#what i would give for just a tiny crumb of this man

[angelasscribbles]

Picture Perfect

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake x Riley

Rating: Mature

Warnings for this chapter: there's a tiny bit of lemon scenting. Also, they will be mean to each other. Curse words of course.

Word Count: 2,107

My other stuff: Master List.

The Duke and Duchess of Valtoria climbed out of the back of the limousine, the Duke wrapping his arms protectively around his wife’s waist. He angled his body between her and the crowd, as he always did.

Riley smiled and waved to the crowd as they made their way down the red carpet toward the charity gala. Drake smiled at her. The only attention he spared for the crowd was to survey it for threats.

This was not lost on the press. The rulers of Valtoria were beloved by their people. Partially because they both used to be commoners and everyone loved a good rags to riches story, but also because of the genuine love and affection they showed each other.

It was rare, after all, in this day and age to see such a high profile couple so obviously in love, so dedicated to each other. It was inspiring, and there had been a proliferation of articles about their once in a lifetime kind of love.

Every Cordonian woman dreamed of finding a man who looked at her the way Drake looked at Riley.

In interviews, they each gave all the credit for their personal successes to the other.

She laughed at all his jokes.

He opened doors for her, pulled out chairs and led her around the dance floor, staring down at her like she was the only woman in the world.

She straightened his tie for him and reached across the table to wipe crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

Yes, everyone agreed that they were the perfect couple. Perfectly in love.

Which was exactly what their carefully curated public image was supposed to convey.

Behind closed doors, the story was a little different.

Later that night, the limo pulled down the drive at the Valtorian estate and rolled to a stop in front of the manor.

The Duke exited first and reached back for his wife’s hand.

She took his hand and climbed out behind him, giving him a grateful smile then thanking their driver.

The couple made their way to the entryway as the limo drove away. He pulled the door open for her.

The duchess glanced back as she entered her home to ensure the car was out of sight, then she whirled on her husband, the well-rehearsed smile replaced by a mask of fury. “Did you get her number?”

He blinked. “Whose?”

“The fucking waitress you couldn’t keep your eyes off of all night! She sure found all your stupid jokes funny. Spoiler alert, you’re not funny.”

His jaw ticked. “Frankly, I’m surprised you noticed who I was speaking to at all, considering how much time you spent fawning all over Liam.”

“Oh, give it a fucking rest already. If I wanted Liam, I would have married Liam! I could have!”

“Yes, I know! You never miss an opportunity to throw it in my face.”

Her eyes scanned the foyer as they traversed it to ensure there were no servants within hearing. Couldn’t have their little tiff on the front page of tomorrow’s Cordonian Star, marring their image. A perfect picture with a broken frame, that’s what they were. “You what your problem is?”

“No,” he rolled his eyes. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You’re just pissed that I don’t need you anymore. I’m not some clueless waitress that needs your help. Is that your obsession with waitresses, Drake, huh? You need clueless women so you feel more powerful?”

“Jesus Christ. I was just making conversation! You left me alone at the table half the night! What was I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to not embarrass me, that’s what! Considering what I gave up to be with you, the least you could do is afford me some fucking respect!” She gathered her dress in her hands as she stormed up the stairs toward their shared bedroom.

She should make him move into another room. God knows there were plenty of them.

“Oh, yeah, what did you give up to be with me?” He already knew the answer, but now he was ready for a fight. She had a lot of gall to be pissed at him when he had to watch her flirt with his best friend all night.

“I turned down a literal king to be with you!”

“Oh, here we go with this shit again!” He bounded up the stairs behind her. “Don’t put that on me, Riley, you made your own choices!”

“I gave up everything to be with you!” She pushed into the bedroom and threw herself onto a chaise lounge to pull her ridiculously high heels off.

“What the fuck did you give up, Riley, huh? You still got every damn thing Liam promised you. A duchy, money, power. What exactly did you give up? Tell me that!”

“I could have been queen!”

“Queen,” he scoffed. “You didn’t want to be queen. That involves work. You got all the fame and fortune without having to do the actual work!”

“I work!”

“Yeah? Really? Doing what?”

“I run a duchy in case you haven’t noticed you fucking prick!”

“Max runs the duchy for you.”

“He’s my assistant!” She tossed the shoes to the floor and stood up to turn her back to him.

“Assistant my ass,” he fumed as he pulled her zipper down for her. “He does all the work! Remember the one budget meeting you went to? Remember when you were trying to prepare for it? You didn’t even know the difference between a fixed expense and a variable expense, I had to tell you. You would have nothing if it weren’t for the people around you. You’d still be waiting tables in New York.”

She jerked away from him and reached up to remove her earrings. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been riding Liam’s coattails your entire fucking life!”

Drake glared at her as he shrugged out of his jacket and clawed at his tie. “Oh, is that what I’ve been doing?”

“Yes, Drake, it is. If it weren’t for Liam, you wouldn’t have anything, including me!” The sentence was punctuated by the clatter of her seventy thousand dollar sapphire earrings clattering to the table top where she flung them.

His fingers froze with his shirt only halfway unbuttoned. He turned toward her incredulously and flung his arms out. “You think I wanted any of this? Liam did all this for you, not me!”

“You didn’t exactly drag your feet moving into Valtoria, did you? You sure let him make you a duke fast enough.”

His mouth fell open. “I did that for you and you know it!”

The laws and traditions in Cordonia made it much easier for the aristocracy to marry each other than to marry outside of it.

It was the entire reason Liam had made her duchess in the first place. Back when he thought he still had a chance to make her his queen.

Riley turned her back to him again as she let her dress fall to the ground and pulled on an old t-shirt. “Don’t act like you did it for me. You never loved me, you just wanted to stick it to Liam, remember?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Isn’t that what you told me that day you said it felt good to win against him for once?”

The words hit him like a gut punch. He took a step toward her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, no, that’s not what I—”

She shrugged out from under his touch and headed for the master bath. “It’s what you said.”

“Riley—” He sighed with a shake of his head as he finished undressing and changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a Cordonia University t-shirt.

When Riley returned from the bathroom, face scrubbed clean and hair taken down, she found Drake standing at the drink cart pouring himself a generous helping of Macallan. He shook his head when he saw her and launched right back into the argument. “I became a fucking duke for you and you know how I feel about the damn aristocracy and all their bullshit!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got it so rough.” She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand dismissively in the air. “Sitting here in my estate, drinking three hundred thousand dollar bottles of scotch and smoking imported cigars while my staff does your laundry and cooks your meals.”

He threw his head back and laughed. That laugh made her want to punch him in his smug face… with a baseball bat. “What?”

“Do you think I need you for any of that? I’ve got news for you, sweetheart, I moved out of a literal palace to come live here, and this whiskey is swill compared to the stuff they stock! Cheers!” He held the glass out to her with a mocking smile, then threw the drink back.

It went down smooth. He was pleased with himself for winning the argument until he saw the expression on her face.

Riley had had enough. She pulled open a dresser drawer and started throwing clothes onto the bed. “Get out.”

“What?”

“I said get out! Move into the room across the hall. You’re not sleeping in here ever again.” She stormed to the closet and pulled his luggage out, dragging the largest one to the bed.

Disbelief rooted him to the spot for a bare second, then fury exploded through his chest. He moved to take the suitcase from her. “Fuck that and fuck you! I’ll just move into my cabin!”

“Good!”

“Great!”

“I can call a butler to help you pack.”

“Don’t need one. Unlike you, I still know how to do shit for myself.”

“Whatever. Fucking asshole.”

She retreated to her favorite wingback chair with a glass of wine as he haphazardly grabbed items from the closet, the dresser, and the bathroom, not bothering to check if he’d gotten it all.

It wasn’t until he was dragging four suitcases to the door that panic started to set in.

When was the last time he’d been to the cabin? Was it dusty? Was the heat working? Was there food in the kitchen?

He could go to the palace, but then he’d have to explain to Liam why he was there, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He was sure that Liam was just waiting for a crack in their relationship.

He could go stay with his sister, but then Max would ask him a million questions and probably head straight to Valtoria to comfort her.

Riley might not be aware of the raging crush Max had on her, but Drake was. No, he couldn’t go to Ramsford.

Would she file for divorce? Who would she hire? Most likely Rashad. That mother fucker was definitely interested.

Shit!

He couldn’t take it back now, though. He had some pride left.

He had just kicked the last suitcase out the door and into the hallway when he heard her voice.

“Drake, wait!”

Oh, thank God!

She cracked first. Now he could stay without having to admit that he wanted to.

He turned back to find her standing within arm's reach. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him. His lips crashed down on hers. He kicked the door shut behind him, suitcases abandoned in the hallway.

She pulled back to murmur, “Drake, I’m so—”

“Shut up,” he breathed, as he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

An hour later, they lay in the bed naked, sweaty, satiated. His back was streaked with blood from her scratch marks. Bruises bloomed like a necklace around her neck and along the top of her breasts. Her teeth marks stood out, red and angry, on his chest and shoulders.

His voice was rough with emotion as he pulled her body close to his. “I love you, Riley. I wasn’t flirting with that waitress.”

He had been, but it was just to boost his ego a little. It meant nothing.

“I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t flirting with Liam either. I love you too.”

She had been, but it was hard not to. He was so attentive and charming. It meant nothing.

He pretended to believe her.

She pretended to believe him.

It was easier than facing their issues and insecurities.

She scooted closer to him, sighing as his arms tightened around her.

He had definitely been flirting with the waitress, but she pushed that out of her mind as she snuggled against him.

That was a problem for another day.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price - Green Hell (1940)

[deus-ex-mona]

scrolled a little too far back on mogetwt and found pure gold:

[utahimeow]

cw — reader and gojo have a daughter, established marriage, gojo is sad but reader comforts him

satoru gojo is not a man of many fears. heights, spiders, needles, death—fearing these is alien to a man who’s looked death itself in the eye and refused to let it touch him. however the words that his five-almost-six year-old daughter just uttered send shivers down his spine.

he’s frozen, eyes wide, face pale. he thinks his lungs stop working and his heart stops beating.

big, blue eyes round as a bug’s stare up at him, oblivious to the implications of it all.

the sentence echoes in his head like a taunt. he thinks he’ll hear it in his nightmares tonight.

then, her little hand as she tugs on his pant leg yanks him back to reality.

“daddy, i said my tooth fell out!”

satoru gulps, gaze falling to the crumb of bone in her hand, then to the tiny gap that’s now in the front of her mouth.

he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

you’re home from work not long later and the girl rushes to greet you at the door, screeching with delight to announce the loss of her tooth to you.

you’re gasping dramatically, gathering her up in your arms as she gives you a gummy smile so wide her eyes scrunch shut. staring at her is like looking in a mirror, a perpetually perfect reflection of you and your love combined into one small being.

“it didn’t hurt, did it?” you ask her.

“nope! i didn’t even cry,” she tells you, beaming with pride.

“oh, how brave you are,” you tell her, kissing her soft cheeks, grinning as her giggles bubble throughout the entire foyer.

she wriggles out of your grasp and then she’s off again, bounding back upstairs to her room to the pile of plushies upon her bed so she can continue to brew up tales and backstories for each of them. now that both her mother and father have heard her big news, she’s satisfied enough for it to no longer need to be on her mind.

you’re not surprised to find satoru in the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard. you are surprised at the fact that he doesn’t turn to greet you like he always does. with a pout, you stride over to his towering frame and snake your arms around his slender waist, pressing yourself flush to him.

“hi, lover,” you hum.

in your embrace, satoru becomes lighter. the tension in his hard muscles lifts, his shoulders dropping, his back shedding the weight of the world.

“hi, pretty,” he replies, uncharacteristically quiet, yet somehow his voice still drips with affection for you.

“what’s the matter?” you ask him. you’re well aware of your husband’s melodramatic nature, and it’s because of that that you don’t find yourself worrying over his state of despair. still, you’re rather filled with a curiosity—what minuscule nonsensical issue has him down today? did they discontinue his favourite kitkat flavour?

hands migrating up his torso and finding his chest, you squeeze your fingers into the fat of his pectorals. in the blink of an eye, satoru is facing you and his cold hands have grabbed hold of your wrists. he grins down at you softly, amused by your antics as always, but you blink again and his face drops, growing almost grave.

“talk to me,” you urge, prying. his soft grasp leaves your wrists, moving to envelop your hands which drown in his. he brings them to his lips, kissing at your fingertips, making your heart beat in your ears and your face grow hot. it’s strange to think he once shrivelled away from your affection, convinced he was not worthy of it.

“how was work?” he asks.

“fine. good. same as always,” you tell him. “but you’re avoiding my question. and your feelings.”

he shakes his head, a child through and through. “tell me about your day.”

“satoru,” you say, stern, and it feels like you’re scolding your daughter for not listening to you. “i hate it when you’re… off like this.”

his eyes pierce through yours then, filled with unspoken apology. then, he exhales, long and hard, a sigh that’s heavy with weariness. for you, he’s learned to surrender.

“our daughter losing her tooth today made me realise that she’s getting older and i can’t stop it,” he admits.

you sigh along with him, half relieved that your conscience had been right in believing that it wasn’t anything serious. well, in the sense that no one had died. the rest of you knows he’s not being irrational. since becoming a father, and even before that, when having children was just a distant fantasy for him, an anxiety had lived inside of him. an anxiety of fucking up, of being inherently unsuited to fatherhood, of the idea that she may suffer the consequences of him being her father.

and now, a new anxiety sprouts.

“true, but we get to watch her grow, satoru. don’t you think that’s amazing?”

he stays silent, mouth forming an absentminded pout.

“i just keep thinking about when she was a baby… how tiny she was, how she would waddle around, and drool on my chest. soon she won’t be my little girl anymore, you know?”

“satoru,” you say firmly. your hands curl around the back of his neck, scratching at the snowy hairs of his undercut. “she’ll always be your little girl. i know that because she’s your whole world, and you’re hers. she may never be that little baby again, but she’ll never be as little as she is now either, so love and cherish her now instead of moping about the inevitable passage of time.”

satoru smiles a dopey smile at you, the same one his daughter has.

“i’m so glad i married you,” he says. his hands are warm now as they settle on your lower back, dipping down, down, down.

you roll your eyes at him, opening your mouth to reply with something witty, but he beats you to it.

“i’m being serious now, baby. you always know what to say when i’m being stupid.”

“when you’re being overdramatic, you mean,” you say, grinning playfully.

“hey, it just shows that i care, doesn’t it?”

you pull him down to your face by his neck and kiss him, moulding your lips against his, tender and warm and home. it’s not just his thoughts that melt away when he kisses you, it’s his entire head, until all that’s left is a man with nothing but his wife on his mind, heart beating for no reason other than to keep him alive so that he can keep thinking about you.

briefly, you pull away, in spite of how he chases your lips with his, because he could kiss you until the end of time and you could do the very same, but there’s something weighing on your mind suddenly.

“if you want a second baby i can make that happen, by the way,” you tell him, your hips pressing against his.

“oh, now you want another one? but every time i ask for one i get an earful? heh,” he says, quirking a brow, but unfortunately for him he’s hard in his pants in an instant.

“yeah, but now i feel bad for you.”

“babe, i don’t want a kid out of pity!”

[httpsdana]

hey!

love your work! i was wondering if you could do one about pau cubarsi and they get a pet and she pays all her attention to the pet and pau gets jealous or smthg?

thank you sm 💕

Puppy Love~Pau Cubarsi

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

From the moment y/n and Pau brought home their new puppy, Mochi, it was pure love. They'd both been so excited, planning out every little detail: his bed, his toys, the cutest little collar, and spending way too long debating whether “Mochi” or “Tofu” was the perfect name. Eventually, Mochi won out, and now here he was, a fluffy little ball of mischief that they both adored like their own child.

Pau was obsessed from the start. He would cradle Mochi in his arms, cooing, “Mi amor, look at him! He’s already the most handsome boy in the world. Right, Mochi? You’re perfect.”

She'd laugh at his cuteness, running her fingers through Mochi’s soft fur. “Wow, I think I have some competition now.”

Pau smirked, giving her a wink. “Sorry, cariño. Mochi and I? Unstoppable duo. He’s basically my mini-me.”

“Oh, so he’s already dramatic about mealtimes and leaving crumbs everywhere?” she teased with a smile

Pau gasped, clutching his chest. “Excuse me, I am not dramatic, and I clean up my crumbs… sometimes.”

The early days with Mochi were filled with laughter and cuddles, both of them cooing over every little thing he did. The two of them doted on him together, taking turns waking up in the middle of the night when he’d whimper or need to go outside, racing each other to see who could make it to Mochi first when he called for attention.

But soon, Pau’s schedule got a bit busier. He was away more for practices and games, and y/n found herself spending more and more time with Mochi. While Pau was out, she'd have little “puppy and me” dates, complete with treats, belly rubs, and mini photoshoots where she would send the funniest pictures to Pau, captioned with things like, Look at your competition or Mochi says he’s the new man of the house.

Pau would text back immediately. No way. Mochi can’t be half as charming as me. But then he’d send three heart emojis and demand more photos.

One evening, after a long day, Pau came home, eager for some quality time. He walked in to see y/n sprawled on the couch with Mochi stretched out across her chest, his tiny head resting comfortably as she scratched his belly.

Pau stopped in his tracks, crossing his arms and giving her both an exaggerated pout. “I’m gone for a few hours, and this is what I come back to?”

She looked up, stifling a laugh at the face he was making. “Jealous of Mochi, are we?”

He put a hand to his chest, looking utterly wounded. “Me? Jealous? Absolutely. This used to be my spot, you know,” he grumbled, nodding at the spot on her chest where Mochi was curled up. “I used to get those head scratches, too.”

“Oh, bebé, come here,” she cooed, setting Mochi down gently before opening her arms. Pau took his chance, practically launching himself onto the couch to snuggle up to her.

“Finally,” he sighed dramatically, burying his face in her neck. “About time you give me some attention.” His tone was teasing, but he looked so adorable that she couldn’t help but laugh.

y/n wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Aww, you poor thing. Mochi just missed you. I missed you, too,” she said, rubbing his back soothingly.

“Oh, good. Because I was about to start howling for attention myself,” he joked, causing her to burst out laughing.

“Maybe Mochi has been teaching you a thing or two,” she teased, ruffling Pau’s hair just like she did with Mochi.

Pau grinned, snuggling closer. “So, you’re saying I need to be more puppy-like? Alright then.” He scrunched up his face and gave a dramatic little whimper, making puppy eyes at her.

She playfully rolled her eyes, laughing as she stroked his hair. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Ridiculously cute?” he asked with a hopeful grin, his eyes twinkling as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Alright, yes, ridiculously cute,” she admitted, kissing him softly.

Mochi, clearly curious about the attention shift, clambered back onto the couch, settling down between y/n and Pau, his little tail wagging as he looked up at the two of them.

Pau raised an eyebrow, looking at Mochi. “Oh no, you’re not stealing my girl again,” he warned playfully. “Go on, go chew a toy or something.”

But Mochi just flopped down, resting his little head on her lap, looking far too adorable to move.

Pau sighed, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. My own puppy is trying to sabotage me,” he said, though his face softened as he reached over to scratch Mochi’s ears. “Alright, fine, maybe we can share the lap.”

y/n laughed, leaning over to give Pau a kiss. “Face it, babe, we’re a package deal now. You, me, and Mochi.”

Pau’s face lit up as he kissed her back, pulling her closer. “As long as I get first dibs on goodnight kisses. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed, grinning as she wrapped herself up in his embrace, Mochi happily snuggled between them.

From that day on, Pau made sure to reclaim his spot in the cutest ways�� “accidentally” bumping Mochi aside to curl up in her lap or dramatically announcing his need for “emergency cuddles” whenever he saw her petting the puppy. The three of them settled into a perfectly fluffy routine, filled with laughter, and many sweet moments.

In the end, they both knew they’d created a little family, with enough love to go around—Mochi included, of course.

[mollywog]

Hi!

I can't stop thinking about this scenario i'm your complicated universe:

Burdock is now showing off his granddaughter.

Thank you for letting me know: I’m so tickled!! It inspired me to write a small addition.

For context, Complicated is an in-Panem AU where Mr. Everdeen lives and this would have happened anyway happens much sooner.

Shout out to all who suggested names for the Toastbaby girl for this universe!

Haymitch first saw the girl at the Hob when she was just a baby. Burdock was so proud of her, toting her everywhere. Katniss soon outgrew his arms, trailing behind him with her own scrawny squirrels on her belt, until she was striding beside him with just as much to show as her old man.

They’d never mended the old wound, he and Burdock, but he still paid particular attention to the Everdeens. That way, if Lenore Dove’s ghost ever came to him, he’d be able to tell her of her kin— at least that’s what he told himself.

And recently there’d been a new branch added to the family tree.

Haymitch had watched the girl— Katniss, over the last several months as her belly’d swelled near splitting, until he’d worked himself up worrying it’d be twins— but then he’d learned the father was one of Otho’s boys and her size had made sense.

He’s heard she delivered— a healthy little girl, but it’s just luck that he’s at the Hob today when Burdie arrives, his bundle in tow.

He doesn’t see her right away, just the unmistakable pride on his old friend’s face as he introduces her around.

Haymitch has no reason to linger, his business with Ripper complete, but he can’t resist the urge to get a peek of the girl and any information he can glean, so he sidles up to Sae’s stall and sits at the booth. He ignores the old woman’s raised brow, carelessly pulling a fistful of coins from his pocket. Gone is the bribe and the questioning looks as the bowl of something he rather not contemplate slides across the counter. He hunches over the stew, running his spoon through the sludge, straining his ears to catch crumbs as Burdock moves closer.

Bits and pieces of conversations float over the chatter and Haymitch’s chest tightens at the sound of his friend's voice, so achingly familiar and comforting despite all the years, until the girl’s name shakes him out of his revelry.

Olive?

He scoffs, frowning at Sae’s knowing smirk.

Like the food? He supposes it’s an improvement from the tuberous roots for which mother and grandfather are named…

But no, it’s not just a food. He turns the name over again. It’s a color— green— a dark yellowish green like the moss that’s begun to grow over Lenore Dove’s grave stone, though he doubts that’s what the happy parents were imagining when they picked it. Still a nod to Burdie’s family perhaps? But color alone does not a Covey name make. He briefly wonders if there’s a ballad of Olive Mellark.

He really hopes not.

But there’s still something that nags at the back of his muddled mind. He closes his eyes to clear his head, but instead an image floods his memory: the floor of a Justice building on his tour long ago— a mosaic depicting a bird with a bough — no, that's not quite right— a dove with an olive branch.

He breaks into a sweat and his stomach rolls. Unbidden, his eyes seek out the source of his distress; the tiny girl, swaddled in a dove colored blanket, with a muted orange ribbon accenting the scalloped edge.

It’s as if someone has walked over his grave— no, not his— Lenore Dove’s— but aren't they the same thing? They’re a matched pair, mated for life, more married than any piece of paper could make them. And that girl is his kin too. Beloved and endangered if he cannot fulfill his promise to Lenore Dove.

“Don’t you . . . let it . . . rise . . . on the reaping”

He stands abruptly, knocking the stool over in his wake. He gives the girl— no, Olive, one final look before retreating back to his house. He won’t waste another minute; There’s work to be done.

[nymphaura777]

Stop Manifesting a Text and Start Manifesting a LOVE STORY

If you’re sitting around, staring at your phone, refreshing messages like it’s a damn stock market crash, I need you to stop. Right now.

You’re out here trying to manifest a tiny, insignificant text when you could be manifesting the whole damn relationship. A text? A notification? That’s crumbs. You deserve the whole damn cake, PERIODT.

Manifesting text?

When you’re focused on manifesting a text, you’re basically telling the universe:

“I just want a little attention.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get.”

“I don’t believe I can have the full love I desire, so I’ll settle.”

And the universe? It listens. It gives you exactly what you assume is possible.

So yeah, maybe you get a message—maybe a random “hey” at 2 AM that means absolutely nothing, maybe you'll do a cute little dance at that time or would be texting your bsf "HE MESSAGED ME!!!" but does it really matter at the end of the day?

Or maybe? You get silence. Why? Because you’re thinking too small. You’re not in the energy of someone who is cherished, adored, and pursued.

And let’s be real do you want a text, or do you want a man who is OBSESSED with you?

Love story? Definitely yes.

Do you want him like this....???

He’s texting you first, every morning, because you’re the first thing on his mind.

He’s planning dates, showing up, and making effort because he can’t stand the thought of losing you.

He’s obsessed with you in a way that makes even the most romantic movies look basic.

He’s showing up in your life as the version of him that worships the ground you walk on.

THAT is what you should be manifesting. Not some weak-ass “wyd?” text that doesn’t mean a damn thing!!!!

Solution? Let Celeste tell you.

Stop manifesting from desperation. Every time you check your phone, wondering if he texted, you’re reaffirming the fact that he hasn’t. You’re sitting in lack, in waiting, in “why isn’t it happening?” mode. That’s the energy of someone who isn’t chosen.And that’s NOT you.

Start assuming he already adores you. Manifestation isn’t about “making” things happen—it’s about having things already done. So stop wanting a text and start assuming: “Of course he’s in love with me. Of course he’s thinking about me. Of course he’s planning our future together.” That’s the energy of someone who knows they are loved, and the universe will mirror it back. Universe is the best mirror yk that?

Romanticize the HELL out of your love life. You want a man who worships you? Start acting like someone who is worshipped. Walk, talk, and breathe like the version of you who is already in the most breathtaking, passionate, committed love story. No matter how bad your love life has been in past. Just. Act. Like. You. Are. Already. Worshipped. How would you feel if you're worshipped from that guy? What emotions would you feel? What your brain would whisper if he had moved mountains just for you. Yeah. Think like that.

Let the universe do its job. Stop checking. Stop waiting. Stop reacting. Start assuming it’s unfolding perfectly. If you needed to chase, beg, or constantly check your phone, it was never yours to begin with. But the moment you sit back and say, I already have it, it’s already mine, BOOM.

Cause honey, You’re Too Powerful to Be Begging for a Text.

You’re too divine to be waiting on breadcrumbs. You’re not a side character in HIS life, he should be fighting for a spot in YOURS.

So next time your brain starts panicking, thinking, “Why hasn’t he texted?”—remind yourself:

I don’t manifest texts.

I don’t manifest breadcrumbs.

I manifest love deeper than the ocean itself. Yeah exactly that's what you deserve you better know it.

Now go be that goddess who doesn’t settle for less than a full-blown love story. The texts, the confessions, the commitment? What are you talking about? ITS ALREADY DONE.

[dreamcatcheratdawn]

Luffy x mermaid reader please

I'm so happy to see this I've set the story as the Fishman Island arc, for an equally obvious reason. In advance, I hope you enjoy the story ( ꈍᴗꈍ). And, I don't know who made this amazing fanart one, but if you do, please let me know immediately so that I can give due credit.

"Like Ocean"

Luffy x Fem!Reader

Warning: nothing, just fluffy.

You were living another monotonous day on Fish Man Island, trying to find any crumb or spark of adventure to give you a good laugh and a bit of adrenaline. Pappag and Camie tried to cheer you up with the idea of shopping and eating Hachi's takoyakis, but you had done the same thing three days ago.

It wasn't a certainty, it was a pure fact that nothing interesting was happening on this island for you. Until you, exhausted by boredom, went to Camie's house to see if she had any news. And that was a great idea, a really great idea.

As soon as you entered her house after a couple of knocks, you saw that there were three people and a strange being, apparently new to the area. On closer inspection, there was a blond man with elegant hair, who, as soon as he saw you, came running towards you, blood gushing from his nose. Speaking of noses, there was a big-nosed man next to a boy in a straw hat. But none of them interested you. What really caught your attention was the tiny creature that you had no idea what animal it was.

-Is that even an animal? - you asked yourself, your thoughts speaking aloud as you deliberately poked at the creature's antlers.

-I'm a reindeer! - the reindeer exclaimed, backing away from you angrily, covering its antlers with its fluffy paws.

-Y/N, I want you to meet my friends. This is Sanji," Camie approached you, pointing at the blond with the heart eyes.

-Oh, miss, I've never seen beauty as fascinating as yours. When can we get married? - the blond in question asked, kneeling down in front of you and holding out his hand to you.

Camie just laughed, ignoring the whole show, while you followed his finger-pointing.

-That's Chopper over there, isn't he cute? - you went over to the so-called Chopper, pulling his cheeks and feeling his soft fur.

-So cute… - you blushed, pulling Chopper into a hug, to which he responded not very pleasantly.

-That's Ussop, he's got great adventure stories. - the word "adventure" rang an alarm bell in your head, making you turn your head so quickly that anyone watching would be afraid you'd break your neck.

-Ho ho, people keep coming after the great Captain Ussop to hear his fantastic stories. - Ussop struck a superhero pose, as if he were looking towards the horizon.

-Captain Ussop, can you tell me about your adventures? - you asked, hoping to get a positive response from the big nose.

-Oh, but of course, I'll always be available to tell you all sorts of stories about my adventures! - he thickened his voice, nodding outrageously to say the least.

You were delighted, excitement electrifying every part of your body.

-Finally, this is Luffy, the captain of the gang. - Camie concluded, pointing to the boy who was looking at you, grinning from ear to ear.

On closer inspection, you found the brunette attractive, not to mention handsome, right off the bat.

-And I'm going to be king of the pirates! - Luffy concluded, his smile widening, his eyes closed tightly, making him cuter by the second. "So they're pirates," you concluded, thinking. Incredibly, that line moved you, burned you up inside, but you didn't know why or how. It was the first time you'd felt your heart beat so fast in so long. Oh, and that wasn't adrenaline. It wasn't the fear of being caught. It wasn't any of those things. It was something different, quite different from the usual. And from that moment on you silently decreed that you would find out what that strange feeling was, your eyes focused only on Luffy, who never tired of smiling at you.

-Nice to meet you - you smiled, Chopper kicking you in the face begging you to let go while sparks flew from his eyes from staring at Luffy.

-Hihihihi - Luffy just found the situation amusing, always smiling as long as he could.

-What about walking around? There's a lot of cool stuff you need to see! - Camie decreed, already tugging at her colleagues' hands, you going along out of sheer instinct for fun.

You all visited Pappag's clothing store, and you even met other members of Luffy's gang, who were just as kind. As you looked around, Luffy made a point of always catching your eye in any way, with anything. From some stuffed animal that, according to him, looked like you, to how the food was prepared, and even though you knew all this, you lent yourself to learning it all over again, just for Luffy.

-Look, it suits you. - Luffy came up behind you, putting on a straw hat with a purple scarf adorning the hat. - Now we're matching - he said, standing behind you and putting his hands on your shoulders, smiling as you looked at yourselves in the mirror in front of you. - Isn't it?

You agreed slowly, fascinated by Luffy's pure beauty. And it didn't stop there. Everywhere you went, Luffy always kept those warm hands on your shoulders, clinging to you like a tick. Did he… Liked you? Or was it just a figment of your mind?

After a whirlwind of confusion that you unfortunately didn't take part in because you were "investigating" the sudden disappearance of your mermaid friends, you were directed by your pet seahorse to where Camie and the others were.

Your eyes popped out of their sockets at the sight of a giant mermaid, or rather, the princess of the Ryugu Kingdom, Shirahoshi.

She and Luffy were laughing together, like old friends seeing each other after so long. That unsettled you, and strangely your heart squeezed. What could it be? Were you ill? Something you ate or drank for breakfast?

-Oi, Y/N, over here! - Luffy's voice caught your attention, making your heart pound. It made you recall a vague memory of something Pappag told you.

"If your heart races when you interact with someone, it's because you like them."

Of course, you were inexperienced in this field, you'd never even considered dating. But you didn't give up easily. Oh no, you'd figure it out on your own.

Swimming over to Luffy quickly, you sat there, next to him. He was in a bubble to make sure he didn't drown, and quickly slung his arms over your shoulders, resting right there. He introduced you to the princess, to whom she was delighted to meet you, and you felt the same.

Looking around, you saw that you were in the sea forest, and it soon became clear that both Luffy's boat was there, and also the princess wanted to see her dead mother, to make up for the time she hadn't been able to see her.

Meanwhile, Luffy was already snoring on her lap. It was adorable to see him so vulnerable around you. Until his pet seahorse started to catch his eye, heading towards the pile of coral.

-What is it, Koryu? - you asked him, watching him point frantically at the pile of coral.

Koryu gave up and started pulling you towards it, waking Luffy up in the process. Koryu only let go of your arm when you could see a dolphin calf with its tail all bruised to the point where it could no longer swim. Perhaps the dolphin had run into predators and narrowly escaped.

You carefully picked up the dolphin and put it on your lap, and thought of a way to take care of it. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't even see Luffy coming.

-Huh, a dolphin? - he asked, right next to your ear. You turned abruptly, so that your faces were right next to each other. Your lips were millimeters away from meeting, and your breaths danced together. Let's pretend there isn't a bubble separating you. You turned your attention to the dolphin, your heart almost bursting out of your mouth and your face turning into a blushing mess.

-A-ah, yes it's a…dolphin. He's hurt, so he needs to be looked after.

There was a moment of silent tension between you, and you wouldn't dare look at Luffy's face now, you felt like you could die from an attack if you did.

-If you keep avoiding looking at me like that, you'll never know if you really like me. - Luffy said, catching your eye. You widened your eyes, and turned to him, shocked.

-How did you know? - you asked, your stomach churning with that familiar feeling.

-Well, it's easy to tell when you keep saying your thoughts out loud. - he shrugged, smiling.

You closed your mouth, cursing internally. That was your weakest point, speaking your thoughts out loud without even realizing it. You must have done it at some point when the two of you were together and he must have heard it. Lucky you.

-Well, I like you. - Luffy said without blinking, giving you a quick kiss right after he declared himself.

It caught you off guard, and he just smiled, leaving the pile of coral and going back to where the others were. After your brain short-circuited for a few seconds, you smiled, bringing your fingers to your lips, where seconds ago they were being kissed by the first boy you ever liked.

Feeling his lips was the thing that gave you the most adrenaline in your entire life. And yes, it was addictive. And yes, you wanted more.

The truth is, Luffy, from the first moment he met you, he liked you. No, that's incorrect. He fell in love with you from the very first moment. Of course, he didn't know the first thing about love, God, hours ago he just wanted to be king of the pirates. Now he has another goal, and that goal is to love you until the day he die.

(At some point I was even going to describe the color of the tail, but I left it to your imagination)

[tired-truffle]

My Soul to Keep

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.6k

Tag List: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @ihascat5 @pebble-bb @goooofy-goooober1121 @furblurwurblur @potatointhedirt @webofwhimsy @mad-simp420 @xo-mingx @patchs-curiosity-corner (Let me know if you'd like to be added)

Chapter 2

Masterlist

You’d never imagined being a ghost tethered to a place to be a very fun experience. Being unable to move outside of your haunting space or see new scenery would drive anyone at least a little crazy after a few years. Being tethered to a person or an object, on the other hand, would give you a bit more wiggle room and the ability to explore. Except it would only be at the whim of the person carrying your object, or the person themselves. While you hadn’t figured out if you were actually a ghost or not, less than a minute after Viktor had left his apartment, it became viscerally clear that you were attached to something or someone on the move. Like an invisible wall of force, you were shoved from your spot, hovering uncertainly above the leather couch, and dragged through the floor. 

Your shrieks of terror went unheard as you passed by room after room, making your descent from the upper floors. A man frantically buttoning his vest, a piece of toast crammed into his mouth, groaning his irritation as crumbs scattered over his chest. A woman reading a newspaper, a cup of tea in her hand. A young couple, one wrapped nothing but a thin sheet as they kissed goodbye at the door. 

Wonderful, not only were you some sort of ghost-like creature, but you were now a Peeping Tom too. 

After what must have been upwards of fifteen rooms, you finally reached the ground floor, floating down until you hovered over smooth tile flooring, polished marble tiles laid out in an intricate herringbone pattern that stretched from wall to wall. Towering columns of veined stone rose to meet a vaulted ceiling, where ornate chandeliers hung like crystalline raindrops frozen in time. Their warm light glinted off the gold-leafed accents adorning the walls and archways, rendering an atmosphere of quiet luxury.

A polished mahogany reception desk stood to your left, its surface so reflective you assumed it must be polished on the hour every hour. Behind it, a wall of brass mailboxes glinted, their tiny doors neatly labelled with apartment numbers.

As you floated there, drinking in the details of your lavish surroundings, a soft 'ding' broke you from your curious reverie. The elevator doors slid open, and Viktor stepped out.

It took him a moment to spot you, likely not having expected to see his hallucination lying on the floor of his building’s entry, but unfortunately for you, there was no coverage to hide your embarrassment. Like a flame flickering into existence, his eyes widened as they landed on you, stuttering in his steps. With a resigned sigh, you waved at him and floated back to a standing position. 

Out of all the side effects of your predicament, the floating was probably your favourite. It was the little things that kept you going. 

Recovering smoothly, lucky that the few others in the lobby weren’t paying attention to the newcomer, Viktor resumed his long-legged strides, his shoes clicking against the marble floors. When he reached you, you floated along at his side, hands clasped behind your back with the dignity of someone who did not just fall through the ceiling. 

“It seems like I can’t leave your general vicinity. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” You elbowed him, even knowing it would go right through him. It was the thought that counted. “I don’t think anyone else can see me though, or a lot more of them would have freaked the fuck out when I appeared in their rooms.”

The subtlest of smirks canted at the corners of his lips. He pushed open the glass door, the creaking of the hinges masking his voice so only you could hear his reply.

“I’ve had worse tag-alongs.” 

That shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did, but you beamed at him anyway, pleased like a student who’d been praised by an overly harsh teacher. 

You hovered in silence beside Viktor, acutely aware of the peculiar situation you found yourself in. The bustling streets of Piltover unfolded before you, gleaming with wealth and innovation that left you slack-jawed with wonder. It was one thing to see it on screen, and another to experience it first-hand.

Sleek, chrome-plated carriages whizzed by, and the people of Piltover moved with purpose, their attire a dizzying array of fine silks, tailored suits, and accessories that sparkled with precious stones. You realized, with a start, that even the most modest outfit you saw probably cost more than you'd ever seen in your life.

Street vendors hawked their wares on the cobblestone roads - miniature clockwork toys, glowing vials of mysterious substances, and gadgets whose purposes you couldn't even begin to fathom. You longed to stop and examine each fascinating item, but the invisible tether binding you to Viktor urged you onward.

After a few blocks of sensory overload, you approached a structure that made even the grandest buildings you'd passed seem modest in comparison. The Academy loomed before you, a colossal edifice of azure stone that seemed to touch the very heavens. Its walls were smooth and polished, reflecting the sky like a massive sapphire.

As you ascended the steps alongside Viktor, you noticed how the stone beneath your feet - or where your feet would be if you weren't floating - clicked and moved to match the height and speed of his strides. Would they get smaller for someone like Heimerdinger?

You turned to Viktor, bursting with questions and observations, but held your tongue, remembering that he couldn't respond without looking like a madman talking to thin air. Instead, you contented yourself with a small smile, grateful for this unexpected adventure and the chance to witness the wonders of Piltover firsthand.

It wasn’t until you were through the foyer and into the elevator - alone with Viktor - that you spoke up. 

“So,” you elongated the vowel as you thought of what to say. “What do you do with this professor?” 

Viktor was young and mostly healthy, no illness eating away at his lungs, and if he was going to meet Heimerdinger first thing in the morning, you imagined it was because he was still working for him. However, there was a chance that he was meeting with the professor about Hextech. 

“I’m his assistant,” Viktor said plainly, confirming your suspicions. 

You frowned, consideringly. “Prestigious.”

He shrugged. “It has its perks.”

The elevator dinged, its doors opening to the tenth floor. Viktor stepped out, cane softly thudding against the carpet and accompanying his muffled footsteps. It was just the two of you, as far as you could tell. 

“You’re welcome to accompany me, though it appears you have little choice in the matter, but I must warn you I will not be able to speak with you,” he said under his breath. “Heimerdinger may appear…aloof at times, but he is sharp as a whip. If he believes that I’ve cracked under the pressure, he will have me immediately escorted to the nearest in-patient facility. That or he’ll lecture me over tea, neither of which I am particularly fond of.” 

You nodded along as he spoke, spinning so you were floating on your back, watching the sparkly tiled ceiling flow by. “I figured as much. Don’t worry about me; I’ll just chill in the corner. You won’t even know I’m there.”

And you’d been so close to being right. 

You’d done as promised, perusing the corners of Heimerdinger’s office while they reviewed their daily tasks, and trailing as far behind them as you could when they set out. The limit seemed to be about twenty feet in all directions before the barrier kicked in and shoved you along. Entirely aggravating - you’d never liked being told what to do, not even by invisible walls. 

Every so often, you'd push against the barrier, testing its limits. It was like pressing against an elastic wall - you could stretch it a bit, but eventually, it would snap back, dragging you along.

As you drifted through the corridors, you noticed something peculiar. Whenever you passed through a person, they would shiver involuntarily, as if a sudden chill had swept over them. You watched as a young student, her arms laden with books, trembled as you glided through her. Her eyes darted around, confused before she shrugged it off and continued on her way.

Intrigued by this discovery, you decided to conduct a little experiment - if you were going to surround yourself with scientists, you might as well try to blend in. You positioned yourself in the middle of a busy intersection where multiple hallways converged. As people walked through you, one after another, you observed their reactions. Some merely twitched, while others visibly shuddered, their teeth chattering for a brief moment.

Interesting, but you weren’t sure what to do with this newfound knowledge.

They didn’t head back to Heimerdinger’s office until late into the evening - it was clear where Viktor got his unhealthy work habits from, if he hadn’t had them already. By that point, you were bored out of your skull, and you couldn’t even get the reprieve of banging your head against the wall. 

All you could do was talk and float around, and since the only person you could talk to was Viktor, that left you with floating as your only option - and there was only so much flopping around into different positions that you could do before you lost your mind. 

Your wish for entertainment came in the form of an overly distracted Heimerdinger. You hadn’t been watching, Viktor hadn’t been watching - busy sorting through the missives that had piled up on the professor’s desk while they’d been out - and Heimerdinger himself hadn’t been watching where he was going, too enraptured in his thoughts. 

Bang! The loud slap of a stack of books toppling to the floor jolted you out of your calm - albeit painfully boring - state. 

Your perspective shifted dramatically, as if the world had grown larger around you. The colours of the room muted, losing their vibrancy, yet somehow, you could see more of your surroundings at once. Your visual field expanded, stretching to the corners of the room that were previously out of sight.

Your closest surroundings blurred, becoming indistinct shapes in your new vision. Yet, you found yourself drawn to the smallest movements - a piece of paper fluttering in the breeze from an open window, specks of dust filtering through the air.

Everything was different, more immediate, filled with scents and sounds you hadn't noticed before. The musty smell of old books mingled with the sharp tang of ink and the faint aroma of Heimerdinger's pipe tobacco.

Your ears twitched, picking up sounds you hadn’t noticed before. Viktor's breathing seemed louder now, the soft rustle of his clothing, the subtle creak of floorboards beneath his feet.

Instinctively, you hissed through clenched teeth as confusion prickled along your spine, your fur standing on end as your back arched. The sound that escaped your throat was alien and feral, nothing like your usual voice. As soon as it happened, you froze, bewildered.

Hold on.

Be so fucking for real right now.

This could not be happening.

Viktor’s wide eyes and slackened jaw said otherwise, his missive falling to the floor like a feather on a gentle breeze. 

You became acutely aware of your new feline form. Your whiskers twitched, sensitive to the slightest air currents in the room. Your tail, a foreign appendage you'd never possessed before, swished behind you with a mind of its own. You flexed your paws, feeling the soft pads beneath and the sharp claws that extended and retracted at will. The fur that covered your little body was a sleek black, looking soft to the touch as though you’d spent hours grooming it.

“Gadzooks!” Heimerdinger exclaimed, his head popping up from where he’d dived behind his desk to avoid being crushed. “That was a close one! Are you alright, my boy?”

Viktor hadn’t even been close to the books, but it was sweet of the professor to ask - not that you could register it in your shock. 

Shaking himself out of his stunned stupor, Viktor turned to face his employer. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“I’m alright, but it did give me quite the scare.” Heimerdinger chuckled to himself, but you were too busy freaking out to fully appreciate how the yordle’s ears wiggled when he laughed. 

Why the fuck were you a cat? And how were you supposed to turn back?

Oh God, were you stuck like this forever now? No, you refused. You’d had enough weird shit happen; you weren’t going to let this control you too.

Closing your eyes, you concentrated on slowing your heart rate. Like water falling off a duck's back, your feline form melted away. A tingling sensation spread from your core to your extremities, and you sensed your body stretching and reshaping. When you dared to open your eyes again, you found yourself back in your ghostly human form, hovering a few inches above the ground.

Frantically, you patted yourself down, checking for any lingering cat-like features. No tail. No fur. No whiskers. You ran your hands over your head, sighing in relief when you felt your hair instead of pointed ears. The world had returned to its normal proportions and colours, the hyper-awareness of scents and sounds fading back to normal.

Still shaken, you drifted over to Viktor, who was helping Heimerdinger gather the fallen books. You hovered close to his ear, hissing in a low, urgent whisper - a human hiss, not a cat hiss - "What the fuck was that?"

Viktor's eyes darted to you for a split second before returning to his task. His lips barely moved as he hissed back, "How am I supposed to know?"

You ran your hands through your hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "I turned into a fucking cat!" you whispered incredulously, your voice rising slightly in pitch.

Viktor's jaw clenched, and he shot you a warning glance. His eyes flicked meaningfully towards Heimerdinger, who was dusting off a particularly old tome.

You nodded, forcing yourself to take deep, calming breaths – not that you actually needed to breathe, but the familiar action helped steady your nerves. As Viktor and Heimerdinger finished tidying up, you retreated to a corner of the office, trying to process what had just happened and wondering what other surprises your strange new existence might have in store for you.

Sitting in awkward silence wasn’t your favourite activity, but lately you’d been doing a lot of things you typically avoided. 

“Do you still think I’m a hallucination?” You broke the silence, your elbows resting on your knees as you floated above the couch, legs crossed. 

Viktor swayed his head and twisted towards you, his piecemeal dinner of toast and jam abandoned on the coffee table. “I have not concretely ruled it out, but since no one else can see or hear you, that may be difficult. For now, I am leaning towards no. It is much too fantastical for my mind to come up with. Besides, I do not feel as though I have lost my senses. There would be other signs.”

Logical, as you’d expected. 

“I wish I wasn’t real,” you sighed, tilting your head back to look at the popcorn-textured ceiling. “This is all so crazy. I don’t know where to begin trying to find answers.” 

“Do you remember what happened before you arrived here?” 

You shook your head. “Not a thing.” 

Viktor hummed his understanding. “You said that this world should not exist, what did you mean by that?”

Right, you had blurted that out in a panicked rush, hadn’t you? 

“If you don’t think you’ve lost your mind, then you definitely will think that I have when I try to explain it to you.”

He smiled, soft and patient, and in response, your stomach conjured up a flurry of butterflies to tickle your insides. “I promise I will not pass undue judgment. If I was going to, I would have already, given that you’re transparent and can turn into a cat.”

“Fair point.” He had you there, and what else did you have to lose? “Though don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He sat back, motioning for you to begin. 

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. “Do you have televisions here? Like screens that play pre-recorded videos?” 

“Some do, though it is not particularly common.”

“Thank God,” you breathed, “I really didn’t want to try to explain what that was. They’re pretty common in my world, at least where I come from, most households have them. We’ve got millions of shows and movies to watch. There was this one show called Arcane that was about, uh, here. Like, Piltover and Zaun.” 

He nodded sagely, and you couldn’t find any traces of disbelief in his eyes. He was just���accepting it? Or he was a very good actor. You were leaning toward the latter. 

“You were one of the main characters,” you continued, noting that this did get a reaction from him: a slight raise of his eyebrows. “And judging by a few observations, this is before the start of the show, though it can’t be more than a few years at most. If I had to guess based on my luck lately, we’re pretty close to it, weeks if not days.”

Viktor's forehead creased as he processed your words. "A show…about Piltover and Zaun. I suppose the politics could be intriguing. And I'm a character in it?"

“You are, but I don’t expect you to take me at my word. I can prove to you that I know things that I shouldn’t, and I can predict a few upcoming events, though we must prevent one sequence of events or everything goes to shit, so I may need a little bit of trust from you.”

At this, he looked interested, and you took this as a win. “Intriguing. You may proceed.”

You paused, what could you even tell him? What would be believable? “You…know a lot of things.”

“True.”

“And if you’re still thinking I may be a hallucination then I can’t tell you your history ‘cause you already know it.” You tapped your chin, lips twisted as you thought hard. “I’m trying to prevent the immediate future, so that wouldn’t work either, but…oh! Are you able to go to a doctor anytime soon?”

Viktor blinked, startled back. “A doctor?” 

“Yeah, like a medical one, not Dr. Reveck.” 

“Who is Dr. Reveck?” 

It was your turn to express your confusion. “You know, the doctor in that cave you met as a kid? When your boat went down the stream into his lab?”

Viktor eyed you, suspicion swimming in the depths of his gaze. “He never told me his name.” 

“Oh, uh,” you grinned sheepishly, “I guess you know it now. He’s the inventor of Shimmer. He’s trying to cure his daughter of death. He should probably be stopped, but that’s a later problem.”

“Right.” He was dubious, but he waved for you to continue. 

“Okay, here it goes, and it’s probably gonna suck to hear, so I’m warning you now,” you said, and upon Viktor’s nod, you started. “They never told us what illness you had, or I guess you have, just that you got it from Zaun’s shitty air. Your lungs will start to fail you, you’ll need a crutch, you’ll lose weight, and you’ll start coughing up blood sometime in the next seven years. Eventually, it would kill you. But, many people believed the illness was similar to one that we have in my world: tuberculosis or consumption, depending on the time period.” 

Viktor's face paled as you spoke, his lips pressed into a thin line. He sat in silence for a long moment.

"That's... quite specific,” he said when he was able to form a response. “And rather grim."

“I know. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I’m sure that’s a lot to take in, but if it is something like tuberculosis, then the good news is it’s totally treatable before it gets to the active stage. Do you have any of those symptoms now?”

“I don’t,” he said, a wariness to his tone. 

“That’s great!” You clapped your hands, relief flooding through you. What were you supposed to do if the one person who could see you died? “That means you don’t have the active stage yet, or any illness at all, but if it’s caused by Zaun’s air and you haven’t lived there for some time, then it wouldn’t make sense that you pick it up later. Can the doctors here test your blood for an illness like this?” 

“Yes.” His fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the arm of his chair, a nervous habit you hadn't noticed before. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to get checked, though the idea of being ill and unaware until it is too late is unsettling."

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock on the wall and the distant hum of the city outside. You wished you could offer more comfort, but what could you say to someone who'd just been told they might have a potentially fatal illness?

"I'll schedule an appointment as soon as I can," Viktor said, quiet but resolute.

You nodded, relieved that he was taking your warning seriously. "That's good. Really good. Thank you for listening to me."

Viktor's lips quirked into a small smile. "It's not every day a ghostly entity from another world appears to warn you about your health. It would be foolish to ignore such a specific prophecy."

You chuckled, appreciating his attempt at levity. "That’s the spirit."

Over and over in your mind you prayed to whatever gods may be listening that they could catch his illness in time. And if they couldn’t…you weren’t sure you had it in you to stop him from becoming the Machine Herald.

A few days later, he had his appointment set, and until then, you were stuck following him around. It wasn’t all bad, you’d spent most of your time idly floating, watching the scenery as you trailed after Viktor, and the evenings were spent in peaceful companionship. Surprisingly, he was more chatty than you’d expected. Late at night as he pursued his work, he’d talk to you about it, or rather talked at you as you had little to add. But still, you appreciated the entertainment. 

You had avoided turning back into a cat again, if such a thing could be avoided. One thing at a time; address Viktor’s illness, get him to believe that you were real, and then you could figure your shit out. 

On the day of the appointment, you floated beside him as he made his way to the physician’s office. It was in a central part of town, a quick trolley ride away. As you entered the sleek building, a thought occurred to you that you’d nearly forgotten. 

“Did someone teach you to use your cane on the same side as your injured leg?” 

Viktor halted in his steps, said cane clacking against the floor. It was just him in the entryway, and he looked at you with bewilderment. “I beg your pardon?”

You cringed, who were you to tell him how to use his mobility aid when you couldn’t even use your legs? There was no such thing as an inaccessible environment when you could float everywhere. “It’s just that you’re supposed to use a cane on the opposite side as the disabled leg, right? But I thought maybe there was a reason you weren’t doing that.”

He glanced down at the cane and then back up at you. “That’s what my parents taught me.” 

Ah, it was as you feared. No one had taught him to use it properly, and they’d been letting him go his whole life using it in a way that would damage his body over time. It made sense that Zaun didn’t receive proper health education on top of everything else. “Maybe you can talk to the doctor about it while you’re here.”

He pursed his lips, gaze distant as though evaluating memories you were not party to. “Perhaps.” 

After signing in and waiting his turn, Viktor was called back. 

“I’ll wait outside the door if that’s okay with you,” you offered, floating down the long hallway as the nurse brought him to a clinic room. Viktor nodded his understanding. 

You hovered in the hall, your ethereal form passing through the occasional nurse or patient who hurried by, watching as they shivered or shuddered.

As you waited, you observed the diverse array of people moving through the clinic. A young woman with braided hair adorned with gold jewelry passed by, her eyes fixed on a small device in her hand. An elderly gentleman hobbled along, supported by a woman of a similar age - his wife, maybe. A pair of identical twins, no older than ten, chattered excitedly about the latest comic their parents had bought them.

The nurse who had escorted Viktor into the examination room emerged, her shoes squeaking softly against the polished floor. She moved with purpose, her crisp white uniform much too clean for someone who no doubt frequently got her hands dirty. How many changes of uniforms for its staff did this place have to keep up appearances?

Minutes ticked by, and you found yourself studying the patterns in the wallpaper, tracing the delicate floral designs with your eyes.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely only about thirty minutes, the door to Viktor's room opened again. This time, a distinguished-looking man in a white coat stepped out, followed closely by Viktor. The doctor's salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, and his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, a reassuring expression that immediately put you at ease.

Viktor's face was a mask of calm, but you could see the subtle tension in his shoulders. He extended his hand to the doctor, who grasped it firmly.

"Thank you, Doctor," Viktor said. "Your insights have been most valuable."

The doctor shook Viktor’s hand, his smile widening. "It's my pleasure. Remember what we discussed, and don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions."

With a final nod, Viktor turned and began making his way down the hallway towards the exit. You floated after him, your ghostly form easily keeping pace with his measured strides. As you followed, something caught your eye, and you did a double-take.

Viktor was using his cane differently.

Where before he had held it on the same side as his disabled leg, now it was on the opposite side. He had listened to your suggestion and brought it up with the doctor. This small change could make a significant difference in his daily life, potentially alleviating pain and improving his mobility.

As you exited the clinic, the bustling streets of Piltover greeted you. The afternoon sun beat down on the cobblestone paths, and you floated alongside Viktor, studying his face for any sign of what the doctor might have told him. His expression remained impassive, but when there was a break in the crowd, he leaned closer to you.

“I will receive a call with the results of the testing in a few days,” he whispered. “But you were correct about the cane. Thank you.” 

You shrugged, entirely unsure what to say. “I hope it helps.” 

An uptick at the corner of his mouth was the only sign of his smile. “Only time will tell.”

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!! I hope this makes it to you in time, and thank you so so much for all the support you gave for the first chapter <3

If at any point when reading this chapter you thought to yourself: "I just want you to stop sayin' odd shit." I do not blame you. It's not going to get any less weird, but I hope you enjoy it!

[eddiewithcat]

hello friends !!

i recently was able to get my hands on the Chaos Theory Novelization of s2 book and wanted to share some of the benji scenes because they made me Lose my Mind a little

(what’s new man)

kenji being upset ben isn’t giving him the attention he’s been trying to garner … (him pointing out how far from the others they are // him bringing bumpy’s egg baby into this)

BENJI BOAT SCENE 😭🫶🏻 HONESTLY GUYS.. if i had zero context of this show … i would be so convinced ben was about to give an aborted love confession …

“were you gonna tell me something?”

“oh uh- wasn’t important. you got a lot on your mind” OK????

BENJI AND THE BROOKLYNN REVEAL / BEGINNING OF THE FIGHT …. man. oh man. the fact we get to know what was really goin’ on in kenji’s mind when he witnessed it. GODDD…

*THE* BENJI FIGHT … 😕 sad they took out the bit where kenji cried (that also a storyboarder told us about before) but glad they at least decided to keep it in the book! oh my heart man.

and then finally … this one. i think this shows just how hurt kenji truly is by the entire situation- and completely shows how everyone else comes from more of a place of concern whereas kenji is coming at it with anger.

this is the part that really showcased to me just how important building ben and kenji’s bond back up is going to be- and that this won’t just be tossed under the rug and forgotten (unlike past arguments… but hey what do i nose)

(also tiny dinostar crumbs. darius not giving a fuck about the lying and only focusing on the fact the love of his life is alive ?!?! I’m going to cry)

anyway hope you guys enjoy :> there were a few tinier moments spread out here and there but i felt these were the most important!! if you are curious i will post!

[yandere-romanticaa]

Here are some crumbs about yandere mortician! From now on, his name is Viktor. (I'll make a detailed post about him, his personality, looks later, I promise.)

masterlist.

Viktor can often be seen with headphones in his ears, his expression neutral and eyes glazed over with a sheen of nothingness. When he's spotted in public people want to give him the benefit of doubt and say he's just lost in his own world, consumed by the sound of music. Perhaps he's just so in tune with the lyrics, maybe they speak to him on a level which people often seek out when listening to music. His playlist is filled with all sorts of songs - be it long ballads, cheesy love songs, generic pop, heavy metal, screamo, classical music, frankly some songs you wouldn't even expect someone like him wouldn't even listen at all(a la WAP by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion).

Even while working, Viktor likes to have something playing in the background. His co-workers often joke about his music taste but he just shrugs them off without saying anything. It's all just a rollercoaster, a complete mess but he likes it that way. It's fun to be on his toes.

Truthfully, Viktor never liked music. He never bothered paying attention to the lyrics nor the meaning or even the tune of the song.

He simply can't stand the silence.

Viktor is a walking contradiction - he dislikes most people and yet wishes to be a part of them. He wants to be someone. But he doesn't know how to do that. His way of coping became listening to music. He even learned to play some instruments growing up, thinking that maybe someone would take a liking to him.

Even so, no one bothered with him. He was still a nobody.

Some did admire him, from a safe distance at least. His aura was black as charcoal and posture stiff as a board. Even if one dared to look at him for too long it felt like Viktor would pluck their eyes out if he caught them looking.

Perhaps he would. He wasn't sure either.

The sounds had no meaning to him. It was all used to cover up the silence, pure white noise. Nothing more, nothing less.

All of that came to a screeching halt once he met you, his tiny piece of sunshine.

You'd go through his playlist, sometimes scoffing, sometimes liking the things you saw. His eccentric side never failed to amuse you. Amongst that jungle you'd ask him who his favorite artists were, if he had anyone specific he liked.

Viktor said the names of some random artists he thought you fancied yourself. He wanted you to like him.

His answer ultimately did not matter in the end as you would still recommend some of your own personal favorite songs to him. Viktor promised he'd give them a listen as soon as he could.

Later that evening, he was hard at work. As he was putting on his coat he turned towards his phone and reached towards it, slightly eager to see what you had in store for him. The song played quietly in the background as gently rain tapped against the window, giving the morgue a more tranquil feel than it ought to have. The person on his table tonight was an old man who presumably died of a heart attack earlier this morning.

Poor soul. That was all he could bother to say.

The evening went on as it usually did but Viktor could not stop thinking about you. His sweet little sunshine, he was so touched by the fact that you bothered to go so far for him. He could feel his heart racing as unfamiliar butterflies started to flutter in his chest.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

If he wasn't careful he would be the next one to die of a heart attack.

The music got a bit louder as it reached the chorus, its tune almost perfectly in sync with his heart. He hadn't even realized that he started to sway his hips gently. Left, right, left right.

It felt like the correct thing to do.

Viktor also picked up the sound of a male voice humming which was odd, considering the fact that the singer of the song was a woman. He nearly dropped his scalpel as he realized that the one who was humming was him, not someone else, him.

For the first time in his life, Viktor bothered to pay attention to the song. The singer detailed her undying feelings for her lover, promising herself to them and them only.

Viktor thought about you the entire time. He never fancied himself as a dancer but if he could, he would want nothing more than to dance with you.

Would you want to dance with him?

For the first time in his life, Viktor found joy in the music he listened to. And it was all thanks to his sunshine.

🔪 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince

[daisyvisions]

✦ Day 21 - Food Play

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: neighbor!Eric x afab!reader

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 1.7K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), food play (using syrup), fingering, lots of nipple play here, mutual pining, strength kink (if you squint), pet name (sweetheart), kinda fluff but like smutty fluff lol, sexual innuendo mentioned

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: My brain was in rest mode it was so hard to think of how this would go until the idea finally struck when I was supposed to go to sleep 🙃 Hope you enjoy this one! Actually proofread.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network: @deoboyznet

✦ Kinktober Masterlist ✦

It had almost been a week since Eric had moved into the apartment across from yours.

After you came back from your morning walk to the nearest coffee shop, you bumped into your landlord, stopping for a moment to have a small chat with them.

"Oh! By the way, there's a new guy moving in across from you."

"Is he a cranky middle-aged man again?" You joke.

"No, not at all. I think he's around your age actually! You might actually get along with this one." She winks, but you don't understand what she was implying.

"Cool, I'll be sure to give him the usual first-day greeting!"

As soon as you reached your floor, you spotted a number of moving boxes outside. You quickly reminisced about the first time you moved into your apartment. How stressful it was bringing in all the boxes and unpacking each one. So you decided to bake something for your new neighbor as a form of sustenance and get your chance to say hello.

You rang the doorbell, balancing on the heels of your feet as you held a box of lemon bars in one hand.

While waiting for him to respond, you wondered what he might be like. Did he keep to himself? Was he a nosy neighbor? Was he the type to blast music and keep you up at night? Did he bring any people ho-

The door suddenly swings open, and you're greeted with an image you weren't expecting at all. Beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, hair slightly damp, a towel hanging from his shoulder, and... Oh no. He's shirtless.

"Uh, can I help you?" He looks at you with curiosity. You almost don't hear him the first time as your eyes quickly scan his toned chest.

"Oh, sorry to interrupt!" You try to play it cool. "I live right across from you, wanted to drop by to say hello." You smile at him. He looks up and down at you for a moment, licking his lips before smiling back at you. She's cute.

"I'm Eric." He extends his hand to you. You try to compose yourself, feeling the rough and firm grip of his handshake. You say your name in return.

"I, baked you something. Thought you needed some energy from all the moving in."

"Oh, right, um, thank you." He shyly replies, trying not to make a fool out of himself.

There's an awkward pause between you, the music coming from the other side of his door faintly playing in the background.

"Well... if you need anything, you know where to find me. Nice meeting you again, Eric!"

"Oh, I definitely will. See you around, neighbor." He winks at you before taking the box of baked goods from your hand.

Before you start blushing in front of him, you turn around and walk straight into your apartment. You lean your back against the door as soon as you close it. Your heart racing just from that tiny interaction with your new hot neighbor. You suddenly shake off the incoming butterflies in your stomach.

Before you even set foot in the living room, you hear a knock at your door. When you walk back to open it, you catch Eric mid-way through knocking on your door again.

"Sorry, I know you just got in, but I just have to say your lemon bars were really good." He exaggerates, spotting a few crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm glad you liked them! I could make more for you if you want?" You ask.

"Actually... I was thinking maybe you could teach me how. Kinda suck at cooking, to be honest. Between you and me..." Eric motions his finger for you to come closer.

"Might've been the reason why I got kicked out of my old apartment." He chuckles.

"Well, lucky for you, I love to cook. So I'll make sure you won't burn our floor to the ground." You joke back.

"Perfect, are you free this weekend?" He asks.

"Yeah, I've got nothing else to do." You smile.

"Great, I'll see you then."

"And where do I pour this again?"

"Just in the mixer, Eric." You chuckle at the man next to you.

"You got it!" He points at you with finger guns as he grabs the vanilla extract. You both smile at each other, enjoying each other's company while music plays in the background.

At first, you felt very nervous about having Eric over. Worried that you might become too obvious with your attraction towards him and scare him off. But to your surprise, spending time and getting to know him was very calming.

"Okay, now after pouring, just turn on the mixer for a few seconds." He nods his head at your instruction. After turning off the mixer, Eric slightly dips his clean finger into the batter to taste the mixture.

"Oh my god, this is so good!" He groans.

"Eric... It hasn't even been baked yet."

"No, try it! I swear." He dips another clean finger into the batter and holds his finger out in front of you.

"No, no, it's okay. I can get it myself." You nervously say, trying not to blush at what he wants you to do.

"C'mon now, before it spills over." His batter-dipped finger still hanging in front of you.

"O-okay..." You grab his hand in yours and raise it a little higher, leaning forward to take his finger in your mouth.

Eric's breath hitches as you slowly swirl your tongue around his digit, your eyes never leaving his.

"T-taste good?" He stutters.

"Mhm." You hum in response, hollowing your cheeks to suck the batter completely clean off his finger. Releasing it with a pop.

"H-holy shit..." He mumbles, caught in a daze watching you suck his finger clean.

To be completely honest, he did it as a joke. He was not expecting you to actually lick the batter from his finger at all. The whole act makes his cock twitch in his pants.

You don't even know where your boldness came from. But you liked the confidence it brought you, seeing Eric get all flustered from what you just did. Mentally patting yourself on the back for adding that popping sound at the end.

You turn around before making things more awkward than they are, grabbing the baking pan on the counter to prepare pouring the batter.

"Okay, now that the batter is good, we can finally start to bake-" You suddenly feel Eric's hands grab your waist, spinning you around to face him as he instantly smashes his lips against yours.

Both your lips move oddly at first until they find the perfect groove. Your arms slowly wrap themselves around his neck as he leans his hands on the edge of the counter, caging your body under his.

You kiss one another passionately until you pull away for a moment to catch your breath.

"I knew from the moment you rang my doorbell I was a goner." He smiles at you. “Thought about you every night since we met.”

Before you can even respond back, he grabs your waist and hoists you up, making you sit at the edge of the counter before diving back in to kiss you some more.

Your hands find their way through his hair, tugging them as you slip your tongue into his mouth. He groans, squeezing your waist before pulling down the straps of your sundress to kiss your exposed chest.

"So pretty..." he mumbles against your skin, littering as many kisses as he can while massaging your breasts with his strong hands.

As you close your eyes and play with his hair, Eric spots a bottle of syrup in the corner of his eye. He grabs the bottle with his free hand and releases your nipple from his mouth, pulling himself away from you for a moment to open the bottle.

"Hold still..." he inverts the bottle and squeezes the syrup onto your chest, making sure the syrup covers your nipples in the process.

You gasp at the feeling of the liquid slowly rolling down your skin but instantly moan as you feel the tip of Eric's tongue following the trail of the syrup as he cleans it off your body.

His tongue flicking and sucking each nipple in the process, making your back arch at his touch.

You feel your core throbbing slowly, secretly wanting to relieve yourself of the ache. But it's like Eric read your mind as he brings his hand to your inner thigh, massaging it before moving it closer to your core. His finger hooks your panty to the side before plunging two fingers inside your cunt.

The squelching sound of your dripping hole becomes audible as soon as he pumps his fingers in you at a fast pace.

You utter what Eric thinks is the most angelic moan he's ever heard in his life, motivating him to keep pumping his fingers inside you as he continues to lick the syrup off your chest.

"Oh, Eric..." you moan out his name as you arch your back more, your arms resting behind you to keep yourself balanced. The slurping sounds he makes as he continues to lick your chest have you nearing your edge.

"Fuck, you're getting tighter around my fingers. Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?" He lifts his head to look at you.

"Yes! Yes! I wanna cum-"

"Then cum for me, cum all over my fingers." He increases the pace of his fingers, rubbing his thumb on your clit to help you reach your high faster.

Your high hits you like a tidal wave, making you cum so hard you're practically seeing stars. You hear Eric catching his breath as you come down from your high.

"That was fucking hot..." Eric looks at you with hazy eyes. Chest heaving as if he-

"Did you just?" Your eyes widen at the discovery.

"Yeah, I did..." his cheeks glow red in embarrassment. "Best dessert I've ever had." You giggle at his remark.

"Actually, I'm pretty good at making this one recipe. I can show you if you want." He adds.

You tilt your head to the side. "Oh? For what dessert?" He smirks at you as he squeezes your waist once more,

"Creampies..."

[p1zzaparty]

a very small, tiny, itty bitty detail i love to see in other peoples drawings of the Losers, especially as adults or young adults even, is what kind of fashion is given to them

like its almost a given that everyones Richie has some weird collection of shitty t-shirts with some nerd thing attached to it. Or brightly colored button ups with polka dots and stripes.

Eddie seems to stump everyone because i've seen him from everything to sweaters, to expensive formal wear, to neon rainbow tank tops. Personally i always saw that guy, with his bright pink and blue polo shirts and simple plain tees, as just a mixed bag of beans. He still dresses like mommy picked out clothes that she thinks would look super handsome on him, with his little stiff gelled combed hair to match. But he rarely, probably has anything that has actual words or icons on his shirts. Maybe a national park sweater here and there, that guy probably loooves gift shops. I think now with his big boy money he'll stray away from his usual get up, splurge a little, buy something branded, something new and expensive. Also something stupid, like shoes that are way too expensive. He's a fake sneakerhead, only really investing in brands he THINKS are cool or trendy. Not that he cares too much about being trendy and cool, like Richie probably does. Just...gets an ear worm sometimes, whispering to him about how they aren't that bad looking, and that he's buying it for himself, not because some jackass on tv wore them. Maybe a shiny new watch too, and maybe even a band shirt for pj-only purposes. Otherwise he's pretty strict on his expenses and just buys what fits and works as a shirt, pants, etc. Comfort over design, squarish in appearance, boxy and casually professional. I don't see him wearing a suit outside of work or waltzing into his nearest cheap café with a confident blazer and matching ironed pants. I doubt that guy even owns an iron, probably forgot to even buy one after mummy-kins passed. Even after she screeched and raved about it too, and he just ignored her tangents, assuming it wasn't even that important, all while his shirts became crinklier and sadder much like him. Sometimes i see people make him almost tooooo strict and formal and buttoned up, to y'know match Richies more casual and stoner-dork like style that's sometimes assigned to him. But Eddie, to me, is always a business casual kinda guy. Like, paid business trip to a golf course casual. Throwing on what's comfortable, giving a healthy amount of thought to what people might think of you. You will NOT find this man dressed to the nines at home, but he does, in fact, have a little pocket protector on his stupid shirt. With a pen or pencil thrown in just to make use of it, an old candy wrapper he forgot about and WILL get washed with it, or a few crumbs from his earlier microwaved breakfast burrito he had to scarf down before Myra had something to say about its ""toxic"" ingredients.

His clothes probably vary in size by a very small margin. Knowing a ball park guess of his pants and shirt sizes, always forgetting to add in it going through the washer, or how a size 30 is a size 31 in Canada or whatever. Probably because he was so used to mummy buying everything for him, even into his early 20s in college. Now he's free from her suffocating grasp, he still copies her sense of fashion and rarely does anything outlandish or fashionable. I think later down the line, in the cannon he survives and goes off to live a happily ever after with Richie, that he'd begin to explore a bit more. Getting that sugar baby money helps, and he'd have to try and buck up with Richie, trying to copy him slightly in terms of fashion.

He's a bland man Sarah, a BLAND man!

[corroded-hellfire]

I love everything about dad!Eddie!!!!!! It’s the cutest thing ever!!! Are your requests open? If so could I request dad!eddie with pregnant wife!reader and they’re little boy who’s so excited to have a little sibling? Their boy is convinced it’s a girl and Wayne somewhat is too and just lots of sweet fluff and their day to day as a family and Eddie being so infatuated with his pregnant wife 🥰🖤🖤 I just love the thought of Eddie being a dad and loving all on his pregnant wife

Dad!Eddie is my weakness! I actually thought this was a perfect setup for a part two to this story about Eddie picking your son up from school! I hope you enjoy this little family 🩷

Words: 3.5k

“Eddie, I can do it myself,” you say with a chuckle. 

“Don’t be silly,” Eddie says. A low grunt escapes his lips as he loads himself up with as many grocery bags as he can. It wasn’t enough that he wouldn’t let you go shopping for food on your own, now he had to risk hurting himself by carrying everything in one go so you don’t pick up a single bag. 

Jack hops out of the backseat and holds his arms out for one of the plastic bags his dad has. Eddie obliges and lets him take two light bags, one for each hand. Usually, you do the grocery shopping alone, but now that you’re in your second trimester, your husband insisted that you have some help. It came at a price though. Having both Eddie and Jack at the grocery store made the food bill go up by twenty bucks because they kept grabbing things off the shelves that they thought looked good. 

“I’m not useless, you know,” you lament as you follow the two boys into the house. Jack can’t reach to lift the bags up to the counter, so you assist him with that, managing not to get scolded by Eddie. 

“Of course not,” he replies as he unburdens himself of the packages. He walks over and rests his hands on your emerging bump. “You’re growing our second baby.”

“My sister!” Jack chimes in. You and Eddie watch as the five-year-old grabs a chair from the kitchen table and drags it over the counter. His little arms and legs push him up so he can see the bags on the counter.

“Still think the baby’s a girl, huh?” you ask, walking to stand next to him. He nods as you wrap your arm around his tiny shoulders.

“I know it,” Jack states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. That was interesting to both you and Eddie, seeing as you had both elected not to find out the sex of the baby. “Grampa Wayne knows it too.”

“Wayne says he thinks it’s a girl, bud,” Eddie reminds him. Jack shrugs this off like it means nothing to him. “And what’re you doing up here at the counter?”

“Gonna help,” the boy answers as he pulls a bunch of bananas out of a bag.

“Sweetie, you don’t have to do that,” you tell your son. 

“Wanna,” Jack says with a shrug. “I’ll help Daddy and you can relax.”

“Good man,” Eddie says, ruffling the kid’s brown curls. Your husband’s eyes widen in question when you arch an eyebrow at him. “What? Raising a little gentleman here.”

“We are,” you acquiesce, leaning in to kiss Jack’s head. “But I’m not some weakling, guys.”

“Nope,” Jack muses as he inspects a jar of peanut butter. “You’re super strong, Mommy.”

The praise from your son makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and spin him around—but you’re pretty sure that would give Eddie a heart attack. 

“The strongest,” your husband agrees. He saunters over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. “The most beautiful.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “The sweetest.” Kiss. “The smartest.” Kiss. “The best.”

It doesn’t matter how long the two of you have been together, his words still cause heat in your face and butterflies in your belly. The way he stares into your eyes with such adoration and love has your knees feeling weak. You refuse to let them buckle though, or Eddie would have a cow. 

“Well, thank you, my studly charmer. But you might want to pay more attention to your son than me if you want to have any of the Oreos we bought.”

Eddie spins around to see chocolate crumbs dusted across Jack’s lips and cheeks, a sneaky smile on his face as he’s slowly pulling his hand out of the blue packaging. 

“Hey! Hands off my cookies, shortstuff!” 

“How’s that feel, princess?” Eddie asks as you stretch the muscles of your torso out. There had been a cramp in your lower back that he just finished rubbing out. 

“So much better, thank you,” you say with a content sigh as you lean back against his chest. “If you keep calling me ‘princess,’ what’re you gonna call the baby if Jack is right and she’s a girl?”

Eddie hums as he wraps his arms around your body to rest them on your bump. “You underestimate the stash of pet names I have, baby. Angel? Little chick? Kitten?”

“You know I’m giving birth to a human, right?” you tease. Eddie slips his cold hands beneath your pajama top, making you let out a small yelp. Shoulders shaking with laughter, he reaches up and covers your mouth with one hand.

“Shhh, you’re gonna wake him up.”

Jack is fast asleep across the hall, but he’s always been a light sleeper. Neither you nor Eddie is looking forward to how cranky that will make the little boy once the new baby arrives and cries all night. 

“Have I ever told you how absolutely beautiful you are?” Eddie asks as he lays his head down on top of yours. 

“Mm,” you muse as you let your eyes slip closed. “Not in the last twenty minutes or so, no.”

Calloused hands rub softly over your bump, gentle and warm and relaxing enough to lull you to sleep. 

“You’re just s’perfect,” Eddie mumbles against your hair, more to himself than to you. His praise has your body flushing and you snuggle further back into his warmth. 

“Do you think the baby is a girl?” you ask, doing your best to push sleep off. 

“I don’t know. It’s what all those silly little tests we’ve tried have told us. So, I guess that’s what I’m leaning towards,” Eddie admits. “It’s no secret I want a daughter, but if we have another son, I’m going to love him every bit as much.” 

Nodding slowly, you lift one of his large hands to your mouth so you can press kisses on the rough skin there. 

“What about you?” Eddie asks. “Any motherly intuition telling you one way or another if Baby Munson Number 2 is a boy or girl?” 

“Nope,” you say. “Sorry to report that my body does not bring those findings to my brain. And what about you, huh? You’re the one who sent your swimmers to find my egg. You telling me that you don’t know if the best swimmer in your lineup is a boy or a girl?”

Eddie chuckles and presses a few quick kisses to the crown of your head. “We should get some sleep, babe.”

“M’kay.” 

You’re already halfway there as Eddie leans over and flicks the lamp on the nightstand off. As your husband maneuvers himself below you, you let him move you how he needs to, far too tired to even let out a groan when his knee somehow knocks against your spine. 

Eddie lays his head down on his pillow and pulls you into his arms. You waste no time tucking your head below his chin and nuzzling into the warmth and security of his chest. 

“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

After a few moments of heavy silence being all that responds to his words, Eddie cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of your sleeping face. There’s a peacefulness about you when you sleep and the way your lips part slightly has Eddie chuckling. 

Yep, he sure was right before. You are just so perfect in his eyes. 

Sunday family dinners are something Eddie only saw in movies growing up. Sure, he and Wayne had dinner together most nights but there was no other family to have dinner with. No aunts or uncles to come over or no grandparents to visit. Ever since Jack was born though, most Sundays have been family dinner nights. Sometimes some of your family would come over or you’d go over to theirs, but most weekends it was Wayne coming over or the three of you traveling the few miles over to Forest Hills to have dinner at the trailer. This week, Wayne is dropping by, and Eddie has enlisted Jack to help him make dinner. 

“Okay, now a teaspoon—no, that’s a tablespoon. There ya go. Dump that into the bowl. Perfect!”

Jack beams with pride and does a little wiggle on the chair he’s standing on. 

“Now what?” Jack asks.

“Now,” Eddie says as he plucks his rings off his finger one by one. Your son’s eyebrows furrow together when Eddie even takes off his wedding ring—that’s not one he usually removes. “We get our hands in there and mix everything together.”

“No rings?” Jack asks, pushing his sleeves up his little arms.

“No rings,” Eddie affirms. “I don’t want stuff to get caked in them.”

“S’not cake,” Jack tells his father with a giggle. “It’s meatloaf!”

“Silly me,” Eddie says. “Ready?”

Jack nods and the two of them stick their hands in the large bowl, raw ground beef squishing between their fingers and cold ketchup and egg yolks squelching as they work in tandem to combine the ingredients. Little giggles travel out to you in the hallway as you make your way towards them. Both of your boys have their backs to you as you enter, and you lean against the archway and cross your arms over your chest as you watch them. Their heads are close together and murmurs of their conversation sound like a dull hum from the few feet away. Eddie tries to move his hair out of his face by shaking his head, but to no avail. Chuckling to yourself, you push off the wall and slip a scrunchie off your wrist as you make your way to him. 

Eddie startles, not knowing you were there as you collect his hair at the back of his head. He lets out a self-deprecating huff of laughter as you tie the hair at the nape of his neck. The right shoulder blade beneath his black t-shirt is too tempting as it moves back and forth with the motions of his arms; you just have to press a kiss to it. A soft smile curls at the corners of Eddie’s lips as he and Jack finish mashing all the ingredients together. 

“It’s gonna be delicious,” you say as you snake your arms around your husband’s waist from behind. Resting your cheek against his back, you feel the muscles flex and stretch beneath his skin as he wipes his hands off on a towel.

“What should we have with the meatloaf?” Eddie asks.

“Sweet potatoes!” Jack cheers as Eddie tosses him the towel.

“Ooh,” you croon, picking your head up from Eddie’s back. “That sounds really good. With cinnamon and butter.”

“Yum!” Jack hums as he wipes his little hands off. 

“Whatever my loves want,” Eddie says. He turns in your grip to wrap one arm around your shoulders. “Guessing baby Munson wants sweet potatoes too?”

“Good guess,” you tell him with a peck on the cheek.

Eddie ends up preparing the root vegetables by himself because you fall asleep on the couch with your son curled up to your side, snoozing as well. He hardly minds though, preferring to be the one doing any and all work and letting you and Jack rest. The clock above the oven keeps catching his eye, checking to see if the time Wayne said he’d be by is approaching any faster. As happy as he is to be seeing the closest person he ever had to a parent, he doesn’t want the doorbell to disturb your sleep. Jack? That would be fine because then the little boy would be more likely to sleep through the night. You were so tired though from pregnancy that you could nap for hours and still sleep all night long. 

Deciding he could go for a cold beer, Eddie pops open the fridge and pulls out a can. He nudges the door closed with his hip but knocks it a little too hard and sends the jars and bottles that are on the inside of the door sliding around. Eddie winces and cracks open the beer can as quietly as he can. The sound of footsteps has Eddie groaning, but then he hears how fast and light they are, and he realizes it’s Jack who woke up.

“Dinner ready?” the sleepy boy asks, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand. 

“Not yet,” Eddie replies before taking a long swig of beer. “Soon, though. And Grandpa Wayne should be here any minute.”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Is the baby hurting Mommy?”

A deep frown creases Eddie’s face and he sets his beer down on the counter. 

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

Jack shrugs and walks closer to his dad. Meeting him halfway through the kitchen, Eddie hefts the boy up and balances him on his hip.

“She’s always tired.” The five-year-old sighs and lays his head on his father’s shoulder. “She cries sometimes. An’ you don’t want her to do lots of stuff. Like when I get sick or hurted my leg.”

“Nah,” Eddie assures him with a shake of his head. “The baby isn’t hurting Mommy. It’s just that the baby is growing in her tummy and that takes a lot of Mommy’s energy. And it’s easier for her to cry because the baby growing makes her more emotional. Like when you’re tired, right? You get all cranky and whiny.” He tickles Jack’s belly, making the little boy giggle and squirm around in his arms.

“So, you don’t want Mommy to do stuff cause she’s tired?” Jack asks once he’s caught his breath. 

“That’s part of it. But it’s also because I love her so much. Mommy’s already doing so much just by growing a baby. That’s the most important job, so anything I do is to make things easier for her.”

“I wanna help. I love her too,” Jack says.

“I know.” Eddie presses a kiss into the boy’s curls. “You do help her.”

“How?” The adorable way he scrunches up his little face reminds Eddie of your expression when you get confused by something.

“By being you,” Eddie says, bouncing your son in his arms. “You make her happy and you make her laugh.”

“That helps?”

“So much!” Your voice has both of them turning to see you walking into the kitchen. The bright grin on your face tells Eddie that you heard enough of the conversation to know what’s going on. “I’m okay, sweet boy.” You rub the back of your fingers against his cheek, and he gives you a gap toothed smile. 

The ring of the doorbell has Jack’s head turning towards the front door and scrambling to get out of his dad’s arms. Eddie sets him down and the sound of little feet thumping down the hallway fades from the two of you. 

You expect Eddie to follow your son out of the room, but instead he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs your body up against his.

“How was your nap, beautiful?”

“Good,” you tell him as you slip your arms around his neck. “But I don’t like waking up without you there.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Well, I would’ve been there if my little family didn’t want me to make sweet potatoes so badly.”

Playfully, you roll your eyes at him and lean up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Not true. If you weren’t making food for dinner, you would’ve been doing something else so that I wouldn’t have to do it later. Throwing in a load of laundry or balancing the checkbook.”

“Don’t think you want me doing that last one again,” Eddie says, wrinkling up his nose in the way that you find utterly adorable. “I still don’t know where that seventy-five dollars went.”

“Guess you’re just going to have to let me handle some things,” you say with a shrug. 

Before Eddie gets the chance to respond, Jack’s booming footsteps run back into the kitchen, followed by a heavier gate approaching. 

“Grampa Wayne is here!”

You drop your arms from around Eddie’s neck, but he keeps his tight hold on your waist. 

“Tell him to take you out for pizza,” Eddie mumbles, too low for Jack to hear, as he lowers his head and presses a kiss to the side of your neck. 

“Down boy,” you mutter in reply and press your hands against his chest. Eddie groans and reluctantly drops his arms from around you. 

Wayne steps in the kitchen and ruffles Jack’s curls. “Hey, Ed. Hiya darlin’,” the older man says as approaches you. “How’re ya feeling?” 

“Feeling pretty good,” you tell him. “Your nephew is still treating me like I’m fragile, though.”

“Not fragile,” Eddie interjects. “Just precious.” 

The oven timer beeps, and your husband is immediately on it. He slips the oven mitts on and ushers Jack out of the way so he doesn’t get caught in the wave of heat that will escape.

Wayne steps up next to you and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I know he can get a bit much,” the man says softly, “but he just wants to make sure his girls are taken care of.”

“Ah,” you hum, resting a hand on your bump. ��Forgot you and Jack are both on Team Baby Girl.”

“What can I say? Kid is persuasive,” Wayne says with a playful look in his eye. 

“You’re telling me. All he has to do is look at me with those big brown Munson eyes and I almost cave and let him have that cookie before dinner that he’s begging me for. But I don’t think even Jack’s cuteness and coercion can determine the sex of a baby.”

“Maybe not,” Wayne says with a chuckle. “But he sure can make me wanna agree with him that the baby’s a girl.”

“She is!” Jack says, hopping over to stand in front of you. He leans in and presses a smacking kiss to your belly. “My sister. Can't wait to play with her.”

“You’re gonna be the best big brother ever,” you tell him, cupping his small chin in your hand. The way he smiles up at you fills your body with the warmth of love and affection. 

“Dinner is ready,” Eddie announces, dropping the oven mitts down on the counter. “Jacks, help me set the table.”

“I’ll grab the glasses,” you say. 

“Uh uh,” Eddie chides, stepping over and taking your hands in his. “I can handle—”

“Eddie,” you cut him off. “I can carry four cups.”

Heaving a sigh as if this is the world’s worst inconvenience, he acquiesces. “I guess that’s okay.”

“How kind of you,” you deadpan, arching an eyebrow at him. As you turn around to open the cabinet, Eddie watches you with an adoring smile. When you step into the dining room, Wayne lightly smacks his hand against his nephew’s back.

“She ain’t made of paper, ya know.”

“Oh, I know.” Eddie slips his hands into his pockets and cranes his head to watch you set down a glass at each place setting that Jack is organizing. “Part of me is amused by messing with her now. But mostly…” Eddie trails off, a shy smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I just wanna take care of my girls.”

“Team Baby Girl too, huh?” Wayne asks. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees with a laugh. “We’ve done all the old wives tale tests. She’s a girl.”

“Got a name?” Wayne asks.

Jack is still meticulously setting up the silverware at each seat at the table, but you make your way into the kitchen in time to hear Wayne’s question.

“We do,” you answer his query. “Wanna be the first to know?”

“Just don’t tell Jack,” Eddie adds.

“I’d be honored,” Wayne says.

Matching smiles on both your and Eddie’s faces, you nod at your husband for him to do the honors. Eddie’s face lights up and the childlike gleam in his eye makes him look like Jack’s twin. He takes a step closer to his uncle so the little one won’t overhear in the other room. Wayne leans in towards Eddie in anticipation. Your husband seems to notice this and takes enjoyment in keeping Wayne in suspense.

“Eddie, if you don’t tell him, I will.”

Grabbing a stack of napkins, you stroll past the two men and Eddie reaches out to swat at your ass.

“Come on and tell me, boy,” Wayne says, annoyance leaking into his tone.

“Fine, fine,” Eddie says, clearly enjoying himself. “Audrey. Audrey Munson.”

A little gasp has everyone turning their heads to see Jack standing in the doorway.

“Is that the baby’s name?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says, clearing his throat. “If she’s a girl.” You hadn’t intended to let Jack know the name just in case you were all wrong and the baby was a boy—which you knew Jack would still love, but he’d be bummed he was wrong. But your son’s happiness has you and Eddie letting all of that go and enjoying his reaction.

Jack grins and starts jumping up and down in one spot, his little hands clenched into fists in his excitement. He runs over and cups your baby bump in his chubby hands.

“Hi, Audrey. I love you!”

[obsidiangravity]

Nikto Gets A Cat

I saw this lovely artwork by @quimera-cami and it possessed me to drop all other WIP to write this.

Summary - Spetsnaz are tasked with guarding a remote location. Can’t ask for a simpler operation really. The only downside for Nikto is having to endure the stifling presence of his teammates. Maintaining what’s left of his sanity in such a tiny house is an exhausting challenge, but at least they all get their own sleeping quarters.

Until Rodion returns from a weekly grocery run with a companion.

Word count - 3.9k

Tags - Fluff, Alcohol, Nikto being nice.

It’s no secret to the closest people in Nikto’s life that he despises cats.

The incessant calls for attention. The hair that seems to overrun everything one owns. Their need to mark and ruin upholstery. His disdain for those common house pets are seen as irrational. Perhaps it's a childhood trauma long forgotten, the unsavoury memories regarding these animals locked away in the dark corners of his mind.

But he disagrees. The extreme hatred is warranted. How could it not? What do they provide other than misery and annoyance. He’s grateful to have been spared the torment of living around one since he joined the military over a decade ago.

So the man is rendered temporarily speechless and imobile when Rodion calls out from behind him on the armchair, “Look at what I found outside the supermarket!” and five kilograms of hissing fluff and fury is dumped on his thighs. 

The feline snarls and bares its teeth at the person that dropped it. Long razor-sharp claws dig into Nikto’s flight suit, poking his skin.

He winces, gaze narrowing at the youngest Russian. “What the fuck is this?”

“Mm, it’s a cat,” Rodion mumbles over a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie as he searches for the TV remote and brushes stray crumbs onto the ground. It makes Nikto’s fingers twitch. “Siberian I think?”

Dmitry looks up from his task of chopping potatoes in the scantily sized kitchen, amusement ghosting the corner of his eyes. “Oh, it could be, but they are usually a little bigger, no?”

The cat, in a blur of unruly fur, launches itself off Nikto's lap, nails screeching and scraping the wooden floorboards as it skitters across like one of those rats caught out in the light in this shithole of a house. In a second, the creature vanishes behind a doorway to a bedroom. The one belonging to Maxim.

Rodion clucks his tongue. “Well, someone tell Maxim he has a new roommate when he’s back from patrol.”

An acidic scowl is hidden behind his balaclava when Nikto notices the strands of hair and filth left on his uniform. “Are you soft in the head? Why did you bring it here?”

“Saw her scavenging in the garbage as I was about to return. I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“Get rid of it, or I will shoot it.” His voice low and coarse. It is the only response Nikto gives before he stands up, readying to leave for a shift change with Maxim.

Nikto returns twelve hours later after a quiet night, slips out of his worn leather boots to find his single bed occupied.

The feline saw fit to curl up on it and rub dirt on his clean white blankets and pillows. Of course it would be in here, his room is the only empty one.

He’s able to get a better look at it as it sleeps. Dust clings to its matted and tangled cream-coloured fur. Its scrawny figure and ribs are barely concealed by its thick coat. Thin, elegant, almost silver whiskers a contrast to the extremely bushy unkempt tail.

Three small lines of scar run from its right cheek to its velvet-like ear. This is no pampered house pet, it may have been once, however those times were long gone.

He lightly shoos the cat away. It startles from peaceful sleep and hisses, tries to gouge his hand with the tiny daggers on its fingertips, but ultimately scampers off and hides under the bed.

Nikto sighs, long and drawn out. Questioning if he should bother using the back of his rifle like a stick to force it out of his room. He reaches for it, then decides it’s not worth potentially hurting himself from an accidental discharge.

He flips the switch off and collapses on the mattress.

~~~

He wakes up before everyone else again, the sun heating his face through the dusty window. Nikto blinks against the early morning rays and stretches his stiff muscles with a content groan. His toes collide with something furry and soft, and that brief moment of peaceful serenity is disrupted by a sharp scratch to his bare calf.

The half asleep man jerks away from the sting — accidently rolling off the bed. A shoulder and knee takes the full brunt of the fall and the greater pain jolts him fully awake, a “Blyat,” escaping his scarred lips.

The feral animal dashes around the small room, emerald eyes wide, fangs showing and claws unsheath. It howls and arches its back as it realises its trapped between the closed door and him.

Nikto scrambles to his feet, swearing a string of colourful curses that echo against the concrete walls. His jaw tightens. He wonders if he can turn the doorknob to kick it outside without being inflicted with any more injuries.

Goosebumps form on his arms when a deep rumble emits from it, as if it’s charging up an attack. He eyes the AK-47 propped against the wall on the other side of the room. Of course the one time he leaves a firearm out of reach is when he needs it most.

Tentatively, he takes a step forward and in a whirlwind, the infernal creature resumes its frantic scrambling.

It throws itself up onto the bed, rumpling the messy sheets further and jumps on his nightstand. In its rampage of destruction, it knocks the full bottle of vodka over.

It shatters loudly on the oak floor. Large and tiny shards of glass scatter in all directions as the liquid seeps through the planks.

Nikto, who is usually able to repress his anger and known for his stoic composure, lets his vision go red and a roar of unrestrained rage erupts.

He will gut this mangy stray then dump its entrails on Rodion for putting him through this. He has done far worse for less.

The bedroom door creaks open and Devil Incarnate finally dashes out.

A dishevelled Maxim peeks his head and a broad shoulder in, sleep clouding his eyes. “Can you not make so much fucking noise this early?” Then his gaze shifts to the spilled alcohol and groans. “You’re not wasting anymore of the vodka again,” he says and slams the door shut with a resounding thud before Nikto could redirect his fury at him.

He is left to simmer in the aftermath and he swears to drag Rodion’s face across the broken glass if that imbecile doesn’t clean this up.

~~~

It seems an illness has overtaken his comrades.

With its fur clean and brushed, they dote on the cat at every chance it decides to show itself. Regal grace that laid beneath the grime is now allowed to shine. It moves with the arrogance that all cats possess as it struts around the house.

“Oh, what a cute kitten.”

“Look at its shiny gemstone eyes! What a pretty girl.”

Running their fingers through the fur as they coo and play with it. All three of them mull over what to name it. As if it’s a newborn baby and they’re first time parents.

“How about Mishka?” Dmitry asks as he strokes its back. “Look at its silky coat! Nikto, you have to feel this.”

Maxim scratches his stubble. “I prefer Nina.”

“Satan,” Nikto offers, gaze not leaving his book.

“It’s a girl,” Rodion’s faraway voice interjects from the bedroom.

“Baba Yaga.”

“Doesn’t really suit her… Princess?” Maxim suggests.

Nikto flicks to the next page. “Gluttony.”

“I think Anastasia fits this beauty.”

“Garbage Eater.”

That night, he pulls the covers over him with the feline nowhere in sight.

But dawn finds that yet again the whiskered intruder found its way onto the bed near his feet.

Less scratching and hissing this time. He’s able to expel it with only an attempted swat at his arm and minimal destruction. No caterwauls of wildness, or pointed teeth and claws tearing at his blankets thankfully.

~~~

They take pictures and record videos of the nuisance doing the most inane drivel and send them to each other, including Nikto. As if he can’t see the damned cat himself. At this rate, they would probably snap an image of its excrements and praise it for defecating outside by the end of the week.

The cat takes the greatest liking to Dmitry. It’s no mystery why. Twirling about his legs for food at all hours of the day that it’s not sleeping.

And the meowing.

It doesn’t shut up. Always whining, always mewling. Like an alarm siren demanding more and more meals.

The short period where it is not doing that, usually when one of the Bale brothers has the little gremlin on their lap, massaging the soft fur around its ears  — it purrs loudly. Impeccably imitating a broken lawnmower.

Nikto has no trouble tolerating most discomforts — the filthiness of a barracks, the lack of sleep during a long operation, numbness from the biting cold of Russian winters. He would endure all of it again over this.

Nobody else seems to be agitated by it. Madness has infected everyone but him. No longer can Nikto read a book or relax with a good bottle of vodka in peace. He enjoyed his lone shifts a little more than the rest of the team before. Solitude is always freeing. 

Now, it’s his only solace for true rest.

His equipment, his bed, the whole house, is filled with stray strands of fur. Irritating his nostrils and ruining his clothes. He briefly considers murdering the cat and the idiot that brought it home when he finds a nonhuman hair in his half eaten soup.

The last straw that solidifies their insanity to him is when the living embodiment of chaos vomits a wet furball on the sofa.

They will throw the cat out now for sure. Nikto has no doubts about it.

Except, that does not happen.

They did not throw the cat out.

They mutter words of comfort and pat it on the back, cleans up the mess and offers it a treat.

Nikto occasionally catches the feline watching him from some dimly lit corner. A spark of intelligence in its big round eyes. As if it secretly taunts him, before prowling away.

The following night, he scours his room, getting on all fours to check under his creaking bed frame. His bloodshot eyes strains against the darkness and finds only dust bunnies. No furry form with a demonic glint in its jade irises. Satisfied, he switches off the light and crawls in, the chill of the night seeps through the small crack in the window.

Yet, come morning, the relentless animal inhabits his sheets, purring with satisfaction.

It amazes him that it is able to burrow up so close as he slept again — with him being none the wiser, considering how much of a light sleeper he is. Nikto makes a mental note to seal the window. Clearly the sliver of opening for fresh air is too much to ask for.

He lets out a bone weary sigh, running a hand over his scarred face and rubs his temple. It can stay for now.

It’s not being overtly infuriating. It barely takes up any space. The man observes its sleek fur shining almost golden in the sunlight. Is it as soft as they all say it is?

He reaches for it, his fingers lightly brushes its tail and it lets out a groan of discontent, hopping off the bed, onto the windowsill. It slinks away, landing on the bushes outside.

Nikto watches the raised fluffy tail disappear past the treeline and he pushes the pane fully shut with a resounding snap for tonight.

“She’s nearly done with her moult,” Dmitry comments as he sweeps the tumbleweeds of fur out the front door. There are clumps of it stuck on foliage, mixing with the twigs and leaves.

It’s visually revolting.

When asked why he doesn't simply throw it in the trash, Dmitry says it makes the birds happy to use it for their nests. 

Birds don’t nest this close to winter, you moron. Nikto would have loved to retort, only, he realises he doesn’t have the energy for it anymore.

The one upside to the neverending mountain of inconveniences is there seems to be a decrease of rat sightings inside. Perhaps, it’s not as lazy as Nikto originally thought.

He scowls at the empty packet of potato chips left by Rodion on the coffee table. The cat is now far from being the most useless individual in the house.

He lies awake in his bed, watching the shadows of the tree branch right outside his window dance on the wall as the wind jostles it. Sleep has trouble taking him like most days.

As he is about to drift into unconsciousness, an ear grating yowl echoes in the living room through the walls, loud enough to wake the dead.

Nikto huffs and rolls onto his stomach.

It continues. The sounds of the kitchen’s trash can being rummaged and the occasional meow of discontent prevents him from dozing off.

He’s determined to ignore it, maybe yell at someone else to feed it but realises it’s probably useless. Dmitry can sleep through a bombing. Maxim is likely comatose from drinking and nothing less than a gunshot will wake him.

He sits up, fingers reaching for his balaclava, fully intending to throw some biscuits in its food bowl so it can leave him alone.

The moment he pries open the door, the feline sprints in and beelines underneath his mattress.

Nikto narrows his eyes, tired brain is slow to process what exactly occurred. A defeated exhale leaves his lips and pushes his door shut, returning to bed.

He has grown to expect the cat to claim the territory beside his left foot and is careful not to nudge it come morning.

~~~

Frantic scratching on worn oak is like fingernails on a chalkboard, agitating Nikto's taut nerves. It wasn't just the sound, but the urgency behind it.

He’s not the only person home, someone else can let it out.

He tries to ignore it and focus on his task. Cleaning firearms is a silent and soothing experience. It helps to clear his mind when he needs it most.

The scraping intensifies.

Nikto unclenches his jaw — gently places down the bolt carrier and oil stained cloth, and stands up.

Boots thudding on the floor as he marches to the source of the noise. 

The cat paws at the front door and wails. Wanting to be let out. It looks at Nikto as he turns the corner. Its face saying, please I need to leave.

I need to leave right now.

He unlatches the steel lock and pulls the door open. The feline hesitates, its miniature nose twitching, testing the cool air and the scents wafting in.

Frosty blue irises flash in anger. “You wanted to leave? Then go!” His free hand gestures to the open space outside.

Seconds stretch into a minute.

It stands there. Peering outside. Then, with a flick of its tail, turns and walks away, returning to its favourite spot on the kitchen counter by the window.

Nikto watches it, a mixture of confusion and realisation settling in his chest. It gives him a side eye that speaks volumes before it lays down and gazes out the glass.

He had served this creature. Catered to her whims. Ungratefulness aside, he feels used.

~~~

Nikto leaves for his shift just like any other night. Familiar weight of his rifle in one hand. Vodka in the other. Stars glittering in the sky.

He settles down at his usual spot in the outpost overlooking the area he’s meant to guard. As he’s about to peel back the fabric of his mask to take a sip, a crunch of dry leaves alerts him to a presence not too far from his left.

Drink forgotten, muscle memory and instincts take over, he raises his gun in the direction of the intruder. Two glowing orbs look back at him, and then an inquisitive meow.

Low and behold, it’s Garbage Eater.

Exasperation washes over him. He lowers his firearm and stares at it.

The cat saunters up to his feet, rubbing its face on his boots.

Nikto silently grieves his allotted hours of privacy robbed away and sits back down. How did it even follow him? He was not as alert as he usually is compared during a mission, but for it to have not been detected since he left the house is a feat.

Surprisingly, it keeps a respectable distance. Choosing to lick its hand an arms length away.

He finally gives in. The Russian reaches out to run a hand over its back. A throaty groan of protest erupts.

Nikto stops. Fair enough. He doesn’t like being touched either.

As the night deepens, he offers little bits of chicken from his food container while they sit in tranquil company together. He will never admit to it if asked, but the presence of decent companionship is something he craves. Dmitry is pleasant and respectful, however he can be a little too worried more often than not. That man is not subtle. Nikto catches every glance of concern, every time his lips pull into a hard line.

Animals don’t do that. They don’t have any questions of his mental state barely held back on the tips of their tongues.

Sometimes when it gets too quiet, his thoughts can be overwhelming. Fragmented memories from his past come slithering back. Lately, he has been unable to keep them at bay.

Every now and then, a new door opens, and he often doesn’t like what comes out of it.

Maybe it senses his mood, or maybe it’s just cold, it inches closer to sit beside him for the remainder of the shift. Its green eyes full of concern.

When they return to the house together, the cat doesn’t have to sneak into his bedroom.

~~~

Tiny gifts in the form of dead rats are deposited in his quarters every so often. He could dispose of it normally, but he throws them into Rodion’s room. It grants Nikto a small bit of satisfaction whenever a screech of disgust sounds throughout the house, usually after that man returns from his shift.

A week passes and Nikto wakes up with a feather duster-like object in his face.

It seems that the cat, perhaps emboldened in the darkness, gained some courage and moved upwards long past midnight. She sneaked up close beside his chest as he was sleeping. Her padded foot, soft and warm, rests against his bicep with an easy pressure, tail tickling his cheeks.

She had stuck to the end of his mattress every day before this.

Her forehead nudges his hand, seeking contact, and she rubs her long whiskers against his open palm.

Sundown arrives sooner, the days grow colder and Nikto quickly discovers she likes to be squashed by his arm.

The cat blinks and carefully leaps over him to situate herself in the small space between him and the wall. She sniffs Nikto’s hand curiously and rubs her cheeks against it before rolling into a ball. He buries his fingers into her soft fur and closes his eyelids.

He knows she only pursues his company for his warmth. He doesn’t mind it. His nail traces patterns in her coat and she stretches languidly. Maybe it's not just her seeking him. Maybe he craves the physical touch too.

It has been too long, he realises, since he has hugged another living thing. To feel the pulsing of a heartbeat against his fingertips. It is not so bad afterall.

The even vibration of her purrs lulls him to a dreamless slumber.

He hears the rhythmic clacking of claws on the hardwood floor before the cat jumps onto the armrest. She puts a gentle paw on Nikto’s forearm and meows.

Nikto hums, the words of his fantasy novel momentarily blurring. “What do you need this time?” he grumbles.

Everyone else left ten minutes ago, a rarity. He has plans to finish this book today.

Unfazed by his hollow annoyance, she steps onto his lap and does a few circles before settling down.

He shifts in his chair, trying to find a position that’s more comfortable for them both. “I’m reading a story, do you want to hear it?”

She looks at him knowingly and yawns. Nikto clears his throat, he begins reading with a soft voice that feels unfamiliar, it has been a long time since he last used this tone.

At some point, her eyes drift close and her breathing deepens, yet he continues.

Nikto couldn't help but see the similarities they share. They both exude an independence born out of necessity. He runs a calloused thumb over her old scars. They’re both survivors. No other person he met has understood it truly. Though with the way she regards him, the reserved man thinks she might.

~~~

Nikto takes the last bottle of Five Lakes on a hunt with him before Maxim could — he can have whatever slop is left.

It’s been years since he had hunted, nevertheless, he still remembers how to track deer and rabbits.

Gloved hand securely clutching the cool glass, he ventures further east.

People argue that vodka isn't for taste. Nikto disagrees. 

He values the smooth, barely detectable flavour, a welcomed change to the generic liquor he usually endured on duty. To him, the subtle burn is appreciated. He doesn’t think his alcoholic comrade can tell the difference.

It’s not that he can’t handle the harsh taste, he would simply rather get drunk with a minimal amount of hangover.

He’s not surprised when he hears the rustle of grass and the well-accustomed to call of his four legged companion behind him after he crouches down to inspect the gnawed on vegetation.

She trots up, her sleek form brushing against his thighs and investigates the leaves, sniffing it with a delicate nose.

“Can you hunt rabbits as well as rats?”

She flicks a ear and chirps in response.

Nikto takes that as a yes.

Undeterred by the distant rumble of thunder above, they proceed further, the sparse canopy offers little protection as tiny droplets soon begin to rain down upon them.

Eventually, the soil grows too damp for her liking and she tries scaling up his leg, tips of her claws latching on to his thigh muscle through the thick fabric.

She advances quickly, her pointed nails has no trouble finding purchase on the straps and gear tied to him. Nikto hisses and grips her to his chest with his forearm before she can make it any higher.

She calms instantly, feeling secured in his solid hold.

The mild drizzle subsides quickly, leaving the forest dripping and smelling of fresh earth. However the once stray Siberian forest cat has no desire to return to the damp ground.

He purses his lips and takes a deep breath. “Fine.”

He can’t use his hunting rifle with one hand and he refuses to let her on his shoulders. Daylight is about to leave anyway. Won’t be a terrible decision to return.

As the sun dips below the horizon, dousing the hills with the warm colour of fire, Nikto observes the sky and settles on the grass, Garbage Eater curling up on his lap in content silence — he thinks that having a pet cat isn’t the worst thing in the world.

[silvershadow1711]

Hello jello

If MC has fake friends and they judge MC for being chubby or skinny what would Ray do would he be mad

If MC met steel sheriff and steel would brake some words or sum slurs at them (if chubby or dark skinned) how would Ray react

If MC really puts their hands on Ray and really hurts him good like a really bad cat fight would he fight back (pls let him fight back)

If Ray really into being pegged would he like big sizes or smaller sizes

1- I think the MC would be seeing several missing persons reports on the news if Ray ever found out about that.

2- I mean, he'd be pisse but if you're expecting some apocolyptic fallout you're going to be disappointed. Connie already said that Ray went back to Steel's place fully intending to kill him for the abuse he suffered at his hands but couldn't bring himself to actually go through with it. As much as he despises him, there still seems to be the tinniest crumb of affection in Ray's heart for the man. Both of Ray's parental figures were horrible to him; he probably just assumes that's how parents are. He'd probably just tell the MC to ignore him. "Yeah, he called me slurs all the time, too. Eventually, it just turns into white noise."

3- If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: YOU. CANNOT. PHYSICALLY. HURT. RAY. He brushes off fucking kaiju attacks! If the most a skyscraper-sized alien hellbent on humanity's destruction can do to him is give him a little papercut that clearly isn't causing him any actual pain, what do you think a Z-list petty crook could do? When you say "let him fight back" what do you think that would entail? Because we know, canonically, how Ray "fights back". He's going to throw the MC off a building with his telekenesis. He's going to cut them into tiny pieces or melt through their brains with his laser vision. He's going to burn them alive with his pyrokenesis. He's going to casually touch them and drain their lifeforce in a matter of seconds. Ray and the MC fighting isn't going to be some cutesey battle shonen tournament arc bullshit; it's gonna be the torture scenes from "Hostel". Ray wouldn't be holding back because he's a bitch- he's holding back because he can literally kill people by looking at them the wrong way. He's not living in a world of cardboard; he's living in a world of soggy toilet paper.