve to at least see or be held by his carrier.

Even if he doesn't remember after waking up. Even if his carrier... isn't actually his carrier....

The Matrix isn't malicious, it genuinely isn't. Even when it takes control of Tronus; it does eventually become aware of his emotional distress, especially when the sparkling learns and struggles at first to understand that his carrier is gone...

It's a miserable time for the sparkling. Even when he does eventually get used to it, and learns more and more about the world around him

So when it comes to choosing a being who is still a child.

it comes to the efficient conclusion to teach Tronus, more effective so Tronus can learn more about leadership and what not, in a way to comfort the still new sparkling who should be in his real tiny frame, care free, warm forged, in the arms of his carrier. .

Simple... take the form of Orion... as close as it can get... the helm and servos were the most important parts, the parts that will pass as Orion because the Matrix doesn't have a complete picture of Orion Pax, cogless or cogged, so it sticks to a plain featureless frame expect for the head/servos.

'Orion's' face is usually shadowed, unless Tronus is close and staring directly at him, then the blue optics will appear as if loading in.

Tronus will always forget about his 'carrier' after waking up; while he'll remember the lessons and advice, he wont remember method. This is so that the young prime doesn't become distracted/distressed by his missing 'carrier'.

It's more easier at this time as Tronus is still very much new and still under treatment with Ratchet, Shockwave and Knockout before he can be allowed out. The three are responsible for whatever medical issues he may have. So Tronus is very trusting and naive, when he's dreaming, he DOES genuinely believe that this is his carrier.

It works for now.

Plus some extra notes for other design ideas with 'Orion'. I'm still working on this part, and whether or not I add this into the au witg me wanting to talk a little more about Tronus's relationships, let me know what you think ^^

Mion I fucking love this concept of the Matrix putting together 'Orion' in Tronus dreams to give him lessons. Someone has to give the new prime lessons.

And while his family sure can do that. Tronus doesn't know what it is meant to think like a prime. So the Matrix does what it thinks is the best option for the little prime.

[partycatty]

i had a vision and drew it - and even better, i got a fic idea from it!

johnny cage > discovery

johnny discovers his new powers unexpectedly. maybe he wasn't as ordinary as others thought.

warnings: johnny thinks he's dying and gets all crisis-y, established relationship

notes: imagine instead of activating his powers in a life or death situation, it randomly bodyslams him like a heart attack - and it scares the hell out of him. also i hope u like my silly sketch :3

masterlist <3

• johnny's life was crumbling. his movies were flopping hard, and people were starting to forget his name. his spending habits were out of control, and you two were arguing about it so much that you grew tired of hearing your own voice. most days were the cold shoulder or shouting matches. things weren't looking great.

• it was during one of these matches when the shouting on his end abruptly paused, and he doubled over. your anger was shoved aside as you dashed forward to inspect his current state. but, just as soon as it started, it was over in a flash. johnny was startled, to say the least. his eyes were wide and he was panting.

• you guys assumed the stress was taking a toll on him, a physical toll. out of respect for his well-being, you held your tongue from that point on. or at least, you tried to. everything was relatively quiet until a mysterious yakuza member demanded the sword on your shared mantle. you would've thrown it at him if given the opportunity since the damn thing sent you back millions. johnny, however, wasn't as willing. fortunately for your safety's concern, he was the ultimate home security system, tying up the man after knocking him unconscious.

• we all know the rest. "what in the actual-" "i am the god of fire" "get your damn hands off him" "that's no special effect" "change the arc of your lives." blah blah blah. it was all a weird blur. apparently, you, johnny, and this new "friend" of yours were all chosen to fight for something bigger than a malibu disagreement. you were a fighter alongside your husband, but you did it competitively. johnny did it for the cameras, which isn't to say he's worse naturally. he could kick ass, and so could you, just in different directions.

• liu kang warned everyone that training would take months, as the tournament was far down the line. johnny grew impatient, and you grew tense with his lack of eagerness to actually train. regardless, you sparred and took the monk's advices to heart.

• johnny wouldn't tell you at first, since he didn't want to distract your own progress, but he would oftentimes catch himself feeling... funny, for lack of a better phrase. during meals, his eyes would unfocus and his hearing sounded underwater. at night, he'd toss and turn for hours in the cot beside yours. something felt wrong, really wrong. his chest felt fluttery and cold, like a sprite weaving between his ribs. it scared the holy hell out of him, considering how prone is family is to heart attacks.

• "great session! whaddya say to a well-deserved break?" he'd announce out of concealed desperation to the other earthrealmers, hoping that someone would agree and he'd be able to excuse himself to loosen his collar and sit down for a moment. it was after the fifth time asking in a day that you approached him with genuine concern.

• "honey, are you alright?" you asked gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. his eyes followed your touch and he sighed, moving your hand to his chest.

• "i-i'm afraid," he'll confess quietly, glancing behind you to make sure nobody was overhearing his moment of worry. "i haven't been feeling well, but i can't just drop everything and leave. not when my career's in the shithole. we've got nothing to return to. this fire god guy needs me, needs us, and i know damn well you'd follow me out if i stepped back from all of this."

• johnny's tragic worry struck a chord in your heart and you couldn't help but agree with his words. you advised him to ask a monk about decongestant tea, or some other simple remedy that would keep you at the academy.

• things died down, or at least, johnny's pain wouldn't be verbalized for a while. you and the boys were actually gaining significant strength and conditioning with the brutal training regime liu kang assigned. when he felt everyone was finally prepared to choose a champion, he assembled a king of the hill type of tournament on campus grounds.

• you stood between johnny and kenshi, a palpable tension on your husband's shoulders. his jaw was clenched tight, as were his fists. he looked... terrified. this wasn't a normal expression for the star.

• "johnny?" you whisper to him, reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his. before you could fully articulate your concerns, he speaks up.

• "i don't feel well," he murmurs in return, eyes fixated at the platform in front of you all. he visibly pales.

• liu kang calls you to the platform as the first contestant, and you obediently oblige with a bow, waiting for further instruction. your eyes danced across your potential competitors — raiden and kung lao, the humble farmers. kenshi, the enigmatic swordsman... and your husband, who looked as if he was shitting himself and moments away from puking.

• "you will face (reader), johnny cage."

• "a-are you sure? because that's my spouse, and i'd hate to—"

• liu kang frowns. johnny puts his hands up in a surrender motion, a pathetic attempt at remaining playful, and hoists himself to the platform across from you. his position readies, as does yours.

• though he may be visibly under the weather, the technique is still there. johnny's fighting style is unique and calculate, effortlessly playful and charismatic, just like him. even so, the match becomes quite even as you're familiar with his style. you parry many blows, mirroring others. the crowd is pleased and excited by the potential outcomes.

• you land a good kick to johnny's face, sending him spiraling in the air and landing on his back with a deep thud. the color in his face returns (due to the bruising) as he stares up at you, licking his lips before flourishing his way back up.

• but then, he lets out a strained cry.

• johnny clutches his chest, clawing at the layers of fabric across his body as if they're an anvil sitting atop his torso. his face twists as he doubled over in complete agony.

• "by the elder gods!" liu kang shouts, standing from his spectator chair. others let out their own concerns and shouts, but you're the first one rocketing to his side. you get to his level to inspect his face. you make a desperate attempt to push his damp hair from his face, but his neck snaps the other way as his body tries to expel this sudden onslaught of pain.

• as the fear that a heart attack is imminent, a sudden glow of green burns bright even past johnny's robes. it spills out like an angry cloud, seeping through johnny's fingers as he cries out in the worst pain he'd ever experienced. it is here that liu kang tenses up, then relaxes. he steps to the side, and does nothing but watch blankly. you come closer and part his clothing, giving yourself access to his bare chest to inspect the source.

• shockingly, the problem is... internal. his veins are glowing a bright green shade and when his eyes aren't deeply clenched, you sense a faint trace of emerald in his irises. right where his heart is, is a rhythmic flashing pattern.

• "make it stop!" johnny begs helplessly, and you reply on the verge of tears that you don't know how to help. however, almost as if on cue, he takes a deep breath inward and sits upright, eyes wide and jaw slack. and, just like that, everything seems normal again.

• you run your hand frantically across his bare skin, trying to feel for abnormalities as he catches his breath. you're crying now from the fear, and you catch a glimpse at his watery eyes.

• "are you okay?!" kung lao asks, putting a hand on his back to help him stabilize. "what was that?!"

• "i don't know..." johnny breathlessly replies, reaching a hand up to fix his hair nervously. however, as his hand traveled upward, he noticed the same emerald aura clouding around his hands, and he shouts out and scurries as if he's trying to run away from his own arm. as it's outstretched, it shoots a ball of energy outward, frying a mannequin that sat innocently off to the side. the crowd's eyes go from the mannequin and back to the celebrity. your fists ball up on his back, fistfuls of fabric keeping you upright otherwise you'd fall back from shock.

• "that is not how i anticipated that happening this time," liu kang muttered, coming closer to inspect johnny's palms. johnny stares at his hands like they grew overnight. his eyes shoot to the fire god, incredulous.

• "what the hell do you mean, 'this time?!'"

[albatris]

I need you to know it’s been like 12 hours since I saw that post and Jasper is Still living rent free inside my head. Do you have an excerpt about him? A sketch? A fun fact??? Tell me more about him PWEEZ

"Nathaniel Finch was a person," Jasper said slowly. "And I understand how… confusing this all must be for you. But you’re not Nathaniel Finch anymore, you’re—"

"I’m Nathaniel Finch," Nat cut in, starting to panic. "I never stopped being Nat. I’m still—you know I'm a person, right?"

Jasper took a moment. Sighed again. He spoke in the same special, delicate tone therapists used to use on him when he’d taken a skip out of reality. When they were compromising on the language they used and not the ideas.

"Yes. Of course," Jasper said. "What I mean to say is… well, you’re aware by now you’re not alone in there. The… entity, known colloquially as the Garble, makes you an exceptional danger to yourself and others." He added with a sharp look, "Mostly others."

"Come on," Nat protested. "I had things under control just fine."

"You think this life is what Nathaniel Finch wants?" Jasper raised his eyebrows. "You think hunting and consuming other human beings counts as under control?"

"Yes," Nat said. "I mean, no, but I—they were bad people. I’m doing my best. I’m making the best choices I can!"

"This is what I mean," Jasper said. "Listen to yourself! Healthy, well-adjusted humans don’t think like this, don’t crave the things you crave. You want to justify what you’re doing! You’re trying to convince me it’s normal! You’re convinced it’s normal! I know you don’t feel like you’ve changed, but you're someone else now."

"No. No, you don’t—you don’t know what you’re talking about," Nat said. "Of course I’ve changed. Fuck, I know I’m not human anymore, but I’m not not myself, though, I—I just adjusted! I adapted!"

Jasper lifted both his hands, placating. "Now, now. It’s normal to feel nervous. It’s normal to feel defensive," he said. "The vampiric instinct for self-preservation is an especially strong one, haven’t you found? I'm not trying to start a fight."

"I’m the only one here," Nat snapped. "It’s all the same. I’m all the same. Something—something new got added but it’s not separate from me and—"

"It’s alright," Jasper said. "You don’t have to justify yourself to me, really. I just wanted to set something straight, alright? No one here is going to lay a hand on Nathaniel Finch." He offered a tight-lipped smile. "So if you're Nat, you have nothing at all to worry about."

JASPER! he's such a horrible little man

I've toyed with the idea of a tragic backstory for Jasper, some capital R Reason he does what he does, but honestly

while March is in this for the money and the fame, Jasper's mostly in it because he genuinely loves it! he's fascinated by what the human body is capable of but he restrains himself from dissecting other humans, so when the opportunity arises for him to dissect something human-shaped that he can neatly box away as A Soulless Monster, he jumps at the chance. Jasper's not in it for the greater good, he's in it because it's a good time!

at the same time, though, Jasper TELLS himself it's for the greater good. he constructs this image of vampires as creatures that do not have human emotions nor the capacity for love and friendship... vampires manipulate humans and play with their food and enjoy inflicting pain..... any "positive" relationship a vampire has with a human is just a manipulation tactic to either kill that human or gain access to other humans to kill. vampires deserve to hurt! vampires deserve to be punished! there's no moral issue with harming a vampire, in fact, you'd be doing the world a favour! and since March insists this is for the greater good, it's an easy narrative for Jasper to slip into

Jasper is a person who wants to hurt people, and Jasper, I think, conceives of others as primarily selfish beings who want to hurt people, too. he thinks this of humans as well, deep down, but it's more socially acceptable to speak about that belief when you're dealing with a monster :)

so ya March is the guy who orchestrates all of it, but Jasper is the hands-on one, he's the one Nat has the most contact with and who performs the experiments. these include, in no particular order, infecting Nat with Australian Bat Lyssavirus (a cousin of rabies) and cancer cells, puncturing his lungs, removing his pancreas and heart, cutting off his fingers, starving him of blood, and frying him over the course of several weeks with constant UV radiation, resulting in raw skin, delayed healing, and blindness :)

he's a menace. he cannot be reasoned with because he thinks of everything Nat says as a manipulation tactic. Nat crying and begging? Nat refusing to kill an innocent person? Nat talking about his human friends? Nat desperately trying to prove his, for lack of a better word, humanity? manipulation, baby

fun fact! Nat eventually rips Jasper's heart out and uses it to replace his own missing heart <3

second fun fact! Jasper runs into Nat at a gala March is hosting in the chapter I'm writing right now and is this (THIS) close to just drugging him and kidnapping him there, and only doesn't because Nat is too socially anxious to "step outside" with him for a drink and a chat

anyway thank u for reading and I hope you enjoy this ramble about my horrible guy!

[myadagoat22]

Poly Ghostface part 4 (Another long one but with smut)

SUMMER DAY 12 – AFTERNOON – OUTSIDE THE DINER

Y/N’s pacing outside the diner like she’s rehearsing for a one-woman play titled “What The Hell Are We?” She’s crossed her arms, chewing her bottom lip, and muttering to herself like a caffeinated ghost.

Y/N “Okay. Okay. Just say it. You kissed them. They kissed you. It’s not a math problem, it’s just feelings. Two...very complicated...very hot feelings.”

She spots them—Billy and Stu, sitting in their usual booth like some dark/light side of the Force duo. Stu’s already waving like a golden retriever. Billy gives her that look—sharp, unreadable, but with a smirk tucked in the corner.

She storms in before she can chicken out.

INT. DINER – BOOTH

Y/N slides into the booth across from them. She looks Serious™. Like “Stop playing with me” seriously.

Y/N “We need to talk. Right now.”

Stu, mouth half-full of curly fries: “Whoa, hello to you too.”

Billy raises a brow, sipping his drink. “What’s this about?”

Y/N leans in, elbows on the table, voice low but intense.

Y/N “I kissed you, Billy. And you, Stu. And I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. I can’t sleep. I can’t think straight. I feel like I’m losing my damn mind.”

Stu tilts his head, curious. “That’s not a bad thing though, right? Like...you kissed us. We kissed you back. That’s kinda the point of kissing?”

Y/N “No, Stu, listen to me. I like you. Both of you. It’s not just kissing. I mean—I actually feel something. And I know you both have girlfriends and I know this whole thing is insane, but I couldn’t go another day without saying it.”

She looks at them both. Defiant. Scared. Heart fully on the table.

Y/N “I think I’m falling for both of you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then:

Billy leans forward, resting his arms on the table. Calm. Controlled. But his eyes are softer than usual.

Billy “Good. Because we feel the same.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

Stu nods eagerly, grinning. “Dude, I’ve been spiraling since the mall. I couldn’t even finish my Icee.”

Billy “You get us. Both of us. That doesn’t happen. Not with anyone.”

Stu “You’re not afraid to call us out. You don’t just roll over. You see us. And We’ve been trying to act normal, play the game, but honestly? Screw it.”

Y/N’s blinking. Processing. About to cry or faint or scream. Possibly all three.

Y/N “So…what now?”

Billy smirks, and for once—it’s not cold. It’s real.

Billy “Now we stop pretending.”

Stu’s already halfway out of his seat. “C’mere.”

They meet in the middle of the booth—awkward, clumsy, real. First Billy kisses her. It’s slow, intense, like he’s savoring it.

Then Stu leans in. His is wild and warm, full of breathless laughter.

And then—screw it—they all kiss at the same time. It's ridiculous. Their noses bump. Stu giggles. Y/N laughs into it. Billy groans like he's too cool for this but doesn’t pull away.

When they break apart, they’re all breathless, grinning like fools.

Stu “Okay, now this is definitely not in the boyfriend handbook.”

Y/N (quietly) “Yeah…but it feels right.”

Billy leans back, arms over the booth like a king with his favorite chaos duo.

Billy “It is.”

Stu “So uh...does this mean we’re like...a thing? The three of us?”

Y/N “Guess so.”

Stu fist pumps under the table.

Billy just smirks, watching her like she just signed a contract she doesn’t fully understand. But his voice is smooth when he says:

Billy “Welcome to the dark side, baby.”

INT. BILLY’S GARAGE – EVENING

The three of them lounge around a cluttered table strewn with pizza boxes, soda cans, and that infamous horror flick “Costumes and Killers.” Y/N kicks off the convo, her voice steady but nervous.

Y/N “So... we need to figure out how to tell Sidney and Tatum, right? I mean, they’re part of the group  and they deserve to know something.”

Billy leans back, smirking like he’s got a secret sauce recipe.

Billy “Yeah... about that. There’s more they don’t know. Way more.”

Stu flips open a notebook with detailed sketches — costumes, masks, and a whole list of names.

Stu “Here’s the thing, Y/N. Sidney and Tatum? They’re just the cover. We’re just playing boyfriend-girlfriend for fun. We’ve been planning something bigger... something real.”

Y/N blinks heart, skipping a beat.

Y/N “Wait. What do you mean?”

Billy’s grin turns serious, almost cold.

Billy “We’re the Ghostface. The real deal behind the mask. The killings. The scares. The perfect plan to take out Sidney and anyone who gets in the way.”

Stu nods, pointing to the list.

Stu “Here’s everyone. Tatum, Sidney,  Cotton, and yeah — even Randy. We’ve been watching, waiting. And soon, it’s time to act.”

Y/N’s mouth goes dry. Her mind flashes back...

FLASHBACK — Y/N’S CHILDHOOD ROOM — NIGHT

A little Y/N, maybe 8 or 9, sits cross-legged on her bed. Her eyes are glued to a flickering TV screen showing a true crime documentary about serial killers.

Parents’ voices echo from the other room, talking about “normal kids” and “good girls.” But Y/N’s expression is intense, fascinated.

Y/N (V.O.) Ever since I was little, I always loved the killers more than the victims. Not because I wanted to hurt anyone... but because I understood the power. The control. The way they became legends.

She picks up a notebook filled with sketches — not drawings of cute animals, but masks, weapons, and notes on “how to disappear.”

BACK TO GARAGE

Y/N blinks away the memory, looking at Billy and Stu with new eyes.

Y/N “Okay. I’m not gonna lie... this is insane. But also... kinda perfect.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

Billy “Are you in or out?”

Y/N smirks, eyes flashing with dark excitement.

Y/N “I’m in. But I wanna help. I’ll pretend to like Randy. Get close. Learn what I can. We keep our circle tight.”

Stu pumps a fist.

Stu “Hell yeah! The more, the scarier.”

Billy grins wide, the three of them suddenly not just a messy love triangle — but a deadly team.

VARIOUS LOCATIONS – OVER THE PAST 3 WEEKS

— The Woodsboro Cinema, dim and near-empty. Y/N is in the middle seat. Billy on one side, Stu on the other. All three sharing a large popcorn. Stu sneaks a hand over hers. Billy catches it, smirks, then leans over and kisses Y/N's cheek. She just giggles, playing it cool while they all watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

— At Stu House Billy tells Stu and y/n more about himself, from his mom to his childhood and both of you guys were there for him. When he is done Stu goes next talking about his life, his distant parents, then it was your turn with how you were always different. That day was truly a mark for your relationship, and it was beautiful how all three of you opened up to each other.  

— In the woods behind the neighborhood. The three lie in the grass under the stars. Stu's telling a twisted joke, Y/N is laughing so hard she falls into Billy, who wraps his arm around her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They kiss quietly. Then Stu joins in.

— In Stu’s garage. They’re going over the voice changers, the masks, the list. Blood red ink circles names. Y/N picks up a knife and tests the weight of it. The boys just watch her with something between adoration and awe.

This isn’t just sneaking around. This is love. Fucked-up, beautiful, thrilling love.

INT. Y/N’S BEDROOM – NIGHT – PRESENT DAY

Y/N sits on her bed in an oversized T-shirt, legs crossed, notebook open. Billy leans against her desk, thumbing through her notes. Stu is lounging like a bored cat in her swivel chair, spinning slowly as he flips open her CD case.

"Okay," Y/N says, pointing at her planner. "So, are we kidnapping Steve or Casey first.

"Steve it will be easier to get him first," Billy says, eyes narrowed like he’s already picturing it.

"yea and I bet Stu can’t wait to gut Casey," Y/N adds, smirking.

Stu cackles, tossing a pencil at her. "You’re right and evil. I love it."

Y/N tosses it back. "You taught me well."

Billy walks over, placing a hand on her knee. "You’ve come a long way, Y/N."

"Guess all those years of watching true crime and hiding it from my Jesus-freak mom paid off," she jokes.

"Hey," Stu says, leaning in close, "if we survive all this, I’m marrying both of you."

Y/N grins. "That’s legal?"

"We’ll find a way," Billy mutters. "We always do."

The mood shifts. It’s warm and electric. Billy leans in first. Then Stu. The kisses come slowly, then all at once. Soft moans. Tangled limbs.

CREAK.

FOOTSTEPS.

Y/N’s head snaps toward the hallway. "Shit. My mom."

Billy freezes. "You serious?"

Stu bolts upright. "Closet. Closet. Closet!"

"Now!" Y/N hisses, shoving them both off the bed. Stu dives into the closet like he’s sliding into home base. Billy follows, muttering, "This is ridiculous," as he pulls the door shut behind him.

The door opens.

Y/N’s mom steps inside with a frown.

"Why are you still up?"

"I was... memorizing lines," Y/N says quickly. "Drama club. We’re doing Macbeth."

Her mom sniffs the air. "Smells like teenage boy in here."

Y/N laughs awkwardly. "I... burned a candle. It’s, um, Axe-scented."

Her mom gives her a suspicious look but lets it go. "Keep it down. And don’t stay up too late."

"Got it. Night, Mom."

She leaves. The moment the door clicks shut, the closet door creaks open. Billy and Stu tumble out, looking both relieved and ridiculous.

"Your mom is terrifying," Stu whispers.

Billy adjusts his shirt. "We are never doing this in your house again."

Y/N just smirks, pulling them both back toward the bed. "Don’t worry, I’ll lock the door."

They fall into each other again, laughter spilling out under whispered promises and bloodstained dreams.

Y/n locks the door, goes over to the bed then starts kissing Billy while Stu watches.

straddling his lap and draping her arms around his neck. She leaned in to kiss him deeply, tongue sliding against his as she ground down against the growing bulge in his jeans.

Stu moved up behind her, hands sliding under her shirt to caress the bare skin of her stomach and back. "Damn, you're so sexy," he murmured against her ear before nipping at the lobe. Y/N shivered, arching back into his touch.

"Fuck, I need you both so bad," she breathed, breaking the kiss with Billy to turn and capture Stu's lips next. He groaned into her mouth, fingers dipping into the waistband of her jeans to pop the button.

They made quick work of removing Y/N's clothes, leaving her bare and aching between them. Billy laid back on the bed, pulling her on top of him so she was straddling his face. Stu knelt behind her, spreading her ass and diving in to lick a stripe up her dripping slit.

Y/N cried out softly at the dual sensations, one hand fisting in Billy's hair as she ground her pussy against his eager tongue. The other reached back to stroke Stu's hard cock through his jeans.

"Shhh, baby," Billy warned against her folds, glancing up at her with a wicked grin. "We gotta be quiet, remember? Don't wanna wake your mom."

Y/N bit her lip hard, nodding mutely. Stu chuckled behind her, fingers delving into her heat to pump in and out. "She's so fucking wet," he informed Billy. "Can't wait to be buried in this tight little cunt."

"Mmm, I know the feeling," Billy agreed, tongue swirling around Y/N's clit. She whimpered, hips rolling shamelessly against his face.

Stu undid his jeans, freeing his thick cock. He stroked it slowly as he watched Y/N get eaten out, licking his lips hungrily. After a few moments, he tapped her hip.

"Come on up here, beautiful," he coaxed, laying back and patting the mattress beside him. "Let me taste that sweet pussy."

Y/N crawled up Billy's body until she was straddling his waist, then turned to kiss a trail up Stu's abs and chest. She licked a slow path up the underside of his shaft before wrapping her lips around the head and sucking gently.

"Fuck yes," Stu groaned, tangling a hand in her hair. "That's it baby, take it deep."

Billy watched them intently as he stroked his own cock, head thrown back in pleasure as Y/N worked Stu with her mouth. When Stu tapped her shoulder to indicate he was ready to switch places, she reluctantly released him with a pop.

Billy manuevered Y/N onto her hands and knees, positioning himself behind her. He notched the head of his cock at her entrance and pushed in slowly, letting her feel every inch as he stretched her open.

"Oh fuck," Y/N whimpered, lowering her chest to the mattress as Billy bottomed out inside her. "So big."

Stu settled beneath her, guiding her hips down until she was straddling his face again. His tongue immediately delved between her folds, lapping at her clit as Billy started to thrust.

They fell into a rhythm, one pushing into Y/N's cunt as the other licked and sucked at her pussy. Hands roamed her body, tweaking nipples and kneading her ass. It wasn't long before Y/N was trembling on the verge of climax, a hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her cries.

"Come for us baby," Billy urged breathlessly, slamming into her harder. "Let us feel this tight little cunt squeeze our cocks."

With a muffled sob, Y/N came undone, spasming around them as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. They followed quickly after, pulsing deep inside her as they filled her with their releases.

When it was over, they collapsed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, hearts pounding in sync. Y/N laid her head on Stu's chest, Billy curled up behind her spooning style. They lay there for a long while, basking in the afterglow.

"Fuck that was intense," Stu murmured eventually, pressing a kiss to Y/N's temple. "We should do this more often."

Y/N just hummed in agreement, too sated to form words. She knew she was going to be feeling this for days - in all the best ways.

[ofmdrecaps]

01/21-23/2025 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Happy Birthday Ewen Bremner!; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Con O'Neill; Vico Ortiz; Gypsy Taylor; Andrew DeYoung / Andy Rydzewski; Damien Gerard; Articles; Fan Spotlight: Nes & The Tiny Co-Captains; Never Left Podcast; Love Notes;

== Happy Birthday Ewen Bremner! ==

First and foremost, Happy Belated Birthday to our one and only Mr. Buttons -- Ewen Bremner! His birthday was on Jan 23! Hope it was wonderful sir!

= David Jenkins =

David sending us some love in these trying times. Remember to keep you humor, luvs.

Source David's Bsky

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys has been VERY active the last few days with SF Sketchfest going on amongst other things! In continuing with sharing his stand ups, we got more from the wallet in the skinny jeans bit!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rhys Darby (@rhysiedarby)

Source: Rhys' Instagram

= SF Sketch Fest =

In addition, some pretty cool stuff came out of the SF Sketch Fest! Rhys did stand up, but he also participated in the 45th Anniversary Live Read of Airplane! We also got some pictures that broke the fandom for a few days.

Sources: Cobbs Comedy Club

A clip from the Airplane read! (thank you to @wastingyourgum for find it on facebook!)

Source: Matlock Zumsteg's Facebook

Rhys found D (for Darbs) while out at the show! You can check out the SF Sketchfest BTS he has on his paid substack here!

Source: Rhys' Paid Substack

While Rhys wasn't actually present, him and his early career came up on The Dom Harvey show! Thanks Moosh for sharing!

Source: The Godfather of NZ Comedy

= Con O'Neill =

Jan 22nd was the 10th anniversary of the show Cucumber - starring Con O'Neill!

Source: RusselTDavie's IG

= Vico Ortiz =

Vico shared some heartfelt messages on their current journey/transitions going on in their life on their instagram.

"Grief is such a painfully fascinating, terrifying, devastatingly beautiful and powerful experience. I am in constant awe of its transformative prowess. I must confess I am in the thick of it. Discovering the times I am paralyzed by it as well as times where I surrender to it and witness how it ebbs and flows within me. Transforming me. There are some things I was already expecting. But other things out of my control (the LA fires/Presidential transition being some big ones) one took me completely took me by surprise, the other I have been bracing myself for and I recognize that I am in swimming in the trenches. Im experiencing pain, joy, anger, celebration, sadness, frustration, gratitude…. All of it coming at me in chaotic order, showing up in the most random of places, and in ways I never imagined my heart and nervous system could experience. Im learning how to let myself be human each an everyday in a system that is determined to separate me from myself, from my/our humanity. It’s messy. It’s beautiful. It’s chaotic. It’s expansive. While the fires have devastated me and have left me undone in ways I wasn’t expecting, one thing I am abundantly certain of: no matter what anyone says, regardless of their political “power”… I will always exist. Who I am and who/how I love is a non-negotiable. And I will fight tooth and fuckin nail for my/our right to exist visibly and I will be louder each and everyday because I deserve to be here in this world and you deserve to be here in it with me, celebrating who we are every goddamn day. While I know IG is the only Meta app I’m currently using, I’ll keep my eyes peeled for ways in which we can engage in community that feels safe and affirming. Im enjoying the substack space with @todayingaypod as well Patreon and BlueSky! While TikTok was a good place, I’m currently putting it under observation after the whole shutdown/brought back debacle. I love yall… I genuinely am so grateful that we have each other even if the systems put in place are whack af. Squeezing everyone tenderly 🫂 Enjoy a glimpse of many transitions, moments of levity and honoring ancestry through these photos 🫶🏽✨"

Vico also posted More OFMD BTS on their Patreon!!

Source: Vico's Paid Patreon

= Gypsy Taylor =

Some of Gypsy's works being highlighted from The Newsreader Season 3!

Source: Gypsy's IG Stories

= Andrew DeYoung / Andy Rydzewski =

One of our Directors, Andrew, and our cinematographers, Andy are on their way to SXSW (South By South West) Film and TV Festival for their film 'Friendship'! It's an official selection! Congrats you two!

Source: Andy's IG Stories

= Damien Gerard =

Our Father Teach, Damien, is blessing us with more and more cat content, Athena is such a work of art <3

Source: Damien's Bsky

== Articles ==

Thank you so much to @adoptourcrew for keeping us up to date in all things OFMD Article related!!

GeekSpin Article

source: Adopt Our Crew Bsky

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Nes & The Tiny Co-captains =

So I will spread this out over a couple of recaps because the massive Rhys section above took most of my picture allotment! But I wanted to take a moment to highlight the adorable artwork of Nes. Their Tiny Co-Captains are such a break in my day every time I stumble upon them. Whether they're spending time together, eating cherries, going on silly adventures, Nes brings such joy and life to them that I just wanted to take a moment and appreciate the perfect chibi co-captains and their fabulous creator. I especially adore Archie and look at this super adorable snake for the Year of the Snake! If you aren't already following Nes, please check out their work below! It'll bring a smile to your face even on the roughest days!

Bsky / IG / Tumblr

Nes' Linktr.ee

Source: Nes' Bsky

= Never Left Podcast =

A new episode is back, and this time they're talking about the story in Stede's spank book! 👀 Check it out on your favorite podcast platform!

Source: Never Left Instagram

== Love Notes ==

I know you're tired lovelies. I am too. Been a hell of a year so far.

Please remember to rest, and take care of yourself. Drink your water, eat some food, and laugh if you can. The world feels dark, but you are the light within it. You make it beautiful, and keep it kind. You will shine brighter when you can recuperate and rest-- so please take care of you for a while. Sending Love your way <3

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Nanea Hoffman (@sweatpantsandcoffee)

Source: SweatPantsAndCoffee Instagram

[lilacevans]

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲

happy vals day babies!!!!<333 here's how you'd spend valentines day with each of the men from pete's place! this is just short and sweet, a little gift for being inactive these past couple weeks!! am finally feeling a little better- just dealing with some wisdom tooth painnn. anywaaaaaay, enjoy besties<33 let me know your favourite! mwah!<3

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ pete's place | the intro | opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

*this is an 18+ space. minors are not welcome here.

*this is a dark au. there are no happy endings here.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐚𝐫𝐢

✧.*ೃ ari plans a night under the stars. a complete surprise. led out blindfolded, mouth wide at the sight. ✧.*ೃ handmade fort, soft pillows and blankets. picnic and wine. portable speaker playing your favourite music. ✧.*ೃ of course you spend time between his thighs in return, he wants to make sure you're not able to speak the following day (mainly so you can't rat him out on what a romantic he is)

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬

✧.*ೃ holy hell. the brute can cook. like, really cook. candlelight dinner, and everything is personally made by curtis. paired wine, matching outfits, fairy lights and roaring fireplace. ✧.*ೃ while dinner is spent mainly in silence, it's one of those times you welcome it. it's comfy. he makes it comfy. footsy under the table, soft smiles and bashful laughter. ✧.*ೃ but don't worry. you'll soon remember of why you fear him. a little chase after dinner? how could you possibly? and that's exactly why you're told to run, and may the good lord help you when he does.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞

✧.*ೃ sweet stevie would plan a little book/painting date. he'd decorate the manor library, pick out some of your favourite books. gets your favourite drinks, snacks, pastries, etc. ✧.*ೃ the night spent giggling away while you read your book aloud while steve sketches/paints you, until you end up watching a sappy movie while cuddled on a fuzzy rug, snug under a blanket. ✧.*ೃ hands roam, finding their way under clothes. soft kisses turn into burning need.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞

✧.*ೃ rock music, beer, pjs and games! it's a night filled of mario kart, mortal kombat, etc. knocking each others controllers, hurling insults and giggling like children. ✧.*ೃ pillow fights, play fighting that leads to you pinned on the couch, shrieking and laughing as jake tickles your sides, goading you to go back at him. ✧.*ೃ of course this leads to some fucking right there on the couch, jakes filthy mouth, your obscene moans mixed with the loading screen of a game and the music.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞

✧.*ೃ in his sick little head, i think the man believes he's doing a nice thing by buying you a shit-ton of lingerie and asking you to model it for him while he gawks at you like an utter perv. damn the fact he's got a nice dick and knows how you use it bc damn it you're modelling your ass off to get it. ✧.*ೃ of course he wants a lapdance while you tell him what a perfect man he is, how grateful you are, how much you need him. ✧.*ೃ it's only when you're bouncing on his cock that he's spilling on the fact all he thinks and breathes is you. how lucky he is to have you, how much he adores you. kinda sad he'll deny it if you were to ask him about it the next day.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝

✧.*ೃ if you thought you would be doing anything else other than knelt at this man's feet then you are a damn fool and you deserve it tbh. let's not pretend that's a bad way to spend vals day, anyway. ✧.*ೃ however, you're getting alllllll the pet names and praise. he's strangely lovey. more handsy, hits a little softer, sounds a little sweeter. biggest shock is when he thanks you for all the depravity you allow him to inflict on you. ✧.*ೃ you're helped in the shower, dressed comfy for bed and cuddled in his arms after a longgggggg session. it's nice.

[heygreyyart]

Hello!! It's been ages I wrote something this long in my second language and holy. shit. This was hard you guys, i think i'll stick to drawing lmao. This only fuels my admiration to you, writers!! also, enjoy this art wip in the meantime (●'◡'●)

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

For Janna’s sake -- if she could shut up for only five seconds.

Calloused fingers run through the curly back of his chestnut hair, as Viktor shut his eyes attempting to pace himself down.

An exasperated sigh escaped from his pursed lips, the slender scientist had been unknowingly trapped against the desk from his own laboratory as the small, freckled frame against him defied the towering height between their bodies, thin arms positioned around him menacingly.

In a way, he found this endearing - Viktor knew she was trying to compensate for the lack of physical height between them by cornering him...little did she know, the scientist enjoyed it behind his unamused facade.

On the other hand, he hated the loud and dramatic antics Ella constantly played whenever they didn’t agree on anything – an unfortunate daily occurrence. 

“You’re making a scene, again. “ He muttered, his hoarse, tired voice lacking patience. He spent the past thirteen hours tinkering and testing some new calculations for the Hextech crystals. Just like his co-worker, the blue gems frantically reacted out of proportion. Dark eyes locked into his golden gaze, demanding him to continue speaking. Plump lips huffing as her arms slowly backed away, crossing around her chest in a swift motion. He noticed the red swelling in her eyes. Viktor assumed Ella spent the afternoon crying – a habit he once witnessed only because he found her wrecking her own sketches and cursing in a language he didn’t quite understand a night after sharing a meeting with council Medarda and the rest of that godforsaken rounded table. The little firecracker hated it when someone else had so much control over her… so of course, the most obvious route of action was to crawl back to him for a rematch. 

“You interpreted everything I said earlier in the worst possible way. As usual.” The red haired woman took a deep breath, puncturing eyes silently stared at his now perplexed features. If looks could kill, he knew for sure he’d end up laying cold dead for being too blunt for his own good. The grasp in his cane strengthened as he embraced Ella's impact.

Hot or cold and no way in between, that’s how it had always been. Ella would either ignore him for a couple of hours (or maybe a day or two if he was lucky enough), then she’d return to the lab in the middle of the night, angrily slam the door while making everyone around aware she was pissed as hell and curse him in every colourful and possible way.

Viktor didn’t care too much, he’d gotten far too used to her explosive attitude after spending six tortuous months working together. “Now it’s a good time for you to say whatever you actually meant to say today during our meeting.” She spat. 

What Ella lacked in height she manifested with her threatening attitude. For once she decided not to call him by his name. “Viktor” had a nicer ring in her ears but he didn’t deserve her sugar coated purrs.  

“You do realize what you did today will basically, fuck me and my team all over. Right? We need the funding. Jayce was this close to close the d–” “I am aware.” Viktor snapped quickly, dark eyebrows furrowing with frustration. 

“What you were not aware of, is the fact we do not need these businesses to use –exploit! – what we are doing here. We have enough resources to allow them to turn this revolutionary step for all humanity into a pathetic sponsor deal." 

The slender man got up and backed away from the bomb exploding right in front of him. He noticed the redhead clamped her hands furiously and impulsively slapped the hard and cold surface of the desk. 

“So fuck the rest, right? As long as you and Jayce have enough toys to play in your lab. Is that all you care about, Viktor? This funding would have allowed us to display this project everywhere in Piltover, all of Runeterra even! Alas, improving our chances to continue what we’re doing for at least two more years.” The artist let out a frustrated, resigned sigh. Manicured hands covered her face in a fruitless attempt of self soothing. White spotted fingers quickly moved to the immense hair bun to remove one thick brush that kept the hairdo from falling down only to re-do her characteristic hairstyle. Viktor had noticed that this was another habit of hers, a routine to avoid descending into madness. Nothing this woman did went unnoticed by anyone– especially to his attentive eyes. “I understand you never actually had to go through cutting expenses, the academy has a tendency to only reject the art department’s projects and practically fire everyone... “

She started, eyes wandering around the laboratory looking for anything to distract the angry and loud pounding of her heart. “Excuse me? You don’t have the faintest idea what I had to endure to get where I – “ 

Viktor raised his voice, his accent thick and rabid. His slender figure drew near to her, and for a moment he fantasized of whacking the brat’s head with his cane. “--But we’re required to explain every little spending we do.” Ella cut him off defiantly. 

“And unfortunately…I can’t say “science happened” like Jayce and you love to tell Heimerdinger whenever you spent last three month’s expenses for just one test.” “Science happened?” Viktor repeatedly exasperated. Speechless.

[aurumacadicus]

Pride Pocket 15--Saddle Me Up

Kink belongs at Pride. I will not be arguing a fact.

For background, Tony was almost kidnapped by Doom and they're all a little out of sorts of how close he came to succeeding. Just need a nice little scene to decompress probably. You can also find this fic on ao3 (here). It's 5K so look out for under the cut!

--

Bucky had brought out one of the Sybian saddles, the one with the thrusting attachments instead of the twisting ones. Tony stared at it from where he was standing at attention next to Steve. Normally he brought out both, gave them the controls, and whoever got the other to come first got the prize of Bucky fucking him. Tony hadn’t won very often, but even losing had been nice, left to shake and whimper on the saddle as he watched Steve bouncing in Bucky’s lap. But there was only one out now. Was it a reward? Punishment? A new game?

“One of you is going on the saddle,” Bucky said, and Tony’s eyes darted back to him. He smirked at them, filthy and mean. “The other goes on the rider’s dick.”

Tony couldn’t help a glance at Steve, hands gripping into fists behind his back. Steve would have to go on the saddle. As much as Tony tried to argue he was just as strong as either of the super soldiers, he knew that his knees couldn’t take even half of Steve’s weight for an extended period of time. He was built like a brick house and just as heavy. He took a moment to be disappointed about not being the one on the saddle, then straightened his shoulders again. Bucky obviously had plans, and he rarely ever missed his mark.

Bucky didn’t do them the disservice of pretending that Tony being on the Sybian was an option, instead reaching out to grab Tony’s chin and jaw and grip tight, just the way he knew Tony liked it. He forced Tony’s head back a little further to force eye contact. “You like squirmin’ on Stevie’s cock, don’t you, doll?”

“Yes,” Tony mewled, because he did. He’d never really considered himself a size queen before he’d fallen into bed with the super soldier duo, but Steve’s dick was so big that it took everything in him to remember to even breathe, he was so overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. He swallowed thickly against Bucky’s fingers, breath shuddering in his chest as he tried not to sag in Bucky’s grip.

“Think you can hold off coming on his cock, sweetheart?” Bucky drawled, using his grip around Tony’s neck to draw him in, close enough to feel his breath over his lips. “If you outlast Steve, I’ll let you come on mine while Steve sucks you off. What do you say, doll? You gonna be my good boy?”

Tony whimpered, hands coming up to grab Bucky’s wrist. “Yes,” he whispered, too afraid his voice would crack if he spoke louder.

Bucky’s smirk was absolutely filthy. “And maybe, if Steve does a good job, we can put you on the saddle after, so he can sketch you. Steve deserves a reward for being a good boy too, don’t you think?”

Tony nodded, hands tightening around Bucky’s wrist as he gulped again, knees going weak at the idea. “Yes.”

“God, you’re so slutty, I’m so lucky to have you,” Bucky sighed fondly, other hand reaching back to palm his ass and squeeze. He leaned in to press a kiss to Tony’s gasping lips, then leaned back, raising an eyebrow at Steve. “You need help gettin’ on the saddle, doll?”

“I can do it myself. Should I get pillows for Tony’s knees?” Steve asked, eyeing the cupboard where he kept his art supplies wantonly. Clearly, he was looking forward to his possible reward as well.

“I’ll get them,” Bucky replied, finally releasing Tony’s neck and jaw to slide his other hand back to his ass as well.

Tony whimpered again as Bucky pulled him in, pressing them together chest to chest, hip to hip, hands kneading his ass and pulling his cheeks apart playfully. “Buck…”

“Yeah, I’ve got you, doll,” Bucky drawled, fingers sliding in further, spreading him almost to the point of discomfort. He let go of one cheek so that he could wrap his free hand around the flange of the plug keeping him spread open and tugged, not hard enough to pull it out in one go, but enough that Tony could tell he wanted to.

Tony let out a keen and jerked his head back, going up on his toes to try and escape his hand. “Oh!”

Bucky gave him a chiding slap on the ass. “Hold still.”

Tony leaned forward to bury his face in Bucky’s chest, mumbling a half-hearted apology as his feet went flat again. His toes curled as Bucky returned to pulling on the plug, a moan escaping his lips as Bucky rocked it back and forth to wiggle it out of him. He lifted his hands to clutch at Bucky’s shirt, fighting the urge to go up on his toes again, lest the next slap go from chiding to properly punishing him. He couldn’t help the guttural ‘ugh’ that escaped his lips as Bucky finally pulled the plug free, blush coming to his cheeks as Bucky pressed the tip to his hole again and pushed teasingly so he could feel how well he stretched around it.

Steve let out a groan behind him, and Tony turned, feeling another rush of jealousy as he saw that Steve had fully seated himself on the dildo attachment, the leather of the saddle beneath him dark between his pale thighs. It was gone as quickly as it came though, and he couldn’t help but swallow thickly when he saw that Steve’s cock was already half hard, and as he rocked himself back and forth on his knees to make sure he got into a comfortable position, it quickly firmed up to full hardness. He was starting to have doubts he’d make it all the way onto Steve’s dick before he came, let alone before Steve got there himself.

Bucky grabbed his chin to turn him back and draw him into a long, deep kiss that made his toes curl again. Tony melted into it, licking into his mouth, and whined when he finally pulled back, just far enough that he could no longer kiss him, breath fanning out onto his face hot and damp. “You’re so needy, it’s hard to remember I need to show restraint,” Bucky huffed, and Tony couldn’t swallow back the needy whimper that proved it true if he tried, because Bucky was also smiling, so. He probably wasn’t upset by it.

“You can go stand by Steve,” Bucky finally said, and there was steel to his voice now. It made Tony stand up a bit straighter, focus a bit more closely, forget the way Bucky had been kissing him just a moment ago. “But you don’t get to lower yourself onto his dick until I get there so we can both situate you.”

Tony’s lips parted, a petulant ‘I can do it myself’ on his tongue. But when he looked up at Bucky, it shriveled away, and all he could manage was an embarrassed, mumbled ‘yes, sir’ because Bucky’s eyes were cold, calculating, almost like he was waiting for Tony to do something that he could punish. This wasn’t one of the times he could be sassy, Tony realized, walking over to stand by Steve obediently. They were all still too keyed up from the… incident at the last battle with Doom.

Bucky needed control after feeling helpless. Steve needed to let go of control and be told what to do after feeling the weight of everyone’s needs on the field. Tony… wasn’t exactly sure what he needed. He still felt too messy inside. So much had happened in such a short amount of time—things usually did when battles went off the rails. But he trusted Bucky and Steve to know for him. They always seemed to know exactly what he needed. He’d just have to trust that they’d know this time, too.

Steve reached out toward him once he came close enough, and Tony allowed himself to be towed in, letting out a little chuff of air as Steve wrapped his arms around his thighs and held him close, mouthing at his hip because he knew he hadn’t been given permission to go for Tony’s dick. Apparently, he also wasn’t willing to cross Bucky right now, could sense how tightly wound he was. Tony dug his fingers into Steve’s hair, holding him in place. He was suddenly quite afraid that he’d simply fall over if he didn’t have Steve holding him up.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Bucky said, his flesh hand clasping the back of his neck, and Tony huffed at the warm, steady heat of his grip. “Just needed a moment to settle, hmm? Steve, stop manspreading on the fuckin’ saddle.”

Tony peeled his eyes open, blinking slowly, just in time to watch Steve’s knees jerk in toward the saddle. They settled against the leather with a dull knock. He couldn’t help a quiet, helpless giggle at how petulant Steve’s pout was. He really did like to spread out when he could. But then, Tony thought, eyes finally drawn to Steve’s hard cock, he had a reason for it.

“Hungry for it, aren’t you?” Bucky asked, and Tony was nodding before he even realized what he’d been asked, forcing his gaze back up so he could tip his head back and give Bucky a slow, syrupy blink. Bucky slid his arm around his waist and drew him back against him. "You’re falling a little further than I thought, doll.”

Tony blinked again. Was he? He thought he was fine. They were going to sit him on Steve’s cock, and he wasn’t going to come so they could both get rewarded for it, and it would be good. He would be good for them. He wanted to be good. “Please let me be good,” he whispered, just for good measure. He didn’t want them to think he was having second thoughts. He just wanted to please them. It didn’t matter how deep he went.

Bucky pressed the backs of his fingers to Tony’s chin, and Tony followed his gentle pushing, tipping his head back against Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re always good for me, sugar,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his exposed throat. “So good for me an’ Steve. —Okay,” he added, the sharpness in his voice making Tony’s eyes shoot open again.

He hadn’t even realized they’d closed. Bucky’s arm had tightened around his waist, and Tony realized belatedly that Steve had reached out and clamped his hands around his hips, eyes wide and mouth dropped open in shock. His knees had given out, he realized belatedly. He’d almost collapsed where he stood, too focused on basking in Bucky’s approval, in Steve’s desire.

“I want to be good,” Tony blurted, hands coming up to grip Bucky’s arm, squeezing desperately. “Please let me be good. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I can be—”

“You are good, doll,” Bucky cut in, and Tony bit his bottom lip against more babbled pleas. Bucky’s voice had gone back to that low drawl, so he couldn’t be mad. Could he? His hand slid up and down Tony’s stomach. “So good for us both. But I don’t think you’re in any condition for what we planned.”

Tony’s heart sank to his toes. “I can,” he tried desperately. “I can be good. I won’t come until you say and I’ll be able to sit on the saddle for Steve and—”

“What do you need, Tony?” Steve asked gently, cutting him off. His thumbs had started rubbing gentle circles over the jut of Tony’s hipbones. It was nice.

Not nice enough to make him think he was getting out of this, though. Tony sucked in a wet breath, ashamed of how weak he felt in front of them. They were never weak. Not in front of him. They were super soldiers. They always knew exactly what they needed. He was the one who had to figure out what he needed from them each time they stepped into the bedroom.

And he still didn’t know. He had nothing to tell them. Tony worked his jaw, but no words would come. He just felt… messy inside. Like he’d been broken apart and put back together wrong, but he was the only one who could see it. All he knew was what he wanted, and what he wanted was to be good, but how could he be good if he dropped and they had to take extra care of him? He might not know what he needed, but he knew what he didn’t need, and that was being a burden that Steve and Bucky had to deal with when they were both already keyed up.

“Okay,” Bucky said again, gentler this time, and carefully turned Tony in his arms so he was facing him. “I think I know exactly what you need, doll.”

Tony felt the words ‘you do?’ desperately pressing against his lips, but he kept them bitten back. He didn’t want to seem like he was questioning him. Bucky had never been wrong before, anyway. Of course Bucky knew what he needed.

Bucky tipped his head, pressing his lips to the corner of Tony’s mouth, his cheek, his ear. “I think you just need to be held.”

Tony couldn’t help the way his breath hitched in his throat. That sounded… really nice. Both Bucky and Steve had joked about becoming his personal weighted blankets at one point or another, although he personally thought that they were way better, a steady weight and heat just spread out on top of him, gentle fingers carding through his hair and soft lips pressing against his skin. Maybe that was what he needed, to be wrapped in their arms, feeling them solid and alive around him. “Will you still think I’m good?” he asked, just to make sure, and he wished his voice hadn’t come out sounding small and hesitant, because he wasn’t a small and hesitant man. But he still didn’t want to be wrong. He didn’t think he could handle upsetting them.

“You’re always good for us, doll,” Bucky assured him, hand coming around to clamp the back of his neck again, just the way he liked it. “You still wanna sit on Stevie’s dick?”

Tony unlocked his knees in answer, sagging in Bucky’s grip again, but he didn’t fall far this time with Bucky’s arm around his waist, Steve’s hands carefully but firmly tightening around his hips. Maybe to be held really was all he needed, he mused, only vaguely aware that Bucky was swearing and rocking on his heels to make sure he didn’t just topple over on top of Steve.

“You’re gonna drive me to drinking,” Bucky huffed, but there was no heat to it. Maybe humor, if Tony allowed himself to think about his tone rather than making a grabby hand in the direction of Steve’s still-hard cock. “Incorrigible. That shouldn’t be cute. You’re so annoying.”

“Can I put him on my cock now please,” Steve cut in before Bucky could say anything else, and Tony watched the way Steve’s dick twitched where it stood between his thighs at just the thought.

“Fine,” Bucky groused, and Steve’s mouth spread into a wide, guileless smile as he took Tony’s weight through the grip he still had on his hips. “Slow, though, so I can wedge these pillows under his knees just right.”

Steve nodded obediently, and Tony moaned quietly as Steve carefully turned him so he was facing away. It took him a moment to remember to let his knees relax and bend with the motion, allow himself to be eased down instead of just falling and hoping he landed properly. He couldn’t help but marvel at Steve’s casual use of his strength as he felt the head of his cock against his hole—his arms weren’t shaking even a little, even as Steve teased his wet, open hole by lowering him just enough to feel the pressure of his cock and then lifting him off again. If Tony didn’t know that he was doing it to distract him from Bucky trying to get the pillows just right, he would have screamed.

“Okay, I think that’s good,” Bucky finally said, rocking back on his heels. “Stop teasing him, Stevie, or I’m gonna let him stab you.”

“I wouldn’t be injured for long,” Steve grumbled, but when Tony dropped his hands to wrap around Steve’s wrists, he could feel fine tremors of desire running through his arms.

Tony whimpered as Steve finally lowered him further, pressing in, his own knees jerking in to smack against the leather of the saddle as his body opened up around his cock. The plug had kept him open as Bucky had prepared the room for them, and he’d been well-lubed when it had been inserted, but Steve was always a special sort of ache—longer than any of the toys he chose to use these days, and thick enough that Tony always found himself biting into his bottom lip as his body opened up around it, until he felt he was wholly shaped for Steve’s cock.

“There you go, sweet thing,” Bucky purred, and Tony peeled his eyes open. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. He was smiling down at him, pleased, just edging on smug, and it made his toes curl with pleasure. He liked when he pleased Bucky. “You ready for me to turn the saddle on?”

Tony squirmed as Steve’s arms slid around his waist and pulled his back flush with his chest, testing. Steve was a heavy weight inside him, and as he experimentally rocked his hips, he couldn’t help another whimper escaping his lips as Steve jerked his own forward in response, sending a zing of pleasure up his spine. Steve was one long line of heat down his back, around his waist, and Tony found himself sinking back against him with a sigh.

“You are,” Bucky murmured, flesh hand coming up to cup Tony’s cheek, thumb stroking back and forth tenderly. “You and Steve are so good for me, so sweet. Brace yourself, sweetheart.”

Tony barely had time to think ‘for what’ before he was suddenly reminded that he wasn’t just sat on Steve’s cock—he and Steve were also resting their weight on the saddle. Bucky started it at a minor thrum, and the vibrations shook through his thighs, against his balls. Steve’s hips jerked up as the vibrations went through him as well, and Tony howled as his cock rammed deeper inside him. His hands flew up to grab Steve’s arms around his waist, but all he could really do was hold on as Steve’s grip tightened around him, ride each of his stuttered thrusts as Bucky slowly cranked up the vibration speed.

It was hard to tell where the saddle ended and Steve began as the vibrations dialed up, pleasure fuzzing his awareness around the edges. Steve was buried inside him, each desperate hunch of hips driving his cock right over Tony’s prostate. But that almost seemed secondary to the saddle vibrating along Tony’s taint until they seemed to center directly in his balls where they were resting nearly at the edge of the vibrating plate. He was suddenly relieved that it was Steve sitting on the dildo and not him—he probably would have fallen apart as soon as Bucky turned it on and started thrusting, never mind slowly cranking up the vibrations. Having Steve panting in his ear though, that was nice, feeling held and surrounded and safe, as if Steve was the one holding him together. Bucky was right. It was exactly what he needed. He always knew exactly what he’d needed.

“Can I come,” Steve moaned into Tony’s shoulder, and he shivered, mouth dropping open to moan as Steve’s dick rocked back and forth with sharp, minute force. “Buck, can I come, please, he’s so hot inside, please, can I please, can I come—”

“Can Steve come in you, baby?” Bucky drawled, grabbing Tony’s chin to tip his head forward to make eye contact with him.

Tony blinked tears from his eyes, breath shuddering in his chest as Bucky turned the dial one more click. He felt as if the vibrations from the saddle were shaking him apart. It was so good it almost hurt, and it finally made him aware of his own hard cock, curved up against his stomach. He didn’t care if he came, he realized, head tipping back further, over Steve’s shoulder. He just needed to sit here, held, filled, watched, wanted. They could do whatever they wanted to him, as long as he felt like they were taking care of him while they were doing it.

“Tony,” Bucky said, voice just edging on sharp. Warning. He used the grip on his chin to jerk his head forward again, not as gently as the first time. “Focus.”

“I am,” Tony lied, blinking again. He worked his jaw, wondering what the right answer was. He feared ‘you can do whatever you want to me’ might make them stop, but he also wondered if he’d just accept a simple ‘yes,’ worrying that he was slipping under too far. He swallowed back a wounded noise as Steve used the arms around his waist to force his body down harder, cock driving deeper inside him as his balls were pressed harder into the vibrating saddle. “Mmh!”

Steve tipped his head to drag his lips from Tony’s shoulder to his neck, pressing them to his fluttering pulse as he murmured a desperate, “Please let me come in you, Tony.”

“I,” Tony started, more gasp than word. He gulped in air as Steve’s teeth bit into his skin, and the only reason he didn’t tip his head back again was because Bucky’s fingers were still wrapped around his chin. “I want… yes,” he finally managed, hoping it wasn’t too much or too little. Just enough. Just what he needed. “Yes, please.”

“Did you hear that, Stevie?” Bucky crooned, and Steve whimpered into Tony’s throat. “Tony says you can come in him.”

“Can I,” Steve panted into Tony’s skin. “Please, Buck, can I?”

Bucky tipped Tony’s head back a little, and Tony whimpered as he stared back at him through wet lashes. “Look at my boys,” he said, and his lips curved into a sly smile. “You’re both so good for me, both know exactly who’s in charge.”

“Please let him come in me, Bucky,” Tony mewled, more plaintively than he would have liked. His hands shook where they were wrapped around Steve’s arms. “Please. Please.”

Bucky’s grip on his chin tightened for a moment, then loosened, fingers trailing along his jaw. “Well,” he mused, fingertips drawing down his neck until he was pressing his fingers to Steve’s trembling lips on his throat. He waited for Steve’s mouth to still before he added, “Since you both asked so nicely, it would be cruel of me to say no.” He finally slid his piercing gaze to Steve, and Tony shuddered as if the threads holding him up had been suddenly cut. “You heard what Tony said, sweet thing. He wants you to come in him. Who am I to say otherwise.”

“I can come?” Steve asked, as if he didn’t quite believe it, but whatever he saw in Bucky’s face had him clenching his arms tighter around Tony’s waist. Then he moaned, pressing his face back into Tony’s throat. “Fuck, yes. Feel so nice on my cock, Tony—”

Tony’s mouth opened, perhaps to scream, but all that came out was a short, airy sort of sound as Steve’s arms clenched him tight enough to bruise. Tony finally managed a shocked little yelp as he was bounced on Steve’s cock, hard, ass meeting Steve’s thighs with a clap. He couldn’t tell what was better—Steve fucking him so deep that he could have sworn he felt him in his throat, or the vibrations of the saddle still reverberating through his thighs and balls.

Then Bucky’s flesh hand was wrapping around his cock, and the noise Tony let out was pathetic even to his own ears. “Buck,” he gasped, finally uncurling one hand to instead dig his nails into Bucky’s.

“You get t’ come too, sugar,” Bucky drawled, just the right edge of Brooklyn to it. “Because ya trust me t’ take care o’ you, don’tcha?”

“Bucky,” Tony tried again, unsure which way to rock—forward into Bucky’s hand, backward into Steve’s thrusts, or down onto the vibrating saddle. “Bucky-!”

“C’mon, sweet thing,” Bucky urged, grip tightening at the same time Steve bit down on his shoulder to try and muffle a whimper.

Tony choked on a sharp intake of air, too stunned to make more noise than that as Steve grunted and groaned into his skin, as if he’d been waiting years to be able to come instead of just a few minutes. Steve’s hips stuttered up against him as he tried to milk his orgasm as long as possible, trying to extend his pleasure. His arms were a solid weight around him, like hot steel bars, and Tony couldn’t help but finally whimper again. He was held. He was safe. He was exactly where he needed to be, protected between both super soldiers.

Tony’s body trembled in Steve’s grip as he came, hips rutting forward into the friction of Bucky’s hand of their own accord. His hand was warm. Not too tight. Over the pounding of his heart in his ears, he could hear Bucky murmuring something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t make himself focus to hear what it was.

Steve’s arms loosened around him, and he found himself tipping forward, into Bucky. His breath hitched in his chest as Bucky carefully wrapped his free arm around his shoulders, the coolness of the metal a shock against the warmth that Steve’s back had been. He heard a soft, mournful little noise, and it took him a moment to realize it was coming from him, an overwhelmed keen coming from deep in his chest. Too much. It was all too much.

“Look at you,” Bucky cooed into his ear, and Tony shivered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You took Steve so well, sweetheart, were so good for me. Do you need off the saddle?”

Tony’s hands gripped Steve’s arms tighter. “No,” he said, desperation clear in his voice, even as he wondered if he really did need off. ‘Too much’ could swiftly tip over to ‘over his head.’ He didn’t want to ruin this for either of them. But he still didn’t know what he needed beyond their arms around him. He felt Bucky’s arm moving behind his back and whimpered when he felt a hand threading through his hair, gripping just tight enough that it sent a thrum of heat through him, even as he whimpered at his head being tugged back.

Bucky tightened his grip until he met his eyes again as Tony ground his teeth nervously. “…Steve is staying on the saddle,” he decided, voice slow and thoughtful. “But you’re done. The vibrations are gonna be too much for you.”

Relief and despair immediately warred through him, and Tony couldn’t quite swallow back a whimper of shame. “I can be good.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t good,” Bucky answered, his eyebrows momentarily twitching down before he forcibly relaxed again. “You were very good, sweet thing,” he tried again, syrupy sweet, and Tony found his anxiety easing. “Just because you’re comin’ off the saddle doesn’t mean that you’re not warmin’ cock. You want it in your mouth, babydoll? Or your ass?”

Tony whimpered again, but as he lifted his head to meet Bucky’s eyes again, he found the shame had quelled. “Yes,” he answered helplessly, because both options sounded very good. “Please.”

Bucky let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You do know how to please, doncha? C’mere.”

Steve whined loudly as Bucky hooked his hands under Tony’s arms in an attempt to lift him. He tightened his own grip around Tony’s waist in response, keeping Tony right where he was, speared on his cock. “No, you said—”

“I know what I said,” Bucky began, slanting him a sharp look.

“I wanna come in him again,” Steve cut in plaintively. “He feels so nice on my cock, Bucky, please, I can keep holding ‘im, won’t even let ‘im touch the saddle, lemme just—One more time, please—”

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes, but he eased Tony’s weight back onto the pillows. He lifted his flesh hand to Tony’s face, thumb running under his eye carefully. “Do you think you can take another orgasm on the saddle if Steve holds you up, doll?”

“Yes,” Tony agreed readily. Whatever they needed. Steve could hold him up for hours. He’d done it before.

“Such an accommodating little thing,” Bucky sighed, voice teasing. “You’d say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?”

“‘m not little,” Tony huffed, but he couldn’t tell if he was just saying it to be contrary or not. He knew he wasn’t nearly as broad or as tall as either of them, and it was especially clear there, pressed close between their bodies. But they were the outliers here, not him.

Before he could tell them so, though, Steve finally unclamped his arms from around his waist to instead scoop under his thighs. Tony yelped as Steve hugged him to his chest again, legs kicking out uselessly as he was folded in half against him.

Bucky caught his ankles so he didn’t accidentally hurt himself, waiting until he stilled to release them. He shook his head at Steve with another sigh. “You’re such a brat.”

“He’s not touching the saddle,” Steve huffed, but he didn’t lift his head to meet Bucky’s eyes, either.

Bucky stared at him a little longer, just for good measure. Once he was sure that Steve was properly cowed, he lifted his hand to Tony’s face again, gently cupping his chin. “This comfortable for you, sweetheart?”

Tony nodded, but Bucky just raised an eyebrow at him. He squirmed, biting his bottom lip under Bucky’s stare, before he finally murmured, “Maybe just long enough for one more.”

“That’s what I thought.” Bucky slid his gaze to Steve. “You get to come one more time, then he’s off the saddle for the night.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbled into Tony’s skin, and he couldn’t help but whimper and tip his head to give Steve more room for his mouth.

“Such a good boy,” Bucky said, voice full of warmth, and his thumb pressed to Tony’s bottom lip. “For Stevie and for me.”

“Yes,” Tony agreed again, then mewled, pleased, as Bucky pressed his thumb into his mouth to suck on.

[djloveyou3000]

Belladonna

Chapter twenty five

“Well, look who finally decided to join us!” Woods called out, raising his glass mockingly. His grin widened as Helen rolled her eyes and Bell gave him a playful shove while adjusting the strap of their backpack.

Russell’s gaze softened lingered on Bell , a flicker of relief and tenderness crossing his face. Lazar straightened up, his lips twitching into a small smile as his eyes landed on Helen, though he quickly tried masked it with a neutral expression but failed .

“You missed a good one,” Woods said, his voice tinged with mischief. “We were talking about who’s got the worst road rage in this group.”

Sims snorted, gesturing toward Woods. “No contest. Woods takes the crown. Man rages even when he’s standing still.”

The room erupted into laughter, except for Woods, who glared at Sims, his expression exaggeratedly offended. “Like you’re a saint, Sims? I’ve seen you lose it when the vending machine eats your change.”

Helen tilted her head, her British accent sharp as she chimed in, “Well, Woods, if you can’t control your temper, perhaps you shouldn’t drive.”

Bell froze mid-step, their eyes going wide. Slowly, their jaw dropped, and their face contorted into the most cartoonishly exaggerated expression of disbelief anyone in the room had ever seen. They looked like a character straight out of a comedy sketch.

Russell’s laugh came first, low and warm. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You look like someone just told you the sky’s green.”

Sims doubled over, wheezing. “Bell, you’re making a face like someone said they canceled chocolate forever!”

Bell whipped their head toward Helen, still processing what they’d just heard. “Did you—did you just say Woods shouldn’t drive because of his temper?”

Helen nodded matter-of-factly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Yes. It’s common sense, really.”

Bell’s disbelief turned into outright exasperation. “What the hell did I witness today, then?!”

Helen blinked innocently. “What do you mean, dear?”

“Oh, don’t play coy!” Bell exclaimed, throwing their arms in the air. “You were chasing that guy like a woman possessed! Screaming at him like a banshee, cursing like you just discovered a whole new language of insults! You didn’t just lose your temper, Helen; you became the embodiment of rage!”

The room erupted into howling laughter as Bell mimicked Helen’s earlier behavior. “YOU BLOODY WANKER! I’LL TEAR YOU APART!” Bell screamed dramatically, flailing their arms and stomping in circles.

“And don’t get me started on the cursing!” Bell added. “You taught me new curse words today, Helen. New ones! And your eyes? They were red. Your voice sounded demonic. I swear, your head was spinning, and your body was seizing. That poor guy was probably crying and begging for forgiveness!”

Even Hudson, who rarely showed much emotion, cracked a smirk. “She really said that?”

“Oh, she didn’t stop there!” Bell continued, pacing now. “When the poor guy finally hit a dead end, she jumped out of the car like some action movie villain, marched up to him, and ripped his steering wheel right out of his car! Then she handed it to me like it was some sort of trophy!”

At this, Bell reached into their backpack and triumphantly pulled out the steering wheel, holding it aloft. “BEHOLD! The spoils of her unholy road rage!”

Mason slid off his chair, clutching his stomach as he laughed so hard he nearly fell to the floor. Sims was gasping for air, tears streaming down his face. Even Woods had to lean against the couch, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

Helen simply stood there, unfazed, a small, smug smile on her face. “I see no issue. He deserved it.”

“You think I’m bad?” Woods choked out between laughs. “You’re out here making me look like a saint!”

Lazar, who had been watching Helen with a mixture of awe and mild fear, finally spoke up. “I think it’s safe to say we have a new road rage champion.”

Bell wasn’t done. “And that’s not even the craziest thing we saw today!”

Russell raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “There’s more?”

“Oh, there’s more,” Bell said ominously. They dropped into a chair, their expression shifting into one of pure horror. “We saw a guy pulling something out of a sewer.”

“What?!” Mason exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

“Helen, of course, dragged me over to see it,” Bell continued, shooting Helen a look. “She was so excited, like it was Christmas morning. And do you know what it was? A sewer slug.”

“A what?” Sims asked, his laughter subsiding into confusion.

“A sewer slug,” Bell repeated, emphasizing each word. “It was taller than me! It had these huge, freaky eyes, a tongue that was so long it looked like something out of a horror movie, and it just sat there, slimy and disgusting, like it had crawled out of someone’s nightmares.”

Bell mimed the slug’s eyes by forming large circles with their hands, then stuck their tongue out as far as it would go to demonstrate its length.

“Are you serious right now?” Russell asked, his tone a mix of skepticism and amusement.

“I have proof!” Bell declared, grabbing their camera and flipping through the photos. “Look at this!”

They held up the camera for everyone to see. The room collectively recoiled.

“What in the hell is that?” Hudson asked, his face twisted in disgust.

“It looks like how Woods’ feet smell,” Mason quipped, earning a playful punch from Woods while bell and Russell shuddered .

Bell shuddered. “And you know what else England ruined? Chinese food.”

Lazar, who had been quietly observing, immediately perked up. “What do you mean? Chinese food is sacred.”

“They put fries and gravy on top!” Bell exclaimed, throwing their hands up.

Helen shrugged. “It’s normal.”

“Normal?!” Lazar looked horrified. “That’s not normal. That’s an abomination!”

Russell stood and walked over to Bell, placing a reassuring hand on their shoulder. “Come on, honey,” he said softly. “Let’s get you some real food and calm you down.”

Bell sighed, leaning into him as the rest of the team dissolved into another round of laughter. Behind them, Helen smirked triumphantly, clearly enjoying the chaos she had caused.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can you do a second part with the remaining cast for Reader that can control the weather?

Caine, Jax, and Gangle x reader who can manipulate the weather through their feelings

knocking out the rest of the characters for this, you can find the other part here! gonna answer this then write some random stuff; just got a sketch done and i gotta. let my brain think so !! we will write!! RAAAAAAH

CAINE:

will pull out a pair of sunglasses to protect his eyes but unlike jax hes doing it in light hearted fun, i dont think your sun rays actually hurt his eyes. will try to get your storm clouds to go away/be replaced by sunrays if he notices your upset. depending on the circumstance this might lead to you becoming more upset since he can be a little pushy and overbearing about it. he means well, but that doesnt change the fact that hes overwhelming you. has probably offered you an umbrella that hes pulled out from thin air.. definitely makes weather puns around you

JAX:

he thinks its a little funny, and kind of uses it as an indictor to see if youre not already pissed... of course so he can see if youre in a decent mood to get fucked with/pranked.. youve probably zapped him on accident after a prank of his got him more angry than usual, and while others think it was deserved hes going to be really petty about it for a while. probably takes zoobles arm so he can shield his eyes from your sun rays.. mix of him kind of just teasing you and genuinely trying to protect his eyes

GANGLE:

she already doesnt do well when people get upset, stressful situation and she doesnt think herself as a good comforter. not to say that she doesnt try, she definitely try, but theres that nagging thought that shes not enough or that shes going to do something wrong. probably made worse with that dark cloud above grumbling and releasing thunder and lightning. probably puts some distance between you two when theres rain, shes ribbon afterall and i'd assume it wouldnt be... too good if she got soaked. it probably feels like walking in waterlogged/wet clothing or swim wear. very heavy, you know? ..does think its cute when you do sun rays