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porcelainseashore · 1 month

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Pairing: Guitarist! Leon Kennedy x Singer! Fem! Reader

Summary: You've joined Chris, Claire and Leon in Stars Rebellion as the band's new lead vocalist. If you thought chasing fame was hard, dealing with your growing feelings for a certain blonde guitarist might just take the cake.

Content & Warnings: Rock bands, friends to lovers, romance, slow burn, feelings realization, fluff and angst, swearing, recreational drug use, drinking, implied alcohol abuse, sexual harassment, suggestive themes, panic attacks, religious guilt, other Resident Evil characters (Chris, Claire, Ada, Wesker, Jill, Luis, Irons, Steve).

Authors' Note: Mostly imagined RE4R Leon in this, though he's a cocky little shit in the beginning and mellows out later. As inspo, I’ve had Ethel Cain’s Michelle Pfeiffer on repeat and you’ll see why in the story. Special thanks to AliBelleRosetta for your wonderful feedback!

AO3 Link

It had only been a few weeks since you’d joined the Stars Rebellion, the band you were currently in, thanks to the recommendation of a friend of a friend. You’d somehow coasted along through college, finally free of your parents’ clutches, and made a new life for yourself along the way. It was as if you could be who you really were, without any tied past or history holding you back, and you’d never felt more alive.

You were backstage, warming up before it was time to head out for your first performance. Chris had come over to give everyone a pep talk, while Leon tapped out a beat on the body of his pacific blue Fender guitar impatiently. Claire was nodding away to her brother’s words as she frowned at herself in the cosmetic mirror, the bright LED lights illuminating her flawless skin. You sat at the back, quietly keeping to yourself as you always do, ignoring the jitters in your hands. The adrenaline was kicking in now, you were used to it. Soon, you’d be a completely different person. It was as if once you were on stage, a match was struck and you were on fire.

For now, you contented yourself with recalling the events of how you ended up with this motley crue. It had been a warm, humid Thursday afternoon, when you were done with your classes for the day, and you made your way over to one of the rental practice rooms at the back of a second-hand record store just a little off campus. Your friend Jill had told you that another friend of hers was looking for a new vocalist for their band. Seeing how you’d been singing on and off with various student bands that never really had the drive to go anywhere, she hooked you up, stating that said friend, Claire, was the most determined person she’d ever met.

So here you were, knocking on the door of the shabby, makeshift rehearsal room, covered in countless band and anarchic motto stickers.

“Come on in!” A chirpy, high-pitched voice called out.

The door creaked on its hinges as you opened it by just a crack, enough for you to poke your head through.

“Aw, she’s a shy one,” a boy with floppy, blonde hair who was sitting at the corner, hunched over his guitar remarked. His tone had no hint of maliciousness in it, just pure curiosity.

“Shut it, Kennedy.” The lady, wearing a distinct red leather jacket that matched the color of her hair tied back in a springy ponytail, rolled her eyes before greeting you with a warm smile.

“Hey…” She stuck her hand out, as you cautiously entered the room, taking in the new faces around you. “I’m Claire. You must be Jill’s friend.”

You returned back a feeble smile as you shook her hand. “Yeah, uh, and the Stars Rebellion, huh?”

“That’s right,” a beefy guy with cropped, dark brown hair behind the drum kit piped up. “Our previous vocalist left,” he paused, with his brows furrowed as if he had been reminded of something unpleasant. “You know how it’s like these days.”

You nodded understandingly as he continued. “We’ve got a sweet gig in about two weeks, so we need a replacement fast. You heard our stuff?”

“Yeah, ’course.” Jill had sent you all the recordings and info you needed to prepare yourself for today.

“Great, so-”

“Whoa, hold up a second,” Claire interjected. “Older brothers,” she sighed. “You know what they’re like.” She pointed towards the drummer. “Speaking of which, that’s my very own one over there.”

“Chris, say hello,” she ordered.

“Hi,” his monotone greeting accosted you while he waved over with a drumstick in hand. His confident and no-nonsense persona struck you as someone who was the natural leader of the group.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s really a cuddly bear underneath,” she whispered loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Isn’t that right, Chris?”

He grunted in reply, still looking as stoic as ever, his square jawline unflinching, as if his sister’s words had no effect on him.

“Anyway, I guess you can already tell, I’m on bass.” She swayed her hips a little, gesturing towards the instrument that was strapped around her.

The blonde cleared his throat, seemingly irritated at being relegated to the position of the last person to be introduced.

“And that.” She pointed over to him. “Well, that’s just Leon.”

With a bold smirk, he cradled the guitar to his chest, as his fingers danced along the fretboard, unleashing a cool, intricate riff that spiraled through the air.

“Also a fucking show off,” Claire retorted.

You caught his gaze and the bright blue eyes that lured you in dangerously close, like you were Icarus flying towards the sun. He was one of those boys your father had warned you about. Handsome, charming, but the devil in disguise. You could still hear his stern words about perdition and hellfire booming in your ear. You closed your eyes before they hurt too much.

“So, erm, why don’t we start with the first track on our demo?” Claire’s voice snapped you out of your reverie.

Blinking your eyes open, you bowed your head slightly in response, before getting into position behind the mic. You can do this. A silent prayer reverberated through your head, as the opening chords played.

And just like it happened every time, that magical switch flipped, and you became someone else entirely different from yourself, yet it belonged to every part of you. As you bellowed, growled and sighed breathily into the mic like a rockstar on acid, you noticed a change in the air around you and how your future bandmates looked at you in awe. It felt like an electric current coursing through your veins. It felt like coming home.

You only needed to go through another two more songs, before they were completely floored and decided there and then that they wanted you in. The vibe between the four of you was great, there was no denying that. And you had already started throwing in some moves that were usually saved for performances with Leon, as all of you jammed together.

“That was fucking awesome!” Leon exclaimed, with Claire following suit. Even Chris was smiling widely.

“Yeah, that felt really good,” you panted, a little out of breath from the exertion.

All at once, Chris patted you on the back, cementing your entry. “Welcome to the family.” You felt your heart tug at the last word. Could you really belong here now?

“Nice to finally have another girl in the band!” Claire blurted out, as she pulled you in for a quick hug.

“Mm hm, very nice.” Leon gave you a cheeky wink, before Claire smacked the back of his head.

“Behave.”

“Oh, I will,” he snickered.

You shuddered, wondering how a silly remark like that could get you so riled up, as you chose to suppress whatever thoughts that came bubbling towards the surface. He was just one of those cocky bastards who would let fame get to their head, you discerned. Probably had a bunch of groupies lined up too. So you paid no more attention to him than needed.

A large, rough hand landed on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “You good?”

You shook yourself out of the daydream, coming back to reality backstage, as you eyed the imposing, broad figure in front of you. “Yeah, I’m ready. Thanks, Chris.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As you strode out onto the stage, the crowd clapped and whistled, though the reception seemed rather lukewarm. Perhaps most of them were waiting for the later bands, who also happened to be the more established ones, to play. It didn’t matter though. Your job was to get them hyped up, and you knew how to do it well.

Leon nodded at you, indicating that he’d start running through the beginning licks of the song on the setlist you’d all prepped. At the same time, he gave you an encouraging smile, which eased the tension a little. Even though you’d only got to know him a few weeks ago, you soon realized that your first impression of him wasn’t exactly the most accurate, and that despite being an insufferable prick, he had another side to him that was caring and gentle. He’d patiently helped you run through the songs with him, and even took a couple of your suggestions in improving them. He hung out with you outside of band practice, wanting to get to know you as a person, and trying to make you feel comfortable within the group. Most musicians had a stick up their ass and would’ve never given you the time of day. But he did. You’d even go as far as to call him a lovable asshole.

As the whirring of Leon’s guitar filled the space, you clenched your fist, pumping it above your head as you let out a low snarl into the mic, before belting out the lyrics, your voice raw and powerful as it soared over the riffs and the steady rhythm of the drum and bass. At a particularly heavy drop, you leaped into the air, before landing on your feet and tearing through the vocals as you rocked out with Leon at the front, playing off the energy you exchanged with each other.

It was infectious, like a feverish dream, and the crowd’s excitement grew. Among the sea of bodies pressed together, you could just about make out the look of enthusiasm on their faces, their eyes sparking with the thrill of the moment, as they jumped, moshed and cheered to the music. Time seemed to pass by so quickly, as one song flew into the other. In between, you made sure to introduce the band, thank the organizers and the audience themselves, coaxing more screams and shouts in unison as you teased them about hearing another song, what it was about, praising them on how great of a crowd they were, and with a sly wink, asking them if they could give you more. And they were more than happy to oblige.

In the final track, a devilish grin broke out across your face as you turned towards Chris and Claire, both of them laughing and shaking their heads as they knew what was coming next, before you faced the audience again. Tapping your foot in time to the beat, you murmured sultrily into the mic, “You wanna see me swallow this mic whole?”

The crowd went mental at the proposal as your velvety laughter rang out across the venue. “Come on, you can do better than that.” You pouted, licking your lips suggestively. “How much do you want it?”

Once the crowd roared, you nodded in approval and pulled the cord of the mic taut between your hands, making a grand show of it, as you tilted your head back, slowly inserting the head of the mic downwards into your mouth. As it went in, you bit at the bottom of the head, gripping it securely between your teeth, as you went hands free and a scream ripped through your throat at the climax of the song.

Sweat and energy radiated from every pore, as your band members kicked into action. Leon jutted his hips out, launching into a fierce, breathtaking guitar solo, his fingers pressing and weaving in and out of the strings like a blinding lightning. Claire remained the grounding force in a whirlwind of melodies, keeping a consistent beat effortlessly, as her head swayed from side to side. Chris added to the wall of sound with each strike and rattle of the snare drum, quickening the pace as he worked in the bass drum pedal and clashes on the cymbals in perfect timing, his eyes laced in concentration on the controlled chaos unfolding before him.

To say you ended in a bright explosion of sound was an understatement. The four of you hugged each other tightly and bowed to a resounding chorus of cheers and hoots, stamping their feet for yet another encore. You saluted and waved at them, your final words spilling out into the mic in gratitude, “Thanks so much, we are the Stars Rebellion! Have a good night!”

As you headed off stage, Leon pounced behind you, pulling you flush against his chest in a sweaty hug as you gasped in surprise. His hair was in a mess, darkened and clinging to his forehead in damp tendrils. “Holy shit, you were a completely different person up there! Y’know, like Ian fucking Curtis or something?”

He blabbered on nearly incoherently, name-dropping various famous lead singers. “Karen O, yeah? And Alice Glass…”

“God, just give her a break already,” Claire giggled as she shoved Leon off of you.

You stifled a laugh, your meek personality returning the more you moved away from the spotlight. “Yeah, I guess? Um, thanks.”

Leon paused, looking at you in disbelief as he shook his head. “Jeez, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Lady in streets, freak in the sheets,” he mumbled almost inaudibly as you choked on your saliva and coughed violently at his quip.

“Leon,” Chris warned, as Leon held his hands up in mock surrender.

Turning towards you, Chris sighed wearily, “Sorry about that. You did good though.”

Before you had a chance to answer, an alluring, provocative voice interrupted. “You all did good out there.”

Spinning around, you came face-to-face with a stylishly dressed lady in a red, skintight catsuit and dark leather heeled boots. A sleek, black bob framed her face, highlighting her sharp features and high cheekbones. You noticed that she focused all her attention on Leon, even though she was addressing the group.

Leon’s eyes widened, her outfit clearly seemed to pique his interest, and you could feel Chris tense up behind you, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. At this, Claire whispered into your ear with a hint of venom, “That’s Ada, the bassist of Midnight Sun.”

Midnight Sun. That rang a bell. They were one of the more established bands in the scene, though you’d heard rumors about how haughty they could be and that they would stop at nothing to climb their way up.

“Oh, there you are.” A man with slicked-back blonde hair and dark sunglasses sauntered over coolly. If someone had told you that he was an extra from The Matrix, you would’ve believed them in a heartbeat.

The look of disdain was prominent on his face as he glanced over at you and your bandmates. He clucked his tongue derisively. “Tell me, what is it like being the warm up crew?”

Leon was about to lash out, but Chris’ reflexes were faster, holding his shoulder in a vice-like grip. Leon huffed, as he shrugged Chris’ hand off, conceding to remaining cordial for now.

“Wesker, you’re on next!” A stagehand called out from afar.

The man tipped his head in response, before wrapping an arm around Ada’s shoulders, pulling her away from your group as he smirked. “Watch and learn, amateurs.”

“Bunch of douchebags,” Claire muttered as all of you made your way towards the dressing room to freshen up.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Leon peering over his shoulder another time at the lady in red.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Seriously? That’s what was written?” You groaned, chucking Leon’s phone to the side as both of you lay sprawled out on a picnic mat across a grassy hill which connected to a park. A couple of liquor and beer bottles littered your side. Clearly, this was more of a boozy brunch than an actual brunch at all. You should’ve known better than to trust Leon to prepare something substantial. However, whenever he was around you, it seemed like he would make an effort to control his drinking habits, at least to a point where he was only tipsy but not wasted each time.

Since the last gig, the band had received many other offers to play at various venues and Chris had been eager to accept them all, in the hopes of attracting a talent scout who would spot and sign you to a major label. You’d gone on stage a few more times, with each round bringing you new fans and followers, as well as getting hounded by music journalists. Claire seemed to have a word for everything and this was no exception. She described them as rats, and in particular, a man named Luis Sera proved to be the biggest one of them all.

You remembered his irritating voice which had a slight lilt to it, as he called out for you after one of your shows in the previous month. “Señorita… hey!”

He definitely had a flair for making a spectacle out of everything that he did, and soon you’d discover that he was also a master of exaggeration. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, mi amor.” He bowed his head dramatically, as he took your hand, bringing your knuckles to meet his lips.

In the end, your band had given him half an hour of your time, only for him to grossly alter whatever answers all of you had provided during the interview when the article was published. He had pitted the Stars Rebellion against Midnight Sun, when in your opinion, both bands sounded nothing like each other and he was just doing it to stir up sensationalist shit. In addition to that, he spent most of the article writing about your looks and sex appeal, as opposed to the actual music.

To be fair, that was part of your showmanship, but it seemed like yet another case of sexism in the industry, where other male vocalists weren’t subject to the same fate as you and the handful of frontwomen, who still cut their teeth and pushed forward.

“Great,” you whined, burying your face in your hands. “Now, not only have we become an even bigger rival of Midnight Sun, he’s got people wondering if I can actually sing at all!”

Leon seemed amused by your mini outburst, but was otherwise unruffled by the comments in the article. “That’s what journalists do.” He shrugged. “Create fucking bullshit and drama. What’s new?”

He turned over to face you, taking your hand in his and squeezing it briefly before letting it go. “You’re insanely talented, you know that. Don’t listen to them.”

You smiled at his affirmation. The past months had flown by in a blur, and along with it, your bond with Leon had strengthened. You were the very definition of fast friends, having discovered many similar interests and common topics of conversation between the two of you. Although he still made the occasional off-putting remark, and was a bit of an attention-seeker, especially among the ladies, you enjoyed the time spent with him. It felt like you could be yourself and could talk to each other about anything without judgment.

Judgment. That word aroused conflicting feelings within you. On the one hand, being on stage felt freeing and you could do so many things there that would’ve been considered shameful in any other public situation. It was as though you could ignore the judgment or were immune to it. Yet, when it was time to return to the ‘normal world’, judgment haunted you wherever you went.

“Got a question though.” Leon grinned, and you knew he was coming up with another one of his pesky jokes again. “Can you sing?”

You whacked his chest as he howled with laughter. “Alright, come on, look. We’ll do it together, ok?” He whipped out his phone again, tapping on his music playlist. “I just wanna hear you sing something softer, please?”

Sighing in exasperation, you gave in to his curiosity, clearing your throat as you exposed the falsetto that you’d been hiding all this while in the city you’d run off to for college. Leon joined you on the backing vocals as you flowed through the song together, while you tried to ignore his gaze which lowered at your lips, seemingly entranced by what he was listening to. A blush crept up along your neck as the song ended.

“Didn’t realize you had that side to you,” he muttered in astonishment. “Where did you-”

“Church choir,” you uttered abruptly, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

“Oh.” That seemed to surprise him even more. “Didn’t take you as the religious kind.”

“I’m not.” You swallowed thickly, looking away.

“Your parents-”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” you hissed through gritted teeth, a little harsher than intended.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to-” He cut himself off, before sharing about his background instead. “My parents were kind of shitheads too. Well, mostly my old man.” There was another pause, as he shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Liked the bottle a bit too much.”

“I’m sorry.” You placed your hand over his, as he brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

“Don’t be. The band’s our family now.” He shifted himself up to his elbows, kicking mud off his boots. “Anyway, we don’t have to talk about your folks if you want.”

You softened up at this, realizing that he still had your best interests at heart, though a part of you felt like divulging what you had kept to yourself for so long. “It’s embarrassing,” you began. “Singing like that, kinda reminds me of the past I wanted to leave behind.”

Twiddling your fingers anxiously, you continued. “My parents were very into that whole religious thing. You could say it was almost cult-like,” you laughed nervously. “It wasn’t what I wanted to be, so I got out of it.”

Frowning, you pursed your lips as a vague memory of leaving your hometown amid a heated argument and tears came to mind. “Haven’t spoken to them in years. Probably disowned by them by now.”

“Their loss,” he replied sharply, staring you dead in the eye.

It wasn’t something you had expected to slip out of Leon’s mouth, but he had articulated it so transparently. You raised an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“You could’ve been a great televangelist,” he joked, and you chuckled along with him, finding humor in the otherwise unpleasant subject.

“It’s too bad, isn’t it?” You took a swig of the vodka bottle he offered you, wincing as the smooth liquid burned its way down your throat. “You know, when I’m up there performing, it feels like I can be whoever I want to be.”

“You can be whoever you want with me,” he spoke softly. You tried to search for any disingenuity in his eyes, but found none. “I like you all the same.”

“I like you too,” you professed, only to contort your face in horror a split second later, as you realized the implications of what you had just said. “Uh, I mean, not like that,” you sputtered helplessly. “You know, like-”

He rolled his eyes and snickered. “C’mere.” Tugging at your hand, he pulled you in close, giving you a solid hug.

Gingerly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, inhaling deeply and relaxing in his embrace. Both of you carried a mild scent of alcohol, but you didn’t care. You were just happy to find a like-minded soul who saw you for who you were, as you did with him.

A random thought popped up in your head that you wanted to run by him that instant. It gnawed at your chest, waiting to escape. “Leon?”

“Mm?” You could feel him nuzzling your neck and wondered if he had gone past being tipsy.

“What do you think about writing a softer song? Like something more emotive,” you explained.

He still didn’t let you go. “I think that sounds great,” he murmured into your ear. “We’ll write it together.”

“Just you and me, us against the world,” he added wistfully.

You wondered what had gotten into him, but the idea of working on this creative project together felt right to you. Like a link in the thread of fate that was meant to happen.

“Us against the world,” you repeated, sealing your fate, as you felt his smile against your skin.

━━━━━━━━━━━

On a hot, sunny afternoon, you were grabbing milkshakes with Claire, before heading over to the skatepark, where another friend of hers, Steve, was trying out a couple of new tricks. He had a slender build and spiky red hair, with a punk aesthetic. In other words, the perfect skater boy. You were pretty sure he had a crush on Claire, but she seemed to be either oblivious or ignored it outright. Whenever he landed a cool trick, he’d look over at Claire for approval, only for her to give him a friendly thumbs up.

While you sat by the benches, Claire turned towards you, wiggling her eyebrows as she commented, “You and Leon have been hanging out a lot together lately.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to appear nonchalant about it, as you sipped on your milkshake guardedly.

Truth be told, the increasing amount of time spent with Leon was causing certain inconvenient feelings to grow within you. You lied to yourself, claiming you saw him as nothing more than a friend. Falling for a lovable asshole was out of the question, especially one who might break your heart. Yet, the day where both of you drank in the park, accepting each other in ways you never thought possible, constantly replayed in your mind. Then there was the song you were working on together, the late-night calls, and the pick-me-ups for days when either of you needed support. He would drop everything to help you, and you were there when he sought comfort.

Each time you saw him flirting with one of the female fans or exchanging coy looks with Ada, you died a little inside. He was just a horny 23-year-old guy chasing after anyone with legs - at least, that's what you tried to convince yourself. So, you stayed silent about the whole affair, holding back how you really felt about him, in order to preserve your friendship.

“Anything going on between you two?” Claire asked casually.

What else could you expect from a final-year Communications major? Of course, she would have picked up on how weird you’ve been acting lately.

Still, you continued fighting a losing battle. “We’re just friends,” you asserted, poking absentmindedly at the leftover froth and cream in your drink with the straw.

She wasn’t having it though. “The question is, do you want it to stay that way?” Checkmate. You could almost see her gloating at you as you froze.

You shook your head, sighing defeatedly. “It doesn’t matter, he’s into other girls anyway.”

“Have you told him?” Crap, she got you there again.

You just gave her a noncommittal shrug.

“Look, I’m gonna level with you.” She set her drink down with an air of determination, as if she meant business. “In all my sad years of knowing that loser, he’s never behaved this way with a girl like you. Maybe he just needs a little push to see that.” Folding her arms, she cocked her head to the side. “You should tell him.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” You sucked up the rest of your drink until there was nothing more than the bubbly, gurgling sound of air and drops of fluid. With a mischievous twist of your mouth, you added, “By the way, you should probably tell Steve you’re not interested.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

When you had finally plucked up the courage to try and tell Leon about your true feelings, things didn’t go exactly as planned. For starters, he had been rather distracted about the upcoming music festival that your band would be participating in and specifically, a promo event that was tied to it. It was all he wanted to talk about, so you couldn’t get a word in.

“It’ll be the perfect opportunity to get noticed,” he pleaded. “You have to go!”

“I’m not- I don’t do very well in these types of social situations,” you argued. “You know that.”

“Excuses,” he huffed dismissively. “It’s gonna be fun, come on.”

“Chris and Claire will be there with you,” you countered again.

Placing his hands on your shoulders, he declared, “No, I want you.”

Although you knew he didn’t mean it any other way, your cheeks flushed as you turned your head away, heart throbbing at the innocuous statement he had just uttered.

“I’ll be there beside you, the whole time,” he promised. “Please, just come along?”

Biting your lip, you weighed your options, even though your emotions had already gotten the better of you, and you had made your decision regardless of what he might say. “You swear?”

“Cross my heart.”

Unfortunately, you wish you had never agreed to him in the first place, because 24 hours later, you were singing an entirely different tune.

Leon had picked you up and headed over to the event with you as arranged. It was held at a swanky members-only club with a lot of pomp, ass-kissing and too much champagne. You felt completely out of place there, but tagged along like a lost puppy behind Leon, who was reveling in the publicity and getting to know who’s who. A number of the other festival bands were there, but you weren’t particularly close to them beyond a courteous ‘Hello’. You fiddled with the cocktail that Leon had got you, praying that the Redfield siblings would show up sometime soon.

At some point, Leon caught your attention, every so often looking over his shoulder for something, or someone. “I, uh, I need to head to the restroom.”

You nodded in puzzlement, wondering why he seemed so shifty all of a sudden.

“Cool, um, I’ll make it quick.” He gave you a sheepish smile and a wink before heading off hurriedly.

He looked even apologetic? You shrugged off that thought, nursing the lone drink in your hands as you thumbed the fabric of your silvery playsuit. After a while, you checked the time on your phone. A good ten minutes had passed, but he hadn’t returned. Weird, did something happen to him?

As you continued waiting, it started to dawn on you how oppressive and suffocating the atmosphere was. It reminded you of the times when you were surrounded by the rest of the community you’d grown up with in church, scrutinizing your every move. Cold sweat formed on your palms as your breathing grew rapid and shallow. A sense of dread developed within you as your vision narrowed.

Oh god, oh god, not here, no… You latched onto the wall for support, trying to apply the tactics you usually used to calm yourself down.

“Hey there!” Claire’s upbeat voice pierced through the downward spiral you had nearly been consumed by. “Where’s Leon?”

“Um, he went to the rest-”

“What the fuck.” Claire’s jaw dropped wide open and when you followed her line of sight, you understood why.

From afar, you spotted Leon and Ada in tow, sneakily heading out of the restrooms. Bold red lipstick was smudged across Leon’s face as he wiped away at it furiously, and his pants remained unzipped, like an afterthought. Ada combed through her ruffled hair with her fingers, adjusting the bottom of her figure-hugging dress. There were no guesses as to what had occurred there. Your mouth ran dry.

“That fucking-” Claire growled. “Ugh, I’m gonna wring his neck!”

“Claire, it’s okay.” You tried to placate her, but your voice was quivering.

She turned towards you, eyeing you sympathetically as she rubbed your back. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “Well, Chris is getting some drinks. Let’s go join him?”

You accepted, making your way towards the refreshments table, still mulling over what you had just seen. As you picked up a glass of sparkling wine, Claire relayed the entire scenario over to Chris, who just shook his head disapprovingly.

A few moments later, Leon had stumbled upon your group. “Where’ve you been? I was looking all over for you!” He barked, visibly frustrated at your disappearance.

Claire scoffed, and without another word, bumped against his shoulder as she brushed past him. Chris followed suit, without the bumping, though he made a face at Leon as he chugged down his beer. They expected you to come along, but you hung back, giving Leon one more chance to redeem himself.

“What’s up with those two?” he muttered in annoyance.

You held his gaze impassively. “What took you so long?”

“Is this a trick question or what?” He couldn’t look you in the eyes as he tried to evade your quizzing.

But you didn’t let up, not budging from your place until you had an answer.

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “There was a queue, okay?”

A rush of disappointment and heartache surged through you. The least he could’ve done was to be honest with you, but he hadn’t even managed that. He was lying directly to your face, which currently felt as if it had been given a tight slap in humiliation. With whatever dignity you had left, you excused yourself from the table, heading over to the Redfield siblings, as Leon looked on in incredulity and disbelief.

You spent the rest of the evening with Chris and Claire, who were mostly interested in the free food and drink, and knew a couple of the chiller, more down-to-earth musicians on a personal level. In an unexpected turnaround of events, you were actually having fun chatting with people who appeared to be on the same wavelength as you and making wisecracks about corporate functions like these.

In fact, it served as a fairly effective distraction from the boy you were pretending didn’t exist. He lurked around like a shadow, leaning against the walls in the corridors and the sides of the rooms. You saw him everywhere, hovering just within reach. Scowling moodily at you and your newfound friends, he tossed back a never ending supply of alcoholic drinks. You suspected he was on the verge of getting sloshed by now, and although a part of you was concerned about his well-being, you didn’t want to play the role of a babysitter, at least not for tonight.

Towards the end of the night, Chris and Claire had decided to take their leave and you would too, after getting some fresh air by the pool. However, this proved to be a mistake, as the minute you were left alone, you heard heavy footsteps shuffling up next to you. You felt a pit in your stomach, knowing well who it was before even facing the culprit.

“What did I do wrong?” Leon was slurring his words, and his eyes were glassy and bloodshot. The stench of alcohol on him was overwhelming.

Wrinkling your nose, you backed away, stating plainly, “You’re drunk, just take a cab home.”

“Don’t-” He grabbed your arm, attempting to steady himself. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“Leon,” you warned.

“What happened to us against the world, huh?” he retorted.

“Did you think about that when you ditched me to fuck around?” The accusation tumbled out of your mouth before you had a chance to rein it in.

His grip on you loosened, as guilt flashed across his eyes. “That- I, it wasn’t-”

“You’ve always been a bit of an asshole,” you interjected. “But a loveable one, who was also sweet and kind.” Tears started to collect at the corners of your eyes. “Now, you’re just completely horrible,” you spat, with a look of disgust plastered across your face.

Leon’s face contorted in anguish as he tightened his hold on your arm again. “Don’t say that.”

“I don’t like you like this,” you admitted, trying to break free from his grasp, as tears started to roll down your cheeks.

He tried to reach out with his other hand and caress your face, but you pushed it away. “Let go,” you demanded.

However, it seemed as if he couldn’t comprehend why you wanted to be as far away from him as possible. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Can’t we just sort this-”

Then, something in you snapped. All the times when you had finally had enough and set your boundaries in the past, burning bridges along the way, came to a head. “No!” you yelled, shoving him off you, as he fell backwards and landed into the pool with a loud splash.

Some of the spectators laughed and jeered, as he floundered around mostly in shock, while you stormed off the site.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The next band practice session was awkward to say the least. You were running a few minutes late and when you’d reached, you could hear the shouting from outside the door to the studio.

“... sleeping with the enemy!”

“How is Ada an enemy?”

“You’re always messing things up for us!”

“Okay, break it up you two.”

Expelling a hefty sigh, you swung the door open, and the room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. You could feel their gaze on you as you placed your bag in the corner before getting to your usual position behind the mic, making sure to avoid any eye contact with Leon. The festival was coming up in the next month, and on top of that, you still had a smaller gig to play in between then. The last thing you wanted was for personal issues to get in the way of professionalism, so you buried your emotions deep within the abyss.

“Hey, um, you, uh-” Leon croaked out, trying to get your attention, but you ignored him, turning instead towards Claire.

“Sorry I’m late, shall we get started?”

Despite regarding you with a look of concern, she obliged and Chris counted off before all of you jammed to the opening song.

It continued on like this, where you gave Leon the cold shoulder. You had stopped hanging out with him and only communicated when necessary. He didn’t realize how much he would miss your company until it was gone. Things felt duller and emptier without you. Whenever he wanted to share his joys, sorrows and just the mundane things that were happening in his life, he’d try to call you, only for it to go unanswered. He left you countless voice messages, each more desperate than the last one, ranging from a mixture of hurt, blame and grief. It had only been a little over two weeks, but he was starved and alone, without the person he could truly count on. The song you had been working on together remained unfinished.

During the smaller gig you were playing at, you rocked out with Chris and Claire near the back, instead of vibing with Leon at the front. Maybe you were being petty with the way you were treating Leon, but he hadn’t given you a proper apology since the incident. The chemistry and connection between the two of you on stage was lost. Nonetheless, you gave the performance your all, and the fans went wild, so much so that when you crowd surfed, you ended up with shredded leggings and a bloody mouth. A random fan tried to grope you, but security intervened and you were dragged back up on stage by Leon, whose eyes were clouded with worry and apprehension. However, the adrenaline numbed the pain and you finished the gig on a high note, leaving the crowd buzzing with exhilaration and the sound of thunderous applause. It was a confidence booster and a great way to warm up for the festival gig.

Backstage, Claire helped you with cleaning the cut on your lip, as you reassured her that you were fine and such injuries were inevitable when you threw yourself headfirst into the crowd. She made you promise not to pull that stunt again, at least for the foreseeable future, before leaving you to finish up.

Just as you were heading out to regroup, an older, bearded man with neatly styled, graying hair and donning a snazzy waistcoat approached you.

“Brian Irons.”

He held out a sleek, matte finish card with a crisp white background, his name in bold, black font in the center. Below, in smaller, elegant sans-serif type, were the record label he managed and his contact details. A thin, silver border surrounded the edges of the card adding a touch of sophistication. You took it from him, rapt by the design.

“Shall we speak somewhere in private?” he offered, beckoning towards one of the empty dressing rooms towards the end of the hallway.

In your elation and unwillingness to turn down such a timely opportunity, you jumped the gun, accepting his request immediately without waiting for your bandmates. Instead, you messaged them the details and informed them you would join them soon after.

“Amazing show,” he complimented. “You really are quite stunning.”

“Thanks, um, Mr. Irons.” You shifted your weight between both feet nervously, unsure of how to respond. Something in the way he looked at you made you seem like a prey caught in a bear’s trap and his words felt loaded.

“For you, it’s Brian, honey.” His lecherous tone sent shivers down your spine.

“Brian,” you echoed, slowly backing away to put some distance between you and the man.

“So, you kids wanna get signed, huh? Stars Rebellion, wasn’t it?” He advanced towards you with deliberate, measured steps, as if he were playing with his food at the dinner table.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, regretting the decision you had made earlier and the direction this conversation seemed to be steering in.

“Well, I can certainly help with that…”

Your back was flat against the wall now, as he sidled up to you, eliminating any space between you as he caged you in with his body. His breath felt hot and heavy against your cheek, and reeked of coffee and cigarettes. As his hand rode up your thigh, you closed your eyes, holding your breath as a nauseating wave crashed over you and you tried not to puke.

“The fuck’s going on here?” A sharp, biting voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Brian pulled away and you saw Leon by the doorway of the dressing room seething with fury and a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, easy there, kid. Just getting acquainted, that’s all.” Brian tried to laugh it off as a joke, but Leon wasn’t having any of it.

“Get away from her,” he ordered, his steely demeanor unrelenting. “Now.”

Brian backed off, but came up to Leon threateningly. “Talking back to me like that?” he sneered. “I’ll make sure you’re ruined, punk.”

Leon took a step closer, issuing an unspoken challenge. “Yeah? Go ahead, sue me.”

At this, Brian cocked his fist back before taking a swing at Leon. Leon ducked to avoid the blow, shoving him aside as he unleashed a quick jab which connected with Brian’s nose. Brian fell to the ground, whimpering in pain while covering his face with both hands. Blood trickled down, staining his shirt as he cowered before Leon.

“Touch her again and I swear to god I’ll kill you,” Leon hollered. “You hear me?”

Brian nodded furiously as Leon walked briskly across the room, wrapping his arm around your shoulder before leading you out with him. Once you were at a safe distance, he cupped your face in his palms, examining you for any further signs of injuries.

“You okay? Did he hurt you?”

You didn’t respond, instead you clung to him in a tight embrace as your body trembled uncontrollably. He held you against his chest, resting his chin on your head as he stroked your hair soothingly. Both of you stayed there for a while, locked in each other's arms, until he suggested, “Let’s get you home.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

When Leon had informed Chris and Claire about the events that had transpired, they vowed to keep a closer watch on you and each other. There was now an agreement that if the whole band could not be present at a meeting, then at least two people at the minimum should be there.

Your band had upped the intensity of the practice sessions, as the date of the festival loomed nearer. However, when Jill spontaneously announced that she was organizing a house party at her place, all of you jumped at the invitation, seeing it as a way to let off some steam.

At the moment, you and Leon were in this weird, intermediary state of being not quite friends, yet not quite on opposing ends either. It seemed as if it was eating away at him inside, since the minute he saw you at Jill’s place, he weaved through the throng of familiar faces and approached you, asking if you were ready to talk about the elephant in the room. It wasn’t possible to keep ignoring him forever and you were tired of all the arguments and drama that had occurred lately. So, you decided to let him into your life again, or maybe just a foot in the door for now.

In one of the quieter rooms of the house, you sat beside Leon as he initiated an apology for the first time for his prior actions. “I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry, I really am.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I was a complete dick-”

“Yeah, you were,” you replied testily. “I panicked, when you, um, took your time.”

“What? Shit.” He looked down at his hands in shame, balling them into fists. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t want that to happen to you.”

Clenching his jaw, you saw him drown in a sense of self-loathing. “God, I keep fucking things up. Please-” He took your hands in his, squeezing them as if he were proposing. “I’ll make it up to you, just give me another chance to prove it.”

“I missed you,” he whispered. “A lot.” It was as if a dam had broken, and he couldn't stop himself from pouring out all his admissions. “You weren’t talking to me, you weren’t returning my calls…”

“Whenever something stupid came up, all I could think about was how much I wanted to tell you about it.” His eyes glazed over, as if he were recalling a distant memory. “Guess I kinda took you for granted.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you made yet another decision against your better judgment. Although you had no guarantee that he would not repeat the same mistake, you placed your trust in him again, hoping that this time he would treat you as you deserved.

“Okay.” You nodded, offering a weak smile. “We’ll try again.”

You yelped as he suddenly gathered you into a snug embrace, grinning widely from ear to ear. “I got you back,” he murmured into your ear.

“Don’t make me regret it,” you teased half-jokingly.

“Guys, get your free shit! Oh-”

You and Leon quickly disentangled yourselves from each other as you saw Jill staring with her mouth hanging open. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No!” Both of you exclaimed in unison.

Jill rolled her eyes, her face etched with doubt, though she didn’t probe further. “Anyway, downstairs! First come, first served.” She jerked her thumb in the direction behind her, before trudging off to the next room.

“You wanna?” Leon gave you a knowing smile.

“Hell, sure, why not?” You shrugged, once again erupting in laughter with the boy you wanted to cuddle with and strangle at the same time.

So, that was how both of you ended up lying next to each other, strung out on a mattress facing the window. You knew the drill. Jill’s housemates were creative types whose generosity knew no bounds. House parties with them involved usually meant a certain supply of free drugs, which people could choose to engage in recreationally. You figured you were being very rock’n’roll by doing it, but sometimes you enjoyed how open they made you feel, like you could loosen up and forget about the things bothering you.

As usual, you and Leon had taken the same pills as before, both of you agreeing to take care of each other throughout the duration of the high. He held your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, as you giggled over a topic you had been discussing.

“Ready to watch the curtain breathing contest?” he chuckled.

“There.” You pointed in front of you, indicating that the shades were now moving on their own, like ripples in the tide.

“Atta girl.”

It felt nice like this, laying beside him. You could talk to him about anything in the world and he’d listen intently to you. That’s when you thought it was a good idea to make your confession.

“I’ve liked you for a while now,” you gulped, your heart constricting though the urge to reveal your secret was stronger. “As in, more than a friend.”

He angled his head towards you, gazing at your expression with an affectionate smile. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Leon Scott Kennedy, asking me why-?” you snorted, clamping your free hand over your mouth as you struggled to hold in your cackles. As if he wasn’t aware he had a reputation for sleeping around with no strings attached. “I didn’t want to be just another notch on your bedpost.”

He tutted and sighed. “You wouldn’t have been. It’s different… with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re one of the few people who’d tell me exactly as it is, you care to listen,” he explained. “It just feels right, being with you, and… I trust you.”

You were reluctant to take what he had said at face value, after all both of you were tripping. As if sensing your hesitance, he professed, “I like you too, a lot.”

Still, a part of you denied it. “You’re just saying that.”

He groaned in vexation. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

Narrowing his eyes at you, he huffed in defeat, “Look, ask me again tomorrow when we’re sober, okay? Pretty sure I’ll say the exact same thing.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “You better not try anything right now though, ’cause I bite.” Baring your teeth, you snarled at him playfully.

“Uh huh.” He burst out laughing. “You’re kinda high off your face, aren’t you?”

“Just a little.” You winked.

“Alright, let’s try to get some sleep,” he grunted, shifting to his side as he extended his arms towards you like an invitation. “No funny business,” he promised.

You relented, nestling yourself into his arms with your back against his chest. He dipped his nose into your hair, breathing in the peace of the moment. Closing your eyes, you drifted off to sleep, your bodies spooned together in perfect symmetry.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The first rays of the morning light filtered in through the curtains, as you awoke to the collective chirps of the dawn chorus. You squinted, pressing a palm over your eyes to shield yourself from the sun, as you stretched yourself out against Leon’s sleeping body and yawned groggily. He stirred a bit from your movement, but easily fell back into slumber, snoring deeply. You remembered everything you had disclosed to him the night before and it scared you. What if he didn’t feel the same way when he woke up? What if it had all been a mistake? How would you be able to look him in the eye now? You felt anxiety rising in your chest.

Stealthily, you lifted his arm off you, creeping out of the bed and making your escape before you had to face the consequences of your actions. Grabbing your stuff, you snuck out of the room, tiptoeing so no one noticed you exiting the front door of the house.

It was about an hour later when Leon woke up, confused to find you missing from the mattress with him. Though in your rush, you had accidentally left behind your notebook, which you carried around with you everywhere to jot down inspiration for song lyrics. Picking up the chestnut brown, leatherbound journal, curiosity got the better of him as he flipped it open to the page you had bookmarked.

As he skimmed across the words you had scribbled down in your off-beat, cursive handwriting, he gradually realized that they were the draft lyrics to the song you had been previously working on together with him, before the temporary break in your friendship. He re-read the text again to catch the meaning between the lines. It was then that it struck him, you had essentially composed a love letter from within, expressing the depth of your feelings and yearning for him. It made his heart ache that you had been keeping this from him the whole time and he had been blind to it all.

Tapping your name on his mobile screen, he called you right away, but it went straight to voicemail. Fuck. What were you afraid of? He thought he had been clear in how he felt about you last night, but it seemed like you had gone into hiding again.

Showing up at your place directly after this may cause you to retreat even further, but he was determined to win you over somehow. A plan began to hatch in his mind, as he drove home with your book in the passenger seat. Despite his exhaustion from the party, he set out to work on the music for the lyrics you had written, spending the rest of the day and even pulling an all-nighter to finish it.

After about a dozen energy drinks and cups of coffee, he marched up unannounced to the door of your dormitory, where you shared a room with another final-year student from your class, rapping on it several times for good measure. Your roommate opened the door, but her expression gave everything away before she had the chance to concoct any sort of tall tale. She could never really keep a poker face.

Placing his arm against the door to prevent it from closing on him, he called out your name. You appeared in his view then timidly, mumbling to your roommate that you would handle it. She packed up a few things and left, giving you and Leon some privacy.

“Your book.” He passed it over to you, before setting his guitar case down by your bed. “Open it.”

You glanced briefly at him in mild bewilderment, but did as he asked. It flopped open to a page with a deep crease in the center, naturally showing how frequently that section had been revisited. You gasped when you saw a bunch of chord notes written below the lyrics you had penned down from earlier. Your complexion turned a light shade of scarlet upon realizing that Leon had discovered your innermost thoughts, but there was no awkwardness in his behavior towards you, he was calm and collected.

Unzipping the case, he took out his acoustic guitar and perched himself on the edge of your bed. Resting the instrument on his thigh, he grasped its neck, tilting it slightly as he strummed a couple of opening chords.

“I pieced together the melody for this. Maybe you can join in when you’re comfortable,” he suggested.

It seemed he had memorized the entire song by heart, as he didn’t need your notebook for guidance. His mellow, honeyed voice cascaded through the room as he serenaded you with the song both of you had crafted, albeit separately. Now, you were coming together to bring it to life.

Seating yourself next to him, you harmonized with his vocals, pouring the entirety of your emotions and every moment of longing you had built up within you into the music, until the final note trailed off. Throughout it all, Leon had observed you closely, captivated by the raw, unfiltered quality of your voice and the vulnerability you displayed in your delivery of the lyrics.

His gaze lowered from your eyes to your mouth, as he leaned in, brushing his lips gently against yours, kissing you tenderly. Bringing his hand to your cheek, he caressed it, coaxing soft sighs and moans which he returned as you reciprocated the kiss. Panting as he came up for air, he traced your bottom lip with his thumb, feeling every dip and groove, as if mesmerized by its outline and shape. He didn’t need to utter a single word for you to understand that his feelings for you mirrored those you had confessed in the song.

Closing the distance, he pressed into your lips again, this time more fervently, as the kisses grew in intensity. His nose nudged against yours and you felt his warm breath tickling your skin, as he grasped the back of your neck, taking you deeper, breathing every essence of you in. Clutching his shoulders, you parted your lips slightly as he licked along the entrance, allowing his tongue to meet yours, twirling around it as saliva coated your lips, forming a glistening string between the two of you when you pulled away.

Grazing his knuckles delicately across your cheek, he asked, “Do you believe me now?”

You smiled, claiming his lips with your own in response.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The next time you performed the song live was at the festival, where thousands had gathered to watch the impressive lineup of bands. Chris and Claire had fallen in love with it when you and Leon had showed it to them, and were keen to expand the band’s range into something that delved into the territory of rock ballads.

All four of you wondered how it would be received by the audience, as it was rather different from the punk rock style your band was known for. Even so, you were psyched to finally showcase it to the public.

It was the song you ended with on your setlist, and the one which created such a poignant, special atmosphere, that it became a memory you would treasure forever. The hall fell into hushed anticipation as Leon plucked his guitar strings under the soft glow of the stage lights. Each note resonated deeply, minimalistic and stripped back, which added to the earnesty of the music.

Your voice opened the duet, intimate and haunting, as the melody unfolded like a story being told, rich with longing and a melancholic beauty that ached. The audience stood there entranced, as a soulful rhythm built up with the entry of the bass guitar and drums, adding another layer to the sound.

Leon moved towards you, sharing your mic as he sang his part, cementing a bond between you. Locking eyes with you, he pressed his forehead against yours, mingling sweat and tears as you both continued singing into the same mic, your heartfelt lyrics heavy with emotion. Some of the older people in the crowd sparked their lighters, while the younger ones whipped out their mobile phones, swaying them in time to the music, until everything was awash in a sea of flickering lights.

Your lips and Leon’s were barely touching as the last notes lingered in the air. His faint breath fanned across your mouth, as he swept his fingertips along your jawline, resting them under your chin. The space was thick with palpable tension, and your stomach fluttered just as it had the first time he had kissed you. Like a magnetic pull which he could not resist, he placed his lips over yours, kissing you again and again. It was as if the world had paused, just for the two of you.

Singing this way no longer reminded you of punishment and shame, but rather of the connection you and Leon had. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he led you off-stage, past the phenomenal reaction of the crowd and the fist bumps shared between Chris and Claire.

Ada came around not only to congratulate him, but also to test the waters and seize the opportunity to flirt. Despite that, he held onto you tightly, maintaining a suitable distance from the woman he had previously been infatuated with, yet feeling nothing deeper compared to what he felt for you. It took him more than half a year, an explosive fallout and a few weeks of your absence to realize that. She smirked and shook her head, walking away as Wesker continued to ignore you.

Some things never change, yet some things had.

“How about some time alone?” he proposed. “Just us.”

Us. It was always meant to be about us.

You nuzzled your nose gently with his. “Yeah, just us.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy angst #band au #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

436 notes · View notes

cannellee · 2 months

Note

HII!!! i’m literally in LOVE with your alpha mikey hcs!!! (^ ^) what if mikey has a super sweet and cuddly omega that can’t help but want to cling to him 24/7, she just can’t get enough of him! whenever she sees him she releases her super strong n sweet pheromones and chirps loudly as she runs up to him, her heart is so full of love for her alpha it feels like it’s gonna explode!! every time she sees mikey she just swoons for him🩷

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ☆

alpha! mikey x omega! reader

— his reaction to a cute and extremely in love omega

my masterlist : ☆

(I looved writing this, this was such a cute idea. I hope I quite did what you had in mind!)

mikey would actually be ecstatic to have such a cute omega by his side! he's used to the harshness of his lifestyle and violent confrontations all the time, emma being his only source of warmth. mikey grows so attached to you and he lets you know it by how affectionate he is with you.

seeing you being so desperate for his attention, literally crawling over his laps just to get head pats and his eyes on you only, he feels all weird. it's still mind blowing that you reach for him in every occasion, look for him first in crowds and calls his name so happily like that.

he doesn't think he deserves all that love, you would be better off with a more gentle alpha, who doesn't have tons of enemies waiting for an opportunity to rip his throat off. someone who can give you a stable life and never worry you because of his night meetings he'd rather keep you out of.

still, he couldn't imagine his life without you in it. you're such a bundle of joy, your mellow voice and big doe eyes always do something to him. he never refuses any of your requests. you can hold his hands, play with his hair, ask for his food... everything is yours. he might crack a joke or too about how smitten you are, supposedly trying to make you shy, but you only nod excitedly and agree with a big yes. how cute is his omega.

mikey absolutely loves being the center of your life, despite what he tries to tell himself. he's aware your whole world revolves around him and he's thrilled to see your eyes always on him, even when you're in bigger groups. he would never take advantage of your attachment for him, but he does like to see you immediately cut one of your conversations short when he calls your name : watching you whip your head so fast in his direction, flashing him a big smile. he has that strange sense of purpose and pride every time you do, his chest feels so hot, why did you even take an interest in him when you're this precious and desirable? any alpha would kill for an omega like you.

and your scent... mikey doesn't think he has ever smelled something this good in his life. everything about you reminds him of home in the best ways possible. he can't believe he's the one drawing such a sweet scent out of you. it always amplifies in his presence, when he praises you, hugs you or kisses your temple. he can't get enough of it and he feels so lucky your pheromones never subside when you're together.

the adoration is mutual, you can't even imagine a life without mikey either. he's so strong and reliable, how can you not love him ? he teases you in ways only he can make you blush, pervert hands grabbing your ass or dirty promises in the crack of your ears. mikey feels really privileged to be able to touch and hold you in such ways, to be this intimate with you. he does things he would break another's arm's off for even imagining them.

he wants to protect that laugh of yours and wishes you will always look at him with heart eyes. he wants to make you feel safe and comfortable around him, no matter what he does outside.

he's quiet about his fondness for you, but he makes it up by snatching you up by the waist, carrying you in his arms, spending the day cuddling with you, literally breathing nothing but your pheromones. he never complains about your little 'outbursts' of affection towards him. he lets you grab his wrist - where his scent glands are - and rubs it all over yourself to smell just like him. or when you ask for his clothes : you actually don't even have to ask anymore, he'll let them on display in his room for you to take.

he loves you so much, he cherishes the fondness more than anything he has. he would go lengths to protect you and keep you safe, nobody should ever dare lay a hand on you or even wish to hurt you. mikey might not see himself as deserving of his adorable omega, but it doesn't mean he'll just let you slip away for another to win you over. he'll change for the best, he's sure that with your unconditional support he can do anything!

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lovebugism · 1 year

Text

☄. *. ⋆ ┄ We Fight to Make Up

summary: after a run-in with your ex, steve's anger gets the best of him. sometimes you think he picks a fight just for the make up sex. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader word count: 7.6k warnings: smut, steve calls himself daddy once, briefly mentioned breeding kink, a touch of angst, insecure!steve, also steve with scruff because that needs a warning too, 18+ mdni a/n: ok i'm not the happiest with this but it's been sitting in my drafts for so long and she needs to see the world now so.. enjoy? <3

You don’t go out anymore. None of the party does, really.

Fighting through the end of the world and somehow surviving for three years straight made bars and clubs and getting drunk seem a little less important. It gets too easy to stay within the inner circle that’s seen the same sort of hell you’ve seen.

Eventually, time goes on and you don’t realize that you’ve only been around the same ten people until the thought of going to the grocery store alone sounds scary.

Fighting monsters, weathering alternate dimensions, beating up Russians soldiers — that’s cake. It’s the getting back to normal that’s so hard.

That's a bitter pill to swallow. None of you got to have too much of a childhood before the knowledge of a sentient darkness swirling beneath your feet turned everything upside down (no pun intended). A life with a regular routine unbound by the impending doom of an armageddon is hard to go back to, when fighting to stay alive is all you’ve ever done.

You try really hard, though. All of you do.

The kids try to find a nostalgic amusement in the arcade they used to frequent while grappling with the fact that they’ll never been those kids again. The older group of you dabbles in the simple pleasure of growing up and discovering what adulthood really means — getting drunk and going dancing just because you can, but facing the inevitable consequences of those actions all on your own.

The six of you find a certain solace at the Limelight. For Steve and Jonathan, they serve good beer — obviously cheap and unusually tangy on the tongue, but nice and cold nonetheless. For Eddie and Robin, there’s a karaoke machine and a stage across the bar, complete with every rock ballad imaginable. You and Nancy take special interest in the dance floor — a platform with light-up rainbow squares for all your drunken twirling needs.

It’s a nice place. More than that, it’s a familiar one. Eventually, going there every friday night is like comfort food in the belly, pleasant and warm. Steve feels safe there when he’s with all of you and tonight he’s especially fuzzy with a quiet sort of happiness that’s got his cheeks all pink.

Maybe the beer is partly to blame.

Or maybe it’s because you’ve got your hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, anchoring yourself to him and simultaneously fending off any unwanted attention from the scantily clad women around you who can't seem to take their eyes away from your Steve.

But he only watches you as you smile into your glass while Eddie Munson, all sweaty after his Madison Square Garden worthy rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, tells some stupidly unfunny joke. You’re pressed contently into his side, like you would melt into him if you could, and he’s buzzing with the comfort of your warmth and the chemically induced mellow from the drink in his cup.

It was a good night. An easy one. A fun one.

And then it just… wasn’t.

When your ex waltzes into the bar, he brings the cold air in with him and an unusual sophisticated energy that’s typically foreign to this side of town. He’s got on a gray corduroy blazer and slacks to match. The black turtle neck he wears beneath it clings to his lean torso and broad chest, like he wants people to marvel at how muscular he is.

You don’t even realize it’s him at first. You turn to Nancy to talk shit about the douchebag at your eight o’clock that just walked in while the guy settles at the far end of the bar, around the corner that faces the group of you. He removes the dark Ray-Bans from the straight bridge of his nose and uses them to push back his cinnamon-colored curls.

Steve feels you tense at his side then. You duck inside yourself and force him and Robin to form a makeshift shield around you.

It’s a tad too dramatic for two people who ended on pretty decent terms. It was about as amicable as a breakup can be — you were both seventeen and thankfully already mature enough to know that the relationship wasn’t bound to make it outside of high school. So you split up in search of more fulfilling things.

You found yours, in Steve and in the rest of the party. And by the looks of it — the obviously expensive suit and the silver Rolex glittering under the dim yellow bar light — he found his.

You aren’t exactly sure how, but he sees you.

Probably because Robin couldn’t stop ogling at him from over her shoulder, obviously not getting the hint to act casual and inevitably dragging his attention over to the group of you.

He’s confused by the attention at first and then beaming when he notices you. The man flashes a set of pearly whites beneath a plump pink grin, all but shoving through the crowded bar to come and meet you.

Steve is able to get a better look at him when he’s no more than a couple inches away. The guy wrenches you away from him to wrap you in a friendly embrace, smiling like a ray of a thousands suns while he laughs with a hearty mirth.

A childlike and terribly jealous scowl settles upon Steve's features as his stomach wrenches something fierce. This stranger is touching you, and he hates that he’s touching you, but it’s more than that.

Steve’s almost certain this is what he would look like if he hadn’t been through the end of the world. The ornate suit and sunglasses worth more than most people’s salaries could’ve been his. In another life, he could’ve been this pretty and perfect and pure.

But, instead, here he is — dressed in an aged Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt and hand-me-down jeans that are frayed at the hems. There are bits of dried blood on the knee that he can’t get out. He isn’t quite sure if it’s his or if it belongs to one of the three varying monsters he’s been face-to-face with over the years.

His hair is pushed back and visibly un-styled, fluffier than usual because it hasn’t been washed in a while. And only now does he notice the prickly layer of scruff itching at his jaw and above his lip because the effort to shave is just too much sometimes.

He wishes he had, though. Now, he wants to completely perfect his appearance and change his life entirely — all at the sight of some stranger he didn't know existed before now.

The man introduces himself to the rest of the group when he parts from you — Todd.

Because of coursehis name is Todd.

No one says that out loud, of course, but you do share pairs of knowing looks. Eddie’s the only one brave enough, or rather drunk enough, to take the piss out of the guy.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for Limelight?” he asks before laughing into his beer.

The rhetorical question leads to the man, Todd, to start complaining about work — how he’s making more than he knows what to do with, that the lifestyle isn’t as lavish as everyone made it out to be, that work is his best friend most days because he doesn’t have time for real relationships anymore.

And it doesn’t sound braggy. This isn't some rich guy complaining about all the money he has. He’s genuine, and that’s somehow even worse.

Steve can tell he’s working for some big four accounting firm without him having to say it. He can practically smell it all over the guy. Todd’s just got that air about him, that he’s got an office on the fiftieth story with large glass windows that span from the floor to the ceiling. He’s making well into the six-figures if that’s the case. Just like his goddamn dad.

Just like he would be if the endless cycling of fighting hadn’t stripped him flesh from bone.

Steve forces himself to shove that thought to the back of his mind.

“You know I’ve actually been thinking about, you know, just dropping everything. Putting in my two weeks and fucking off to France,” Todd admits. His eyes sparkle like a pair of fucking diamonds when they lock in on you. “Like we always used to talk about.”

That was your dream. The kind of reverie that wasn’t at all practical or the least bit tangible, but the kind you fantasized about nonetheless.

And here this asshole goes, living it for the both of you.

You’re grinning at him anyway, patting him on the shoulder while you congratulate him. You tell him he should do it. That he deserves it.

Steve, meanwhile, is so angry he can feel the prickle of the red-hot rage on his skin, like so many little needles. It’s a simmering heat for now, all slow and lazy. The longer he holds it in, the more likely he is to pop into a full boil. He knows that. But he keeps the fire in his chest and wallows in that high-pitched ache.

Todd leaves not too long after. Makes it a point not to overstay his welcome. He’s polite when he goes, making sure to talk to all your friends even though he didn’t exactly come for them — he compliments Eddie’s leather jacket and Robin’s taste in style, Jonathan and Nancy are both blushing pink when he praises their work with the local paper. He says something to Steve he can’t quite register because he’s too busy fuming.

The brunette girl beside him is practically swooning, and he has to remind her — “Robin, you’re gay.”

The man was kind, terribly so, the sort of politeness you can’t help but notice and marvel at, like a pretty pebble you’ve found on the ground. He didn’t overstep any boundaries with you either, like he respected that you two were practically strangers now — fucking asshole — and whether or not he knew you were with Steve, he kept a chivalrous distance anyway.

He must’ve known, though, he did have eyes after all. There’s no way he missed the way Steve had been looming over you the whole time. Or the possessive arm he had around your shoulder. Or the stern chocolate gaze that had ping-ponged between you and him the entire conversation.

When he leaves, there’s nothing to talk shit about or make fun of him for. Not only is that really fucking annoying, but it’s boring, and it leaves you and Steve as the punching bags for all their stupid jokes.

“You certainly have a type, don’t ya, doll?” Eddie teases you as he reaches behind Nancy to shove at your shoulder. “Steve’s practically a carbon copy of that douchebag.”

“Holy shit, I can see it now,” Robin marvels breathlessly. Her deep ocean gaze is still locked on Todd across the bar. He’s minding his own business now, ordering another drink, while the rest of you can’t seem to stop talking about him. She turns back to Steve, her eyes flitting over his features like it’s the first time she’s seeing them while she puts the pieces of a puzzle together.

“But, Steve’s like the dollar store version of him, though, right?” she wonders rhetorically and then feels the need to explain herself when Steve furrows his brows at her. “—Because, you know… he’s a lot richer than you are…”

The boy rolls his and brings the beer back to his lips. The clarification makes it sting more.

“Thanks, Rob.”

Steve isn’t quite sure what’s got him seething. He’s the personification of a forest fire now — scorching, raging, and deadly — without a reason to be. It’s entirely likely you’ll never see Todd ever again. He lives in the city these days and he just told you that he was planning on moving to fucking France.

But these facts don’t mean as much to him when he knows that the guy isn’t totally over you.

Steve knows Todd would be more than happy to take you out for coffee tomorrow morning to tie up any left-behind loose ends. He’s a rich guy going through a quarter-life crisis (Steve knows a little about what that’s like, too), he’d be more than happy to sweep an old ex-girlfriend off her feet and take her all the way to France with him. She’d need only to ask him to.

Maybe that’s what angers him. There’s a man, all rich and pretty and unscathed by war, that might love you like he does.

The wildfire in his chest grows. It’s a wonder it hasn't seared a hole in the fabric of his sweatshirt. And it burns. It leaves aching blisters on his skin like it’s the real damn thing. It’s like punches to the face, worse than every time he’s ever been beaten up combined.

He manages to keep the ashes of himself together. It's the least he can do for the rest of you, who obviously aren’t as bothered by Todd’s lingering presence and have since moved on to things more meaningful.

It wouldn’t be fair to project his ache onto you.

You guys don’t get too many nights like this, with work and school and lingering bouts of PTSD — who’s he to ruin this night for everyone else when he’s the problem?

But if any of you notice his simmering anger, you don’t show it.

He isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or not.

Nancy and Jonathan stay no longer than fifteen minutes after the fact. “We’ve got an early day tomorrow,” the say with a shrug, though everyone knows what that’s code for. Robin makes kissing noises at them as they make their exit.

Now, the brunette girl stands in front of the stage that Eddie parades on. He belts “If you only hold me tight, we’ll be holding on forever!” into the microphone for the hundredth time. She cheers for the boy like it’s the first time she’s ever heard the stupid song.

The bartender hands you two drinks, a couple of Sex on the Beach’s for you and Robin to try.

She hadn’t stopped talking about it since she spotted it on the menu even though she hates peach schnapps. You tell Steve you’re going to run it to her and that you bet she won’t make it through one sip without gagging. You also promise that you’ll try and pull Eddie away from the stage when the Bonnie Tyler song fades and then inevitably loops again.

He only nods and mumbles a vague affirmative under his breath. He doesn’t even look at you. Just stares down at his empty glass of beer and draws patterns on the cloudy cup with his finger.

It’s hard not to notice his uncharacteristically long silence.

He hasn’t been King Steve for quite some time, but that version of him always manages to peek out after a couple of drinks. He gets loud and brash and smiley and stupid. It makes the quiet demeanor he possesses now that much more daunting. Like a flag he’s waving to make sure everyone else knows that he’s upset about something or other.

Eventually, it makes you burst.

“Is something wrong?” you blurt.

He finally glances at you then. And has the gall to look confused. “What?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. You shift your weight on your feet and try to ignore the distant stinging of the ice glasses in your hand, how the cold of them shoots pins and needles into your palms. “You’re just… being really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses with a shrug of his own. A hint of a smile flashes at the very corner of his mouth before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows down the rest of it in one quick gulp. You watch anxiously as he waves to the bartender for another.

“We can go home if you want—”

“Jesus, I’m fine,” he interjects. The laugh that spills from his throat borders on annoyance. “Just go get the freak before he drives me crazy.”

With that, the two of you part ways. You, with the knowledge that something’s wrong with your boyfriend but having no way to make it better because he won’t tell you anything. And Steve, with another irrational reason to be angry at the world because how do you not get it?

If his ex-girlfriend showed up to a bar, looking like an airbrushed model with more money than all of you combined who’s got brains and wit and humility, he’d want you to get a little fucking jealous too.

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. But he chooses to wallow in his anger than reflect on it, anyway. He takes pity on himself and makes everyone else out to be the enemy. Like he does best.

Even hours later, when he’s sobering up with room temperature water and a bowl of pretzels — and you’re calling a cab for a significantly drunker Eddie and Robin — he still feels the sting.

He makes sure you know it too.

The drive back home is uncomfortably quiet, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he at least had the radio on. But when he stuck the key into the ignition and music started blaring from the speakers (because he forget to turn it down beforehand), he turns it off completely. You feel to awkward to touch it.

“Do you, uh… Do you wanna talk about it now?” you ask him.

You’re unfamiliarly timid with him as you peer at him through your lashes. It’s like you’re looking at the sun, the way you have to glance at him from the corner of your eye so he won’t blind you. And it isn’t because of his usually sunny disposition because, somewhere along the course of the night, his shine got snuffed out. It’s because he’s practically lit himself on fire with his anger where he sits next to you.

And he still has the nerve to shake his head. “Talk about what? I told you, there’s nothing wrong,” he dismisses with one hand in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the other resting its elbow against the driver’s side door while his fingers pick anxiously at his lower lip. Nothing wrong, my ass.

“Are we seriously gonna play that game tonight?”

“What game?” he scoffs out a laugh.

“The game here you’re upset about something, but refuse to tell me why, so I have to guess what’s wrong with you until I get it right and you let me make it better.”

Steve glances at you and then back to the road. “I… I don’t do that.”

Oh, fuck, he totally does, he thinks to himself. Fuck, he hates that you know him so well.

“You’re literally doing it right now.”

“Well, I can’t be. Because I’m not upset about anything,” he argues with a shrug. “That’s, like, a mathematical impossibility. Or whatever.”

“Considering this is the most you’ve said to me all night, I know that isn’t true— And it’s not even a conversation! You’re just being passive aggressive!”

“Passive aggressive, huh?” he repeats sardonically.

“Yes!” you seethe. “You’re mad at me and I can tell that you’re mad, so just tell me why—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Steve grumbles. He feels even more like shit for making you think he was acting all pissy because of something you had done. You hadn’t done anything. You were perfect. You’re always perfect. And here he goes, making you think otherwise.

He slows to a stop at the last red-light before home. The neon scarlet matches that anger sweltering in his belly. He still refuses to look at you.

“Then what happened between when we got to Limelight and right now that’s got you so fucked up?” you ask him with a furrowed brow and inquisitive eyes.

The boy only huffs. His chest deflates with a heavy breath. He almost forgets to answer you because he’s too busy praying for the light to turn green so he can get the fuck home.

He just needs a little food in his system, he concludes, and a nice hot shower and a bed to rest his tired bones. Maybe then he’ll be able to function like he’s meant to.

He feels a sense of relief for the first time in hours when the light bathes the two of you in a neon emerald glow.

You let out a sharp exhale through your nose at his silence. You shake your head at him like an annoyed parent and cross your arms over your chest. Your knees turn away from him and towards the door in time with your gaze that flits to the window. Now you’re the one that’s pissed.

Steve mumbles lowly when he finally answers you. It’s nearly inaudible.

“Your douchebag ex.”

“What?” you reply, sparing a glance over at him. It isn’t a question of whether you heard him or not, but of why that’s what he’s being so mean to you about.

“Your douchebag ex,” he repeats louder and picks chapped skin from his bottom lip. He rubs his tongue over the irritated skin to soothe the burn. “That’s what I’m upset about.”

Your brows furrow as you rack your head for the conversation you had with Todd that you’d already forgotten about. He’d said hello, and that you looked nice, and then asked you what you’d been up to before making conversation with your friends. He’d wished you luck and walked back to his seat not too long after. You wonder if there was some code in his words that you’d missed.

“…I don’t get it. What did he do?”

“Really?” Steve wonders with an emotionless laugh. “You don’t have a single clue why that might’ve pissed me off?”

He barely slows at the sign of the four-way stop. The block is practically a ghost town now. No one’s out so late into the night. Any other time you might’ve said something about it, but you’re just as eager to get home as the simmering boy next to you.

“No! He stopped by to talk for, like, five minutes! Are you really upset because another man talked to me?” you shout and it burns him because, yeah, that is kind of what he’s mad about — but it’s more than that and you don’t seem to get it. It’s not your job to either. He’ll just burn for the both of you.

The car jerks to a stop when he parks in the driveway.

“Yeah, you’re right—” Steve mutters to himself as he snatches the keys from the ignition. “You don’t get it.”

You feel the impact of the slammed of the car door as he exits. The headlights illuminate the boy as he uses his key ring to unlock the front entrance of your shared home. The dim orange overhead light slowly dims above you and then shuts off completely, bathing you in darkness.

With a sigh and a fleeting thought of oh, it’s gonna be that kinda night, huh? you follow less unenthusiastically behind him.

“Then just explain it to me,” you plead, your voice coated with exhaustion. The warmth of the living room seeps into your bones and makes you that much more tired. “I really, really don’t wanna do this tonight.”

“That asshole was all over you,” Steve finally chooses to air his grievances while he toes off his sneakers.

“He hugged me once! What was I supposed to do? Push him off?”

“That’d be a start.”

“I would’ve done it!” you promise.

He plops onto the couch with a rather dramatic huff as you struggle to take off your boots, what with the zipper getting caught in the slider and being distracted by the storm cloud across the room.

“I don’t care about him! I literally haven’t seen him since I was eighteen! I basically forgot he existed in the first place.”

Steve doesn’t let himself take any solace in your words.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs with the shake of his head. He rests his elbows on his knees, runs his palms over his face once before dragging his fingers through his mussed hair. “Sometimes… I don’t know, I guess, sometimes it feels like maybe you deserve someone better than me.”

His confession feels like a stab in your heart.

You can only imagine how many daggers are piercing him now.

“Steve…”

“No. Don’t give me that bullshit spiel, alright?” he spurns with a shake of his stubborn head. When he laughs, it lacks any and all emotion; it’s gut-wrenchingly bitter and coated with venom. “We both know he could take way better care of you than I ever could. He’s practically a fucking millionaire, babe! And he’s, what, twenty-five? He has the money to drop everything and fly across the world— to France.”

“Steve—” you try again, to stop the spiral before it starts.

He doesn’t let you.

“I mean, fuck, I know how bad you wanna go there. You’ve been talking about it since we were eight,” he laments with wide, glassy eyes and an hand splayed out towards you. He brings it, then, to his chest and clutches at his heart, “But I can’t take you. Because I’m so broke, it fucking hurts. You deserve someone to do that shit for you, alright? And it’s not me. It’s never gonna be me.”

“…You really think he can take better care of me than you do?” you ask him so quietly that it sounds like a whimper. Your face is twisted in anguish, like his sadness pains you too.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckles like the answer’s obvious. He sniffles. “Considering we’re working our asses off just to make it through the week and you’d never have to work a day in your life if you were with that asshole.”

“It’s not about the money, Steve,” you agonize with the shake of your head. “I don’t love him. I would be so unhappy if I were with him because he’s not you. I don’t give a single fuck about France if you’re not gonna be there with me.”

You close the distance between you as you walk from the entrance to where he sits in the living room. He can hardly look at you as you round the couch to stand ahead of him, sparing only meek glances your way.

The small smile on your lips only half puts out the fire raging in his chest. It’s one of those natural wildfires now. The kind that you’ve just got to let burn.

“What do I have to do, Steve? What do you want me to do to prove that I just want you?” you ask him softly, nudging your sock-clad foot with his own. “I’ll fucking— I’ll find his number in the phone book right now and invite him over if you want—”

Yeah, because seeing him again is gonna make any of this shit better, he thinks bitterly to himself, though he’s pleasantly surprised by your following promise.

“I’ll make him come over here, act like I wanna catch up or whatever, and then make him watch while I suck your cock,” you paint the picture for him in a suddenly low, sultry tone.

Steve can almost see it — the look on Todd’s face as he stands in the foyer, his hands balled into fists at his side, wearing an angry amber tint upon his perfect face while he watches the girl that got away take a mouthful of another man’s dick. “I’ll get all nice and pretty on my knees for you and make him watch.”

Steve tenses at your words. His fingers twitch where they rests on his knees, itching to get a hold of you. His eyes go heavy as he gazes up at you, his stern stare looking much darker than before — hungrier.

Your eyes carry a similar sort of desire. They swim with innocence and yearning and knowing.

Because both of you understand how your fights usually end. You’ve been together long enough to know. The anger grows and grows in the belly of a dragon until it’s all you can do to keep your hands off of each other. You make Steve come so hard he forgets all the reasons he was raging in the first place and then he apologizes with his tongue deep inside you, touching you in all the tender ways he knows how.

“Yeah,” he breathes with a nod, the word heavy on his tongue. “That’s what I want.”

“You wanna own me, don’t you, Stevie?” you purr.

Your movements are calculated and cat-like as you mount him. Your hands caress him from his knees to his thighs, then rise up to his chest when you straddle his lap. “You wanna fuck me and make me forget about every guy that’s ever had me before you. Is that it?”

He nods, too dumb to speak for now. Your voice is all silk and heat. It reminds him of your wet, hot pussy sitting just over his lap. Only the thin layers of your clothes separate you from him.

“You wanna ruin everyone else for me, huh?”

“Fuck, yes,” he breathes, both in an answer and a moan as your hand reaches between you to grab his cock through his jeans.

“You already have,” you assure with a sincere twinkle in your eyes. “But feel free to remind me.”

When your mouths collide, it’s all tongue and teeth and spit. It’s not passionate, it’s dirty.

His tongue forces its way between your lips and into your mouth, rubbing every part of you he can reach with the muscle, like he wants you to feel all of him there — a lingering touch that you can’t get rid of.

Your mouths caress each other and then break apart again in acute, wet, and filthy clicks that fill the silence in the house.

His stubble softly scratches you as it rubs against your skin. The feeling of it sends chills down your spine. Fuck, you curse to yourself. It’d feel even better between your legs.

Steve separates from you suddenly, his teeth digging into your bottom lip. A whimper leaves your throat as he mouths at it. With hooded eyes, he lets it go and watches it fall back into place. Then he grabs your cheeks with two large palms and drags you back to him, sucking on the bitten skin and then on your tongue.

The sensation’s got you moaning, your eyes rolling back in your head, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Your obedient hands worm between your bodies to unbuckle his belt.

“You gonna be good for me?” Steve asks you while your fingers undo that button on his pants. His lips are pinker and more swollen, coated with a fine sheen of spit that matches what's smeared on his chin.

“I’ll be so good for you, Stevie,” you promise before reaching through the band of his underwear to wrap your fingers around his warm, half-hard cock.

A grunt escapes his throat as he slides your panties to the side. He’s suddenly grateful for the easy access granted by your dress — the one that makes your tits look like heaven, the one he was cursing just hours because it had Todd drooling all over himself when he saw you.

The thought of the man no longer angers him. He’s not the one with his finger between the lips of your pussy, already drenched and coated with you.

“Yeah? You want daddy to fill your hungry little cunt?” Steve asks you, almost taunting you. He only uses that nickname when he’s in a certain mood — the mood to ruin you.

The tip of his finger catches the peak of your swollen clit and you keen.

His touch makes you so stupid that you’ve already forgotten to answer his question. He makes sure to remind you, though, when his hand rears back and smacks against the bare flesh of your cunt.

You hear the wet slap before you feel it.

It makes you clench around nothing and moan louder for him, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Words,”he demands softly.

“Please,” you moan helplessly into his shoulder. You love when he gets like this, assertive and showy with the power you let him have over you. He gets mean with you, but never too much that you forget how much he loves you, and that’s when you like him best.

His finger slips so effortlessly into you. You could easily take more than that with the way your pussy is so eager to suck him inside. He knows it, too. He just wants to tease you.

He wants to leave you empty and yearning before he fucks you silly. For now, he’s taunting you with his slow and clinical touch, observing everything he’s doing to you and how it has you twitching and begging for more.

He wants to commit it all to memory.

He’s barely got the tip of his pointer and middle finger prodding at your clenching entrance; it’s your pussy that drags them further in, opening for him and then tightening around the appendages so they’ll never leave. The obscenity of it makes both of you moan.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” Steve mutters to himself. “And so fucking wet— enough for me to slip right in, don’t ya think?”

You’re not so sure but you nod into his shoulder anyway. Even after all this time together, you can’t quite get used to how big he is. He still has to work you up to take his cock, with three or more fingers shoved inside of you until you’re ready. Even then, it still burns for the first couple of seconds. There’s always a grace period that you have to wait for before he can move.

And you feel the ache of him in your belly after, every damn time. Like he’s still there.

But you’re so wet now, impossibly so, you don’t think you could feel a thing other than pure bliss when he nestles his cock deep inside of you.

You whine quietly when he pulls his fingers from you, though it turns into a breathy moan when you see them glisten with your wetness. He slides them over his length, jerking himself to lube himself up for you. Just for good measure, he grabs hold of his cock and rubs the rounded tip between your velvet lips, coating it further with your slick.

“Think there’s enough for me to take your ass tonight, baby?” he asks over your low moan. He has to hold back his own, grit his teeth to keep it from leaving his mouth. God, you feel exactly like silk. “You want me to fuck that tight little hole, huh? You’ve only let me in there, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer tightly.

He doesn’t know which question you’re answering. Probably all three. Or maybe you’re just moaning because he’s got you all stupid with his cock and it’s not even inside of you yet. Both seems most likely.

Steve positions himself against you. When you feel the bulbous tip of his head, you hardly wait to slide down, down, down upon his cock.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel full. It takes less time before he reaches the apparent end of you. The feeling makes you jolt against him, like your body’s trying to move back up and away from the sensation on instinct. He’s quick to grab your hips to keep himself inside you.

“Uh-uh,” he hums. “Don’t run away from me.”

“Fuck,” you moan into his shoulder and then whine. The pleasure and the accompanying ache has your head spinning. “You’re already so deep.”

“I know, baby. You gotta take all of me, though, okay? Said you were gonna me by good girl, remember?”

His coo is enough to comfort you. You nod against his neck and let him guide you further and further down his cock.

You grit your teeth when you think he can’t possibly fill you anymore. The burn peaks all at once and ebbs so quickly, letting the rest of his inches slide in you with ease. And, god, if you don’t feel him in your fucking throat.

He stills, thankfully, and lets you get used to the feeling of him all over again.

“There you go,” Steve praises like he always does and then laughs at how rigid you’ve gone. “Breathe, baby.”

The exhale comes out as a sob and a small “fuck”, but you force yourself to relax against him nonetheless. His warm hands rub soothingly against the buzzing skin of your thighs beneath the skirt of your dress. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

“I can feel you in my fucking guts right now,” you slur, voice fragile like glass.

Your words are almost enough to make him burst and you haven’t even moved yet. A deep, hearty groan climbs from his throat. He tips his heavy head to the back of the couch and clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the feeling.

He makes himself climb down from the peak of pleasure and quickly gain his bearings all over again.

“Ride me, honey,” he whispers you.

Immediately, you start rocking your hips against him. His sigh is blissful, almost dreamy, as he watches you work yourself on top of him.

You’re always so patient with your pleasure, so calculated and attentive. You slide your hips back over his thighs and then up again, moaning every time the material of his sweatshirt rubs against your clit. You’re not chasing the feeling, you’re letting it come slowly and ease its way up to you. You know you’ve got all the time in the world.

Steve has always admired your patience, but it’s never one he could hope to possess. He rides toward an orgasm on a white mare. He claims it, he hunts it, he snatches it. Because, you’re right, you’ve got all the time in the world — he wants you to come as many times as the night (or, rather, your pussy) will allow.

So it isn’t at all surprising when gets impatient with your slow movements. And when one hand falls to your ass and the other slides up your back and clutches the opposite shoulder, you know what you’re in for.

Even though you’re expecting it, a high-pitched moan spills from your mouth when he starts fucking up into you. He’s doing a whole lot more than just hitting the right spot. The rubbing of the fabric is unrelenting against your clit.

You’re always done for when he takes you like this. Both of you know it.

“You already close, aren’t you?” he manages through heavy pants over the lewd slapping of his thighs against your own. “This is all it takes, huh?”

“’S because of you,” you slur into the sticky skin of his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you moan.

He can feel himself getting closer and he groans through gritted teeth. The hand on your shoulder ascends to the back of your head. His fingers tangle in your hair and pull you from the refuge you’d found in the book of his shoulder. It allows him to see you for the first time since you’d mounted his cock.

Your cheeks are blotchy and glowing cherry. Your eyes are glassy and glazed over with pleasure. Your lips swollen from where you’d been biting at them.

Perfect, he thinks to himself.

He drags that hand to your chest, wrenching at the plunging neck and pushing it down to reveal your tits. They bound out of the fabric with ease, a small red and raw line at the tops of them from where the dress had kept them so tightly contained.

He palms at your left breast, digs his fingers into the fat of it and lets your hard and pebbled nipple rub against his palm.

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whines. It takes all of his willpower to keep his eyes open to look at them. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why I wore this— wanted your attention—” you confess through each of his thrusts.

“Yeah, you got my fucking attention, sweetheart,” he manages a breathy laugh.

His heart swells at the thought of you picking this dress because you thought he might like it. That you’d think of him doing something as mundane as picking what you wore out to the bar you went to every Friday night.

It gets too easy to want to slip into that softness. But he knows that you’re already close. So, so fucking close.

“Now come all over my cock for me, yeah?” he demands softly. “Cream on this dick and show me how good you are.”

And, like the good girl you are, don’t need to be told twice.

You shudder against him and then go rigid. He watches with a proud, lazy grin as you tip your head back, squeeze your eyes shut, and let your mouth fall agape. The feeling in your stomach builds and builds and builds, the pleasure disappearing for a moment, before coming back in an explosion that makes you gush.

As though your moans weren’t enough of a confirmation of your orgasm, you go so unmistakably tight around him that it makes his legs twitch beneath you. He angles his hips so he can peek between the two of you to watch the sheen of your cum glisten on his hard cock.

“God, you’re so fucking sensitive like this— holy shit.”

“Steve!” you whine when your high starts to fade and his thrusts only quicken.

He's chasing his own pleasure now, you know that, but the feeling against your abused pussy is growing into a nearly unbearable one.

You bite your lip so hard it’s a wonder you don’t draw any blood. You grip his shoulders and ball his sweatshirt in your fist, tethering yourself to him and to reality.

“Who’s making you feel this good, huh?” he asks with his chin jutted out to look up at you. “Who else can fuck you like this?”

You can tell by his glassy eyes and erratic thrusts that he’s close to his own orgasm. He always wants you to talk him through it, to praise him and to tell him how good he makes you feel. For obvious reason, the whole thing comes terribly natural to you.

“Only you,” you promise tiredly. “’S just you, Stevie—”

“Fuck,” he spits and tilts his head to the back of the couch. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and brings his bottom lip between his teeth, never easing his impossibly swift thrusts.

“Want you to come in me,” you whisper to him. You rest your arms on his shoulders and drag your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and pulling every time he lets a moan slip. “Want you to come so deep inside me— I’m dripping for days—”

“Shit, baby.”

“And then, when I’m all round and full with your baby— everyone’s gonna know who I belong to, right?”

“Fuck yes,” he groans. “Gonna come so— fuck— so nice and deep in this pussy. My pussy.”

“Please,” you beg, like you aren’t half-delirious with your own pleasure. “Come in your pussy, Stevie.”

“Holy shit—” His cock pulses and twitches and then spits inside you. He grabs onto your hips more roughly than he intended and keeps you tightly pressed against him while he comes, giving you several long and warm ropes against your velvet walls. He whimpers when your pussy flutters around him.

You collapse against him when his orgasm comes and goes, rocking against his lap to get him through his high until he stops you with a firm squeeze to your thigh. You both sink further into the couch, swimming in the peaceful void that pleasure always pushes you into.

He rubs his hands beneath the skirt of your dress, petting your warm and sticky skin as the after-sex bliss rest heavily upon the both of you.

“Here,” he breaks the satin silence and taps at your hip. “Get off, baby. Let me get you some water or something—”

He feels you shake your head from where you’ve tucked it in his shoulder again. “Don’t wanna move. Want you to stay inside me.”

“Yeah?”

You’ve never done this before — cockwarming. He’s not sure if you have before, but he definitely hasn’t, and certainly not with you.

Before you, he was the kind of asshole that went to sleep right after sex. The thought of staying inside his partner never crossed his mind. But to his defense, none of his partners thought to do it either. Being King Steve and all meant there wasn’t a lot of cuddling going on after sex. It was usually one-and-done affairs, but he never did this with any of his girlfriends before either.

And now that he’s matured into a somewhat respectable adult, he takes great pride in taking care of you after, in cleaning you up and making sure you’re alright. And when you’re either falling asleep or wanting to shower, there’s no room to be kept inside you. Not until now.

“Wanna fall asleep like this,” you confess. The way you’re halfway slurring and settling more heavily against him tells him you’re not too far off.

“That’s not gonna be comfortable for you, baby,” he scolds softly. Because him — he’s perfect like this. He’s slouched in the plush cushion of the couch and you’re wrapped so tightly around him (in every possible way) you've become his own personal blanket.

But your back is hunched from where your neck is snug and pressed into his shoulder. You’ll likely wake up aching tomorrow, in more ways than one.

“Don’t care,” you mumble and sprinkle kisses to his neck, just because you can. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

“Forever?” he laughs tiredly.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You shift on his lap to look at him, exhaling a moan through your nose when you feel him twitch inside of you, even though he’s going steadily soft. Your gaze is innocent and yearning and knowing — hungry again. “Think you can take that, Harrington?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he promises with a sincere twinkle in his cinnamon colored eyes. “I can take it.”

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things #stevie oneshot #published by bug #st oneshots

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lum13 · 1 year

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In the moment.

Your first kiss with Wednesday Addams was under the rain. How romantic.

Wednesday Addams x fem! Reader

The mellow sound of the soft raindrops drumming against the umbrella tickled your ears, engulfing you into a trance-like state.

Crystalline beads of the droplets teased at your hair, sliding down until there was nothing left to linger on.

You let your eyes trace the raven haired girl’s features. Just a step away was the girl, who held onto the black umbrella in between the gap of the pair’s shoulders— which sometimes brushed against— sending electricity under your skin.

Her pigtails, too, had water drops that were yet to fall— and it shined like crystals under the moonlight.

The beams of silvery spotlight kissed her stardust-covered cheeks. Your lips parted from such splendor.

Her long eyelashes batted down, before fluttering open again. Only this time, the deep, dark pupil found yours. You breathed in the humid air, thrown into a spiral by her delicate stare.

The lock of your gaze onto hers only left a luscious taste on your tongue— making you lick your lips forlornly, eager for more.

Your eyes trailed down to her plush lips. Slowly and steadily, the sounds of the raindrops contrasting against the ground deafened at your ears.

The plum hue of her lips lured you into your racing thoughts once again— making you wonder, just how easy it was to lean in and claim her lips yours.

You could see the way her slender fingers gripped her umbrella. You felt the tip of your shoulders grow damp from it being an inch over the borderline of the shield that protected you both from the rain, but never dared to step farther in. It would result in Wednesday having to step out for you, dampening her shoulders.

So as the wet cloth clung onto your skin, you turned your head towards her, stealing a glance of her once again.

You halted when you realized that she had been watching you, too. With the whip of your head, her eyes met yours.

It left you breathless— let it be the scenery, or the way her gaze fell tender onto yours.

But it was beautiful, that moment. It only lasted a millisecond, but lingered on your mind for much longer— like a polaroid that was taken at just the right timing.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered. It was barely audible, and was marvel how she managed to catch that with the raindrops showering around you.

She didn’t say anything back, as her lips stayed shut. But you knew better than throwing yourself in a pit of despair.

Because you saw how her gaze turned impossibly soft by your words. How her body angled to you— welcoming you into her shy embrace. Tilting her umbrella back, she led you towards her, signaling you to continue.

So without a doubt, you chased after the shelter, pressing up against her, catching her lips in yours. Her lips were sweet on yours, sweeter than you’ve ever imagined.

Addicting. The taste of her lips was so addicting.

You felt a sudden drop of rain on your cheeks. Then another, then another. You didn’t have to look to acknowledge what had happened.

Wednesday’s hands reaching for your waist, she let the umbrella fall back, not caring about the way the rain fell on you both. It didn’t matter. Not when her lips were on yours.

You didn’t break away until you were gasping for air. Then you kissed her again, again and again.

Until the rain had enveloped you, swallowing you up in that moment.

I love rain and I love Wednesday. Perfect combo.

This is not proofread bc of my stupid headache :) I need some sleep.

#Wednesday Addams x reader #Wednesday Addams x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday Addams x y/n #Jenna Ortega x reader #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday x you

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bloodypeachblog · 1 year

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Random idea: here are the LOV as parents to your child. (this is written as female reader btw [no she/her, but pregnancy], so feel free to use your imagination!) [Also, this may be a long one, so I hope you got a few minutes]

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Dabi: Now this guy has no clue on how to be a good father due to his past, but what he does know is to not do what his dad did. When he finds out you're pregnant with his kid, he feels pissed off at first, but after thinking it over, he decides that he's okay with it. When you try to do something, he'll go and do it for you, out of frustration/annoyance and calls you a 'dumbass' for not asking him. He goes with you wherever you go as a 'bodyguard'. He relishes in the fact that he can use this as ammo against Endeavor, being a better father than his ever was. When he holds the baby for the first time after its born, he'll never show it (maybe a little grin), but this man has melted and he is smitten over his child. He's not one for baby talk or peekaboo, so he talks to his child like an adult, nix the cursing of course. When he and his child are alone, he tells it stories about his childhood and how he doesn't want them to go through what he did.

Verdict: emotionally distant, but an okay father.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Spinner: Totally clueless, he's still practically a child himself. When you tell him you're pregnant, he wonders how the hell that happened (he doesn't know how deep his quirk affects his genetics) and worries about how the kid will be treated if it ended up looking like him and if he'll be a good father or not. Poor lil ball of anxiety. You have to calm him down by telling him you'll be there to help and that no one is a perfect parent and that's okay. After calming down, he soon grows to the idea of having a little him or you around. He will constantly ask you how you're feeling and if you need anything, just a nervous sweetheart. Your pregnant belly is his favorite pillow to rest his head on while he's playing games. When he feels a kick, he feels a bit of satisfaction knowing that he put that in there. Once the baby is born, he is surprised that it's fully human. The minute he holds the baby and sees that it has his eyes, he starts crying, but tries to be manly about it. Little one grows up not being afraid of lizards or snakes because of their daddy. Spinner has his kid in his lap or sleeping on him while playing video games, gently putting them on a pillow nearby before raging over a loss in the game.

Verdict: worried but good gamer dad

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Twice: Oh man, this guy. You tell him you're pregnant, he is over the moon, hugging and kissing you. You're a seen how he acts around Toga, so you had no worries on his abilities. He'll be present at every doctor's appointment (or at least ask you many questions about them or have toga go with you if he can't make some of them) and you two have so much fun picking out names for it. This guy will be so protective of you that it's adorable and he will be your servant, doing whatever you ask. When he sees the baby for the first time, he is immediately in love. He will be a blubbering mess when he holds them. He does all the baby talk and peekaboos and is not ashamed of it. Later on, these two are inseparable. Partners in crime. (Seriously, this man deserves to have a loving partner and family after all the shit he's been through).

Verdict: all-time Dad of the Year award recipient

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Mr. Compress: Awkward dad. He never thought about having kids, didn't even want any. Until he met you. When you tell him you're pregnant, he is overjoyed. If this man treated you like a princess before, you have been upgraded to queen/goddess status. He is your servant; man will not let you lift a finger. Deep down, he is panicking over what to do or how to be a dad. But once he has his child in his arms, the yellow man is a mellow man. In love right away. Loves to show the baby little magic tricks, which earns him giggles and smiles, the best reaction. Lil one is his #2 fan, #1 being you, but it's a close call.

Verdict: may start out awkward, but soon becomes a good dad.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Shigaraki: okay, we all know the trauma he went through. When he finds out you're pregnant, he gets angry. The kind of anger where he has to walk away before unleashing it, but not before having an argument with you. But you know that deep down, this man is terrified. He wants to be happy, but is too scared of hurting the little one or it hating him. You console him and tell him that things will work out alright and that you'll be there with him to help. All he does after that is lay his head on your belly and start crying. He'll later on brag about you being pregnant to his colleagues. He will have other people, if not him, do anything you ask. If anyone tries to hurt you or the baby, their ass becomes ash. Is a bit weirded out when he feels the baby kick for the first time. Once that baby is born, he falls to pieces, ready to die for this child. Baby can be seen playing with one of Shiggy's severed hands at some point and Kurogiri babysitting it once in a while. That kid will grow up to be Shigaraki's little apprentice, someone wanting to be just like their daddy.

Verdict: not the best dad in the world, but he's trying. Does a much better job after his awakening. Just keep the baby away from AFO.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

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stevenssticks · 8 months

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I'M GOING THROUGH A BRAINROT THINKING ABOUT VIRGIN EARLY METALLICA JAMES HETFIELD

Our boy didn't had the best parents and as the Man himself Said, he grew up being way too sheltered from the world so Can you guys imagine How fucking pent up, excited and desperate This Man might have been to get his First lay?

And his first lay Being his dear girl best friend, literally the only girl who he knows that's not with him because of the Band because she's been there pretty much since day one for him, growing up together, living Just some houses away from each other and hanging out almost all day everyday until and helping him with his struggles back home.

Needless to say that James Fell First and fell hard and he has been like This since you guys were 15 at least (bro had been simping for longer than he would like to admit), even If he took notice of the way that you made him feel back in those years, It was easier to blame puberty....but things didn't mellow out after This at all, in fact, It only got worse as the years went by, the wholesome daydreaming of curious childish kisses turning into wet and sticky nights where our Young man would be haunted by the most lascivous and erotic dreams with his sweetheart that would lead to him eventually losing sleep and spending almost the whole night desperatly touching himself, chasing after a relief that never seemed to really saciate him completely, not even porn magazines or tapes could help him out because they weren't his girl (possessive baby before even making the First move)

It took him Being away for some time, getting the band stuff going and coming back to his Sweet friend all Grown up and more than eager to welcome him back home to finally break

He would be so desperate for her, so pent up and aroused by her simply embracing him in a hug that he couldn't help the groan that left his mouth as he burried his face on the crook of her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her impossibly close to his body, much to her joy that finally realised that all These years he was in love with her as much as she was in love with him, she Just didn't expected to Discover This via a raging boner poking against her tummy

(Someone pray for his sweetheart, our boy still don't know he's a bigger and thiccer than the average)

this just made me let out a noise that i will never let myself live down omg......

james would be allllll over you when he finally gets you in his bed. desperately pawing at you barely even getting his pants down to fuck you. he would be moaning in your ear telling you how good he feels and how he's waited for this for so long. how much he loves you and wants you to really feel it. he would fuck you into the mattress bc hes so wound up and feral for you but oh does he love on you the whole time. chests pressed tight together, your legs around his waist and ur holding his hands at the sides of your head<3333

him cumming embarrassingly quick and just going down to eat your pussy after bc he didn't make you cum and he needs to see it. needs to see you fall apart for him. and then he gets hard again bc our baby has STAMINA okay he's like 19-20 ish, and winds up rutting into the bed until he cums for a second time while he sucks on your clit until you lock your legs around his head and cum into his mouth.

young james young james young james

#asks and replies #metallica #james hetfield #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader

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livwritesstuff · 4 months

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Okay so, do you headcannon any of the girls as also being LGBTQ? If so which one (s)

yeah i've put a normal amount of thought into this? hopefully?

mostly because, as an lgbtq person who was surrounded entirely by straight adults, I sometimes wonder how being raised by queer people affects your perception of being queer yourself. if any of y’all were raised by lgbtq people, pls weigh in because i’d truly love your input, but i have to imagine that at a minimum, you might have a totally different view of sexuality in general. it might not be a whole thing or whatever for them to date girls as well as or instead of boys because not only are they being raised by two dads, but they're also close with their aunts Robin and Nancy, and practically half of their other aunts and uncles are queer in some capacity too, so being lgbt was never "out of the norm" for them.

i also think that “psychology guy”-steve took a “psych of gender” class in college (it actually would probably have been called something like “women’s psych” at the time but the coursework would be the same-ish) that changed his entire life, and he made sure that he and eddie weren’t raising their daughters to fall into those gender role traps. The girls played with toy trains and cars as much as they played with their pretend kitchen, didn’t get scolded for roughhousing unless someone was getting injured for real, and were always allowed to explore whatever interests they wanted without any regard for whether or not it was a "girl thing".

All in all, I think the girls just go through life liking who they like and not making the who part of it a big deal.

Anyway, to answer your actual question –

Moe is gay. 100%. Also – anyone who read this and caught a vibe between her and Gray. Y’all are spot on. I don’t think they’d date in high school though; it’d be more like the situation in this tiktok.

I feel like Robbie is the kid who tried on different labels like hats in high school, but once she hit her college years and mellowed out a little bit, she landed on ol’ reliable queer and stuck with it. She does date cis men, and could probably label herself pansexual if she wanted to, but she’s also pretty much the physical embodiment of this tiktok trend, so it’s rare for her to find a guy she can tolerate dating longer than a month (much to Steve and Eddie’s relief).

Also, if any of them experience any kind of gender fuckery, it's probably Robbie, but again, her dads never made gender a big deal growing up so she kind of just rides the wave of it as it comes (and plays around with her gender expression quite a bit – Frankie from Better Things vibes perhaps?)

I’m on the fence about Hazel. She could def give femme lesbian energy, but I also v much enjoy the idea of Steve and Eddie sweating over finding out she has a boyfriend. Bisexual maybe? idk idk i’ll keep you updated

#mayhaps hazel gets a girlfriend but moe and robbie gaslight their dads into thing she's dating a guy just to drive them insane #moe: i think hazel's dating someone #steve: name?#moe: idk something like jamie #steve: ...is jamie a boy or a girl #robbie: do you really wanna know the answer to that?#steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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sussysluttyscorpio · 1 year

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Libra Placement Observations

(This picture doesn't belong to me in any way) (These may apply to 7th house placements too. Please tell me if it does)

Libra Sun:

~I've said it before and I'll say it again. Libra Sun is the least worst debilitated placement amongst all other debilitations. Okay, don't thrash me in the comments just yet. Hear my explanation out first.

Imagine looking at the sun. You can't, right? Exactly. It's too bright for your eyes. Sun is exalted in Aries, meaning, it is the brightest in that particular sign BUT Sun is debilitated in Libra, meaning, it can't shine as bright and is rather dull than all other signs, i.e., it is easier to look at. It doesn't hurt your eyes, it's rather pleasing to your eyes than when Sun is in other signs.

This is why manyyyyyy celebrities or even the popular kids at school generally have Libra Sun (Strictly Sidereal). They are pleasing to look at, a soothing balm to your eyes.

~Libra Sun people are ✨gifted✨ when it comes to Art. Any sort of art: Dance, Music, Painting. Generally, I've noticed them to be good in painting but yes, some art form. They have a knack for it.

~Libra Sun people are very diplomatic? Balanced? They are allergic to conflicts? I mean, they do stand up whenever required, and are not scared of bitch slapping someone. When I say they hate conflict, I mean they are the people least likely to start a conflict out of boredom or start ruckus. Well, at least not deliberately. Haha. (unless there is an aspect of Rahu/Mars on it)

~And why the hell are Libra Sun people sooooo prettyyyy. Like, every time I meet a pretty girl, she's mostly a Libra or Leo something. Popular, Pretty.

~Libra Sun gives me Elena Gilbert vibes from The Vampire Diaries. The way she actually gives selfless vibes but everything ends up revolving around her. The way it feels like she wants to give up for others but everybody ended up giving up their everything for her.

~Since Sun represents our ego, Sun being in Libra, in the sign of its enemy Venus, we could say that a person might face with a lot of bruises on their ego since Sun, the king, is now a mellow, soft person. Sun has lowered down, it's at its lowest. A sunset. Meaning, your partnerships, friends, maybe romantic partners might bruise your ego in some way.

After all, it is a debilitation for some reason. The adversities are going to be there. Oh and why the bruising ego? This is because Libra Sun people have high, and I mean HIGH, tendencies to look for validation elsewhere.

They don't feel enough if they don't receive this validation from either their peers or their loved ones. It's what keeps them going. Like a response that this is the right way, that 'their' way is the right way.

As a result, I'd suggest, not confirm, not declare, SUGGEST that these people may suffer from self esteem issues, maybe in their formative years. That is why certain Libra Sun people may have a reputation of 'pick me' because they crave validation and, erhm, they may go to quite some extents to receive that.

For example, Dan Humphrey from Gossip Girl. The poster kid for Libra Sun. Validation= creating Gossip Girl. Going to any extent= putting up just anything on there for everyone to see for the sake of I don't even know what.

But like I said, this may happen just in the formative years. They grow more mature with time since Malefic planets (like Sun) improve as time passes.

Libra Moon:

~Well, Libra Moon: An easy aspect since Moon feels comfortable in under the rulership of Venus, making the influence of Venus on Moon or the mind very apparent as these people love "love". Ah, what I mean to say is they love the idea of love, not just romantic but also platonic, or harmonious.

~One thing you will find common in every Libra placement is the concept of harmony, peace, love and balance. Some might say that there's justice also but that's a concurrent theme of Aries people too so, I won't talk about it here. (though I will wherever necessary)

~Ah, well. Libra Moon people are excellent mediators or middlemen. I can guarantee that without no doubt. You guys can actually be the "break the ice" dude in you friend circle. Or the "mom" of the group. Not even kidding. Like, I can BET on this one.

I mean, one person who can actually survive a trio is a Libra Moon person. Trios break like crazy quick but Libra Moon person, they'd be like "Hold my cup and you two? Sit." They'd resolve the conflict so swiftly, I'm like "mommy, where were you my whole life?"

~Well, I don't know if it's even an observation but you don't want a casual relationship much, that just bores you. You want a love whose presence makes your heart thump out of your body, who shallows your breathe, who makes goosebumps trail your skin with their touch.

Basically, these people aren't too prone to be playboys/playgirls. They like passion or they'd be much happier being single. If they feel they don't love someone, they'd leave that person because according to them, what's the point of a relationship with no love. "I'd rather be single and sad than tilly-tally with some guy who doesn't make my heart race."

~It's like, their life is on an auto-pilot and they enjoy life being that way. Relaxed. Not obsessing over and wanting to exert their control on people/situations. Just going with the flow, as long as no one oversteps the boundaries Libra Moon person has drawn, they pretty much love their peace.

~Why do Libra Moon people have a thing for Aries placements?

~Also an advice, don't make the perfect image you've drawn of yourself in your head screw with the real person you are. I know you want to be the most aesthetically pleasing person or the prettiest girl ever or the most charming guy ever, but if you take these wishes too personally to your heart, you'll create a disharmonious whirlpool in your head which will suck your peace in and leave you scarred.

Libra Mercury:

~I guess you know by now what I am going to say about this placement. haha.

~I'll start with an example before I start rambling about you guys. Oh and if you want me to change my style of writing observations, do let me know so I can keep writing the way I do. haha. (Cardi B vibes)

~Okay so, when I say Libra Mercury, I picture a period drama with corset-wearing women who speak with great calmness, soothingness and elegance. Someone without a single rude nerve on their tongue.

Like when we say that certain person's voice just brings peace to my heart, for me or according to me, they classify as Libra Mercury.

~But, if I put my picture of Libra Mercury in today's generation, I'd say maybe scratch out the elegance part. I mean, I don't wanna stereotype. Women or people, they cuss. Everybody these days cusses but I'd, umm, maybe word it this way.

You probably won't hear a Libra Mercury person cussing out in a way which would make the angels cry. I just maybe don't want to picture that but I don't know. Maybe I'm biased. (Let me know if I am)

~Balancing act is 2nd nature of any Libra placement. Great lawyers, diplomats, counsellors, basically people working in dispute solving scenarios, such cases, Libra Mercurians have quite an advantage to be very honest. They know how to say the toughest of things in the most neutral syntax ever.

Ever heard Anna Hathaway talk? She's a Sidereal Libra Mercury and goodness does that woman calm my very existence. The mannerism, the tone she addresses people with. Sheer elegance.

Like, they aren't very direct with their speech, the way diplomats aren't. They'll convey their point across with such subtlety that would leave their message loud and clear and yet amazed at how they worded it so gracefully.

~Back to the balancing act, I guess Libra Mercury people wouldn't prefer a partner who is very harsh spoken. They, again, love harmonious speech. Balance. Don't underdo or overdo. They won't obsessively message you, like spam you, but they won't either ghost you off too. Just like the scales. Balanced.

~And, somehow, they always end up saying the most pleasing things. They can lie too due to their people pleasing tendencies if the mercury is afflicted. Like, the sweet talkers. The people who 'talk' their way to the top. Reminds me of a certain Libra Mercury. Any guesses?

Kim Kardashian. Yes, she's a Libra Mercury and yes, she definitely seems like a sweet talker to me. Ever noticed how her voice is a little higher pitched than her sisters? It's the influence of Venus on Mercury as being in Libra. Venus is a feminine planet.

But, it's different than Taurus Mercury, mind you. Taurus Mercury have a low pitched yet soft voice. Libra Mercurians could have a high pitched voice.

Take for example:

Zendaya. She's a Libra Mercury baby. Excellent voice. Ever heard her high notes? Superb. And then take. Adele. She's a Taurus Mercury. Oh god, I just loveeee her voice. Like, ugh😮‍💨

Now compare the two's voices. Zendaya's is like raspy, sooth. Adele's is like strong, firm and piercing my dying heart.

(Okay. I feel like I'm digressing away from the topic now so that's about it for now)

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salty-an-disco · 24 days

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How 'bout ❤️‍🔥 for however many vessels and\or voices ya wanna do?

❤️‍🔥 A romantic headcanon

Gonna use this ask to list off and gush about all the ships that haunt my brain. and also add a random headcanon about them lol

ContraHero: OTP of all time, literally akmskdidkdkdkejd. The way Contrarian mellows out in strange beginnings and how fond Hero seems to be of that. And I also think they balance out each other really well, with Hero keeping Contra grounded and reminding them their efforts to be more responsible aren’t in vain and with Contra reminding Hero that he can loosen up and have fun. And also how Hero being agency and Contra being individuality and how that fits together and how they both can make up the heart and AAAAAAAHHHHH. (I am insane about these two). Uh, headcanon: Hero calls Contra sunflower and Contra calls him buttercup <3

ParaCold: Secondary OTP. You WILL see them in most of my works lol. Just. the way they balance each other out and how Cold can help Paranoid stay calm and focused and Paranoid reminding Cold his emotions do affect him, how they constantly challenge each others view, pushing the other to grow and be better URGH. Headcanon: Cold can easily pick Paranoid up, and likes doing it just for the heck of it. Paranoid is always Confused by that happening, but also doesn’t mind it.

Ghost Lily | Witch/Spectre: The princess ship I most invested in tbh aoksskdkmx. Not quite an OTP, but getting there, I feel like. Just. Think about it. Spectre’s honest and understanding nature would very easily get through (heh) all of Witch’s walls, and I can see them bonding after a while of hissing and scratching at the fuckin’ ghost haunting her! They’re also both very witty and somewhat playful and. just imagine the banter iamsdkmdkkdmekd. Headcanon: Once their relationship develops enough, Witch offers to let Spectre possess her so that she can feel real sensations for 5 minutes (and 5 minutes only!).

Skeptunist: Hear me out– Skeptic might just be the only person who could poke and prod at Oppy’s 457 masks with gentleness and understanding so that he doesn’t completely fall apart at the prodding. I can see Oppy slowly becoming more comfortable in Skeptic’s presence and even beginning to appreciate all his quirks and traits besides being ‘the smart guy’. Headcanon: Oppy almost cries during their first kiss.

Bare Root | Thorn/Wounded Wild: I don’t necessarily see them as a romantic pair, but I need to talk about these two, they occupy a special spot in my brain. Just. IMAGINE. A burned down forest that was once the Wild, now left to wilt and rot and she can’t do anything about it. In comes Thorn, who’s just seeing if there’s anything worth saving in what seems like wasteland and finds Wild instead. She immediately goes to her, sympathizing with her position as stuck in a bunch of dying roots, and helps her get out and takes her to another, younger but healthy, forest. One they tend after and help grow together. Just. IMAGINE. Headcanon: Wild is the one who named Thorn ‘Poppy’ and Thorn calls her ‘Lady Nature’.

#slay the princess #contrahero #paracold #stp ghost lily #skeptunist #stp bare root #stp headcanons #stp voices #stp princess #mailbox #sal rambles

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desceros · 5 months

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You & GB are RUINING me with your blurple villain Leo au How dare you sirs?! You've turned me absolutely feral a slobbering bitey mess /pos

Unfortunately for you activating my hyperfixation also means activating my obsessive brain spinning... Questions be upon ye!!!

Did Lamb-chan grow up with Donnie? How did she first meet villain!Leo? What did she do/say that flipped Leo from "you're a pretty dumb innocent little lamb huh" to "you're *mine* I am keeping you forever"? How did Donnie react the first time Lamb-chan came home smelling like Leo? Is that what snapped his control, the moment his instincts drove him to finally (thoroughly) demonstrate just how well he can take care of her? How did Leo react the next time he saw Lamb-chan & she smelled like Donnie?

I humbly submit these questions in the hopes that you may see fit to give me any crumbs nay even specks of delicious brain food that can be spared 🙏 pls & ty 🙏🙏

[after i gush for twenty minutes about how this is all their fault for enabling me] oh man i love questions

EDIT THIS GOT SO LONG. OH MY GOD. IM PUTTING IT UNDER A CUT also hi @gbao3 <3 please add your thoughts to this as well

so it aaaaaaall started with this post, with leo being the wolf and donnie being the sheep dog.

as such, you're childhood friends with donnie, since sheep dogs grow up with their sheep. i imagine he's basically always been a little in love with you, but it hasn't always been... ah... healthy? like. when he was young it was that kind of 'when we grow up let's get married bc we're best friends' love. and then as a teenager it became kind of an obsession. doesn't the world know how important you are to him? can't you see how dangerous it can be without him to protect you?

it's during this stage that he's maybe a bit self-destructive with it, literally at one point putting himself between you and another mutant, ending up with him having the scars on his shell. he mellows out a little as he grows older, to the point where now it's just a fact of his life that he's in love with you and there won't ever be anyone else; it's less of a fire inside of him and more just. yeah. duh? of course i love them and would die for them? zzzzz next question. but he's still very much the kind of person who asks you your itinerary down to the fifteen minute mark when you leave so he can make sure to know exactly when you'll be home.

i suspect that as lamb-chan, as much as you also love donnie, that can get a little, uh. overbearing. to say the least. i think that you have a habit of slipping out from time to time (since you live at the lair where donnie is always always always watching), just to breathe, to get away from it a little. the world looks a little different without donatello at your side, after all, and you're a little curious. so maybe you wander a little too far, sometimes.

and leo. god. leo is a breath of something that feels like air, but you're not sure what it is.

i don't have the exact first meeting pinned down in my head, but i do have this mental image of him sitting on a fire escape, one knee bent up to his chest and the other hanging down the side, a toothy grin on his face as he mockingly asks what a soft little thing like you is doing on this side of town. and you see him and you're just like, oh. he. he looks a lot like donnie. so you're a lot less scared than you probably should be, and that—that fascinates him. what kind of world do you live in where he's all but a perfect picture of the underbelly of the world, and you smile at him?

what would it take for you to look at him like everyone else does?

so he invites you to come back again. and you, well, you're just like. wow!! friend shaped!! so you do. but this time leo's not on the fire escape. he's on the ground, and he circles you a bit like a predator would. he's looking for you to be uncomfortable; to be afraid. but he made one small mistake; the shape of his smirk, now that he's close, is eerily familiar. it looks so much like donnie's, you could swear the two were twins. and it makes it so, so hard to be anything other than curious. mikey and raph don't look so similar to donnie, after all. why does leo?

so it continues like that until one day, leo says something and you laugh. and that—that hits him like a bludgeon to the chest. it's not like any laugh he's ever had directed at him before. and when you open your eyes, wiping away the amused tears, your gaze is so fucking soft. in that moment, leo realizes that he's hungry. and you—you look like you'd taste so. good.

meanwhile donnie is like. no really. where the fuck are you going. and one day he follows you and who the fuck is this guy with his arms around you. (but i think i'm going to leave that one for another day bc i have a nice one-shot in my drafts folder about how that'd play out)

#ask tag #blurple villain au #pspspspsps gb come and talk blurples with me #yes yes i know i should be working on symphony I COULDNT RESIST. I GOT AN ASK ABOUT THE BRAIN WORM AU

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gemini-sensei · 11 months

Text

Imagine if chubby!Reader joins Cobra Kai because she likes Hawk - when he's still in Cobra Kai - and wants to impress him. She's a really good fighter and easily learns karate, but sometimes gets a little distracted by him and daydreams. She's a natural Cobra, but a bit of a dreamer.

However, nothing she does seems to catch Hawk's attention. He doesn't pay her much mind no matter if she wins her sparring matches or perfects a really cool move. He doesn't congratulate her or even seem to notice. She doesn't know what else to do to get his attention...

That is until Tory spells it out for her.

"Juat tell him," she says, rolling her eyes.

Reader blinks, coming back to reality after getting lost in another daydream as she watched Hawk train across the room. She looks at Tory confused. "What?"

"Tell Hawk that you like him," she reiterates, a little irritated. She crosses her arms over her chest, pausing her own training. "It's the only way he's going to figure it out."

"Oh no, I-I can't do that."

"Why not? It's literally so easy."

Reader doesn't know how to explain how she has difficulty explaining her emotions. Most of the time, she can't find the right words, especially when she's overwhelmed. No matter of she's happy, sad, angry, it's just had for her to communicate those feelings. It makes her anxious when she has to do so and she ends up frustrated more than anything.

So she shakes her head and continues stretching, hoping that the conversation will pass. Tory just rolls her eyes and drops it, muttering to herself before continuing to lay into the punching bag.

After training, everyone decides to hang out. They go to the mall to get food and chill, maybe check out what the shops have to offer. It's subpar, but it's a great way to wind down after a day full of focused training.

Reader takes a moment to excuse herself to use the restroom, but when she comes back to the table, she hears the the guys talking about her.

"I'm serious, she has the biggest crush on you, man," one guy says with a laugh, looking at Hawk with a teasing grin. "Reader is, like, in love with you."

"It's true," another boy laughs. He claps Hawk on the back. "She's stares at you, like, all the time with little lovey dovey hearts in her eyes."

The table erupts with laughter and Hawk rolls his eyes. "Stop messing around."

"We're not," the guy says, then seeing Reader making her way over. As she reaches the table, he gives her a big, mean smile. Then he asks loudly, "Reader, isn't it true that you're in love with our good old pal Hawk?"

She feels the heat rise to her face as the guys laugh. It feels like a thousand jabs from spears are being poked into her chest, all at once. Anxiety starts to grow there and she can't get it to mellow out. It festers.

As the boys howl with laughter, Hawk doesn't. He stares Reader down, waiting for an answer. She doesn't look at him for a long time, petrified as she stammers. Then their eyes meet and she starts to tear up.

"Oh come on, Reader were just messing with you," one of the guys says and shoves her arm jokingly. She barely feels it, because his words hurt worse. "Don't be such a baby."

She sniffles and wipes her eyes, but the next round of tears fall anyway. And the boys jeer at her and laugh, and Hawk sits there and watches. He doesn't say anything as she's taunted and teased for liking a boy...

She gets up harshly and it's then that Tory realizes the commotion from the table is not a good one. But before she can get to Reader's side, she's gone.

Reader leaves, uncaring if one of them is her ride home.

She feels utterly embarrassed, mortified, singled out.

She never wants to show her face at the Cobra Kai dojo again, so she quits.

After all, she had only joined because of Hawk... and he didn't care.

#angst thoughts #angst blurbs #hawk moskowitz x chubby reader #eli hawk moskowitz #hawk moskowitz x reader #hawk moskowitz #eli moskowitz x chubby reader #eli moskowitz headcanons #eli moskowitz imagine #eli moskowitz x reader #eli moskowitz #cobra kai #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai x chubby reader #cobra kai x plus size reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #gemini sensei

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lazywriters-blog · 1 year

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Hope that doesn’t sound like a request but I’d love to hear some of your thirst thoughts about yandere Eren!

Oh! I never thought I would see this day.

Eren in his youth pursued after his darling with an indifferent look staring at times without meaning to, surely Mikasa has noticed, and occasionally while training, he will grin when his darling is down sometimes even getting on top of her to further cement his victory. He's teasing her at dinner, and he's closer to her at night, sneaking ways to plant his hand on hers, if she is lucky and Mikasa is around to discourage any intimate activities, Eren will groan and huff and depart with lingering intentions, he's pushy like that, he's impulsive and chances are during a hopeless struggle, he'll just force a kiss on his darling because no way she turned her back to him after he confessed, he'll trail after her every fight and the darling has to tackle both surviving the titans and avoiding Eren.

Occasionally there are exceptions, his darling might allow him to embrace her and not squirm or fight her way out of it, and it's almost magical if only his grip wasn't so tight, and their bodies are so close his darling might try to leave one way or another after the stress is all cried out.

I feel like he'd be the type to force out a relationship even if his advances are ignored, and might blatantly declare the two of them are more than friends, and nobody better touch them, or else he'll answer them with his fists. Will pull his darling to come along in battle so that he can protect her, and a glaring change will take place, he's so mellowed and he'll think for a moment before jumping into a dangerous game of life and death.

Positive changes will occur.

Throughout the struggles, his darling will grow to tolerate and bond with him because he's not leaving her all by herself, and if the darling has had a tough past, his company might be appreciated. For not leaving her alone and sticking by her and being ready to die with her at every second.

But if there's resistance from her after a long time, he will forcibly tie a relationship with her, he doesn't care he loves her and they both will stay together till one of them dies or is eaten by a titan, but Eren will never let his darling be swallowed whole, he's sworn to protect her after all, he can't see her be eaten by one of those things.

For the duration of their twisted relationship, Eren and his darling are inseparable, he doesn't let her stray away from him, and if she's adamant about avoiding him or running away from him, he will chase her down and he will shout about it, grabbing her and keeping her to his side. He's bound to get possessive as time goes on.

And obsessive if his darling has been successful in evading him.

Before he leaves to complete his bigger goals, he will impregnate her to make sure she doesn't find anybody willing to love her, because they've already got an attachment to each other, why break it? And if she gets pregnant, it's better for both of them. The only problem is he might not be around for her the further down they go.

It's a curse.

So he has to do what he can to make sure his memory is ingrained into his darling's mind.

Also, while we are on the topic of Eren, titan-eren is hot-

I mean, it's a little confusing but I think Eren in his titan form is terrifying, and imagine having a big humanoid creature towering over you and reaching its hand toward you, that's not a sight for the faint-hearted. He'd always attempt to grab you and shield you from any harm and sometimes if the situation is dire, he might just pick you up and put you in his mouth.

But- but this is a question I've had since I've been brainstorming about yandere Eren, say while he's transforming and he's hugging his darling, would they both be bound by strands of muscles and such? I don't know that setting is almost scary, imagine that his darling is so close to him and his heartbeat is echoing around her, and she can't move since they are connected through the flesh. Another thing, he talks when he thinks so his darling might just be traumatized by hearing all his thoughts. I don't know if this is a big brain move or what-

But just my two cents! Take it how you will.

I apologize for the lateness of my reply I was so engrossed in thinking about stuff I forget, I apologize but I hope you enjoyed this short session with me.

#yandere imagines #yandere #yan yan #yandere drabble #Yandere thrist #Thrist thoughts #yandere eren yeager #yandere eren x reader #yandere eren #yandere attack on titan #attack on titan eren #attack on titan #eren yeager #eren x reader #eren yaeger headcanons #snk eren #yandere snk

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yuesya · 9 months

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Hi! I've read some of your QAs and i really like some of them, especially the one where Kenjaku possessed Shiki's body and one where Shiki is older than Satoru. Which made me think, what if in a different timeline, Satoru's and Shiki's age were the same? How much it would change their dynamic?

I'm swooning over all of the possibilities, there's just so many, like will Shiki attend Jujutsu school in Tokyo (same class as Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru) or in Kyoto? Imo I don't think it will be wise foe Gojo clan to allow their two most prized and blessed sorcerer in same school, but idk. With an older and a more mature Shiki, I wonder if she can caught all the red flags Geto flashed after Star Vessel arc, or maybe in this verse Riko Amanai merged successfully with Tengen because Shiki interference? So many possibilities 😭

Glad you enjoyed some of the AU ramblings going on!

In an AU where Shiki is the same age as Satoru... it would be obvious from the get-go that Satoru is the one with Six Eyes and Shiki isn't. And Shiki would always be 'second-best' to Satoru in practically all things, growing up together. As you might imagine, this breeds conflict between them, to the point where it's even more severe than the AU where Shiki is older, because this time the two are actively 'competing' with each other.

Satoru is arrogant, and Shiki is cruel. The two of them Do Not Get Along with each other, and neither is particularly fond of the other... for all that they begrudgingly acknowledge that the other person is the only person who gets them in a way no one else does.

Satoru attends the Tokyo school, and Shiki the Kyoto one. Her classmate is Kusakabe Atsuya.

Kusakabe does not have a cursed technique -all he has is raw swordsmanship and physical prowess, and he was eventually able to reach Grade One. His overall outlook is also a lot more closer to that of a 'normal person' rather than an 'eccentric sorcerer,' and he has a solid moral compass and decent head on his shoulders.

Shiki mellows out a lot after becoming classmates with Kusakabe. Turns out having a normal friend does wonders for a healthier, positive mindset. Satoru also loses some of his rough edges after meeting Suguru, and Shoko.

I don't really see any Kyoto students making their way into the Star Plasma Vessel mission unless... maybe the Gojo Clan wants to call Satoru back for a meeting of some sort, after his mission? And Shiki is sent to pick him up by opportunistic elders looking to sow more discord. So Shiki arrives pretty much exactly as Fushiguro Toji makes his move. :)

#QA #zenith of stars au #Writing #same age au

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honeylikewords · 1 year

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bedrest (jack russell)

jack’s wife feels a little under the weather. (pregnancy arc!)

(warnings: sickness, very brief mentions of nausea and vomiting, mentions of food, and, obviously, indications towards pregnancy! just a short little fic about how cute jack is when he’s playing nurse; word count: 2.5k)

It starts with a heavy feeling around her temples. Her shoulders sit sorely, and the ache spreads all the way down to the small of her back. There’s a pressure behind her eyes. The core of her throat becomes sticky and swallowing suddenly is something she has to think about doing, and doing it sends sharp prickles radiating through her neck.

Now, hovering over the kettle as it rumbles to a boil, she can feel her head becoming foggy, growing faded; trying to have a clear, linear thought feels exactly the same as trying to run in a dream. A torpidity descends, and her attempts to lift the kettle and pour it into her mug are frail to say the least.

This kind of grogginess usually fades in the first hour of being awake, for her, even with the emergence of a somewhat regular nausea that she attributes to her recent attempts to quit caffeine. It also isn’t often accompanied by the other strains; this feeling has been lingering since late last night, and has carried over into the current noon. She’s trying not to let it worry her, but she has a worm of worry nibbling at her, telling her things are about to get a lot worse.

Her splashed tea sits on the countertop brewing as Jack comes into the kitchen, holding a pile of books and gesturing at them with all the excitement of a cartoon dog. He’d been fiddling around in the garage for the better part of the morning, having gone out before she even woke; the telltale sounds of boxes sliding and falling over one another (followed by his swearing) filtering back into the house had given him away. Now, he emerges, triumphant.

The grin he greets her with is unavoidably adorable-- the crook of his snaggletooth lends his smiles an eternal air of childlike glee, and it still turns her belly with butterflies, even after all this time-- and she tries to return it as he rounds furniture between them to come plop the stack next to her.

“I found the moving box our biographies ended up in,” he chirps, holding up one with a picture of Che Guevara’s face on it and wiggling it tantilizingly. “I can show you the part where--”

Jack slows himself, plainly noticing something off in the atmosphere. At times, it can be disturbing how perceptive he is; always her trusting, bouncy Puppy, she forgets that Jack is an old, experienced soul, and is keenly attuned to senses she couldn’t imagine possessing. Keeping secrets from him has never been an option, and whatever obliviousness he plays at melts away immediately, replaced by the his clear and instinctive observational nature. She’s being reminded of that nature, now.

His voice trails off, movement stilled, as he sets the book atop the pile on the counter and she feels an uncomfortable gnarl rise up in her tummy at the thought that Jack is somehow disquieted, off-put. She wants him to keep rambling about Cuban political history, even if she’s hardly in the headspace to digest it; she wants things to be normal, for nothing to be wrong.

She puts on an expression she thinks is close to reassuring, and turns to see that he’s scrutinizing her, green eyes coasting up and down, but lingering primarily around her face. Embarrassment flushes over her features as she tries to look away, somehow admonished, back towards her likely overbrewed mug when she feels Jack’s wide fingers gently slip under her chin.

“Look at me for a second, honey.”

His words ring soft; whenever he drops his voice into a low whisper like this, his accent becomes stronger, taking on a breathy quality that makes it stand out. His consonants mellow more, and there’s a languidity to his long, warm vowels, melting her resolve as he guides her chin, half with his voice and half with his hands.

He tilts her face back towards his, ever-so-lightly, and allows his thumb to brush her chin in a soothing arc when their eyes meet again. Now that she's facing him, she can see Jack's brows drawn in focus, his gaze studying every inch of her; his full upper lip parts from his lower one as he blows out a concerned breath, and she watches him as he guides her chin up with one hand and trails his fingers down along the tense sides of her neck.

"Your throat is swollen," he mumbles, gaze not breaking from her neck. "And here… how does this feel?"

He puts two warm digits against the pulse point below her left ear and presses, ever so lightly; she pulls a sour expression at the sudden awareness that there is pain underneath. Jack tuts something she can’t quite make out and apologetically rubs the breadth of his palm against her collarbones, sweeping from side to side and warming her clammy skin.

“That’s your lymph node, mi amor. ‘S not so bad, in terms of the swelling, but it’s not good, either…”

Turning over his hand, Jack presses the backside to her forehead and squints, trying to take her temperature. After a few fruitless attempts, he wrinkles his nose in frustration and puts his hands on her shoulders, squeezing together softly. She likes the pressure and the affection, but can’t help the twinge of pain that shoots across her face when she feels her sore muscles clench, and Jack notices.

“Oh, lo siento, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“You’re fine, Jack,” she manages, noting with no small share of resentment that her voice hurts to use. “I just have a knot in my shoulder or something.”

“You need to get to bed,” he says firmly, coming to her side and putting one hand on the small of her back and using the other to lift her hand, interlocking their fingers so he can guide her as he starts walking.

“I don’t need to-- I have tea, hon-- I’m really okay, I swear--”

All her fruitless attempts to babble something convincing are met with a stern glance from Jack, who continues walking up towards the stairs that will lead to their bedroom. She’s hardly putting up that much of a fight, all things considered-- she’d walked with him this far, and she’s letting him coax her up the first few steps, with his wide palm resting just above her hipbone and pushing lightly-- and her glances back towards the puddle of tea around her mug don’t dissuade him from his pursuit.

“You don’t need to be up,” he counters, effortlessly steering her up the curve in the staircase with all the genteel grace of a ballroom dancer, “And I’ll bring your tea. Or, actually, I’ll make you something else; that batch didn’t smell so good.”

She shoots him a pointed look, and Jack merely smiles entreatingly as he sweeps her up the last few steps and towards their bedroom door, left slightly ajar. His hands haven’t left her, and he strokes his fingers up and down the notches between her knuckles, smoothing over the skin there as he tips the door open with his shoe and he tugs her into the room.

Their spacious bed does look inviting. She’d forgotten to re-align the pillows and comforter this morning in her sluggishness, but somehow the rumpledness draws her further still, and Jack can see her strength of will ebbing. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth and he leans over, kissing her cheek.

“I want you to rest,” he says. “I’m worried, amorcita.”

“It’s not that… bad… didn’t you say so yourself?”

“The swelling,” Jack corrects, tugging her closer to the bed and lifting his one hand from her hip to pull the pillows from his side of the bed so that her stack will be taller. “I said the swelling wasn’t so bad. But, and I, uh, I don’t mean to be rude when I say this, mi hermosa, but, um…”

Setting her lips in a thin line, she glowers at Jack, who gives her a hangdog smile and gestures for her to sit on the edge of the bed. Obliging him, she does.

“You don’t look so well… Um, I mean, you are so, so beautiful, as always,” he stammers, fluffing the pillows in his discomfort, “But, you know, drained? It’s kinda dark around--”

He touches her face and traces the hollow under her eye with the pad of his thumb, giving her a sympathetic frown. She sighs; she’d known she looked a little worse for wear this morning, but was hoping it wasn’t terribly obvious. Yet another embarrassing reality she can’t hide from Jack, she supposes. But, still, Jack shows no signs of being embarrassed, himself, by her situation: instead, he hovers, as attentive as ever, as affectionate as usual. It remains a resolute comfort to her.

One tan hand lays itself on her shoulder and tenderly guides her into a prostrate position on the pillows, her head elevated as Jack bends down and lifts her legs into the bed. She could have done it herself-- she’s not that incapacitated-- but he seems intent, and watching him tend to her is a sight in and of itself. Once her legs are situated on the bed, Jack covers her in the comforter and strokes up the length of her side, fingers tracing the outermost edge of her over the blanket and coming to rest under her chin, where he again guides her into looking at him.

“I’m going to go make you something to drink,” he instructs, voice again low, “And something to eat. And then you’re going to sleep.”

His tone broaches no argument, but there’s a glint in his eyes; Jack’s a born caregiver, always looking for the chance to help, to support, to uplift. She wonders if, on some level, he likes when she’s sick so he can more openly dote on her, or if, maybe, her dizzy mind has spun off in some obtuse direction. Whatever the case, the reality of Jack’s lips on her forehead sets in, and she sighs contentedly at his touch.

“I’ll be right back, bebé,” Jack mumbles into her hairline. “You be good for me and stay here, yes?”

Some kind of agreeing hum issues out of her as she eases herself back against the pillows; she does have to admit, it feels good. As sore and taut as her body is, and as irritating as swallowing and breathing has become, it feels good to be here, in her bed, with her husband taking such measures to ensure her wellbeing. Knowing he cares, and cares enough to actually do something to improve her situation, however minimally, is itself a kind of balm to her wounds, and she lets her eyes close as Jack pulls back, trying to relax.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs. “Stay right there.”

She has no plans to move, really, but the praise is nice.

Jack ekes open the bedroom door, trying to support the tray in his hands while guiding the door with his hip; it’s hard to balance a full bowl of pozole and a mug of tea, surprisingly, as the liquid always wants to travel. Somehow, he manages, and quietly enters, smiling to himself as he’s met with a familiar sight.

His wife, prone in the bed, hair messy and limbs curled in on one another, deeply asleep. She’s buried into one of his pillows, and heavy, exhausted breaths slowly fill and escape her lungs as she burrows in, slightly, unconsciously. He wonders if she can smell him on the sheets the way he can smell her, and hopes that she can; her scent brings him endless comfort, and he wishes for her to feel that same comfort, especially now, in a time of need.

He sets the tray on the bedside table, clearing aside her accoutrements-- a few loose hair ties, a paperback, an off-schedule weekly caddy for vitamins-- and sits beside her on the bed, stroking the hairs that have stuck to the sides of her face.

She’s remarkably beautiful, in his estimation, even when crashed asleep and, yes, drooling into his pillow. There’s something eternally enticing to him, some quality that he lacks the poeticism and deft to describe. Decades of digesting art and he still finds himself at a loss for words, entrapped by the magnitude of his love. What can he say that she does not embody, herself?

Jack’s fingers brush against her cheeks, and she feels markedly hot: he’ll remember to bring in cooling pads and fresh water. He lifts one corner of the blanket to try and let some air in to hopefully stablize her temperature, somewhat, and as he does, he sees her belly, exposed from beneath her shirt.

He reaches in and settles his hand flat atop it, watching his broad palm cover her skin as it rises and falls with her breathing. In and out, up and down, Jack slowly curls and unfurls his fingers in time with her inhales and exhales, pulling his fingers in as she draws in a breath and splaying them out as she lets it go. He sits in absolute stillness as he practices, revelling in the sensation of her soft skin under his fingertips, the tiny brush of her itty bitty peach-fuzz hairs around her navel.

Distantly, when he breathes in, Jack can detect the tang of her stomach acid in the bathroom, and knows she must have gotten sick again this morning when she woke up. He tries not to let the thought run wild through his head and send him reeling, but he can’t deny the inkling of hope that’s growing ever more steadily inside himself.

All those articles and books he’s read over the years have indicated that this is very common-- a decreased immune system as her body devotes its energy towards a new kind of growth-- and that she would feel nauseous, tired, and even feverish in the very early stages. If, indeed, that is what these symptoms indicate; he tries again, in certain vain, to steer himself off the path of foregone conclusions. He has to be more patient, he tells himself, even as he strokes her belly and allows himself to imagine it rounder, firmer, higher.

Jack also allows himself to push the sheets back just a little bit further and lower his face to her tummy, kissing her bellybutton as lightly as he can.

“Be good,” he whispers. He wants to believe he’s only speaking to himself, but his smile can’t help but wriggle past his obstinate will and onto his face. He kisses her again. “For her, please.”

When she wakes, he’ll make sure she eats and drinks. He’ll massage her tired shoulders, if that’s what she’d like, and pop her aching back, then coax her back to sleep. But, for now, he pulls the covers back over her and sits still, tracing a hand along the curve of her sleeping jaw as he watches her dream, lost in one of his own.

#werewolf by night #wwbn #wbn #jack russell #jack russell x reader #marvel #jack russel #jack russel x reader #why do i keep including those misspelled tags. WHATEVER #point is! here's a new one!#it's WAY short (to me) but i am not feeling well irl so this was just a lil indulgence and we'll have a longer one soon >;3 #enjoy!!

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