#gonna hopping between here and this page (^:

[mercvry-glow]

Friendly competition

parings. frank langdon x wife!reader

summary. the langdons believe believe in basic professionalism. but either way a kiss or two behind a set of closed curtains wouldn't hurt anyone, right?

warnings. princess pea brain and dr. dickwad strike again, frank has only been married to reader, they are similar in age though not mentioned, no mentions of drug use (in terms of frank), dog parents, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. local boy dad truther didn't hop on this certified boy dad just yet, but here's a silly/flirty one between frank and his wife who is another doctor! as always please enjoy and any feedback is appropriated!

wc. 1400+

Frank Langdon was a simple man. 

Wake up at 5 a.m., shower and brush his teeth, feed Nico your chocolate lab, text you since you were always out the door before sunrise, drink a cup of pre-made coldbrew for breakfast in his car, and roll into the Pitt by 7 a.m. 

Routine. Reliable. Not as glamorous as your four-a.m.-scrub-call lifestyle, but it worked for him. 

He tapped out a quick text before pulling out of the driveway:

FRANKY

How many brains have you terrorized already?

BABY

Two aneurysms, one awake craniotomy. Stay on your toes today, trauma boy.

He smirked at the screen. God, he loved you.

And God, you were the most competitive human alive.

Frank still remembered your first date, where you questioned his anatomy knowledge over sushi and then challenged him to a game of darts at a bar down the street—one you won, barely, after he’d been too distracted by your smile to aim properly.

Since then, everything had been a game: who could fold laundry faster, who got paged more often, who could make Nico sit the longest with a treat on his nose (Frank held that record at 20 seconds). 

You kissed like you argued—passionately and deep. 

 All teeth and laughter and stubborn pride. 

And yet, somehow, you made it work. 

He parked in his usual spot and thought about your smug little face telling him, “Don’t forget who finished med school top of her class.” 

Frank grinned to himself, he was gonna make today his bitch. 

FRANKY

Reminder that I once splinted a femur with duct tape and a clipboard during a blackout, sweetheart. 

BABY

Reminder that I once drilled through a man’s skull with no power, on the sidewalk. Try again.

God help him, he’d never loved anyone more.

After walking in and setting his stuff in his locker, he wandered around taking note of everyone who was on shift today. 

Frank didn’t expect to see you so early though. 

Neurosurgery lived in a whole different stratosphere most days—your floor, your ORs, your rules. You usually lived in scrubs that had been through hell and back and a ponytail that was more “get out of my way” than “good morning.” But today, as he stepped into the trauma lounge for another quick pre-round coffee, there you were. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed over your navy scrub top, sipping from a mug that very clearly had his name on it.

“Hey, babe,” you said, not even bothering to look up. “Nice of you to show up.”

Frank blinked. “Is that… my mug?”

“I earned it,” you replied. “Three surgeries before sunrise. I deserve all the caffeine this hospital has.”

He moved toward the cabinet, pulled out the backup mug—one that said ‘Trust me, I’m a real doctor’ in terrible Comic Sans—and narrowed his eyes at you over the rim.

“Is this your way of declaring war?”

You gave him a sweet, yet tired, unbothered smile. “No, Langdon. I declared war the day you said you could intubate faster than me.”

“That was four years ago.”

“And you were wrong.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, brushing your elbow with his on the way to the sugar. “You know, most people start their day with a kiss, not an insult.”

You leaned over, kissed his cheek quickly. “That was for being cute. Not for being right.”

He watched you walk away—confident, collected, the same sharp fire in your step you had on your first day in residency. You had charts under your arm and blood on your shoe and a smirk that said you’d already won whatever game he didn’t even know you were playing yet.

You were a smug, brilliant menace.

Especially because of that.

Frank took a long sip of coffee and looked at his pager. It was already buzzing with the first trauma of the day—multiple rollovers on the interstate.

He tapped out a message before heading out.

FRANKY

Bet I beat you on the case board today.

Your reply came five seconds later.

BABY

Already signed off on number 5. Better luck next time, husband. 🧠❤️

A bit later in the day a page came through just as you were wrapping up rounds: NEUROSTAT - TRAUMA BAY 1 - HEAD INJURY / MULTISYSTEM TRAUMA

You barely blinked. Tucked your tablet under your arm and turned on your heel. By the time you got down to the trauma floor, the hallway was already buzzing. Nurses shouted vitals, techs wheeled carts past with barely a glance, and a familiar voice cut through the noise like clockwork.

“Get me a line and open up the central tray—let’s move, people!”

You stepped into the trauma bay right as Frank looked up from the gurney, gloved hands bloody to the wrists, and—despite the chaos—his mouth twitched into a grin.

“Took you long enough.”

“I rushed down four flights of stairs and dodge two ortho residents arguing about tibial screws,” you fired back, snapping on your gloves. “Do you want me or not?”

Frank stepped aside just enough to give you a view of the patient—a mid-30s male, unconscious, intubated, with a deep laceration to the scalp and unequal pupils. His GCS was tanking.

“Blunt head trauma. Vitals are tanking. Pupils blew ten minutes ago. I need your magic fingers,” Frank said, handing over the head CT on a tablet.

You scanned it in seconds. “We’ve got a left-sided subdural, midline shift. He’s herniating. I need him rushed to an OR, now.”

He nodded once and spun toward the nurse’s station. “Page the rest of the neurosurg team, get an OR ready—she’s taking him up.”

“You coming with?” you asked without looking at him, already examining the patient’s vitals.

Frank glanced at the blood pooling around the patient's flank, the numbers on the monitor, then at you. “He needs decompression more than he needs a chest tube right now. I’ve got other patients after him too.”

You locked eyes for a second, both of you moving like pieces on a board already set in motion. No need to explain. No ego. Just you, him, and the patient.

“I’ll be with the team that brings him up after I stabilize the bleed,” he said, voice low as he stepped closer.

“Don’t be late,” you replied, almost a challenge.

Frank smirked, brushing his gloved knuckles briefly against your arm before turning back to the trauma team. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You didn’t even catch how much time had passed since you had entered the OR. The surgery had gone well. As well as emergency cranial decompressions ever went, anyway. You were peeling off your gloves in the scrub room, sweat still clinging to your neck, your shoulders aching like hell from hunching over the table for hours.

The door creaked behind you.

You didn’t even turn around. “Took you long enough, Dr. Dickwad.”

Frank chuckled, slow and low, the sound bouncing off the tile. “Nice to see you too, Princess Pea Brain.”

You glanced at him through the mirror, catching the way he leaned casually against the doorframe—a surgical cap on his head, scrubs spotted with various fluids, that usual post-trauma glint in his eye.

“You missed the best part,” you said, pulling your hair free from its bun. “His brain practically thanked me for relieving the pressure.”

Frank snorted. “Right. I’m sure it whispered ‘thank you, brilliant goddess of neurosurgery,’ as you were drilling into his skull with a jackhammer”

You turned to face him now, arms crossed. “Hey. At least I didn’t almost forget to clamp the bleeder.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t forget. I was strategically stalling.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling panic now?”

Frank was grinning. That easy, post-shift, we-just-saved-a-life kind of grin that only came after the adrenaline settled and the reality hit you: you won.

Not against each other. Against the clock. Against chaos.

“Come here,” he said finally, stepping closer.

You raised a brow. “Why?”

“So I can do this,” he replied, sliding an arm around your waist and tugging you into him with zero warning.

You yelped, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Frank Langdon, we’re in a sterile environment!”

“We’re outside the OR,” he murmured against your hair. “And I haven’t kissed my wife since before the subdural.”

You softened a little at that. Just a little.

“You’re sweaty,” you muttered.

“You smell like iron,” he said fondly.

Still, you leaned into him, forehead against his chest, letting yourself exhale. He held you there, steady and warm, the weight of the shift slowly slipped from your shoulders.

After a few long moments, you mumbled, “You’re still a dickwad.”

“Yeah,” he whispered into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “But I’m your dickwad, princess.”

mercrvy-glow 2025

[bi-writes]

can we have like a pov of like what MOB would do if something did happen to simon..? luv you!

mail-order bride

your tea is cold when you pick it up to drink it. it burns you, how cold it is, and you cough a little as you set it down, grimacing as you wipe your lips.

maybe it's just one of those days. the rain is hitting a little too hard against the window. the cats have been restless. the dark one shredded your yoga mat by clawing at it under a doorway, and the orange tabby managed to knock over all of simon's plants from the windowsill (which you frantically put back inside their little pots--would plant murder be his last straw?). you left a red shirt in when you washed the whites (you apologized to all of simon's white tees), and when you noticed holes in your favorite sweats in a pattern that matched a cat's claws, you called it a day and decided to make tea (another fail).

you rub your pounding head, taking a deep breath, but you aren't given long to count down from five when your phone begins to ring.

you pick it up, not recognizing the number, but you put it to your ear as you get up to boil more water.

"hello?"

a throat clears on the other end. "do i have mrs. riley 'ere?"

you frown, leaning your hip against the kitchen counter as you turn a burner on and put the kettle over it.

"uhm...yeah. this is she," you say finally. you look at the clock; it's late, much too late. "who is this?"

"this is john. ah...captain john price, ma'am."

you clench your jaw, closing your eyes. "um...i'm sorry, i...what can i do for you? simon's not--"

"we had to call for medevac," john says lowly. "ahh...should be headin' into surgery soon. i--"

"wait--what?" you cough a little, shutting the stove off, and you're scrambling as you make your way to the bedroom. he's talking again, you realize, but you can't hear what he's saying. your eyes are moving around the room, and you frantically start to pull drawers open, grabbing a sweater, jeans, actual clothes to put on. you shed your pajamas, hopping as you slide your jeans on, and he's still talking, but you still hear nothing.

you run into the dresser, the furniture rattling, and you let the phone go, realizing you can't see because there's tears blurring your vision. you wipe them away, looking around for your purse, and when you realize what this is, an emergency--right?--you head for the bookcase in simon's study.

you toss a few books down onto the floor, your hands shaking as your fingers curl around the spine of a leather bible. you set the book down on simon's desk, flipping through the pages before you find your prized paper nestled between the pages of the book of john.

you head back to the bedroom, picking up the phone again, and you shakily dial the number that's on the back of the card. you take a seat on the bed (because where would you go anyways?), and you close your eyes as you wait for someone to pick up.

it rings for too long. you gasp a little, clutching the phone tight, and you beg for someone to pick up, please, please, please--

"'ello?"

"johnny--" you hiccup, standing up. "johnny, he...he told me--"

"wha--who--" on the other end, johnny shouts at someone to get a move on, "--bleedin' christ, who is this?"

"it's me," you whisper. "i'm...simon's--"

"ach...fuckin' hell..." there's a long, deep sigh on the other end. "oi, lass, listen, he's alright--"

"he's...b-but someone said surgery."

"right, i..." he sighs again, and you hear a door shut on the other end. "ye sit tight, luv. i'll come get ye, okay?"

you sniffle, wiping your face, "just tell me he's gonna be okay. tell me i'm worrying for nothing."

johnny chuckles a bit, and the sound soothes you just enough. "gonna be alright. lad's fuckin' dramatic, i'll tell ye tha', big brick fuckin' stepped in front of--"

"okay, johnny, please don't tell me how simon almost killed himself and get your ass over here, okay?" you snap, and johnny halts his laughing.

"right, yeah, forgive me." you hear the rattle of keys. "'m coming."

"mrs. riley?"

your head lifts up. you blink the sleep out of your eyes, rubbing them gently, and there's a petite woman in scrubs smiling at you with her mask hanging around her neck. you have two sergeants at either side of you, captain price settled leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. you have a blanket around your shoulders, and when you slip it off, johnny takes it from you gently.

"you can see him now."

you get to your feet, and when you pass simon's captain, he tips his hat at you respectfully. you hurry and follow the doctor down the hall, and when you see simon's name scribbled on a makeshift sigh on the wall, you eagerly pick up the pace until the door is opened for you.

he looks peaceful laying there. the monitors beep quietly around him, little wires and tubes falling around him, and you let out a breath when you see him blink those dark eyes awake blearily.

"tha' an angel?"

you start to cry. "you're such an asshole."

you come close to the side of the bed, taking his outstretched hand, and you clutch his big hand to your chest. you curl his hand into a fist, pressing your face against the back of his hand, kissing his knuckles there gently. he uncurls his fingers and wipes at your tears gently, shaking his head.

"gave ya a right scare, didn't i?"

"yes, you dickhead," you sniffle, and simon chuckles lowly, wincing a little as he clutches his lower stomach. you use your foot to bring the chair behind you closer, taking a seat in it as you look up at him. he turns his head to face you, giving you a pained smile, and you let out the breath you've been holding since johnny came to get you. "what's the matter with you, simon?"

"shit happens."

you try not to roll your eyes, but the anger is not lost on simon. he squeezes your hand gently, his eyes flicking up to the clock, and he grimaces when he realizes it's nearly six in the morning. you must have been here all night, waiting for him.

"is this how it's gonna be?" you ask in a whisper. when he meets your eyes again, it's more difficult this time. what you're asking isn't predictable. it isn't a straight answer. and if he gives you anything that isn't the truth, it feels like a lie, and he can't do that to you. "w-waking up in the middle of the night? hoping that the call isn't...that...hoping that--"

"not that simple," simon interrupts gently.

"well, make it simple, simon," you say firmly. even through your tears, your voice doesn't shake this time. "make it very simple for me, then."

simon purses his lips, and for the first time since you've met your husband, he hesitates. he doesn't have an answer, at least a good one.

"don't wanna lie to ya, swee'eart," simon murmurs, and you stare right back at him.

"then don't."

he sucks on his teeth, looking away, and you tug on his hand, pulling his eyes back to you.

"look at me, simon," you say, and he looks sad. he's going to tell you something that you won't want to hear. he's going to tell you something that's been the truth since he enlisted, a reality that never bothered him until he realized he had a responsibility to keep a roof over your head. there's someone waiting inside of his house. there's a place that's waiting for him on one side of the bed he shares with you. there's someone else's shoes always next to his, and someone else's name that will always be beside his own.

family.

he has a family.

"i'll try and keep ya outta here," is all simon murmurs. you smile at that. it's a promise, but he won't lie to you. always honest, your husband. he tells you things as they are. he doesn't pretend. everything with simon is the truth as he presents it, and it's eerily comforting, even if the truth isn't one that you like.

"i love you, simon," you whisper, and when you touch his face finally, the sting of the gold of your wedding is a welcome distraction.

he vows to make this the last time you see him this way. nothing is worth seeing that face of yours like this--tired, disheveled, the angry crease in your brow. you're not meant for these things. for the waiting, the crying, the worry, it's not a life he meant to give you.

for a moment, he wonders if you'd ever ask him.

will you hang it up for me? will you leave for me?

the most terrifying part, he realizes, is that he isn't sure of what his answer would be. and he isn't sure of what you would do if he told you no.

[dakusan]

How skz texts you when you're upset

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, emotional support, quiet love, soft boys with warm hearts

🌙 synopsis: you're not alone. not ever. eight boys, eight different ways of showing up when the world feels too loud. some send you memes. some send you playlists. some just send a quiet “i’m here.” when you're unraveling at the seams, they don't ask you to hold it together. they hold you instead—in texts, in voice notes, in the silence between words. this isn't about fixing you. it's about loving you exactly as you are—soft, sad, and still worth everything.

💌 a/n: hi hello yes. i promise i have a job (whilst looking for a new one) but i am also a girl with free time and nothing to do, so i write for you people. plus, i just think everyone deserves to be comforted like this, okay?? anyway. if you’ve had a hard day, I hope this felt like a warm hoodie straight from the dryer. or like… a text that says “u up?” but emotionally stable. as always, thank you for reading my little delusions 💗 p.s. i know it’s a short one but like... short and sweet, right?? i hope it’s sweet??? idk anymore 😭 p.p.s. YES I KNOW MY PIC AESTHETICS ARE WEIRD AND DON’T MATCH OR WHATEVER I’M TRYING… I SEE THE VISION IN MY HEAD OKAY THE EXECUTION JUST BE SUFFERING. leave me alone. smh. p.p.p.s no, i haven't made any songs to match this vibe. lmfao, soz •ᴖ•

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "Star Lost" — Stray Kids

Bang Chan // 방찬 the gentle leader energy

[3:14PM] Hey, angel. I know today’s rough. I won’t push, but I’m here. Want to hop on call? We can sit in silence or talk, your pace. [3:17PM] You’re not alone in this. I promise. (You wake up to a Lo-fi playlist he made just for you, titled: “for when your heart’s tired”)

Lee Know // 리노 silent acts of care

[4:52PM] What do you need? Be honest. [4:54PM] I can cook. Or just sit with you. Or send you mean messages about the universe. [5:01PM] Here. Cat pics. Instant serotonin. (He drops off warm food at your door with a post-it: “Eat. Or I’ll be annoyed. 😒”)

Changbin // 창빈 aggressively loving

[5:03PM] WHO. UPSET. YOU. [5:04PM] I will fight them. Emotionally. And maybe physically. 👊 [5:07PM] Also… I’m proud of you. For just… being you. (He sends voice notes of him beatboxing silly rhythms with your name mixed in. Pure serotonin.)

Hyunjin // 현진 the poetic soft boy

[2:27PM] It’s okay to crumble sometimes. Even stars need to rest. [2:29PM] You are still whole, even when you don’t feel it. [2:34PM] Do you want a drawing? Or a distraction? I can write you a silly haiku. (You receive a photo of a messy sketchbook page with your initials in soft florals.)

Han // 한 chaotic comfort personified

[3:59PM] I see you’re feeling like 🍞 soggy bread. [4:00PM] BUT GUESS WHAT. YOU’RE MY FAVOURITE TOAST. [4:02PM] I’m gonna spam you with memes until you smile or block me. (He sends 17 voice memos. One is a fake commercial for “Anti-Sadness Spray,” voiced by him in 4 accents.)

Felix // 필릭스 human sunshine, through and through

[1:36PM] Hey, beautiful. I felt something was off today… Do you want hugs, words, or just my presence? [1:40PM] You deserve kindness even when your mind says otherwise. (You get a video of him baking cookies, captioned: “Saving one for you, always.”)

Seungmin // 승민 realist with a warm heart

[6:18PM] I know you think you’re being dramatic. You’re not. [6:21PM] Want comfort or tough love? [6:25PM] You’re handling more than most would. Let yourself feel it. (He sends a carefully curated playlist titled: “not okay, but surviving.”)

I.n // 아이엔 the shy but intuitive one

[5:40PM] Hey… are you okay? You don’t have to answer. Just wanted you to know I care. [5:46PM] Do you want to watch something later? I’ll even pretend not to hate romcoms. [5:49PM] You matter to me. Just… wanted to say that. (You later find out he stayed up playing your comfort game just to send you tips.)

[hellvcifer]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Fizz x Asmodeus x Reader with the phrase “But you love us, don’t you?” “Don’t say that every time you make a mess!”?

MORNING SURPRISE— ଘ fic

pairing :: poly!fizz/ozzie x fem!reader wc :: 1.7k note :: yippieee!! finally able to post this. I'm coming off my sick bed so i apologize for any errors but i love fizzmodeus <33 warnings :: suggestive, pet name (bunny)

The coo-coo cock clock began chirping at the ass crack of dawn, waking up a little imp. He did his morning routine, limbs extending across the estate to brew his morning french press and snatch his cap n’ bells. He stretched out deeply, releasing a few cracks along his spine and deviously turning towards the bed. 

A pair of eyes glowed from underneath the blankets, butt wiggling as she watched the imp prepare for his air horn wake up call. She jumped out, pouncing on Fizz, their bodies rolling down the stairs next to the large bed.

You landed on top, legs straddling his body as you released a huff. Fizz pouted, “Babe, what the fu–” Your hands clamped over his mouth, head snapping towards the bed where a loud snore could be heard. After a few moments of heavy breaths passed by, you turned back to your partner. 

A sly smile pulled at your lips as you began to whisper. “Ozzie has off today!” Muffled sounds vibrated against your fingers as Fizz narrowed his eyes at you. You giggled and removed your hands.

“That doesn’t explain why you tackled me.” His arm extended to wrap around your waist a few times, finger trailing up your thigh. “Though I’m not complaining if this is how we end up.” He giggled, tongue peaking out between his lips.

You leaned closer, eyes narrowing with a smirk, “I have an idea~!” You sang, causing Fizz to raise a brow is curious delight. “Come on!” You grabbed his hand, and jumped to stand. His arm retracted and spun you around in place. You swayed a bit before regaining your composure and yanking him to follow you to the kitchen. 

“Okay, are you gonna explain to me what this plan of yours is?” Fizzy crossed his arms and watched you begin to scavenge through the kitchen. Your body flitting across the room, arms filling with various items and piling them on a counter. Once you finished, you turned to the imp. 

“We’re making Ozzie breakfast, duh!” You chimed, watching his face slowly light up. 

“Ohhohohoh fuck yeah, Babe!” His arms extended and yoinked himself onto the counter. “What’s on the menu? Pizza? Chicken wings? Ribs?” 

You giggled, “Noo~ you silly Frog!” You shook your head. “Try pancakes!”

“But pizzaaah~!” He whined with a pout. You jumped on the counter to sit next to him, lips finding his cheek for a quick peck. 

“Next time, okay?” You smiled. Fizz’s face darkened in a blush as he turned to you.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, Bunny!” He giggled before glancing at the ingredients. “So what’s first?” 

You slowly glanced at them. “Uh, good question..” His eyes widened, head snapping to look at you.

“You don’t even know how to make them?”

“Well it can’t be that hard!” You pulled out your phone, thumbs typing to find a recipe from the sinternet. “Look here! Easy pancakes from scratch.” You showed him the screen.

“Oh we sooo got this!” His tongue peeked out as he slowly scrolled through the pages. You hopped off the counter, grabbing a few mixing bowls from the cabinets. 

“I’ll mix the dry ingredients and you can start on the wet ones.” You gave him one of the bowls. 

Fizz chuckled, eyebrows raising a few times. “You sure you don’t want the wet ones? Cuz, you know…” He smirked, eyes fluttering up and down your figure. You felt your face grow warm at his insinuations.

“Yes! I’m sure!” You scooped the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt into the bowl before stomping to the other end of the counter in a huff. You measured the designated amounts, each falling into the bowl. Once you finished, you grabbed a whisk before making sure it was mixed.

“Uhh, Bunny?” You heard Fizz call out. “Is butter supposed to do that?” You turned, seeing him stretched out to stare into the microwave. The wet popping noise coming from the appliance didn’t make you feel any better. 

You rushed over, Fizz dropped an arm down before pulling you up. The inside of the microwave wasn’t too messy, but the butter had melted and soon turned brown  in the center. Gritty pieces floating around and the liquid still bubbling. You stopped it quickly and turned to Fizz. “How long did you put it in for?”

“It said 15 minutes.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” 

“Uh, duh!” He shrunk to his normal height, you still in his arms. “I read it right there!” He jabbed his finger at the phone. 

“That says seconds, Babe." You laughed. "I think it’s burnt.” You peered at the closed door of the microwave. “Think we can still use it?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” He nodded, as cheerful as ever.

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah, okay!” 

“What’s next?” He stretched to grab the butter from the microwave before dumping it in his own bowl where the milk, vanilla, and egg were. 

“We mix your ingredients with a blender!” 

“Got it!” Fizz was quick to plug it in and position it in the wet bowl. He flicked it on to the highest setting and things seemed fine for a moment. Until the blender began to wobble and soon sent a bunch of the wet mix out the sides and onto the cupboards. Fizz began vibrating with the blender, laughing as he continued mixing. 

You fell into your fit of giggles the more you watched, “Okay! I think it’s good!” He pulled the blender out from the bowl, the leftover mix on the metal whisks flying everywhere including you and the imp. “Fizzy!” You scolded, a smile never leaving your face.

“What!” He finally turned off the tool, turning towards you. He weighted onto one hip, resting his empty hand on his waist. “Cooking is a messy job, you’re not doing it right if you’re not wearing the food.” He spoke with his nose in the air as if it wasn’t the most obvious fact. He grinned and flung the blender elsewhere. “Besides~” He slinked closer, “It’s not like we haven’t been this messy before~” He giggled and trailed a finger down your shoulder.

Your cheeks heated before you pulled back. “Hey! No distracting me!” You scolded though it didn’t hold much strength behind it.

He smirked, “So, what’s next?” He leaned in. 

You grabbed your phone, noting it was full of the wet mix, “Okay, it says we have to make a well in the dry ingredients and then… slowly fold them together.” 

“What the fuck does well mean?” He asked.

“What the fuck does fold mean?” You peered at him, brows creased.

He pursed his lips in thought before glancing at you. “Maybe like a blanket?” 

“Like… With our hands?” You held your hands up, glancing back and forth between the two.

“Well, how else do you fold things?” He shrugged. Fizz grabbed you and extended his legs up to place you on the counter before sitting opposite of you, the bowl in the middle. 

“Okay, make a well.” You pushed the dry mix around until it had an empty space in the middle. “Now add the wet mix.” Fizz dumped it all but graciously in. “And fold!” His hands slammed into the bowl, splattering the contents around and onto the both of you. You laughed as he continued his ‘folding’ methods messily. The folding being more of a throw your hands together and hope for the best.

The dry mix clouded upwards and attached to both of you, along with small splatters of the partially mixed dough. It flung around the kitchen, landing alongside the previous mess, hitting cupboards, counters, the fridge, even as far as the dining table. Your giggles mixed in with Fizz’s, the mixing becoming the main event of cooking breakfast. 

“What is going on in here?” A loud voice called out from the doorway. Ozzie stood there, mouth fallen with wide eyes as he stared at the condition of the kitchen. He was in the middle of tying his robe, frozen as he finally saw you and Fizz sitting on the counter. Both completely covered in pancake mix. You blinked at Ozzie, watching him take cautious steps forward. 

“Aww, you weren’t supposed to wake up, Ozzie!” Fizz whined, shoulders slumping.

“You sleep in any other day!” You added, “Why on all days do you wake up early today!” You pouted alongside your imp boy. 

“Maybe because hearing you two giggling maniacally all the way from the bedroom intrigued me.” He finally stood before you and Fizz. “And for good reason! Look at this place!” He gestured to the kitchen, “There’s… What is this…?” He scooped up a bit onto his finger from the counter and stuck it in his mouth. A second passed by before he physically recoiled. “Oh no.” He shuttered, the feeling coursing throughout his entire body. “No, no! You two!” He glared down at your forms. “What did I say about you cooking!”

You blinked up at Oz, seeing his face scowl but Ram and Bull showed his true endearing emotions. They always seemed to break his tough facade. You smirked towards Fizz, him reading you almost instantly. He shoved the bowl aside and scooted towards you.

“But you love us~” You smiled real big, eyes misting into a pretty sparkle. Fizz leaned in, squishing his cheek against yours and mirroring your expression. You grasped his hands and pulled his body close, chests flushed against each other. 

“Don’t you~?” Fizzy added, pulling the last word out and pouting his lips.  

Ozzie crossed in arms while staring down at you both, he felt himself slowly breaking at the sight. “Don’t say that every time you two make a mess!” He turned away, eyes shutting tight. His chest rising a few times in frustrated huffs, his expression melting. His eyes peaked down at your forms, “Auogh! I can’t stay mad at you guys when you do that!”

“We know~!” You giggled, eyes sliding to Fizz as you turned to each other, noses brushing in a small victory. His sleek metal limbs wrapping around you and squeezing.

“Womp womp!” Fizz laughed and hugged you tighter.

“Look at my messy little Fizzy-Frog and Bunny-Wunny!” Large arms encircled the both of you, scooping you into the air and spinning. “Looks like I'll have to get you both washed up.” His voice sank a few octaves, "Care to join me for a nice deep clean?" Eyes narrowing with a growing smirk.

Who were you to deny your King of Lust?

likes and reblogs appreciated !! ♡

[toxycodone]

Laios x Beastkin!Reader

an. Senshi, Chilchuck, and Marcille x Reader are mentioned quiiiite a bit in here. Izutsumi x reader is more sparse. split between furry/scaly/feathery beastkin after the more general ones in the beginning. SORRY if the formatting is weird I got "text limited" a lot on this lmfao

this is a lot so. <3 show sum luv

general sfw

when you two first meet...bro is ELATED. He knows Izutsumi, which is fine, but you're an entirely different one. Who also doesn't seem to be super against him getting to know them

He asks SO many questions. What are you mixed with? Are you naturally born or artificial? What's it like having wings? A tail?

He's testing out all your features. He loves them so much.

When there's downtime, he likes to conduct "research". This goes for analyzing your features and making notes, comparing them to his books and other notes, and even more intricate tests like reaction time and stuff.

He'll hold a candle/torch by your face and test your pupil dilation. It's oddly intimate because he's just staring you down and its like. okay. are we gonna kiss orrrr

Loves. Loves. Loves just WATCHING you. Seeing the way you pounce on little bugs for fun or get spooked by certain noises. He just smiles and is all amused.

You'll catch him doodling you pretty often. He makes notes like "y/n caught a treasure bug today. They seem pretty skilled at hunting. Failed to kill it for some reason...just played with it until it scurried off." The doodles are like...surprisingly pretty decent. The monster portions of you are the best looking and most detailed. But it's so cool to see just how much he pays attention to you and your idiosyncrasies.

Your interactions with Izutsumi also interest him. Do you guys get along? Are you prey to her? Or is she to you? If you and Izu are talking or around each other he's watching like a hawk out of pure curiosity.

However...there's a particular page in his journal where he's providing feedback on how he would make you "better" aka cooler. It's basically just his own ramblings. No Laios, an extra set of eyes and the ability to breath fire and ice and everything in between is not. better. you're just salivating over the idea of your monster OC

If you bring this up to him he actually agrees. After a lot of note taking and observation he's really fascinated just on how well suited your entire existence is to...surviving. He has a lot of theories he'd love to share about you.

But he has e x t e n s i v e notes on your body. It's something that fr makes you blush because, why is he theorizing about the base of your tail and how it connects to your spine? and the number of nipples you have? wait...how is his guess right...?

But Laios is so useful. You might as well call him your owner. You don't have to lift a finger when it comes to taking care of yourself. (He misses his dogs so you fill in.)

He takes care of your skin/fur/scales/feathers, cuts your claws, helps you file down your hooves or horns. He's very into taking care of you if you'll let him. (Marcille also hops in on this since its her love language LOL. When she's not busy with Izutsumi she helps when she can.)

If you are like...afraid of water or don't enjoy bathing. You are like the party's pet. They're debating on how to get you clean before Chilchuck is like "if you don't take a bath I am going to kill you and throw you in there myself." Laios then goes all puppy dog eyed bc he thinks Chil is being to hard on you and then he sighs and is like "fine. I'll buy you a treat when we get back to the surface."

Marcille/Laios are really good when it comes to bath time. They aren't weird about it (Laios is checking you out but. In a curious type of way. Marcille is giving him side eye if hes getting too...Laiosy. But he respects your boundaries. Just imagine Laios happily scrubbing you while humming a tune awe.)

And when it comes to sleeping arrangements...you can alternate between anyone in the party. But Laios and Chilchuck are your best bets. Marcille is an excellent sleeping partner if the dreams don't bother you, shes soo happy to have you sleep with her and she's soft and smells nice.

Laios happily lets you sleep with him. He's actually not super cuddly (unless you are he'll reciprocate). But he is very much like, giving you a ton of space. If you fall asleep before him he just relents and sleeps as comfortably as he can around you lol. Literally just like any other pet owner.

Chilchuck....sleeping with him is difficult bc Izutsumi will fight you on it, but she relents if you can fit in without much issue (bonus points if you're warm) so. You guys can both overheat this poor man. Izu may even start cuddling with you more. She finds a lot of comfort in having another beastkin in the party even though she won't say it.

And speaking of Chilchuck...you're likely a bit more cooperative than Izutsumi, so he gets your help when it comes to checking for traps and finding treasure. With your elite hearing and other abilities, he's actually really pleasantly surprised how useful you are. (If you were a half-foot he'd definitely want you in his guild). He gives you pets and treats when the others aren't really paying attention (He doesn't want them to see him doting on you is all LOL).

Okay. So. Your diet. This is an anime about eating so. Let's get down to it.

Whether you're a herbivore, carnivore, or omnivore--Laios is ENSURING your needs are taken care of in the party. It is of upmost importance to him.

He takes notes and asks about how certain foods make you feel. Are you more energized? Less energized? Stomach hurting? Pooping well? (Will ask this with upmost sincerity, he wants to make sure the butter/milk/etc used in their cooking isn't interfering with your tummy. Whether you want to answer this is up to you lol).

Laios and Senshi happily adjust things to your needs. Laios will spend time foraging with you, Senshi will find certain monsters with more nutrients that meet your needs. Senshi is also like, really knowledgeable about nutrients, so sometimes in your food he may grind up shells or bones to meet calcium needs and such. When he cooks he'll give you bones or soften them up in water so you can eat the marrow. :-)

Senshi...is the coolest though. He also lets you perch on him (like Izutsumi) and since he's lived in the dungeon for so long, he knows a lot about monsters firsthand. If it applies, he'll give you tips about yourself or some monsters you should prey on. Senshi and you go on little foraging trips too. He'll have you sniff things out in return for extra food during dinner.

Laios likes to see you hunt prey and eat it raw, though. Everyone else would rather not and it makes them sick but he thinks it is SO cool. He honestly wishes he could do that. He takes hunting lessons from you and will give you tips on being stealthier and such.

Your teeth really fascinate him. He likes testing your bite strength on different types of material (Like wood, stone, bones, etc.). He'll stick his fingers in your mouth and admire them if youd let him. He gives you so much praise in general its so cute.

AND. PETTING YOU. He is so tactile if you let him (i mean look how much he tries and fails to pet izutsumi). When you give him the all clear he is like. jumping for joy. he LOVES to pet you and praise you. He absentmindedly pets you when hes sitting down or standing by you. And when you nuzzle into his touch his heart SOARS. You can see on his face he's blushing and has that like. excited wiggly smile <3

I think when he's just sitting around he just messes with your tail. He likes it.

Lay down beside him and he will happily pet you and be like "do you like this? Is this a good spot?" Present. Your belly to him. and he is over the moon. He pets you wildly and is like "Who's a good boy/girl/monster?" He is so unashamed about doing this too. Chilchuck would put a stop to it if you didn't like it so much.

If you give him kisses or tongue bath's he's eating that shit up (i mean. look at those extra comics w him and dogs he lets dogs just kiss all over his face omfg). He isn't a huge fan of getting his hair wet (sensory issue) but when it's your drool...he can't help but be excited. Laios is all like "they're grooming me?? this means they like me, right??? Can I officially say I befriended a monster???"

It's proof that you care for him and view him as apart of your pack...he is just over the moon at this.

I will say...Laios is way too "has no backbone with you" for a while. You're chewing shoes? You can't help it! Stealing snacks? It's instinctual! Playing too rough with Izutsumi? C'mon guys...

But when he notices his party actually getting upset. You will be surprised how he can put his foot down. Not even max puppy eyes work on him. He will leash and muzzle you if needed.

But you can always get away with messing with his stuff. He thinks its fun to chase you around when you got his shirt in his maw. Then he happily wears the torn up gear and Marcille is like "let me sew it..."

For Scaly Beastkin:

He's so helpful when it comes to shedding season. Laios finds nice rocks all the time and helps scrape off any patches that are drying and crusting and hes not even phased and doesn't think its gross at all. He would keep some skin to test its resilience if you let him.

And going with that, when you need to shed and soak he would help you find a place and will happily assist with the shedding. He's so excited to be there honestly. But he feels bad you are uncomfortable so he lets you cuddle up under the water with him while you wait for your shed to soften up <3

Laios runs his fingers over your scales absentmindedly...just loves feeling how smooth they are, especially after he spent so much time helping them maintain that pristine smoothness.

He gets Marcille's help to make a moisturizing ointment to put on you every now and then so you don't get to dried out in the dungeon!! Marcille starts to fret about that too. You're just kinda chillin and she'll reach over and put ointment on your hands/cheeks/tail. Just areas you may be susceptible to drying out.

Also...he lets you use him as a heating rock. Sunshine is really limited in the dungeon, so...when you need a warm up he's there and waiting and extremely excited to warm you up with a hug.

For Furry Beastkin:

Brushes you. He'd do this EVERY evening (and morning) if you let him. He takes notes, too. Do you have an undercoat? Or is it just one? What does this mean about what environment you originated from?

He probably tries to use your shed fur to embellish his own clothes or put in his pillow/blankets. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle I guess?

And to add to that...remember how Marcille made a cute little cat head from Izutsumi's fur? He does that too. He and Marcille make cute little shapes outta your shed and giggle together about it.

If you get fleas...he is the party member you should tell. He'll help you get rid of them and won't rat you out to the other members LOL. He'd probably blame himself if it spread and the rest of the party is like "you expect us to beleive. you got fleas. Laios you would be excited if you got them."

For Feathered Beastkin:

Preening....<3. When you have pin feathers he is so sweet and gentle. gently picks them out. It kinda tickles bc he's just gliding his fingers over your wings. You'll catch him sighing in content and burying his face in the softness. It's so sweet.

He collects your feathers and shows them off to Marcille (who also really likes them.) Your down is SO useful too. The party has the softest blankets and pillows thanks to you. When you're molting everyone is calling dibs on the feathers to stuff in their bedding.

Laios examines your wingspan and is really interested on stuff like weather you can fly or not. If you can, he's in awe. He wants to see it. Maybe even fly with you if he can. Its always been a dream of his to do that.

nsfw

tw (for nsfw). monsterfucking? if that counts. mentions of vent/cloaca/knot

This man. It is so easy to tell overtime just how fucking horny he gets over monster stuff. He is addicted to just how much you differ from him. Your scales, fur, feathers, wings, etc....he thinks they're all extremely sexy.

He just loves the primal aspect of it? Like you act on instinct. Do what makes you happy. Like of course you have human reasoning and such but STILL. You're so non human and otherworldly it makes his stomach knot up and his dick hard as a rock. He wants to know EVERYTHING about you.

If you have a heat/rut cycle...he is. fucking. begging you come to him for help. jfc you don't even have to let him stick his dick in you. He just slowly probes your hole with his fingers and legit GASPS when he feels it clench around him. Not only is he learning so much about you and monster anatomy but hes also having his monster fucking dreams come true.

I mean it is a given with Laios but his fucking face is always in your hole. He loves eating pussy/ass so fucking much. And having your dick, clit, or knot down his throat drives him wild. He eats your slick and cum like he's starving. He's so sloppy with it too--there's spit and slick and cum all over his face and he's just slurping it all up like its his last meal.

He definitely "examines" you. He'll stick his fingers in you and stretch out your hole just to get a better look at what's inside. (imagine his thumbs sliding in and prying you open.) The muscles pulsating and the color and the smell...god he's drooling. You feel all vulnerable and exposed but he's just constantly praising how amazing your body and its functions are.

He busts so quick with a beastkin it....wow. Like. You are seriously all he has ever dreamed of and shit. I can't imagine he'd be able to contain himself. He cums and just still wants more, he fucks you through the overstimulation until he cries

Oh he wants to know whats in your pants so bad its ridiculous. Like. I cannot explain just how much he is vibrating with excitement

If you have a cloaca...he's very gentle with your hole at first. You explain to him what to look for, what feels good. He'll gently explore with his fingers until he finds the right hole and then he's going at it. He's shoving his tongue in there happily too. He knows what a cloaca is. He knows it's a singular vent for waste and sexual functions. Doesn't matter. His tongue is going in there. Laios is beyond excited to taste everything and see what makes you squirm.

If you have a knot...it's a given he wants you to knot him. It takes him a few tries (he can't take your knot at first because he's too tight) but when he finally is able to its like. euphoric for him. He loves feeling your warm cum in his ass and your desperate pants against his throat as your overstimulated self gets adjusted to being stuck to him. Gods.

Plus...I've discussed this on my blog in more detail but with a beastkin reader he's definitely into

You biting/scratching him up. He lovvveess being marked. Use him as a chew toy PLEASE

Predator/Prey rp: He's a trained hunter but he wouldn't mind being hunted...He loves how strong you are and how you can turn the tables on him if you wanted.

Just?? You being feral?? He likes it when you act more like your monster side and just treat him like a toy.

Breeding Kink: Even if you aren't able to get pregnant or breed (either due to sex or incompatible genetics due to being part monster), he's still really into it. You can fill him up vice versa...He loves the feeling of having you last inside him and he loves knowing you're still filled up from him. Plus, it adds to the more animalistic part of sex which is what he likes

[kashverse]

Hi ! What about babykuna's first fight at school or on the playground ? How would it happen? How would her parents react to the comments of the teacher or the parent of the child that babykuna fought against?

By the way I love your writing ❤️

Coming back on your page is part of my routine, now ❤️

babytoru was first introduced in this post, if you missed it out :P

the playground is truly a battleground of politics, alliances, and power struggles. the young rulers of the sandbox empire have their territories marked—some reign over the swings, some control the seesaws, but the slide? the slide is where real power is decided.  on this fateful day, all was running smoothly. the queue was in order. kids were waiting their turn, deals were being made—who gets the best spot in the sandpit, who gets pushed on the swings, and of course, who gets the ultimate first slide down. but then—disaster struck.

enter babytoru.

babytoru, the undisputed princess of the gojo household, struts up to the slide like a celebrity at the met gala. she is wearing a custom LV dress with designer shoes that probably cost more than someone’s mortgage, and she is here to take what is hers. babytoru, with all the grace and arrogance of a true queen, points at the slide. "i wanna go first."

everyone in the queue freezes. it is a declaration of war.

the kids exchange nervous glances. no one dares oppose babytoru—not because they’re scared of her, but because they know—somehow, she always gets what she wants. so naturally, the line parts like the red sea. babytoru hops onto the slide, smug as ever. but what she doesn’t realize is that in her moment of unwarranted self-glorification, she has landed in the worst possible place.

babykuna’s spot.

now, babykuna is not one for dramatics. but she is also not one to be disrespected. and right now, she is disrespected. babykuna’s chubby little arms cross over her chest. her lips purse. her four-year-old glare is burning with the fury of a thousand betrayed souls. babytoru, completely unbothered, smirks at her. "you can push me now."

the playground goes silent. the kids hold their breath. babykuna does not hesitate.

she shoves babytoru.

it is not a graceful shove.

babytoru goes tumbling.

she hits the slide at maximum velocity, flipping over like an olympic gymnast who wasn’t ready for their routine. and then—

SPLAT!

she lands face-first into the sandpit. the horrified screams of the playground fill the air. babytoru is motionless. for a moment, the world stands still. and then—

she wails.

"MY DRESS!"

babykuna immediately starts crying too. "you stole my spot!"

now there are two very loud, very distressed toddlers crying at top volume. the playground is in chaos. some kids have fled the scene. others are watching, fascinated. the sandpit kids do not care because they are deep in their own battles. meanwhile, the fathers arrive. 

gojo, upon seeing his daughter crying in designer fashion disaster, immediately crouches beside her, trying very hard not to laugh. “oh my baby—oh my god, you should’ve seen how you fell—wait, no, i mean, are you okay?” babytoru sniffles dramatically, lifting a sand-covered hand. "my dress is ruined."

gojo bites his lip to stop a grin. “it’s just a little sand, princess. we can—pffft—wash it off.” babytoru glares, lower lip wobbling as she lifts her sand-covered dress.

"this is LOO-WISS… VUHH… VUHEE… VU-TON!"

gojo loses it.

“pffft—yeah, okay, we’ll get your ‘loo-wiss vuhee vu-ton’ dry-cleaned, princess.”

"DADDY!"

meanwhile, sukuna is having a different kind of breakdown. his daughter, his sweet babykuna, is standing there, red-faced, tears streaming, looking both guilty and furious at the same time.

"you okay, kid?"

babykuna, between deep sobs, hiccups, "she—she STOLE MY SPOT!"

sukuna, massaging his temples, exhales, "yeah, yeah, kid, i saw. and you, uh… handled it."

he takes out a tylenol. he dry swallows it. "you’re gonna apologize," sukuna sighs. babykuna stomps her tiny foot. "she should apologize!"

babytoru, still wiping sand off her precious LV dress, gasps. 

"you PUSHED ME!"

"YOU TOOK MY SPOT!"

"YOU TRIED TO MURDER ME!"

"IT WAS A SHOVE!"

"MY DRESS!"

"MY SPOT!"

gojo bursts out laughing. sukuna rubs his face in pure exhaustion. this is going to be a long day.

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

This is somethin’ special, kid

A dad!Vander fic (with my og character, Luna, Vander's fifth adopted child)

Set before Act 1.1.

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

The sunlight streaming through the grimy windows of the bar was almost cheerful—a rarity in the Undercity. Outside, the sounds of laughter, shouting, and footfalls echoed faintly as Vi, Mylo, Powder, and Claggor ran wild, making the most of the clear day.

Luna, however, hadn’t moved an inch.

She sat at the small table tucked in the corner of the basement, a cluster of colored pencils scattered around her like fallen candy sticks. Her nose was nearly pressed to the page as she worked furiously, muttering little things to herself and occasionally smudging a mark with her thumb.

Vi had been the first to approach.

“Hey, Lu,” Vi called from the stairs, her voice a little breathless, already winded from whatever game they’d been playing outside. The sunlight streaming through the narrow basement window made her silhouette stand out sharply at the top of the steps. “You’ve been down here all morning. Come on! The weather’s good for once!”

“I’m busy,” Luna replied without looking up, her voice sing-songy and stubborn, as if whatever she was doing was far more important than the rare sunshine outside.

Vi frowned, taking a step down. “Busy? Busy with what?”

“Stuff,” Luna said cryptically, her brow furrowed in concentration as she gripped her pencil and carefully sketched a tiny detail on the page.

“Stuff, huh?” Vi teased, hopping down the last few steps with a thud and crossing the room toward her. She craned her neck to see what Luna was working on, hands tucked casually in her pockets. “What kinda stuff?”

“Secret stuff.”

Vi’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Secret? What, like a treasure map? Some sorta… master plan for takin’ over the basement?” She leaned in just enough to catch a glimpse over Luna’s shoulder—

But Luna was faster. With a sharp gasp, she threw a tiny arm over the paper like a shield, hunching over it as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. “You can’t see!” she declared dramatically.

Vi blinked, startled by the sudden defensive move. “Whoa! Okay, okay!” She raised her hands in mock surrender, laughing lightly. “Didn’t know it was top-secret business.”

“It is,” Luna said firmly, shooting her a very serious look from under her lashes before going back to her work.

Vi crouched down beside her, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched the little girl scribble furiously with a pale blue pencil. The focus Luna had was impressive—her tongue even stuck out slightly between her lips as she coloured like her life depended on it.

“Alright,” Vi said after a moment, a little more gently now. “But you’ve been down here all morning. Everyone’s starting to wonder where you ran off to, y’know.”

“I didn’t run anywhere,” Luna mumbled, still not looking up.

Vi snorted. “That’s the problem, goblin.”

Luna froze just long enough to look up, her face scrunched in confusion. “Goblin?”

“Yeah. Like a little basement goblin.” Vi smirked, nudging her lightly with her shoulder. “All holed up down here, not talkin’ to anyone, hidin’ secret treasure…”

Luna’s lips twitched, but she tried to smother the smile, ducking her head back down over her drawing. “I’m not a goblin.”

“You sure? Actin’ pretty goblin-y to me,” Vi teased, tilting her head to try sneaking another peek.

“No looking!” Luna shot her a sharp glare, one hand still protectively covering the paper.

Vi held her hands up again, her grin growing. “Alright, alright! Don’t bite my head off!” She stood up and put her hands on her hips, giving Luna a lingering, suspicious glance. “Y’know, if this is some sorta surprise for Mylo, I’m gonna need a heads-up. I don’t wanna be caught in the crossfire.”

“It’s not for Mylo,” Luna muttered quickly, cheeks faintly pink.

“Ohhh,” Vi said dramatically, dragging the sound out. “Well, now I really wanna know what it is.”

“You’ll see later,” Luna said stubbornly, waving her hand dismissively. “Maybe.”

Vi rolled her eyes but crouched down again, her voice softening as she studied Luna’s expression. “You okay down here, though? You’ve been awfully quiet. Feels… weird without you running around making trouble.”

“I’m fine,” Luna answered quickly, though her focus didn’t waver. “I’m just… busy.”

Vi didn’t quite believe her, but there was no sadness in Luna’s voice or eyes—just that same determination she got whenever she was working on something important. With a small sigh, Vi straightened up again. “Alright. But promise me you won’t forget to eat, yeah?”

“Mmhm,” Luna hummed, already sifting through her box of coloured pencils like Vi had ceased to exist.

Vi shook her head with a small, fond smile as she headed back to the stairs. “Goblins gotta eat too, y’know,” she called over her shoulder, just loud enough for Luna to hear.

“I’m not a goblin!” Luna shouted back, though Vi swore she could hear the giggle that followed.

“Sure, sure,” Vi muttered with a grin, taking the steps two at a time. “But don’t blame me when you start growin’ pointy ears.”

Luna let out a exaggerated “Vi!” and the sound of Vi’s giggling was heard all the way she ran up the stairs.

Claggor came next. Luna was still at the little table, surrounded by the mess of pencils and scraps of paper, her head bent so low it was a wonder her nose wasn’t smudged with colour.

“Hey, Lu,” Claggor started, his voice calm and friendly as ever. “You sure you don’t wanna come outside? It’s warm out.”

“No,” came the short reply, muffled slightly as Luna leaned closer to her page, her tiny fingers gripping a dark brown pencil with fierce determination.

Claggor raised an eyebrow, not giving up so easily. “You’re missin’ the sun, y’know. It’s not gonna stick around forever.”

“Don’t care. I’m busy,” Luna replied firmly, her pencil pausing just long enough to emphasize her words.

Claggor took a step closer, crouching down to try to get a better look at her paper. “Yeah, I can see that. What’re you workin’ on, anyway?”

The reaction was immediate. Luna snapped her head up and threw an arm over her page, clutching it protectively against the table like a dragon guarding its hoard. Her wide eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“No looking!”

Claggor held his hands up in mock surrender, his face splitting into a small grin. “Alright, alright, no lookin’! Sheesh. You don’t gotta bite my head off.” He straightened back up, towering over her once more, and gave her an exaggerated frown. “I’m just makin’ sure you’re still alive down here.”

“I’m fine,” Luna said, the faintest hint of sass creeping into her tone. She picked up a pale blue pencil and went right back to her work, dismissing him entirely.

“…Want me to bring you somethin’, then?” Claggor offered after a beat, clearly unsure what else to say. “A snack? Some water?”

For the first time in their exchange, Luna paused. She lifted her head just enough to meet his gaze, the corners of her lips turning up into a sweet, disarming smile—one that only seemed to appear when she was about to get her way.

“No thanks!” she chirped, her voice as polite as could be. Then, just as quickly, she dropped her head and returned to her drawing, completely shutting him out once again.

Claggor blinked, caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. He let out a small chuckle as he shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Suit yourself, kid,” before backing away. He gave the table one last glance, like he might somehow catch a glimpse of the elusive drawing, but Luna didn’t budge.

By midday, Mylo came stomping down the stairs with the kind of energy that suggested he had already lost one argument with Vi and wasn’t about to lose another—not without a fight. He skidded to a stop near Luna’s table, hands on his hips, and squinted down at her like he was assessing a particularly tricky puzzle.

“Alright, Lu,” he started, voice sharp with mock authority. “This has gone on long enough. You’re comin’ outside.”

Luna didn’t even glance up from her work, her pencil moving swiftly across the paper as if he wasn’t there at all. “No, I’m not.”

Mylo groaned, already frustrated. “You don’t even know what you’re missing! It’s warm, there’s sun, and Vi’s gonna let us play kickball in the alley. You love kickball!”

“I’m busy,” Luna replied, her voice cheerful and infuriatingly calm.

“Busy doin’ what?” Mylo demanded, stepping closer to peer over her shoulder.

“It’s a secret!” Luna shot back instantly, shifting in her seat so her arms could block more of her paper.

Mylo groaned again, louder this time, and threw his head back like he’d been personally victimized. “That’s not fair!”

“It’s perfectly fair,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “It’s my secret.”

“You’re gonna tell us eventually, though, right?” Mylo tried, leaning forward with a hopeful look.

“Nope.”

He threw his arms up in defeat. “Ugh! You can’t just lock yourself in the basement all day!”

“I can,” Luna said brightly, finally looking up at him with a smug little grin, “and I am.”

The confidence in her voice made Mylo’s eye twitch. “Fine! You know what?” He quickly shifted tactics, slipping into a tone he probably thought sounded persuasive. “If you come outside right now, I’ll let you pick first when we play cards later. You can pick any seat you want. Even Vi’s spot. Deal?”

Luna paused for the first time, her pencil hovering midair like she was actually considering it. Mylo held his breath, his face lighting up in anticipation.

But just as quickly, Luna shook her head and went back to her work. “No deal.”

“What?!” Mylo sputtered, clearly offended. “How is that not a good deal?!”

“Don’t wanna,” Luna said simply, as if that explained everything.

“You’re impossible,” Mylo huffed, pacing back and forth like he couldn’t believe he was losing this battle to a kid half his size. “Come on, what are you even doing that’s so important?”

“I told you, it’s a secret,” Luna said, her voice sing-song as she scribbled a bright yellow streak across her page.

“That’s not fair!” Mylo whined, throwing his arms up so dramatically it was a miracle he didn’t knock something over. “You can’t just ignore us all day and keep secrets!”

“I can,” Luna said again, this time with a tone that clearly said checkmate.

Mylo gaped at her, visibly at the end of his rope. “You know, someday, someone’s gonna tell you you’re too stubborn, Lu. And you know what you’re gonna do? You’re gonna ignore ‘em, just like you’re ignoring me right now.”

Luna finally looked up, the pencil stilling in her hand as she flashed him a mischievous, all-too-satisfied smile. “Probably.”

That did it. Mylo let out a dramatic groan, flopping onto the bottom step like all the energy had been drained from him. “This isn’t over, Lu,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll be back. You will break eventually.”

Luna, grinning smugly, waved him off with a little flick of her fingers, like she was dismissing a servant. “Goodbye, Mylo.”

He shot her a glare but didn’t bother responding. Instead, he dragged himself back up the stairs, loudly grumbling the whole way about “stubborn little sisters” and how he was “never offering her the first pick again.”

As soon as he was gone, Luna giggled quietly to herself, her pencil once again scratching across the page with unshakable focus.

Powder, being the last of the kids to try, approached Luna with far more caution than the others. Unlike Mylo’s dramatics or Claggor’s attempts at reason, Powder had the subtle approach of someone who knew how to get around people’s walls—especially Luna’s. She peeked into the basement first, her blue hair slipping into view before she followed, small and quiet.

Luna didn’t look up. She was too absorbed in her drawing, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully added a bright patch of pink. Powder crept closer, hands stuffed into the pockets of her worn coat, and hovered near the edge of the table.

“You’re still down here?” Powder asked softly, tilting her head as she studied Luna’s serious little face.

“Yep,” Luna replied, distracted, her pencil scratching away.

“…You missed lunch,” Powder pointed out, like it was a casual observation and not something Vander had sent her down to say.

Luna shrugged. “Not hungry.”

Powder made a thoughtful noise and sat down across from her, resting her chin in her hands as she tried to sneak a look at what Luna was doing. “What’s so important you’re staying in all day?”

Luna instantly dropped her arm over the drawing, glaring suspiciously. “It’s a secret.”

“Oh, a secret,” Powder said, like this was exciting news. Her face lit up, curiosity overtaking her. “Is it a good one?”

“The best one,” Luna replied smugly.

Powder bit her lip to keep from smiling too much and leaned in closer, lowering her voice like they were conspiring. “Will you tell me?”

“Nope.”

“What if I pinky swear not to tell anyone else?” Powder offered, holding out her hand.

Luna raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Nice try.”

Powder sighed dramatically, dropping her hand back to the table with a thud. “Well, I think you’re missing out,” she said, adopting her best nonchalant voice, though her blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “Me and Vi found a spot in the alley where the sun makes this huge warm patch. It’s perfect for sitting. And Mylo… he almost fell in a puddle earlier. You should’ve seen his face.”

That earned her a small snort of amusement from Luna, though the little girl quickly hid it behind her serious expression. Powder grinned triumphantly. “See? It’s fun out there.”

“I’m busy,” Luna insisted firmly, her pencil going back to work.

Powder hummed, watching her closely. Then, after a beat, she pulled out her trump card. “You know… if you come outside, I could show you where the pigeons are nesting on the roof.”

Luna paused. Her head shot up, eyes narrowing as if she were trying to figure out whether Powder was bluffing. “The roof?”

“Uh-huh,” Powder replied innocently, already pleased with herself. “And they have babies right now. All fluffy and everything.”

Luna hesitated, her pencil tapping against the paper. “How do you know?”

“I saw them, Ekko showed me” Powder said, like it was obvious. She leaned forward with a grin, voice soft and teasing. “But I’m not gonna show you unless you come outside.”

For a moment, it seemed like Luna might crack. She fidgeted, chewing on her lip as she considered the offer. But just when Powder thought she’d won, Luna gave a resolute shake of her head. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Powder groaned, slumping over the table like all her efforts had been for nothing.

“I told you—it’s important!” Luna said, exasperated, shielding her paper again.

Powder peeked up at her through a curtain of blue hair, defeated but still curious. “More important than baby pigeons?”

“Yes,” Luna said firmly, though she did sound a little regretful.

Powder sighed, finally accepting her loss. “Fine. But you’re still missing out.” She stood up slowly, brushing the dust off her knees, and gave Luna one last look. “You’ll tell us what you’re doing later, right?”

“Maybe,” Luna replied with a secretive grin, clearly enjoying keeping everyone guessing.

“You’re more stubborn than Mylo,” murmured Powder, leaving to go back with the others.

Finally, it was Vander’s turn.

His presence was announced before he even appeared—heavy footsteps creaking on the boards above, slow and deliberate, as if he was giving Luna time to realize he was coming. When he descended the stairs, it was in his usual way: solid, unhurried.

Luna’s head popped up briefly, just long enough to acknowledge him, before she ducked right back down, pencil scratching furiously across the page.

Vander stopped halfway down the stairs, resting his massive forearms on the railing as he tilted his head, watching her with a mix of amusement and concern. His brows furrowed slightly, though there was the faintest hint of a smile beneath his beard.

“Y’know, kid,” he started, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet basement, “when the entire house thinks somethin’s wrong, it’s usually ‘cause somethin’ is wrong.”

“I’m fine,” Luna replied, her tone drawn-out and exaggerated, as if she were rolling her eyes without actually doing it.

“Yeah?” Vander raised an eyebrow, his skeptical look clear even from across the room. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.” Luna didn’t even look up this time, pencil moving with absolute focus. After a beat, she added in a sweet, singsong voice, “I just need juice.”

“…Juice?” Vander repeated flatly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

Luna finally glanced up, her big eyes peeking at him from under a curtain of hair. “Please,” she added innocently, the word practically dripping with charm as she batted her lashes for emphasis.

Vander let out a low, gruff chuckle, shaking his head in defeat. “Juice, huh?” he muttered, though his voice carried no real resistance. “Fine. But you’re getting a sandwich too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t show up for lunch, young lady.”

“Okay,” Luna chirped happily, her attention already back on her drawing.

Vander lingered for a moment, still watching her with that mix of curiosity and fatherly concern before turning back to the stairs. “Don’t think I’m gonna let you starve yourself just ‘cause you’re bein’ stubborn,” he said over his shoulder as he ascended.

“Not starving!” Luna called back, though Vander was already halfway up, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like kids.

True to his word, Vander returned about ten minutes later. He carried a glass of juice in one hand and a thick sandwich stacked high with meat and cheese in the other, just how he knew she liked it. Despite his large, heavy build, he set them beside her with a surprising gentleness, careful not to disturb her paper or pencils.

“Here. Juice and food.” He straightened up and loomed slightly, leaning just enough to sneak a glance at what she was working on. “So, what’s—?”

“No looking!” Luna yelped, flinging an arm over her paper and scowling up at him like he’d just committed the greatest betrayal.

Vander stepped back immediately, holding up both hands like she had him at wandpoint. “Alright, alright! Hands off. Just curious, is all.”

Luna huffed in satisfaction, giving him a look that clearly said you should know better, before returning to her drawing like nothing had happened.

Vander’s smirk returned as he folded his arms over his chest, still watching her. “Don’t forget to eat, artiste,” he teased, his voice laced with fondness.

“I won’t,” Luna replied without looking up, already reaching for the sandwich with her free hand while still holding the pencil with the other.

Vander shook his head, the smile lingering on his face as he backed away. “You’re somethin’ else, kid. Don’t work too hard.”

He turned and climbed the stairs once more, leaving Luna to her mysterious masterpiece. Before he reached the top, he called back, “And if you need anything else, don’t send Mylo after me, got it?”

“Got it!” Luna giggled, clearly pleased with herself.

Vander shook his head one last time, muttering to himself as he disappeared from sight. “She’s got me wrapped around her finger, that one…”

By the time the sun dipped low and shadows crept into the basement, Luna finally looked up from her page. Her hand ached, and her fingers were stained with pencil marks, but a satisfied smile spread across her face.

She carefully gathered up her masterpiece and marched up the stairs, determination in every step.

The others were gathered in the bar, sweaty and dusty from their day outside. Vi and Mylo were arguing over cards, Powder was sprawled out under a table fiddling with scraps of metal, and Claggor was wiping grease off his hands. Vander leaned against the bar, taking a rare quiet moment to sip his drink.

The door creaked as Luna appeared, holding a large piece of paper against her chest.

“I’m done!” she announced.

Everyone froze.

With great ceremony, Luna turned the huge page around and held it up for everyone to see.

The drawing was big, sprawling, and colourful. Many pieces of paper taped together. Smudges and uneven colouring filled every inch of the page, but it was unmistakably a family portrait.

At the centre was Vander, drawn taller than anyone else, with an exaggerated square jaw and big arms that stretched wide as though hugging everyone. Beside him were Vi, Mylo, Claggor, and Powder, each labelled carefully in big block letters. Luna had clearly taken care to add small details—Vi’s bright pink hair, Claggor’s goggles, Mylo’s messy scowl, and Powder holding a half-built gadget. Luna herself stood at Vander’s side, clutching her stuffed fox. Above them, in wobbly letters, she’d written: MY FAMILY.

For a moment, nobody said anything.

“Aw, Lu,” Vi murmured, her face softening as she stood to get a closer look.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Mylo asked, pretending to sound grumpy, though his cheeks were a little pink. “Why do I look so mad?”

“Because you’re always mad,” Powder said, giggling. “Luna, you have to teach me how to draw like this!” she beamed.

Claggor grinned broadly. “This is great, Lu. You really worked hard on this, huh?”

Luna nodded proudly. “It’s for all of us.”

Vander stepped forward, crouching to her level. He took the drawing gently, his rough fingers careful not to smudge it. For a long moment, he just looked at it, his face unreadable. Then he smiled—a real, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“This is somethin’ special, kid,” he said softly. “We’re gonna hang this up right here in the bar. How’s that sound?”

Luna’s face lit up, and she bounced on her toes. “Really?”

“Really.”

With a nod, Vander grabbed a small hammer and a nail. The others watched as he found a place on the wall behind the bar, right where everyone could see. A few taps later, the drawing was up, slightly crooked but glowing with colour and love.

Luna beamed, stepping back to admire it with the others.

“Now everybody’ll know,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Know what?” Mylo asked.

“That we’re a family.”

Vi slung an arm around her, pulling her close with a grin. “Always and forever, little goblin.”

As the others gathered around, teasing and admiring the picture, Vander leaned back against the bar, arms crossed and a wide, proud smile on his face.

For all the chaos, all the noise and trouble they brought, this—this—was what made it all worth it.

Taglist: @keira7664@starryhiraeth@eternallyvenus@gremlinartstudio

[rip-cod-brainrot]

So I fed some pigeons and grackles/jackdaws today at the city station. This girl sits down next to me. And she’s apparently upset by the pigeons being near her, judging by the way she kept shooing them away with a frown.

Like. Girl. YOU are the one who sat next to the person obviously feeding pigeons. Who has pigeons literally diving under her feet to grab some peanuts. There are going to be pigeons. Why would you sit here if you do not want pigeon????

Anyways it’s so stupid funny I’m coming up with headcanons about how they (read: cod bois + maybe even perhaps some gals) will react sitting next to you, a stranger. Feeding pigeons

Characters; Price, Gaz, Ghost, Soap, Laswell, Alejandro, Rudy, Graves, Nikolai, Valeria, Makarov

PRICE -He doesn’t understand what you are doing. Aren’t pigeons dirty??? That one specifically looks like it has mange?????? -He is discreetly scooting away. Especially when the pigeons start hopping up to sit next to you on the bench to try and get more peanuts. He might shoo them away, but gently, with only furrowed eyebrows. -Says nothing to you, but also doesn't give you more than one confused look, because he's a gentleman.

GAZ -Yeah, he noticed the pigeons. Oh. Wait - he didn't see that you were feeding them. -He does panic internally - just a bit - when they start swarming your shoes as you drop some food. But then you just... giggle? Because the pigeons are... well, they are kind of cute. -Wait - never mind, one of them is staring at him with those beady red eyes. Never mind, they're more disconcerting than anything. Don't trust those gentle coos... they clearly hide evil pigeon intent

GHOST -??? Yeah there's somebody feeding pigeons, so what? The seat's free, he's gonna sit there. -Oh, the pigeons are starting to come closer to him because he's sitting still? Oh. Well. He doesn't mind that much. He'll just have to wash his clothes real well. Mites and all that. -Doesn't say anything, but he does give you a nod and a grunt when you compliment that they seem to like him. -Next time you're there he's feeding the pigeons too??? Who the fuck is this guy

SOAP -He is not discreet. He's leaning over curiously to try and look closer at the pigeons, eyebrows raised. -It's only a matter of time before he starts asking questions. "How'd you get them to come so close? Do you feed them that every time? How do you know they like it? What else do you feed 'em?" -He is actively excited by this Disney Princess(tm) shit happening in front of him. He might leave you with a torn out page of his sketchbook; a quick drawing of you, surrounded by the birds, smiling.

LASWELL -People feed pigeons all the time. Why should she care? She's just going to keep her distance and- -Oh, one of them hopped up next to her, and it's coming towards her. No, Kate doesn't have any feed for this thing, go away- -Actively goes to sit at the far end of the bench, putting her bag between herself and the birds. She does wave at them and wiggle her foot so that they don't come near her.

ALEJANDRO -Feeding the local wildlife? That's sweet. But can't they feed themselves? What the hell do pigeons eat anyways- -May or may not jump and shit himself when one of the pigeons suddenly flaps up to stand on his knee. Absolutely does not hurt the pigeons on purpose!! But if he swats a little too fast at one of them, he ain't missing, and he feels AWFUL about it. -Damn soldier reflexes. Next thing he knows he's holding a pigeon in his hands while you check it over, fussing over the thing even though it's looking around like nothing happened. -(Pigeon is ok btw. Turns out he just kinda... pushed it, and it flew back fast enough to avoid any real harm.)

RUDY -Oh he's absolutely into it, he knows the birds are hopping onto the bench and everything. He noticed it as he was coming up. -If one of them comes next to him or hops up onto his knee, he's smiling. But he does gently nudge them back over to you. "No tengo nada portigo, pajarito. Go to them." -Strikes up a conversation with you about what you're feeding them. You have a clear love for these birds, and he thinks it's wonderful that such love exists in the world.

GRAVES -Didn't even notice you were feeding pigeons. He just knows the damn things go everywhere, wherever they want. -Wait wtf you're feeding them? What are you, an old grandma???? Graves fully believes in the sky rat idea of pigeons. The hell are you doing??? -Jumps up when one of them flies right at him. "What in the hell-" -He has decided to sit somewhere else. Unless you strike him up in conversation and talk him down. (They're just birds, bro calm down)

NIKOLAI -Oh he sat next to you BECAUSE you're feeding birds. This looks like fun. -He asks if he can have a handful of the stuff so he can feed them, too. Or pulls out some spare packet of nuts he had in his pocket. He's enjoying feeding them, look at those little guys go. -He soon strikes up a conversation with you, smiling and laughing over the warm little birds so focused on getting the food that they're swarming around your feet.

VALERIA (because I think she would say smth 'bout it) -Didn't care that you're feeding the pigeons. Whatever. People do stuff like feed the wildlife in the city. Who cares. -Raises an eyebrow when one lands next to her, staring at her expectantly. "Que quieres? No tengo no comida portigo. Ve a tu amigo alli." -She brushes it away, back towards you. "You keep these birds too fat, they're gonna bother everybody, you know?" she hums. "You feed them every day?" -Soon enough, you're bantering back and forth. She likes a small conversation every once in a while, knowing that whatever civilian she's talking to hasn't the slightest idea how easily she could have them wiped from the face of the earth... MAKAROV (because I need more content of This Guy(tm)) -You're just another civilian doing civilian things. Feeding the birds. Yeah, whatever. -Frowns at the pigeons when they try to hop up next to him. Shoos them away, not out of any real malice, but in slight annoyance. -That annoyance does spill over, though. But at you. "Why are you feeding them? These are wild animals, do you think they cannot feed themselves?" -If you're just like 'they're cute', then he scoffs and ignores you for the rest of the time he has to wait. He refuses to move. But if you have a logical reason - "I want to make sure they're eating something that they can actually digest, and the more I feed them, the more often I can check to see if they're sick" - then he's pretty intrigued. Maybe you're not a stupid civilian, at least.

[moonstruckme]

Busybody

summary: when Steve notices your anxiety spiraling out of control, he finds his own way to help

cw: anxiety

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’d woken up with some busybody in your chest that you can’t get rid of. 

It feels like you’ve had three cups of coffee despite your four hours of sleep. You’d all but jolted awake, pre-panicked about something that you haven’t identified yet. Something you have to be forgetting, or not assigning enough importance to, surely. And the way you figure it, if your body’s going to freak out at you about being idle, you may as well appease it and hop to. 

By the time Steve cracks an eyelid, you’re thinking about what to make for lunch. Heart never having left your throat, you’ve cleaned the kitchen, baked a blackberry cobbler, tried to read a few pages of your book before giving up for fidgetiness, reorganized your portion of the bathroom cabinet, and begun a grocery list for the week. 

“Morning,” he yawns, leaning against the counter. He’s looking endearingly rumpled, a faint red line on his face from a crease in his pillowcase and his hair pressed flat on the one side. You smile at him as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Smells like fire in here.” 

“Morning! I made a cobbler,” you explain, not mentioning the burnt first attempt that’s smelled up his kitchen despite you opening all the windows. “Do you want some bacon, eggs, and toast for breakfast?”

Steve blinks, eyebrows rising slightly. “Uh, sure. You gonna make me some?” 

“Mhm.” You’re already taking the eggs out of the fridge. “Scrambled?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, babe.” 

“No problem.” You grin, happy to be of use as you whisk his eggs with a fork, turning on two burners of the stove to preheat as you do. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” he yawns. “Well, pretty good. Woke up a couple times this morning, but you were already gone. Been up for a while?” 

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.” 

Steve nods, frowning. “Sorry, honey. You didn’t get much chance to sleep the night before, either, right?” 

You hum, bacon sizzling when it hits the pan. You put the toast down in the toaster, hoping you’ve timed it right so it’ll still be warm when everything else is done. “Oh, do you want orange juice?” 

“Sure, but I can grab it.” He moves for the cabinet, but you nudge in front of him, too restless to stop moving while everything heats on the stove. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” You shoot him a smile as you grab a cup. Steve returns it, but muddled.

“So between last night and the one before, how many hours have you gotten?” 

You shrug. “Not sure.” Nine, give or take. “But I don’t feel tired.” 

“Well, that’s good,” he says slowly, watching as you fill the cup with orange juice before hustling back to the stove, flitting between tasks at something approaching light speed. 

“Hey, so I was thinking,” you go on, flipping the bacon, “do you want to do some Christmas shopping today? I mean, I know you said you’re not thinking about it yet, but it can’t hurt to get a jump on things.” 

Steve yawns again, stretching his back. “Yeah, that sounds okay. Not sure I’d know what to get anyone.” 

You nod a few times. “Maybe you’ll know it when you see it.” Flip the bacon onto a plate, add more pepper to the eggs, put the bacon’s pan in the sink, turn off that burner on the stove—the toaster goes off, and you nearly hit your head on the ceiling. You jump straight up. 

“Oh.” You press a hand to your chest, laughter tripping off your tongue. Your blood thrums excitedly, like it’s finally found the outlet it's been looking for all morning. “God, that scared me.” 

“I could tell,” Steve says, eyebrows at his hairline and smiling faintly. “You doing alright?”

“Yeah, good.” Your heartbeat has become more noticeable all of a sudden, a hollow ache behind your breastbone. “I’m almost done, just a sec.” 

“No rush, honey. Thanks for making me breakfast. It looks great.” 

“Of course, no problem.” You plate up the rest and spin to find Steve already there, his hand the only thing stopping you from nearly flinging the dish into the wall surprisedly. 

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, taking the plate from you and setting it on the counter. He brings his arms around your shoulders, and you wrap yours around him too, an automatic response. Steve sighs, his ribs expanding and contracting with the force of it, and you copy him mockingly. 

“Still tired, baby?” 

“A little,” he admits. “Though I can’t really complain, considering how little sleep you’ve gotten.” 

You make to pull out of the hug, but Steve tightens his grip on you, palm pressing into the midpoint of your upper back. You give in, a willing captive. 

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “I’m sorry you’re tired.” 

Steve hums, taking another big breath. “I’m good.” A pause. “Okay, you can tell me if I’m crazy, but it does smell like something’s burning in here, right?” 

“Burnt,” you admit. “I left a blackberry cobbler in the oven a bit too long. The one in the fridge is a re-do.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No, don’t be. I think the smell’s clearing out anyway. Right?”

You sniff experimentally at the air. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“Yeah?” he sniffs too. 

You inhale more fully, only detecting the faint remains of smokiness under the newer scent of bacon grease. 

“I’ve never had blackberry cobbler,” he says, palm beginning to coast slowly between your shoulder blades while his other arm stays firmly around your waist. “What’s it taste like?”

You perk up. “Wanna try some now?”

“No—I wouldn’t want to ruin this breakfast you’ve made me. Describe it to me.” 

It’s an odd request, but nothing you can’t manage for him. You think back, letting your tongue conjure up the memory of the last time you had it. “Well, the blackberries aren’t tangy by the time they’ve been cooked,” you tell him. Steve hums, hand solid and steady on your upper back. “And this recipe is really sweet. The dough is kind of like sugar cookie dough.” 

“Sounds good,” he says appreciatively. “Hey, do you think you can smell it?” 

“From inside the fridge?” You take your head from his shoulder to give Steve an odd look. 

“Sure, just give it a try.” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. You wrinkle your brow, sniffing tentatively. Steve opens his eyes as if to check you’re doing it, and it’s the worry in his look that gives him away. Your bemusement gives way to fondness as you take a long breath in, filling your lungs and holding the air inside you for a few moments before emptying them. You know what he’s doing, but you’re letting him anyway. 

“Mmm, don’t think I can,” you tell him wryly.  

“No?” Steve’s smile is sheepish, well aware you’re onto him. “Do you think we should find three things you can touch, just for fun?” 

You roll your eyes at him, but inhale again as you hug him tightly. Some of the pain in your chest eases. “Thanks, Stevie.” 

“What for?” he asks, hand resuming its route between your shoulder blades. “Hey listen, I’m all about your Christmas shopping idea, but do you wanna try taking a hot shower first? It might help you relax.” 

“That’s a good idea,” you admit, peeling away from him. He lets you this time, albeit reluctantly. “Your breakfast is going to get cold.”

Steve looks at it as though just remembering it’s there. “Right, thanks. Sit with me while I eat? You could have some of that tea you like.” 

You smile at him, taking a mug and your herbal tea down from the cabinet. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.” 

“You’ve got to stop thanking me, I haven’t done a thing all morning.”

[davinashifts333]

PICTURE NOT SO PERFECT Part Cinco.

(Rafe Cameron SMAU)

June 5th, 2022. 11:15am, Y/N's Cottage. I wake up to a call from Rafe, barely able to register the time and place i'm at since I stayed up half the night with the girls, I answer.

"Good morning, Squirt. Just letting you know i'm on my way over, got breakfast and then we can head to the Country Club." he sounded so at peace, so calm, it weirdly passed onto me through the phone.

"Gmorning. Sounds good, the girls are still here, Sarah crashed my crash out and then told me that we were having a forced girls night so I just gotta let them know and we can head out. See you soon, key's still under the Lilly pot." He hums in response and hangs up, I lift myself off the couch only to find the others staring up at me already. "Shit! god- you guys keep giving me heart attacks and I might just not come back next time!" giggles erupt while we all squeeze onto the couch. "You sure you wanna do this, Y/N? Rafe seems like he's over it, maybe it could be worse?" Kie speaks up first, pulling me from my daze. I nod.

"I want to see her face, I need to. It's not even just for him, it's to get the closure I need, to know that they did set him up, that he had no choice and still fought back when he realized what she was put up to." I run my hands over my face heading to the kitchen. The girls follow suit as we all begin to get breakfast made for themselves. The Pogues always made themselves at home, we all practically grew up coming to this cottage with my dad as kids, fishing trips, swimming lessons, surfing lessons, my dad taught us all alongside Big John and Ward. A knock on the door is all I hear before Sarah walks over to answer it. Rafe.

"Morning ladies. Where's my girl?" I walk out of the pantry waving. Rafe, already closing the distance between us pulling me into a familiar feeling, God I missed his arms around me.

"Hi." I whisper into his chest.

"Hey." He sighs. He pulls away handing me my favorite breakfast sandwich and heads to sit at the dining table. Sarah, Kie and Cleo following him.

"I assume Y/N has caught you guys up? listen, I just want to put an end to this shit. I got myself together, all on my own, I did the work and still can't 100% say i'm perfect.. I just know I don't want to be with anyone but her.. So, floors open for the judgement and pent up anger.." He lays his terms out and the girls all exchange glances.

"We, just want you both happy and safe. You went through a lot, Rafe. This shit isn't pushed away lightly. We just wanna know, if you agree with getting closure or whatever Y/N, wants. If you're both on the same page." Cleo starts.

"We want you both to go forward in a positive light, letting go of the past drama and just remembering how cute and disgustingly in love you both were. No judgement or pent up anger here." Sarah adds.

"Seconded, both statements. I will finish off before leaving you two alone with one thing. If anything triggers either one of you at all? You calls us or the guys, okay? You might be older than us, Rafe. But, this trauma is one most of us have been through, sadly. We won't hesitate to be there for you both. Just be careful and no. fighting. Squirt?" They all turn to me know as I stand at the bar, mouthful of food.

"Pinky swear. I'm not that much of a hothead anyway. Chill." I muster out, knowing they won't believe me. Something most people don't know about me is that after my dad's death, I became a bit of a hothead. I ended up trashing our entire house on Figure 8 after the burial and Rafe had to hold me back from worst damages while the girls and my mom cleaned up, simply out of anger from losing him. I wasn't in the right head space and sometimes could be quite vengeful. So, I guess they're right or whatever. The girls stifle giggles as they head into my bedroom and I follow, letting Rafe know i'm just gonna get dressed so we can head out. A few minutes pass and I say my goodbyes to the girls before hopping in Rafe's truck and we make our way to the Country Club. Lord, help us all.

We pull up to the Country Club and plan to talk to Sofia, ask her a few questions and hear her side, then meet up with Topper and Kelce to play some golf. Or basically let them know we’re talking again. We haven’t really specified if we’re back together or not so, we didn’t want to complicate the conversation. I head for the bar, Rafe on my tail and take a seat which he pulls out for me. Sofia lingered on the other side doing her bar-back chores until she heard us talking about what we were thinking of ordering. She froze, now, I couldn’t tell if it was fear, or simply guilt but it was a bit of both.

“Hi, uhm- I’m Sofia, I’ll be your bartender, let me know if you need anything. I’ll get your usual Mr. Cameron.” Poor girl couldn’t even look us in the eye let alone give us a second to interject. When she came back with Rafe’s usual glass of whiskey neat, I grabbed her hand, not harshly just to get her attention.

“I’m not here on bad terms, Sofia. Rafe and I just want to speak to you about that night of the 4th of July bonfire last year. Get some answers to who put you up to the task.” She was trembling but, I noticed she had a very specific Tiffany And Co. charm bracelet on. Was she still working for this person? If so, why? She took a deep breath and put on her best fake smile, tough cookie, alright.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rafe and I were just hooking up, until you ran into the room and prevented that from happening.” I scoffed, Rafe’s grip on my waist tightening a bit.

“Listen to me, sweetheart. Whether you tell us the truth or not? We’ll find out, you’ve already been exposed for sleeping with people for money and making money to break up relationships, do you really want your fathers business deals to he torn apart but that kind of scandal? Now you can give me a name, or I can get it out of you myself by dragging you to the restroom.” Her eyes widened. She stammered for a bit until the name croaked out of her throat.

“Topper. Topper Thornton, you- Rafe’s friend. He paid me $5000 to break you guys up so he could try to sleep with you.” It was my turn to grab Rafe before he ran off and beat the life out of Topper, who we had planned to hang out with, his best friend from middle and high school. But, he stood still, almost like he had known.

“Sorry for the scare tactic, you’re free to go. Thank you.” I whispered to Sofia and she practically sprinted away. Rafe’s gaze was glued to the glass in front of him.

“How are you not actively losing it right now? You have the right to, Ray. I me-.” He sucked in a breath.

“I knew.” and my jaw dropped.

“I knew it would either be him, or Rose. They both always said shit about our relationship not being right but I never cared, just didn’t ever want to know if he would really betray me like that.” and it suddenly dawned on me, Topper had been the one to basically deliver me to Rafe’s bedroom door that night, smug shit eating grin on his face and all. I pulled Rafe into a hug and he gave in? Melting into my hold.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve known! He was the one who told me you were waiting for me in your room but I was so worried I didn’t register that until now.. Ray..” I hold him close and after a while he pulls away, a calm smile on his face.

"This just makes it clear we were never meant to break up, it was all a mistake. I know what I have to do about Topper but, I want you back, Y/N/N. I need you back." His hands cupping my cheeks, eyes pouring into mine, I did what I should've done a long time ago and kissed him.

"Never stopped being yours, Ray. It's us against the world." We had a few drinks and suprisingly, Topper cancelled when he heard I was in attendance so we ended up golfing with Kelce who had always been a huge supporter of our relationship. Now, 4 hours later we're headed to the cottage to have dinner with the Pogues when out of nowhere a vaguely familiar truck starts speeding up behind us, all I remember is hearing Rafe shout at me to get down and the feeling of his arm pulling me toward him. Next time I woke up, I was hooked up to machines, in a hospital gown.

[of-time-and-space-itself]

Okay, I might be absent for a little while(it depends, I'm not fully sure, but assume if you don't hear from me that i'm absent lol) -but I didn't wanna leave without at least posting SOMETHING.

so here's some doodles! a lot of these are just things that appeared on my page - which is mostly ahit so....yeah!

EEEEEE also - apologies for the tagging, I just wanna make sure I credit everyones critters!!

I drew @ashfluffys and @missmiseryguts critters. I've always wanted to scribble these critters, So taking time to actually just doodle whatever was like, the perfect opportunity.

also, I turned down the opacity on this drawing, and I have no clue why. I think my brain is a little fried - but like, what was I thinking merging the layers with lowered opacity.

shame on me lol

I've been seeing @kingpagie au pop up and I think it's really cute!! I don't know where the compulsion to draw them as this meme came from, but something told me to do it.

this little creature.....this little creature is so cute. I wanna squeeze this thing, they are just that cute. they're just that kinda creature, I wanna pick them up and run.

Blue is so adorable, I had to draw them. they belong to @milk-box-16

I wasn't gonna post this until it was done - but i'm hopping projects so much, and progress on this drawing is happening in such tiny increments - that I think it's just better to at least post a better screenshot of it.

it's gonna stay unfinished for a while longer - that's also my fault though for trying to color my doodle.

Oh- and last but not least-

Crazy how my art changes between programs lol

I was really debating dropping this tiny scribble or not - literally just because of how different it is from some of the other art posted on this blog.

but it's kinda ridiculous not to post it sooooo

random tiny OTASI doodle!

Haha, wish me luck guys - I'll see you all in a bit...

[esme2eminemobsessed]

Legacy lines

part 4: the interview

Warning: none

A year passed The lights were bright, a different kind of spotlight than the one in the studio harsher, clinical. Still, you sat poised, ankle crossed over knee, mic clipped to your collar, eyes steady on the interviewer across from you.

“You’ve had a hell of a year,” she said, smiling like she already knew the gossip but wanted to hear it from your lips. “Grammy-nominated album, two sold-out tours, and now this collab project with Shady Records… safe to say, you’ve gone from underground to unstoppable.”

You gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t give away too much. “It’s been a ride.”

The interviewer leaned in. “And of course, fans can’t stop talking about that track ‘Smoke & Mirrors.’ The chemistry between you and Em on that is… electric. People say you don’t get that from just being labelmates.”

You chuckled, eyes flicking toward the camera, then back to her. “People say a lot of things.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not gonna confirm the rumors?”

“I’m gonna say the music speaks for itself.”

She grinned. “So you are confirming it.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, your fingers tapped against your knee — slow, thoughtful. Then you met her gaze, calm and unapologetic.

“I’m confirming that we make each other better, in the booth, onstage, and yeah… outside the studio too.”

That was all she needed. The smile she flashed was the kind that said headline secured.

“And how’s that going dating one of the most notorious perfectionists in hip hop?”

You laughed under your breath. “You mean the man who rewrites verses twelve times and still calls it rough draft?”

“Exactly.”

You shrugged, warmth creeping into your voice despite yourself. “It’s… intense. Focused. Like being in a studio that never sleeps. But it’s also the first time I’ve had someone look at my fire and not flinch.”

The interviewer nodded, impressed. “That line could be a hook.”

You smirked. “Don’t tempt me.”

She flipped the page on her notepad, eyes flicking down. “Last question. This new project, Burn Notice, there’s talk it’s your most personal work yet. Is that because of… him?”

Your smile faded just a bit, turning thoughtful.

“It’s personal because it’s real. And yeah, real means pulling pieces of your life into the mix the chaos, the fire, the love, the mistakes. I’m not hiding from any of it anymore.”

She looked at you with the kind of pause that signaled the end of the segment.

“Well, you heard it here first Burn Notice drops next Friday, and if the first single’s any clue, y’all better prepare for some emotional damage.”

You grinned. “Just make sure you’ve got your headphones on and your feelings in check.”

The camera light flicked off. You exhaled slow, standing up, tension leaving your shoulders.

From the shadows of the studio, a figure stepped out hoodie on, head down, but those eyes locked on yours like magnets.

“Nice line about the fire,” Marshall said, voice low and teasing.

You smirked, grabbing your jacket. “I meant every word.”

He leaned in, kissed your cheek just under the jaw. “So did I… when I wrote verse two.”

You tilted your head, lips brushing his. “You ready for the world to know what we are?”

He smiled that small, rare, real one.

“They’ll figure it out when the beat drops.”

Pt 1

Pt 2

Pt 3

[ragnarockz]

Imagine this: Agnes and Vidal have to go to the laundromat because their washer broke. It's empty (the managers stepped out, but someone could walk in at any moment 😈), and they need a little stress relief. Vidal is sitting on a dryer with that look in her eyes. Enjoying the feeling of the dryer is providing.

I'm sorry this one took so long, I had to let it stew a little 🥰

"This is bullshit."

"That's what you get for being a good neighbor, Baby."

Vidal looked up from her book at Agnes who, was sitting across from her. Vidal was perched on top of the dryer in the laundromat, waiting for their clothes to finish cycling in the washer. Agnes was sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, legs splayed out. Vidal could see the faint outline of her packer underneath her track pants. The Agent cleared her throat and went back to reading her book.

Agnes was mumbling under her breath. She should have been more prepared; she should have had extra extra parts laying around so she could fix their own washing machine. But Chief Jones needed his washer fixed more than they did; he had two kids after all, and Dottie was anal about how and when she did the laundry. He had offered them to do their laundry at their place, but Agnes' face turned pink at the thought of her boss seeing the kind of clothes they were washing.

At least the laundromat was dead, for a Tuesday evening.

"Guess everyone has a working washer at home, huh?"

Agnes looked around, letting out an annoyed huff. Vidal rolled her eyes, tried to hold back a laugh. She pulled her book away, placed it face down onto the top of the machine with the book open on her page,

"And this is an inconvenience to you how? Not like we had anything big planned tonight..."

Agnes huffed again, letting her head fall back and her eyes close,

"Hockey game..."

"And this is why, we got here early."

Vidal smiled sweetly at Agnes as she brought her arms back to rest on her hands flat onto the top of the machine. She crossed her right leg over her left, rolling her ankle. She watched as Agnes' gaze locked on, staring. The Agent could see the little wheels turning behind the detective's eyes.

The washer hummed out a melodic tune, signifying it was done. Agnes hurriedly got herself up from her seat to retrieve their laundry from the drum. She gathered the sopping wet clothes and bed sheets, towels, pillowcases, hand towels and threw them down into the laundry basket. She closed the door and glanced up at Vidal.

"Use this one..."

She moved her legs out of the way so Agnes could load up the dryer with their wet belongings. Agnes glanced up at her again, face a slight shade darker than her usual pink,

"You gonna hop off?"

Vidal bit her lower lip and looked down at Agnes, watched how her eyes slowly waited for the answer she wanted to secretly hear.

"No, so, you better put them in."

"Put what in?"

"The clothes."

Agnes closed her eyes and shook her head, chastising herself. She heard Vidal laugh above her.

She did what she was expected to do; threw the wet clothes into the dryer and turned it on, and went back to her seat.

Her jaw almost dropped as she registered what Vidal was doing across from her. Her book had already shaken off of the machine and tumbling to the floor; almost hitting the laundry basket. Her arms had come forward, wrists facing outwards as she held down onto the edge of the machine. Her legs were hanging over, no longer crossed and she had them open. Her hands between her legs, pressed forward slightly so that her chest was pushed forward. She was staring Agnes down and daring not to look away even for a second.

"Vidal...someone could walk in here..."

"This wont take long if you help."

Agnes' tongue felt like lead in her mouth; trying now to register Vidal's reply. She got up from her seat, her legs feeling as if she was the one sitting on the dryer, and made her way over to the machine. She stood in front it, inches away from being able to touch Vidal's legs.

"Put your hand here..."

Vidal reached out with her right hand, grabbing Agnes' arm. She brought it in between her legs, allowed the detective to palm her through her leggings. Agnes' hand responded, cupping as she could feel the vibrations of the machine; her knuckles rumbling gently as it laid onto the top.

"Fuck, Vidal..."

"Something like that..."

Vidal breathed in deeply, closing her eyes as she let the vibrations of the machine and the pressure of Agnes' hand guide her. She was already wet; could feel it against her underwear. She moaned ever so softly, not wanting to scare Agnes off. She knew this was out of her comfort zone, being this intimate in a public place.

"Fuck, Baby, that feels so good..."

Agnes moved closer in response, trying to close the gap between them and the dryer.

Vidal tried to reach down with her other hand for Agnes and realized, mid move, she was sitting too high up and Agnes was too short. It was a mistake and she saw the realization in Agnes face; the smile that broke out screamed lustful.

"You were trying to palm my cock, weren't you?"

Vidal let out a gasp, her hand recoiling, eyes slamming shut. Everything was becoming too much; the vibrations, Agnes rubbing at her through her pants, Agnes' sweatpants and the prize underneath them.

And Agnes could read the look on Vidal face as she was slowly unraveling, becoming undone right in front of her. Vidal was right, this wouldn't take long if she helped.

Agnes' hand slid up, still applying pressure and watching as the fabric of her leggings folded inwards slightly. They took on the form of her folds. Her hand continued to travel until it pushed in past Vidal's waistband, past the hem of her underwear. Agnes' middle finger found and pressed on Vidal's clit instantly,

"Come on, Mommy...doesn't that feel good? Don't you just want to cum on my fingers now?"

And Agnes' fingers went lower until she had slipped her middle and ring inside of Vidal. Agnes hummed deeply as she kept her gaze still on Vidal's face, watching every single second of pleasure.

"You know, we're going to have to wash these after we're done..."

Vidal whispered out, finally opening her eyes and looking at Agnes' face. The detective still had that sinful smile on her face.

"Nah, I think it'll be more fun if I make you go all the way home that wet between your legs...what do you think, Babe?"

Vidal moaned in response, giving Agnes her answer.

[amazingmsme]

Topsy Turvy

AN: Merry Christmas @gladdygirl18 I’m your squealing santa! I had so much fun with this one, & as always a huge thank you to @squealing-santa for running the event! Decided to go with the Scanlan/Pike prompt because our silly lil bard doesn’t get nearly enough love around here. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did!

"And a low note to finish it off," Scanlan muttered to himself, writing the final chords to his newest piece. He began compiling the scattered pages strewn across the bed, but noticed that he was just two pages short. He looked all over the tangled sheets: no wonder he couldn't find anything.

He noticed a corner of a sheet of paper sticking out from behind the headboard.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, reaching down to grab it, but came up just shy. He strained and forced his arm deeper between the crack, but he could still barely graze the pages. He stretched as much as he could, finally snatching the papers he needed. Right before slipping in between the bed and wall. He was stuck up to his hips, legs kicking in the air wildly.

"No, oh no, this is bad!" He squirmed around to see if he could work himself free, but only made himself fall deeper into the crevice. He let out a panicked shriek when he dropped between a few more inches, thoroughly trapped.

Pride be damned, he needed help, and he didn't care who saw him like this, just as long as they got him out. So he started screaming.

"HELP! SOMEONE! HEEEELP I'M STUCK! he wailed from his upside down position, voice slightly muffled by the thick quilt he was yelling into.

He only had to yell for a minute or two before Pike followed the noise to its source.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" she asked upon seeing him and rushed to his side.

"PIKE! Oh thank the Gods! I'm saved!" he exclaimed, letting out a sigh of relief. She had to stifle a laugh as she stepped in the room, taking a closer look at Scanlan's predicament.

"How uh, how'd you get stuck like that?" she asked, a few sputtering chuckles slipping out.

"Wha- are you laughing at me?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm sorry, but have you seen yourself?" she justified, leaning against the bed. She looked around the headboard, trying to decide the best way to free her friend.

"Does it look like I have a mirror on hand?" he sassed, growing more annoyed the longer he was stuck. But he would blame it on all the blood rushing to his head, and the claustrophobia didn't help.

Pike smirked, "I could always just leave..."

"NO! Wait!" he screamed, worried his only chance at freedom was about to walk out the door. "Fuck, it's so cramped back here! Just- will you please help? I can't move," he admitted defeat, body going limp. Pike softened as she listened to his plight, smiling and rolling her eyes fondly.

"Yeah, whatever. You owe me," she said, hopping up onto the bed. "So, remind me how you got stuck?"

"Ugh, I was just trying to grab some sheet music I dropped, and I slipped," he explained.

"Maybe next time try reaching under the bed," she teased. Scanlan scoffed.

"Trust me, there won't be a next time, if I can help it. Now are you gonna help me or not?"

"Relax, will you? I'm helping," she brushed him off, tilting her head as she examined his position. "Okay, I think I can get you out."

"Oh great, you're not even sure?"

"Hey, I'm doin' my best here!" she whined playfully, grabbing ahold of his ankles. She pulled on his legs with all her might, but he barely moved an inch.

"Okay, ow, stop stop stop!" he yelled when he felt his legs pop out of socket for a split second. Pike held her hands up, immediately letting go at the first sign of distress.

"Sorry! But you're like, really stuck," she said in amazement.

"Preachin' to the choir here, Pike," he sassed, growing more annoyed and irritated as the blood continued rushing to his brain, the inkling of a headache beginning to set in.

"I know, I know, just- hold still," she readjusted her grip higher on his legs, just below the knees. "Okay, ready? On three. One, two, three!" she counted off and gave another hard tug, heels digging into the mattress as she pulled.

Scanlan let out an earsplitting shriek, kicking his legs free as she fell backwards from the force of letting go.

"I said hold still!" she scolded, dusting herself off.

"Well maybe you should hold somewhere else!" he countered childishly. Pike huffed and rolled her eyes.

"If you haven't noticed, my options are a bit limited," she deadpanned, smirking just a little as she heard him whine.

"Fine, just do it quick," he ordered.

Pike noticed the way he flinched when she grabbed the same spot, and the gears began turning in her head. Was he hurt? No, he would've been limping. Then what could it- oh. She smirked as realization dawned on her.

"You know, you could've just said it tickled," she mused aloud.

"W-what? I never said that!" Scanlan shrieked defensively, earning an amused chuckle from Pike.

"So... you're not ticklish?" she questioned, arching a skeptical brow despite knowing he couldn't see her.

"Hell no! What even gave you that idea?" he asked, wiggling around trying to free himself.

"Oh nothing, just the fact that you screamed when I did this!" Without warning, she suddenly latched onto his legs, squeezing just below his knees. She was rewarded with an ear piercing shriek as Scanlan thrashed around.

"Pihihike wahahait! T-this ihihisn't fahahair!" he screamed through his laughter.

"That's it, keep moving!" Pike ignored his protest in favor of encouragement. The more he thrashed around, the less stuck he became, so really, she was still helping!

"Dohohon't patronihihize mehehe!" he whined.

"I-I'm not! Honest!" she assured him, even as she pinched along the back of his thighs. Snorts mingled with his shrill laughter, much to his chagrin and Pike's amusement. She couldn't help but to tease, "Sorry, bad spot?"

"You hypohohocrihihite!" he cried out indignantly. He thrashed around, half of his torso now freed. So what if it was working? It was still cruel.

"I'm still helping, aren't I?" she countered smugly, tickling up his sides and ribs. His laughter rose an octave, borderline giggling as he desperately tried to control his reactions.

"Hang in there Scanlan, one more pull oughta do it!" She grabbed him by the hips and he immediately jumped at the touch. When she applied even the slightest bit of pressure, he screamed.

"THIHIS IHIHIS TORTURE!"

"Almost... there..." Pike groaned as she tugged the thrashing, hysterical bard free.

Suddenly, Scanlan felt a release of pressure and saw the room fly around him before landing on his back. His chest heaved as he could finally breathe again, greedily sucking air into his aching lungs.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Pike was panting too, lying next to him. He turned to glare at her, but the lingering smile dulled its effect.

"Easy for you to say."

"How long were you stuck like that?" she asked, making him groan and rub a hand down his tired, flushed face.

"Too long," he huffed.

"Actually, it was closer to five minutes," a sly voice spoke from the doorway.

Scanlan gasped and sat up, locking eyes with a very smug Vax'ildan.

"Wha- Vax? How- how long've you there?" he asked in a panicked, shrill voice, stuttering over his words. Out of everyone, Vax was the last person he trusted with this information.

Vax smirked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Got here just before Pike, but I thought I'd let her do the heavy lifting," he mused, ignoring her muttered, "Gee, thanks a lot."

At this rate, Scanlan's blush would never leave.

"So you've just been there? Like, the whole time?" he demanded, mouth hanging open in shock as Vax nodded.

"Yep. Wouldn't dare miss a performance like that, Scanman" he chuckled and dodged the pillow thrown at him. He waltzed over to the bed, noting the way Scanlan tensed and scooted away.

He knelt down and reached under the bed, fishing for the loose pages on the ground. He pulled back, holding the paper triumphantly in the air.

"I believe this is what you were looking for?" he held them out expectantly, only to yank them back once Scanlan reached for them.

"C'mon Vax, go easy on him," Pike came to his defense, even as she chuckled at the exchange.

"Oh, you mean like how you "went easy on him?"" he asked, using air quotes to help make his point. She gasped and playfully punched his arm as Scanlan flopped back onto the bed, rolling over to hide amongst the pillows.

"I hate you both." His voice was quiet and muffled, but even still, they knew he didn't mean it.

"Sure you do," Pike patted his shoulder with mock sympathy.

"I bet I can make you hate us even more," Vax challenged. Scanlan whipped around, a bewildered expression on his face in contrast to the rogue's mischievous grin.

"You wouldn't d-" he cut himself off when he felt a vice grip around his ankle.

"Try me."

[oroontheheels]

Daddy’s gonna be real honest with you kittens.

I’m disappointed with current Venom Run. Let me be real CLEAR here. I don’t hate it. I don’t have beef with its creator. So for a long period of time I was telling everyone “it’s a mess, but it’s better that Donnie Cates”.

But I think comparing them is not correct and let me explain why.

So Donnie Cates. Our boy. Extra edgy, made some terrifically BAD retcons, hated symbrock, tried to make Eddie Brock as trad as possible (giving him human son and all). Plus he ignored the fact that Sleeper was a child of Venom and Eddie. “nOt BioLoGiCalLy” Eddie’s but he called Eddie “father” and they both deeply cared about each other. So Donnie Cates couldn’t allow this either.

But! Donnie Cates while fighting the yaoi made the story ironically even more gayer. It was a train wreck but at the end of the day at least it was fun to laugh at this “closeted shipper” as I like to call him.

And most importantly? At the end they were still “Venom family”. All 4 of them. In Donnie Cates comics.

Now Al Ewing and Ram V… It was… ok. I like Dylan, I like Venom, I like Sleeper. I didn’t like that they “killed” Eddie right at the start of the story and sent him running solo trough time traveling shenanigans. I liked him interacting with Doctor Doom. I liked Meridus being gay with Kang and with that one old man.

But what I lacked is interactions between Venom and Eddie. They almost didn’t interact.

But like, okay. Let Eddie do his thing, let Venom singlemom it out. Also did I mention Ewing and V made Dylan Venom’s son? That was NICE. That’s I liked. A LOT.

And immideatly got my hops up.

Which was a mistake.

So the problem is where Donnie was closeted shipper, I’m starting to believe that Ewing and V don’t actually see Venom and Eddie as a romantic partnership. Or even all that important partnership.

If you check Spider Man Venom War comics, Venom talks A LOT about how much “Saint Peter”(Parker) means to him. It’s very gay very romantic very deep. But at the next pages it also downgraded Eddie role in Venoms life?? Venom is like “so yeah Peter taught me to save lives so I saved Eddie from offfing himself”. And that’s almost it. No emphasis on their bond, on Eddie’s feelings, of their bond. Almost nothing, really.

And now it’s Venom War and Venom says “wow Peter and I are sooo perfect, also it feels nice punching Eddie in the face”.

So what. Venom hates Eddie now? After all those years of forgiveness?? And it wasn’t elaborated in the slightest??

I would hate it but I WOULD understand if they wanted to make Parker new host for Venom for a while. But they don’t?? Apparently Al Ewing planing to give Venom new host (all of the candidates SUCK for the role btw). And if I understood one of his interviews correctly he want to send all the characters their separate ways.

Here’s the statement

Which annoyed me. A LOT. Like i understand that cis hetero males bring all the money to Marvel. We little faggots don’t bring so much cash. So our feelings and wants are not important. But isn’t there big ass FANDOM for symbrock? People who advertise comics for free with their art and activities?? Are we not important whatsoever? And on top of that wasn’t EVERYONE celebrating when Eddie got Venom back (in 2016)?? Don’t we all love homoerotic weird ass bond these two have??

And what does it even mean “yeah it’s been a while since Eddie and Venom have been together”. It wasn’t. Donnie Cates first made Venom into amnesiac DOG, then sent him into exile and then kept him and Eddie from having meaningful interaction until the very end of his run. Everyone who loves symbrock were STARVING.

And Al Ewing and Ram V story separated Eddie into his own story line.

And now Al Ewing tilling us “yeah it’s been too long, it’s time to move on”.

It’s like giving starving person a cup of water and saying “well now you are fed, let’s go on a 20km hike”.

“My work here is done” Tuxedo Mask meme

So like… yeah.

If they’ll make Sleeper a traitor this will be so bad. This will drop from 6/10 to 0/10 immediately.

Not looking forward to Venom future.

And the WORST part? I feel like they are pulling out “this relationship is toxic so it’s cancelled” card on symbrock. They never do that on hetero ships, but they happily destroy gay ships with that argument.

It sucks.

I hope I’m wrong. But like Venom gets new host this December. There’s not much room left to give us decent amount of Symbrock IF writers even want that.

[just-horrible-things]

Been hopping back and forth between the things I intended to write not managing to get more than 100 words in before getting distracted, but yet another different AU? 7 pages one sitting.

I guess I was in the mood for shoddy caretaking.

---

'Verse: Resistance, co-author @whump-sprite AU: Alt to Chewtoy Scenario: The Resistance have taken chewtoy!Ari prisoner while breaking Anders out of (brief) federal custody and interrogation

Needs A Wash

The prisoner’s at the back of the cell when Ross walks in. She doesn’t seem to see him at first, she’s preoccupied with kinda – rubbing her back against the wall? It puts Ross in mind of a dog with fleas rubbing its flank against a fence. 

When she spots him she freezes, eyes comically wide.

“Time to decide if you want to live, fed,” Ross opens. “‘Cause if you do, you’d better be willing to answer some questions.” “Yes,” she agrees breathlessly, “sir.” Anger flares, and with a swipe of his hand Ross throws her sideways against the wall. She yelps at the impact, and crumples. “Don’t give me that shit,” Ross snarls. “You’d spit on me if I wasn’t holding all the cards.” The bitch curls up, arms over her head, and doesn’t respond.

She’s left a mark on the wall where she was rubbing against it – a smear of red against the concrete. No one told Ross that she was injured. In fact he’s pretty sure they actually said she wasn’t – but then again she’s been down here a few days. Maybe someone’s taken a bit of petty revenge. Taryn won’t like that, but Ross wouldn’t blame them.

There’s blood on her skin, too, where her shirt has ridden up. Holding magic in one hand ready to lash out if she tries anything, Ross opens the cell and steps inside. She doesn’t move, even when he crouches right over her. She just whimpers, screwing her eyes shut like she thinks she can hide. 

Ross pulls the edge of her shirt up to reveal more of her skin – and finds her ribs covered in open wounds – deep lash marks like you expect to see on the feds’ victims, not on them. 

“Alright,” he asks, “what the hell happened to you?” “My – my boss, s-sir –” she stammers out, “– I-I – punished –” “Talk.” “I will – I – yessir – please –”

She talks alright, but getting straight answers out of her turns out to be more difficult. She gibbers and pleads and honest-to-god sobs at Ross but she prefers begging for mercy to actually answering the questions. “I told you,” Ross snaps at her, “I’m not one of you sick fucks. I’m not gonna torture you if you answer the questions, so stop begging already and answer the fucking questions.”

He gets her name out of her, and her boss’s name, and a bunch of her colleagues’. She admits to being a torturer – an interrogator – and she admits to being a part of torturing Anders, along with probably hundreds of other witches and warlocks. “And you think you deserve my fucking sympathy?” Ross scoffs. “Nosir, no, I don’t, I’m sorry.” “So –” he presses a thumb over one of the cuts, just firmly enough to make her gasp “-- cut out all the whining.” She swallows, and nods.

And she does whine less, but even without the continuous pleas Ross still can’t make head or tail of half of what she says. He can’t follow her attempt to explain why her boss has whipped her to ribbons. More importantly, he also can’t decipher any of her answers about 17 and the remaining prisoners. She starts in the middle of sentences, she talks in numbers and codes, and without prompting about every thirty seconds, she keeps drifting off topic.

It’s when she tells him, apparently totally earnestly, that she’s “not real, sir, m’not – not real”, that it occurs to him to check her temperature. She stares up at him, bewildered, as he presses a hand to her forehead. “Ah, fucking hell.”

He flips her onto her front, and she makes pitiful squeaky noises, but she doesn’t fight it. Ross peels her shirt up her back to get a better look at the damage – and yeah, her back is way worse than the cuts he saw over her ribs. The skin between the cuts is puffy and red with infection, and pus leaks from between ragged scabs.

“Fuck,” Ross mutters. “You’re not gonna be any use like this, are you?” “Sorry,” the fed whimpers into the floor. “If I get you cleaned up, you’d better still be willing to talk when your temperature comes down.” “I will,” she promises, “I will, I – hate him, wanna, wanna talk, I swear.” “Yeah, I bet you do. Alright then, c’mon.”

She yells and flails a little when he drags her up off the floor, but he uses magic to take some of her weight and it isn’t difficult to pin her arms against her sides as he carries her. After a couple of seconds she goes limp in his arms, and he has to double check that she hasn’t passed out. Her eyes are still open, locked onto Ross without a trace of understanding.

He sighs.

Taryn is upstairs, working. “The fuck is this, Ross?” she demands as he climbs the stairs with his arms full of shaking, crying, uniformed fed. It’s a good fucking question. “She needs a wash,” he explains shortly. “And probably medicine or something. She’s not dangerous, she’s a wreck. Besides, if she tries anything I’ll make her regret it.” “Won’t, sir,” the prisoner whimpers into his shirt. Still looking somewhat baffled, Taryn nods. “Sounds good,” she agrees.

So he takes her up the next flight of stairs to the bathroom, and dumps her into the tub. She chokes on a hiss of pain as he sets her down, but she stays put.

“Clothes off,” Ross tells her. “Can’t get you clean with them on.” She obeys, starting to struggle awkwardly out of her shirt. She seems reluctant – or unable – to lift her arms above shoulder height, so Ross takes a hold of the fabric to hold it in place while she wriggles out of it. There’s really a lot of blood soaked into the cloth. It’s practically stiff with it. He chucks it into the corner of the room to deal with later.

Under the shirt, her sports bra is practically embedded in the swollen skin. Ross hisses sympathetically. The prisoner looks apprehensive. She doesn’t pull away when he reaches for the bra, but as soon as he tries to lift it from the skin she makes a sharp sound and jerks forward – then apologises. “You’re alright,” Ross tells her.

He gets his pocket knife out. Milonas tracks the blade with very wide eyes until it’s out of her sight behind her back, and Ross can hear her breath catch and stutter in her throat, but he isn’t about to feel too bad. Whatever her own situation, she hurt Anders. And a shitload of other people.

The elasticated fabric cuts easily. The prisoner grits her teeth and hisses, but she doesn’t flinch again. As the fabric peels away, it leaves angry indentations in her flesh.

“Alright, boots next.” Her shaking hands are clumsy and she’s understandably unenthusiastic about leaning far enough forward to reach her boots, so Ross leans over the side of the tub to get them for her. The first one comes off without too much trouble – and is tossed into the corner with the rest. 

But when he lays a hand on the second, she gasps a sudden “please–!” “What is it?” Ross pauses with his hand on the ankle. Damn, he can feel the heat of her fever through the leather. “It’s – swollen –” she confesses breathlessly. “ – broken? Sorry. I’m – sorry.” Ross sighs. “Alright,” he agrees. He supposes he can be careful.

The laces already aren’t tied, but he takes the time to unlace them altogether to see if it makes a difference. Not a lot. The boot is pretty firmly stuck, and she squeaks every time he tests it. Ross gestures her to spin around and she shuffles awkwardly in the tub until he can get her foot up over the edge. She whimpers, and presses a hand over her own mouth to cut it off.

Ross grimaces at a pang of unwelcome guilt. “It’s gotta come off,” he tells her. “You know that.” She nods, hand still over her mouth, but she doesn’t stop begging with her eyes. “Brace,” he orders, and she reluctantly lets go of her face to brace both hands against the bottom of the tub.

He knows it’s gonna suck for her, he’s not stupid. But what he hopes will happen when he pulls is that she’ll pull back against him, and the boot will come off. 

What actually happens when he pulls is that he just yanks her forwards and upwards by the leg. There’s no resistance at all. She falls back and cracks her head against the wall behind the tub as she just fucking slides. “Shit,” Ross swears, “fuck, sorry.” The prisoner flails, flopping like a fish, as he hurriedly dumps her legs back into the tub. Her eyes are wide open, unfocused, her lips peeled back and teeth parted as if screaming. He’s glad she didn’t fucking scream – Taryn would think he’s torturing her up here or something.

She writhes for a second more, then goes limp again. There are tears streaming from her eyes. “That – didn’t work,” Ross tells her uselessly. “M’ – s-sorry –” she chokes out “– please, si-ir – ca-an’t –” “Alright, new plan.”

She doesn’t flinch away from the knife this time, but she does sob when Ross picks up her booted foot again. He doesn’t think he can cut the leather without enough force to cut her too, but what he can do is pick at the seams. The tip of the knife digs under the threads until they give way, and little by little, the boot opens up along the seam. Milonas lays in the bottom of the tub, an ungainly sprawl of limbs, and stares at the ceiling, shivering hard.

Ross expects to be able to get the boot off once he’s opened it up from top to sole, but it’s not her ankle that’s swollen. It’s the foot itself. There aren’t any convenient seams running the length of her foot, but he takes apart the sides of the boot until it practically opens like a flower. Her foot is still stuck in the tube of the foot part of the boot, but there’s nothing left around her ankle and the bit behind her heel isn’t attached to the sides any more. When Ross tries to kinda bend the sole to free her heel, there’s a bit of give.

Milonas groans, pressing her hand over her mouth again, and her leg twitches against Ross’s grip as he wiggles the remains of the boot off the swollen foot, but she doesn’t really fight it or beg him to stop, which he figures is about the best he can do.

He cuts the sock off her, expecting that to be simplest part, but it’s stuck to the sole of her foot with yet more blood. When he gets it free with a bit of water, he finds lacerations underneath.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, hissing through his teeth. “M’sorry,” the fed repeats.

The rest of the process of stripping her is trivial by comparison. He peels the other sock off – more whip marks, but no swelling – or barely any. She lays passively and lets him peel off her pants, and then her underpants. They’re all caked with her blood and who knows whose else’s, and too tight against cut and swollen skin. The whip didn’t stop at her waist, the cuts carry on all the way down the back of her thighs. 

Just handling her has painted red smears all over the inside of the bathtub. She lays there shivering and looking pathetic, and Ross is certain that she’s not a threat. Not in her current state, at least.

He runs the water lukewarm – fiddling with the temperature until it’s just a little cooler than what her blood temperature ought to be. She’s shivering hard, but she’s not really cold. Her skin’s still burning hot. When Ross takes hold of her upper arms, she cooperates, and he sits her back up. 

The water turns rusty as soon as it touches her. As soon as there’s enough in the bottom of the tub to get a handful, Ross scoops it in cupped hands and pours it over her skin. To start with she just lets it happen. Then, moving slowly, she starts rubbing the grime from her arms. Ross dispenses some shower gel onto a washcloth and hands it to her, and she uses that.

He has no problem letting her wash as much of herself as she’s able, but there’s no way she’s going to be able to reach her back, let alone clean it well enough to make a difference to the infection. 

She flinches when he touches it, and he thinks for a second that he’s gonna have to explain to her that it has to happen, but then she shuffles round again to sit awkwardly sideways, giving Ross better access to her back.

It’s not his first time cleaning out whip wounds. He’s no healer, but he knows that the cuts need to be clean. Milonas knows it too. 

When he gets started in earnest, she braces her forearms against the back wall, palms flat on the tiles. She shudders and gasps and makes muted, miserable little noises, but she doesn’t make a fuss. After her begging earlier, Ross is kinda surprised by the sudden stoicism.

He does his best to make it quick and no worse than it has to be. But it’s not a quick job. Halfway down her back, she starts sobbing quietly. “You’re alright,” he tells her. “You’re okay. Easy now.” “Yeah,” she repeats back, voice thick, “m’okay.”

When he reaches the waterline around her waist, she tries to get up on her knees. The bath isn’t wide enough for the length of her shins, she can’t possibly kneel that way round, but she keeps trying, wobbling and flinching as she tries to figure out a way to put her legs that will work. It doesn’t seem to occur to her to face a different way. Ross has to guide her to shuffle down the bath to the end, and brace against the other wall instead. She practically flops forward against the wall, heedless of the faucet digging in near her hip.

By the time Ross is finally done, she’s not sobbing quietly anymore. She’s just outright crying into the tiles. It’s pretty much what he’d expect from anyone, though, so he’ll cut her some slack on that. She’s held still, more or less, which is impressive enough on its own.

Ross pulls the stopper from the plughole, and Milonas apparently takes it as a signal to collapse. She lowers herself clumsily down back into the opaque, red-brown water and settles, panting, on her side. Miserable, reddened eyes turn up at Ross as if looking for some kind of approval.

“Yeah,” he says awkwardly, “just gonna get you rinsed off, then you’re all done.”

Fucking hell, she’s a torturer and a murderer. He doesn’t need to talk to her like she’s a child. She needs medical care, sure, but she doesn’t need his sympathy. 

As the filthy water drains from around her, Ross turns on the shower head to rinse her off. If he could be gentler about it, she doesn’t protest. He lifts her out of the bath and sets her down on the bathmat to towel her off, one limb at a time, while she sits passive and lets him do it. He leaves her broken foot alone, and only dabs carefully at her back.

He was going to put her back in her clothes, before he saw the state of them. He looks at the discarded pile, then back to her. She looks at the pile, and back to him. He shrugs awkwardly.

—

Taryn is starting to wonder what the hell Ross is doing up there by the time he re-emerges. He’s carrying the prisoner again, but this time she’s naked, wearing nothing except a towel, which she is holding closed with one hand while the other arm clings to Ross for stability. She looks utterly shell-shocked, and she is bleeding.

“She needs a wash” replays in Taryn’s head as her mental image abruptly updates from some vague notion that he’d turn the fed loose in the bathroom, to a vivid picture of him stripping the woman and scrubbing her down himself.

Ross, you fucking numbskull.

“What the hell happened to her?” She knew he might be rough with the prisoner but she didn’t think he’d fucking torture her – but no, this isn’t Ross’s doing. Someone’s taken a bullwhip to her, looks like. “Apparently her boss likes to use her as a stress ball.” Ross tries to shrug, and the motion makes the woman in his arms flinch. She’s clinging to him tighter now, watching Taryn with wide, frightened eyes. “He didn’t have enough people to whip?” “Guess not.”

Taryn shakes her head, trying to shake off the incredulity. The more she looks, the more injuries she sees. “What else did she tell you?” She’s hoping for more context, but all she gets is, “Not a lot we can use, she’s not important enough to know much.” The supposedly-fed cringes, ducking her face against Ross. Taryn doesn’t like that. “A few things about her colleagues,” Ross is continuing, “some names. Honestly she’s got a fever and she’s not making a lot of sense.”

“Alright,” Taryn declares, trying to regain control of the situation. “Let’s discuss after we get her some clothes.” Ross looks down, as if it’s occurring to him for the first time that her nakedness might be a problem. Goddamnit Ross. “Her old things are gross,” he offers by way of explanation. “She needs new.” “Why don’t you put her down, and go get her some. Does she need a healer?” “Hell if I know. She’s a mess but I don’t think she’s dying.”

He casts about for somewhere to put her, and settles on the chair by the bookshelves. “Don’t think she’s going anywhere,” he remarks. “No,” Taryn agrees. “Go get her some clothes. And a first aid kit. These cuts need dressing.” “I know that,” Ross protests. “I was gonna do it once I put her back downstairs.” “I’ll do it,” Taryn tells him firmly. “Leave her with me.”

The prisoner watches him leave, and shrinks back against the chair once she’s the only target for Taryn’s attention.

She’s thin as a starving cat, out of her uniform. It’s hard to believe she’s actually a fed – but Ross did say she was talking about them as her colleagues, her boss. It shouldn’t really be a surprise if they abuse each other as well as everyone else.

“You know who I am?” Taryn asks. “Yes sir.” “Tell me.” “Taryn Morgen.” “Mhm.” Taryn nods. “Alright. You cooperate, and things will be better here than with your old boss. You understand?” “I’ll cooperate,” the woman insists, urgent and afraid. “I understand, sir.”

With how they’ve treated her, she probably won’t have any trouble selling her “colleagues” out.

“Anything broken?” Taryn asks her. “Internally bleeding?” “Some,” swallow, “some breaks, sir. I-I think.” “Where?” She gestures at her obviously swollen foot, then more hesitantly to her ribcage, on the right. “I don’t know a-about internal bleeding, I’m sorry.”

Taryn crouches to take that foot – gently – in her hands. The prisoner makes a choked sound of fear, but doesn’t pull away. More stifled whimpers follow as Taryn probes carefully with her fingers, feeling bones shift beneath the flesh. “That needs a fucking healer,” she mutters, half to herself. Another whimper as the leg twitches and tugs the foot against Taryn’s hand. She lets go, promising, “Alright, alright, I’m done.”

She’s about to check the ribs – or at least ask more questions – when Ross reappears with the large first aid kit and a bundle of clothes.

“Go to the hospital and ask when they’ll have a healer free to fix a broken foot. I’ll take care of this one – what’s her name?” “Milonas.” “First name?” Ross hesitates, and glances at the prisoner. “Ariadne,” she supplies nervously. “Alright, Ariadne. I’m going to put some bandages on your cuts, and then you can put some clothes back on.” “Yes sir,” Ariadne agrees. “Thank you sir.”