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honeyspawn · 3 months

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Real talk, I think Frank Pricely is a genuinely really interesting character.

So when we meet him in Black Friday, he is basically a cartoon capitalist supervillain. He's obsessing over money, he is condescending to Lex, and we get the impression that he's Mr. Krabs level of money-grubbing shitty boss. He gets a whole song where he revels in how much money he's going to make, and shows ambivalence to how dangerous black friday shopping can be. Then Feast or Famine happens, and something... changes. There's a visible shift on stage when he and the audience realize that he is no longer in control that's genuinely really eerie. Put a pin in that, cuz I'm gonna come back to it.

When when we're introduced to him in "Daddy", we get a much more complete image of who he is as a character. It's not that he's not a greedy and condescending person, because he definitely is, but that's not the foundation of his character. When we see Toy Zone outside of Black Friday, we see that it's a struggling small business, and a genuine passion project for Frank. It's not that Toy Zone is a means for financial success, but financial success is a means to keep Toy Zone operational.

Then there's his relationship with Lex. He's definitely snarky and condescending, but he also actually cares about her, and sees himself as a parental figure to her. He gives her advice that he feels is in her best interest, and shows her a lot of the "tough love" that he thinks Sheila should be showing Sherman. Lex is even one of the people he says sorry too when he's about to die, because he worries that he failed her. While I do think Lex has some level of respect for him, I never really get the vibe that she sees him this way; she seems to think of him as more of a hard ass, and she would absolutely leave Toy Zone the minute a better opportunity comes up. Her job at Toy Zone for her is more about her need to take care of her family. And this is significant, because Frank is a very lonely person. After his dog Buddy dies, he has no family left. He reminisces on his parents, who didn't support his passions. He thinks of himself as a father figure to Lex, because he has nobody else left in his life. I'm not necessarily saying that he's a good parental figure to Lex, he can be pretty selfish, and even denied her for a raise once he could afford it, knowing she damn well needs the money. It's clear though, that he's trying to look out for her more than her actual mother (low bar as it may be), and on some level, he does think he's helping her. Because she's all he has. Her and Toy Zone, and he's about to lose that too.

This is why Sheila is so appealing to him. She represents not only financial stability, but a chance to not be alone. He doesn't love her, and I think he knows it, but he could learn to love her. He could have love and money, and if that doesn't work out, at least he'd have money. That's what he thinks anyway. But again, he's not the one with the power.

When we first see him in Black Friday, we initially think Frank represents the corporations, but he doesn't. He's a small business owner, and can only support his passion by participating in capitalism. He is a retailer, not a CEO. And that's what puts him in so much danger in Black Friday. Capitalism treats him as disposable. And that's how he dies. Frank was just as much under Wiggly's influence as anyone else. He lived a lonely life, and the business he's prioritized over forming any lasting bonds with other people is about to go down the toilet. Then this little green doll comes along that's supposed to fix everything. He doesn't want to keep the Wiggly dolls, but he still thinks they're going to fix the holes. And once he's served his purpose, Wiggly disposes of him. And that's what Sheila tries to do, too. The only reason he survives in Daddy is that Sherman decides he still has value. It's honestly really haunting how these stories mirror each other.

#this is such a long post sorry #i just feel like we don't appreciate how much went into the writing for Frank #and how well Corey sells the performance #starkid #team starkid #hatchetfield #black friday #nightmare time #nightmare time 2 #nightmare time daddy #frank pricely #corey dorris

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escaping-samsara · 4 months

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No-Nylon Sock Yarn

This might be the hardest task for knitting without plastic. I’ve gone to some local stores and snooped around online looking for sock yarn and every time I do I get the same canned response.

“You know those will wear out, right?”

It’s easy to find 100% wool yarn, even non-superwash (yes superwash yarn contains plastic), but you’ll be darning them often if you wear them very much.

So is it fruitless? Well no, there are non-plastic alternatives to nylon that can give a yarn strength, such as mohair and silk. There are construction techniques too that a good sock yarn should have regardless. High ply-count and longer fiber strands, for example. BFL wool is notorious for its longer staple length, so does corriedale and targhee. And if the ply is 4 or more it will make for a better sock yarn foundation.

The most trouble I’ve run into now has been finding yarns that can fit this bill.

I’ve spent the past week trawling through Ravelry’s advance search for yarn, and the process has been slow and insightful. The more particular I search, “silk OR mohair, AND wool, AND NO manufactured fibers, 4-ply OR 5-ply+, AND NO superwash, AND not discontinued”, the less results I get. But still, there are results.

One would expect, with a search this tailored, you’d have at least a list of options, but I’ve still hit roadblocks. These come in two main forms: insufficient tagging or unavailable for purchase.

I cannot count how many times I’ve found a yarn that got me excited, only to click on the about page and read “80% SW Wool”. ‘SW’ meaning superwash. Or even worse, no mention of superwash on the about page, and then finding out the yarn is in fact superwash when I went to a retail listing. It makes me ask, if you’re using superwash wool, why not tag that as part of the care instructions so it can be searched through Ravelry? Why use superwash wool at all if you’re just going to recommend people handwash only?

The other pitfall is that these small dyers (as the majority of them are) don’t have the stock or have all together discontinued dying, yet haven’t updated their yarn’s about page to show it’s no longer available. Or, equally sad, when there’s simply no buying option available at all. Ravelry doesn’t always find every online store, so I try to look up the producer by name, and this sometimes gets me to an Etsy shop--But still, some yarns just seem to exist on their about page but nowhere else.

Still, I’ve managed to make a short list of yarns that pass the inspection and have some method for purchase. And honestly, all you need is one good product line for a lifetime of knitting if it fits all the bills. But I look at the number of yarns I could otherwise choose but are now discontinued (1/4th of them!) and wonder how long my current list will last.

So remember to support small dyers and yarn makers, and do your due diligence to make sure you’re getting the right product.

#knitting #knitblr #yarn #crochet #sustainability #ravelry #my thoughts

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oneforthemunny · 1 year

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take care |modern!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: after a long day at work, you just wanted to relax. eddie makes sure you can.

contains: our fav modern!eddie and his lil mean girl. language, mentions of weed, oral fem receiving, p in v sex, aftercare and fluff, minors dni 18+

You could feel your fists clench, knuckles tight and whitening when you shoved your key in the door, agitation eating you from the inside out.

Today had been a particularly horrible day to work retail. Spring always meant prom season, which meant whiny teenagers spilled in with their bossy mothers, demanding shades of foundation for the spray tan they didn’t have yet, slamming them on the counter furiously when it inevitably didn’t match- because you were supposed to be mind reader. But you couldn’t say that to them, couldn’t snap at them the way you wanted to, only taking deep breath in, giving a dazzling customer service smile, and apologizing for your mistake.

The knots in your neck were agonizing from straining all day, feet aching from the little black boots you wore, a sweat breaking out on your neckline. All you wanted to do was go home, drown yourself in the cheap bottle of wine you had in the fridge, and sink into a bubble bath until your skin pruned away entirely. But you knew you wouldn’t get to do that.

When you’d got off, you sat in your car, scrolling through messages, your lips pressing further together into a tight line. There sat the string of TikTok notifications from Eddie on your screen, constant and too many for you to look at. It wasn’t the videos that pissed you off, it was the fact that he had sent them all day. All day, and you knew- you just knew he hadn’t done anything you asked him to do.

You’d left him that morning, sweet kisses pressed to his cheek, fingers trailing down his tummy, still soft and warm from sleep. “I started a load of laundry, can you just switch it over to the dryer please?” You asked softly.

Eddie nodded, pulling you back in for one last kiss before you left, still propped up in the bed. You’d slipped out, going to work. When you returned, you were greeted by Eddie on the couch, blunt rolling smoke in the tray beside him, hunched over with his headset on, screaming into the mic and eyes trained on his PlayStation. He’d muttered a greeting, tongue out in focus playing some fantasy type game, eyes never leaving the screen.

You could feel your shoulders tense, jaw setting when you slammed the door behind you. You didn’t take off your shoes, didn’t set down your purse, stomping straight down the hall towards the small closet where your washer and dryer sat. You lifted the lid, the mildewish, soured smell of wet towels filling your nose.

The bubble of calmness you’d kept all day popped, exploding in hot rage out of you. You dropped your purse, reaching in to grab one of the still soaking wet towel, heavy and wet on your hands.

You marched in front of Eddie, blocking his view, fuming with the towel in your hand. “Baby, one sec, I’m almost-“ Eddie stopped, eyes trained on the towel.

He flicked up the mic to his headset just in time for you ball up the towel, throwing it so it thudded against his chest. You jammed your finger in the button of the PlayStation, powering it off furiously. Eddie grimaced slightly, slipping the headset off.

“I asked you to do one goddam thing!” You screamed, throwing your hands out.

“Baby, I forgot-“

“-You always forget, Eddie!” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. His eyes rounded slightly, pleading and sorry. You snarled, shaking your head and stomping towards your room.

You plopped on your bed, angrily ripping your shoes off. It was a constant fight since he’d moved in. Towels left on the bathroom floor, not putting down the toilet seat, forgetting to start the dishwasher, putting the coffee cups up too high.

You bristled with anger, jaw grinding and huffing. All you’d asked him to do was one thing. One. You didn’t give a shit that he stayed on your couch, that he played his game all day, only leaving to get food or do a deal. You didn’t care, really. But what you did care about was when he disrespected your space; you. You’d had this fight already, about him helping you around the apartment- your apartment.

You tried to be understanding, it was clear he wasn’t doing it maliciously. He didn’t have a good home life, and his uncle raised him the best he could, but Wayne was too busy working to make sure their lights stayed on to worry about if Eddie’s room was clean. As long as Eddie was clean, he didn’t care. That was clear when you’d gone into his room once, staying at the trailer one night only, scared by the ecosystem growing under his bed.

But on days like today, days when your nerves were shot and the last thing you wanted was to deal with things like that, it infuriated you. There were no clean towels for a bath, so your afternoon plans to soak were destroyed, which made you fume all over again.

You could hear Eddie starting the laundry, the small trill of the chimes on the machine starting. You rolled your eyes, pulling your shirt off, balling it up and tossing it in the hamper.

The door’s hinges squeaked softly, Eddie’s footsteps soft and muffled against the carpet. You ignored him, pushing down your black jeans into a puddle on the ground.

“Baby, ’m sorry.” Eddie whispered softly from behind you. You felt his fingers ghost over your hips, trailing over the silky material of your panties.

You huffed, wiggling out of his grasp. “Don’t.” You snapped. “I had a really shitty day and all I wanted was to take a bath. I’m disgusting and-and… just don’t touch me right now.” You hissed, holding your hand up.

Eddie nodded, eyes trained on your chest, watching you unclasp your bra, breasts falling free. He swallowed hard, putting his hands in front of his sweatpants. “I’m so sorry, baby. I forgot, really.” He cooed sweetly, taking a step towards you.

You rummaged through your drawers, pulling out a big tshirt, soft with wear, and a pair of fresh underwear. Eddie took another step forward. “Did you have a bad day?”

You huffed, slamming the drawers. “Yeah, I did.” You snapped. “And this didn’t make it any better. I got bitched at all fucking day, and I just wanted to come home and relax.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie sighed sympathetically. “I’ll go run to Target and get you a towel if you want me to. You can get in the bath and I’ll be right back.”

“No,” You huffed, pushing your underwear down. His eyes widened slightly. “I just- I want you to do shit when I ask you to.”

“I know,” Eddie nodded, stepping towards you again. “I know, I’m sorry, baby, I swear I didn’t mean to. I just- I forgot honestly.” He hesitated, reaching out to touch you, slow and soft. You were bare in front of him, arms crossed over your chest, glaring angrily at him but you didn’t push him away.

He pulled you close, your crossed arms in his chest, chin resting on your shoulder, pressing sweet kisses into your cheek. His hands rubbed up and down your back, slow little circles that had you relaxing slightly, melting further into his chest.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day, sweetheart.” Eddie muttered into your cheek. You huffed, pouty and breathy into his chest. “Let me take care of you.” His hands trailed down your spine, squeezing the fat of your ass.

You whined, pulling back. “I’m gross, Ed, no.” You protested lightly, his hands still kneading your cheeks. “I’ve worked all day. I’m sweaty and gross.”

“You’re not gross.” Eddie muttered, nose nuzzling into your hair line, breathing in your scent deeply. “C’mon, let me help you relax, baby. ‘S least I can do. Make it up to you.”

You hesitated, the kisses he was trailing down your neck were making you relax enough already. You whimpered when he sucked lightly into the nape of your neck, his hands still grabbing your ass.

“C’mon, lay down, baby, I got you.” Eddie coaxed gently.

You melted into the mattress, letting him lay on top of you, hips rolling and grinding into you. You blamed the sweatpants, they were your weakness. You could always see his dick outlined in them, so casual and innocent. You were always dropping to your knees when he wore them.

Eddie wedged his body between your legs, sliding down the mattress, trailing kisses between your breasts, down your sternum, towards your core until his shoulders had your thighs spread wide around him. He could feel the heat off your pussy, radiating and warming the tip of his nose before he ever touched you. His hands ran up your torso, smoothing over the skin of your tummy, squeezing your breasts before sliding back down your waist, pressing wet kisses to the inside of your thighs, over your mound, teasing.

“Stop,” you whined, high pitched and nasally, wiggling your hips towards his face. Your brows creased, pouting when you looked down at him.

He grinned softly, hand pulling your thighs apart further, tongue running over his bottom lip before he licked you, slow from your hole to your clit, swirling around the sensitive nub. Eddie moaned loud, enough to have vibrations sending shockwaves to your bundle of nerves making you arch.

“You taste so good, baby, fuck.” Eddie rasped, licking another long stripe, eyes closing and fingers digging into your thigh.

You whimpered, hands threading through his curls. You loved that he kept his hair long. He looked so different from all the other guys, wild curls that always seemed to have your hands in them, playing with the ringlets sweetly. You loved when he'd let you style it, load it with products and diffuse it, or put a mask in it in the bath, clipping it up sweetly while you soaked. Eddie loved it too, he loved that you loved it, loved that you'd scratch his scalp and coo at him, so sweet and giggly.

You were a whirlwind, an enigma of personality. Sweet and sour, he called you his little 'sour patch kid' and while he always played it off like he was joking, you both knew deep down he was being serious. He knew you were just high strung, wound a little tight, and the snapping and snarky comments were a defense, a default when you felt out of control. He knew you could be sweet, knew you were sweet, you were so sweet to him.

You whined, wiggling your hips closer and closer to him, sighing heavy when he sucked at your clit. “That feels good…” You mumbled, hips jumping towards his mouth.

Eddie grinned, another long lick to your slit that had you reeling. “Mmm, I’m glad.” He kept his lips against your core when he said it, he knew you liked it like that. He knew you liked the vibrations, how they’d tickle your clit and make you clench. He didn’t even have to use his fingers, could have you coming undone with his tongue alone.

You whimpered, feeling his hand press against your lower tummy, thighs tightening when he ran a soft hand up and down your belly to your chest, rolling your nipples just barely in his hands. “Feels so good, Eddie, fuck.” You whined. “Oh! Right there! Do it just like that, please!”

Eddie repeated the action, fingers pressed in a ‘v’ over your puffed lips, exposing and revealing your throbbing clit to him, sucking the bud at a pace that had you seeing stars. You cried, hands fisting in his hair to bring him closer and closer, his nose was pressed against your mound, inhaling your scent deeply, lapping away until you gushed hard around him. His eyes fluttered up to yours, licking you through your orgasm while you bucked and writhed, his arms locked around your waist to keep you still. He loved watching you come undone for him, get you in that hazy headspace that always had you needy and clingy afterwards.

“That good?” Eddie asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he moved up.

You nodded, chest heaving slightly. “Very good.” You looked at him with glassy eyes, smiling slightly. The blush on your cheeks was enough for him to know you meant it. He was always wanting to please you, especially after you were upset with him.

He shoved his sweatpants down, kicking them off until they pooled at the end of the bed. You could feel his erection between the two of you, rutting his hips into yours, whining slightly at the friction.

“You wanna be like this? Or you wanna be on your stomach?” Eddie asked, his nose touching yours. You could feel his curls around your face, making you giggle at the tickling feeling. It made your heart swell slightly, any feels of irritation disappearing with every soft kiss of his pillowy lips on yours.

"This is fine," You sighed contently, eyes shutting when he pressed his lips to your neck. "Wanna see you." You muttered.

Eddie fucked you slow, your legs wrapped around his waist, fingers intertwined with his. He grunted lowly in your ear, reveling in the little whines and gasps you'd let sneak out sweetly, muffled into his neck.

You'd curled up beside him, he'd used his boxers to clean you up before dropping them back into the floor, your head on his chest, his hands stroking your hair softly. You could feel your eyes droop, heavy with the stress of the day. Eddie put on New Girl for you, he knew you liked to watch it when you were falling asleep.

When you awoke, the screen on the TV with the Netflix logo, asking if you were still watching. You could hear Eddie in the living room, the soft glow of the kitchen light down the hallway. You felt heavy, warm, a little disoriented with the nap. Your phone on the bedside table read eight-twenty-two.

Eddie looked up when you walked in, pausing his game and pushing the headset off his curls. "Hi, baby," He greeted with a small smile. "Did you sleep ok?"

You nodded, stretching and rubbing your eyes. You started for the closet with the washer and dryer. "I already dried them." Eddie said proudly. "I put them up too, so you can take a bath now if you want."

Your heart swelled, smiling with a soft, sleepy smile. You walked over to him, straddling his lap, still warm and soft. Eddie's hands rubbed down your back, grabbing on your hips gently. "Thank you." You whispered, pressing your lips to his sweetly.

"No problem, baby." Eddie hummed, a soft smile on his lips. "'M sorry I didn't do it earlier."

"That's alright." You muttered, sitting down in his lap. Your legs on either side of his, arms around his neck, head tucked under his chin. His hand found your back, rubbing small circles down your back, sneaking under the fabric of the shirt- his shirt.

"I'm sorry you had a bad day." Eddie pressed small kisses to your hair line.

"'S alright." You pouted, huffing slowly against his chest. "I hate prom."

Eddie laughed softly, chest vibrating with laughter. "Yeah? I wasn't a fan of it either."

You craned your neck to look up at him. "Who did you go to prom with?"

Eddie scratched his neck. "Uh, my first senior year, I went with this emo, alt chick. Her name was Haley." He grinned slightly and you frowned. "Then my last senior year, I just went with the guys. Only went for a little bit, then hit the after parties to sell." You scoffed slightly, and he smiled down at you. "What about you?"

"I went my sophomore year with this guy names Parker. He was a friend and he needed a date, so we went, talked shit the whole night it was fun. Then I went my junior year twice, because the guy I was with at the time went to a different school. Then senior year I went with the same guy but just to mine, because he had graduated." You explained.

Eddie snorted. "Seems like you loved prom if you ask me."

"Hated it. My mom made me go." You wrinkled your nose. "I looked so different too. Weird when I look back."

"Bet you were still hot." Eddie grinned. You scoffed loudly. "What? I bet you were. What's that Drake song... high school pics you were even bad then?"

You laughed, cringing slightly while you covered your blush. "Eddie, oh my god, that- you're so lame." You giggled, shaking your head.

"What? It's a good song. I thought you'd love that song." Eddie jested, poking your side sweetly. "Gotta be nice for what? That's practically written about you."

"I'm very nice." You pouted playfully, eyes narrowing at him.

He grinned. "You are." He said sweetly, pressing his lips to yours, hands cradling around your jaw. You really were.

#modern!eddie x reader #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #oneforthemunny #funsonmunson #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader

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friccafracc · 11 days

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DROP THE FIC OR IM COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS

ALRIGHT OK BUT I NEED IT TO BE KNOWN THAT I HAVENT WRITTEN ANYTHING SERIOUSLY SINCE HIGHSCHOOL OK

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Something is after me. I know it is, I’ve seen it. It looks like a man, but I know that it’s not. It…. It’s face is like a mockery of something human- like- like if you asked someone who has never seen a human to draw or model a person’s face, their smile. No… I don’t think any human would be able to get it that wrong.”

“And I’m not crazy, alright? God, y’all probably get that a lot here, don’t you? You people specialize in crazy. Not that I’m anyone to judge anymore, given the shit I went through before coming out here. I didn’t even know a place like this existed outside the Usher Foundation. I just…there’s some weird, crazy shit out there I guess, and when I heard about y’all, I figured I should probably pay a visit. At least let someone know before I die.”

“I know I’m gonna die.”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning. My name is Joshua Nelson, I’m originally from the States–Memphis Tennessee. Now, if there’s one thing you should know about Memphis, it’s that nobody in their right mind should EVER move there on their own accord, ‘cause you’ll either get mugged or stalked or both. I was born and raised there, so I never really got the choice during the formative years of my life. I’ve learned to live with it, though.”

“I worked retail in a gas station before…well, everything. It was a shithole. The kind of building where, no matter how hard you scrubbed and no matter how much bleach you used, the stains and smell of smoke would never leave. Instead just…mingled with the citrus of the chemicals. It paid the bills, though, and I was never witness to a robbery, so I couldn’t complain too much. The customers were docile and if I noticed anyone shoplifting, I kept it to myself. I wasn’t getting paid enough to give a damn.”

“We had regulars that would come in on a schedule and regulars that wouldn’t. People who were just passing through the city or visiting family or friends. You get all types in that kinda place, and if you’re placid enough to any asshole who’s having a bad day, everyone gets along just fine. There were a couple of regulars who were friendly enough, though, that I remember their names. Miss Kelly was an older woman, short and heavyset–she was one of the friendlier ones. We’ve got a lot of talkers in the south and boy did she make sure I knew every exact reason for what her kids were getting up to, or what was going on in a reality show she was hooked on at the time.”

“George Michael, a thin man in his 40s, maybe, always came in whenever he needed a new pack of cigarettes, I think he was a chain-smoker, cause he was in there a lot.”

“And then…then there was Hunter. Now Hunter was a younger man, maybe college age. A little older than that? Poor bastard was hooked on something, that much anyone could tell. He was gaunt, a little twitchy, you know, telltale signs of drug abuse. I could never tell what specifically he was on, but then again, it was never my business to know. I treated him the same as every other customer, we all knew he wasn’t gonna cause any harm, he usually came in for food, chips and hotdogs and stuff and he never caused a fuss.”

“I think… I think Hunter is dead.”

“One day he came in, I think it was a Wednesday or something cause it was slow that afternoon, and he burst through the door. Well–maybe not burst, but he came in the building like he was racing to get indoors first before someone else. The guy was usually jittery and, I’ll admit, a little shifty usually, but this was full blown paranoia. It startled me at first, his intensity, and he made a b-line towards the back of the store and ducked behind one of the shelves. Maybe not duck completely like ducking for cover, but it was obvious he was hiding. It almost made me expect the police or some drug lord to come storming through the door, but nobody else came.”

“Hunter stayed pacing in the building for a good 20 or 30 minutes, periodically lifting his head to crane his neck and peer out the window or the glass of the door. I checked once or twice as well, but if someone was out there, I didn’t see them. Eventually the guy calmed down enough to buy something and when he approached the counter with his bag of Doritos he looked almost like he was going to be sick.”

“I asked him if everything was alright, but he just shook his head and left.”

“I didn’t see him again for another week or two after that. Obviously I assumed the worst. I theorized that someone was after him and when he didn’t show up when he usually did it was more than enough to confirm my suspicions. Be it cops or some random person on the street, I couldn’t decide which fate would be worse, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel for the guy at least a little bit.”

“Hunter was almost completely out of my mind when I saw him again. I was surprised. By all accounts, it didn’t look like anything had changed about him. Maybe aside from the fact that his posture was way better than it usually was when I saw him, but other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary.”

“Business went on as usual and when he came up to the till with a liter of coke, I offered him a ‘Welcome Back’ and rang him up.”

“When I turned back to him, he was smiling. For some reason it was like a pit opened in the bottom of my stomach. I couldn’t understand why, though. It looked like Hunter–patchy, unkempt stubble, greasy hair, thin face, sunken eyes. His appearance had never bothered me before, so I was struck with confusion that mixed in with the undefinable, sudden sense of dread.”

“‘Thank you,’ he said as I handed him his change. And he walked out the door. It sounded like Hunter, too.”

“Hunter returned the next day, and the next. Each time he was polite and quiet, and each time he smiled when I rang him up. I counted his teeth. They were straight and flat. When I counted mine in the mirror when I smiled, I saw 17 or 18. Hunter’s counted 24.”

“Maybe he has a dental problem that I didn’t notice until now, I told myself. Human bodies are weird. Sometimes you have more teeth than usual.”

“The fourth day he came in a row, I saw his eyes and his pupils were…swollen, is the only way I can describe them. I know what people’s eyes look like when they’re high. This was not that. It was like they almost swallowed up his irises completely, and they were dull. Dull in the sense that the fluorescents overhead did nothing to cast any reflections onto them. It made me want to writhe and squirm whenever he looked at me.”

“I called in sick the fifth day. I knew Hunter would be back in that gas station to see me. I knew it was to see me. And I knew that thing. That..whatever it was. It wasn’t Hunter.”

“I guess a part of me was always dreading that day. I had always heard stories about people being stalked from friends of friends. It was only a matter of time before it happened to me, right?”

“I saw Hunter at the grocery store the next day, posture straight and face split open into that smile with too many teeth. I didn’t have the mind to be polite. I turned completely around and walked the other way, trying to fool myself thinking that he hadn’t seen me. I kept a pocket knife on me after that encounter. I probably should have been before, but hindsight is always 20/20.”

“Each time I saw him after that, it was worse. On the street to my apartment, his eyes were too wide and his grinning mouth was slightly agape. A crude facsimile of delight as I rushed past him. I stopped going into work when I started to spot him everywhere I went. Every destination no matter how far or random, he was there, grinning at me. He knew where I lived, that I had no doubt. So I went to a friend’s one night hoping to throw him off. Maybe I could move out and lose him. Lord knows I didn’t have the money to break my lease early, but I was desperate.”

“My friend suggested I call the police, but for some reason I was convinced that wouldn’t help. Cops usually only made things worse in that town, and I had a sinking feeling going that route would only waste my time.”

“The final straw was the second night I was crashing on my friend’s couch. I was exhausted, the past few weeks spent sleepless and paranoid and I was ready to finally pass out when I heard a light, rhythmic tapping on the window behind my head.”

“It’s just the wind, I thought to myself. A tree branch or something scraping against the glass. The exhaustion was completely gone, my pounding heart and pumping adrenaline overpowering any lame excuse that I would be stupid enough to be reassured by.”

“I didn’t move from where I lay. Tap. Tap. Tap. Came through the window once again.”

“I don’t know why I laid there for so long, unmoving, convinced that if I didn’t turn around, whatever it was outside would lose interest and leave. I really, really wanted it to leave.”

“I lay still for what felt like hours, every muscle in my body wound up and tense and ready to leap into action at any given opportunity. I was praying the opportunity would never come.”

“I don’t know how long it was when the tapping ceased, but it was long before I finally managed to relax. It seemed like my strategy worked. What an idiotic thing to think. Like I was a child hiding from an imaginary monster in the dark. Like the logic of not giving a stalker any attention so it would go away was sound. No. I think it was that false hope that landed me in this situation.”

“Because when that tapping came again, I wasn’t prepared to turn around. But I did. I turned around and what I saw in the darkness through that glass was… I don’t know what it was. I know it had eyes and teeth. It was grinning, but its teeth stretched well beyond what would be the borders of its face. God, I couldn’t see its face. I knew it was Hunter, though. It had those same lightless eyes that stared back at me every time I closed my own. Dead and dark and dull and staring at me–eating at me, wide and gleeful and spilling into the shadow that I could only assume was a part of the creature, itself. Its form took up nearly the entirety of the window, blocking the outside world. It didn’t move.”

“I screamed. I screamed and closed the curtains and I hid. This woke my friend of course, and she came stumbling out of her room, looking bleary but alert. I tried to signal to her not to go to the window or do anything or to call the police. Thankfully she got the message and the cops were there within the hour.”

“They didn’t find anything. Or anyone, for that matter. I left out the…the monster bit, because I assumed it might land me somewhere I really didn’t want to go.”

“They were about as helpful as I thought they would be. Told me to call them again if I noticed any suspicious activity.”

“I booked my flight here that very night. I wasn’t going to stay in that goddamn city with whatever the HELL that thing was. I don’t want to end up like Hunter. I don’t want it to wear my skin.”

“It will, though. I know it will and it scares me more than anything in the world. And I know I can’t escape it, either.”

“It followed me here. I saw it. It was still grinning at me and it was still. Wearing. Hunter’s. Skin. The shadow that was cast over it made it so I could only see the whites of it’s eyes....its teeth.”

“I don’t want to die.”

#txt #oc fic #tma sona #tma oc #avatar of the stranger #ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE WRITTEN FIC...PLS BE NICEYS

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aintinacage · 5 months

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#foundations #foundationsretail #foundations retail #small business #shop small #small artist #small biz #pre order #the bad batch #bad batch #TBB #Star Wars #star wars bad batch #star wars the bad batch #Star Wars TBB #fashion statement #apparel #long sleeves #Tuesday throwback

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

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Hey! I was thinking about the other half and...

Bruce has saved her a couple of times now. What happens when he gets injured and she saves him and then takes care of him?

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Length: 3.5K

Warnings: Angst; canon-typical violence; not beta-read; use of a needle (to administer a shot); ends in fluff (kinda. well, you'll see)

“How was the interview?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“...Actually fine, or are you just telling me that to get me off your back?”

You shoot Bruce a guilty smile where he’s standing beside you at the counter, relieved as his own smile widens.

“Actually fine,” You insist. “It was okay. A little intimidating, but not awful.”

“If you want me to do some leaning—”

“No leaning!” You insist as he holds his hands up in surrender. You sigh. “If I get this job, I want it on my own merit, not because the boss asked them to give it to me.”

“I understand, baby,” He soothes. You nod a little, looking down at your drink as Alfred unpacks the takeout that you’d ordered. The interview honestly hadn’t been all that bad. You’d like the manager, and had a nice conversation with them outside of the interview itself. They’d been easy to talk to, and had put you at ease. You'd felt comfortable talking about your retail background, and how the skills you used there could be parlayed to a position as a Fundraising Operations Associate with the Wayne Foundation. Sure, it wouldn’t be the smoothest of transitions, but it could be done, and the interview had made you feel good. Even if you didn’t get this job, there was a chance for you to get another.

“What about you? What’d you get up to?” You ply. “What time did you get out of bed?”

“Late to bed, late to rise,” Alfred tuts beside you, making you grin. Bruce shoots him a sidelong glance before he meets your eye again.

“I got up around noon.”

“Noon,” You groan. “Damn, that sounds nice.”

“You could do it, too.”

“Don’t start that again.”

Bruce doesn’t hold his hands up in surrender this time. He just watches you with smiling eyes as he lifts his drink to his lips. You shake your head a little bit, turning your gaze from his. He’s offered time and time again to simply take care of you. You trust that he would—that if you came in tomorrow and told him that you didn’t want to work anymore, he’d give you anything that you needed. But there’s still a part of you, a skittish, nervous part, that worries—what if things don’t last? What if you have to go back to work with a gap on your resume? How would you explain it? Bruce Wayne was my sugar daddy, but we’re sort of on the outs now, so. Please let me in? Besides, there’s no way your previous manager would give you a recommendation.

“I’m not starting,” He insists.

“Sure you’re not.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

“You’re a mindreader now?”

“No. I just know you.”

Bruce reaches out, gently cupping your chin and tipping your face toward him.

“Yes, you do,” He murmurs before giving you a soft kiss. You smile, sliding your hand over his hip and pressing into his side. He hums softly as he draws away, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“C’mon,” He urges, resting a hand on your lower back and steering you to sit at the table as Alfred sets out the food.

“Thank you, Alfred,” You smile.

“Enjoy.”

You look after him as he goes before you turn back to the food, humming happily as you reach for your food.

“...You going out tonight?” You ask lightly. You tend not to talk about these things if you can possibly help it, but sometimes, you do have to ask. It’s disconcerting to wake up to an empty bed, but it’s worse if you don't know that he’ll be leaving in the first place. Bruce doesn’t answer you right away; he seems to mull it over as he pokes through his food.

“I can wait until you fall asleep,” He offers. It’s as good as a straight-forward yes.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

You try to sound as light, as relaxed about it as you possibly can. You glance up as you feel Bruce’s ankle hook around yours, tugging your leg closer to his under the table. The subtle touch makes your stomach flutter, your giddiness nearly overtaking your worry.

Nearly.

The worry swells viciously again as you watch him suit up.

You don’t usually see this, but every time you do, it’s a jolt. There’s a line that's crossed in your mind—a difference between the Bruce that you know, the Bruce that you met, and…This. Within the suit, Batman is all hard lines, no-nonsense. There’s a harshness to him that you’ve only seen a couple of times. He’d been focused after the robbery at the store, imposing and fierce, but just a few hours later, when he’d turned up at your doorstep, he’d been Bruce—your Bruce.

Now, your stomach twists with worry, your arms folded tightly over your chest. He forgoes the cowl as he turns to you, though the piece is in his hands. You find yourself gazing at it as he nears. Its eyes are hollow, and dark; its points seem as if they’d be sharp to the touch; if you look closely, you can see the odd scuff and dent in the surface. What must’ve hit him that it could leave a mark in such a dense material?

Your attention is drawn from it as Bruce raises a hand, cupping your cheek. Your face pulls with a reassuring smile on instinct, eyes widening with attentiveness. Bruce smiles, too, but it seems wary, almost pitying.

“Get some sleep,” He urges.

“Of course.”

“They’ll call.”

Is that what he thinks you’re worried about? The interview? You’d turn down a hundred job opportunities if it meant Bruce came home in one piece.

But you just nod, arms tightening around yourself a little.

“Sure,” You agree. You can’t chase the topic down now, or tell him that he’s wrong. It’s easier to let him think that you’re preoccupied with work, and not with what condition he’ll be when he drags himself in—so long as he’s able to drag himself in—

Your mind is quieted as Bruce gives you a sweet kiss. Your eyelids flutter closed, and your arms unwind to hold him. You can’t ask him to stay in. Bruce takes this city into his arms every night. How can you be so selfish as to ask him to reserve that space for you alone?

It’s a crashing sound that wakes you up.

It’s jolting, and sends you springing to sit up in bed. The room is pitch black, as it always is. You can’t see a damn thing. You listen in silence for a moment, straining to hear anything over the pounding of your heart. For a moment, nothing. Then, the swipe and scrape of something coming down the hall.

You can’t turn the light on, right? Whoever it is, they’ll see you, they’ll make a beeline right toward you. They may not even know that you’re here. You carefully climb out of bed, swinging your legs over the side. You can take your phone, creep over to the bathroom and call the cops from there. You’ll deal with the fallout of being the woman in Bruce Wayne’s apartment later. You slide your phone off of the bedside table, wincing as it lights up. You jump as the light to the room flicks on, mouth falling open to scream. It hangs for just a second at the sight you’re greeted by:

Bruce, pal, suited, and staggering, a dart sticking out of his jaw. You hurry over to him, breathing, “Oh my god,” As he stumbles, catching himself on his hands and knees. You reach up, hurriedly pulling the dart out and flinging it away. “Bruce! Bruce, what happened?”

He doesn’t answer, just reaches up, helplessly pawing at his cowl. You draw it off, tossing it in the direction of the dart and steadying him as he slides to the floor, drawing in tight, greedy gasps. You look over him, shaking your head.

“I’ll call an ambulance—” You’re half a step back before he grips your wrist. You can see him shaking his head. Shit. Shit. His breathing grows tighter, and you reach down, wincing and struggling to draw him up onto his side. He tries to pull in a deep breath, seeming to wince with it. You round him, grappling with the fastenings and helping to tug the top of the suit away from his chest. You can already see the mottling of bruises. You reach for your phone with shaking hands, hurriedly explaining, “Alfred! I’m calling Alfred,” When you see Bruce’s eyes widening. You know that you sound panicked when you get him on the phone, but you can’t help it.

You don’t ask Bruce what happened. You know that he’s not in any state to tell you, and some panicked, terrified part of you is certain you’ll never get the answer.

“Look at me,” You plead, cupping Bruce’s cheeks. His jaw quivers in your hands; his body shakes within the confines of the suit. You glance down at it, hesitating. Move him at the wrong moment, you could hurt him. But if you can help him out of the suit, it could help him breathe more easily.

“Okay,” You mumble, more to yourself than to Bruce. “Okay—Just hold on, we’re going to get you out of this."

It takes all of your strength to shift him and the suit. You wince as you have to tug it from his body, murmuring your apologies as winces twist Bruce’s already pain-riddled features. But once it’s off, his body seems to sag with relief. You reach out, drawing him back onto his side and scrubbing your hand over his bicep. His body is too hot. What the hell was in that goddamn dart?

You look up, doing a double-take and relaxing a touch as you spot Alfred hurrying down the hall.

“He just came in, he just—” You struggle to explain, “He had that dart over there in his jaw, I didn’t know what to do.”

“I was afraid of this,” Alfred lowers himself beside Bruce. You see Bruce’s eyes slide toward his caretaker, as if he’s at once grateful and warning him to hold back an I told you so.

“Have you ever administered a vaccine before?”

“Why the hell would I’ve done that?” You snap irritably as Alfred draws a kit out of his pocket.

“Here,” Alfred slides it over to you. "Clean his bicep, and then give him this. It should set in within a moment or two. He’ll need plenty of fluids. Once you’ve administered the shot and the shaking stops, we’ll get him to the bed.”

You open your mouth to ask another question, but Alfred is already up and heading for the kitchen.

“Oh—Damnit, goddamnit,” You hiss, sweating fingers fumbling with the kit. You groan at the sight of two syringes, already loaded with a clear liquid.

“Are they the same?” You call after Alfred.

“Yes!”

You look around, taking up an alcohol swab and swiping it all over Bruce’s bicep.

“Okay. Okay,” You mumble, more to yourself than him. “It’s going to be fine, this is going to work, you’re going to be fine.” You’re not sure which of you that’s for, but you’re certain that you both need it. You take up the syringe, trying to steady your shaking hand. You glance at Bruce’s face before you rest your hand on his arm. You wince as the needle pierces the skin, pressing down on the plunger with slow pressure.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” You tack on as Bruce groans in pain. You draw the needle back out, dropping it into the kit. You watch as Bruce draws in a deeper breath than just a moment ago. You push a relieved breath of your own out as you raise your hands back to Bruce’s face, pushing his hair back from his pale, sweat-sheened forehead. You look up as Alfred comes back in, a wide bowl of water in one hand, glass in the other hand, a towel slung over one of his arms. You watch as he sets them down before waving you up.

“I’ll get his arms, you take his feet.”

You do as he says, standing and rounding to Bruce’s feet. You wince, lifting him with Alfred. At least you took his suit off. You can't imagine trying to carry him with it. You and Alfred waddle together, helping Bruce onto the bed.

“I haven’t had a chance to call Fox.”

“What do you need to call him for?” You ask.

“We will need more of that antidote as soon as possible. You said that the dart was in his jaw?”

“Yes.” You scooch to sit at Bruce’s bedside, taking up the towel and dunking it into the lukewarm water. You dab Bruce’s forehead and neck gently, shushing him softly as his breathing speeds with pain, then slows again as the sensation seems to ebb. You hardly look away from him as you hear Alfred’s footsteps retreat. The rise and fall of his chest is taking on a steady rhythm. You’re not sure if you should be relieved or more relaxed, but your heart thuds—he’sfine—he’sfine—he’sfine—he’sfine—

Alfred makes up the guest room and tries to coax you away to get rest for an hour at least, maybe two. He seems reassured that Bruce is alright, that he simply needs to rest, to sweat it out of his system. He lingers for a little while, but ultimately retreats to the living room after tucking away the suit and leaving you with Bruce.

You stay by Bruce’s side. Nothing could draw you away from him. Hell, you’re almost certain that Commissioner Gordon could storm in with the entire force of the Gotham PD, but they wouldn’t get you out of that room until Bruce opened his eyes and told you himself that he was okay.

The color has returned to his face as light creeps in under the floor-to-ceiling shades. He still looks somewhat palid in the lamp’s light, but compared to the complete lack of tone just hours ago, it’s a vast improvement. Your eyes are dry from staying up; your nose is stuffy from uncried tears; your belly squirms like a nest of twisting vipers.

His fever’s broken, but his hair is still damp with sweat. Your fingers comb through the strands, eyes searching his face for anything—a blink, a flinch, a shift, anything. It’s a few hours yet before it comes. By then, Alfred has been in and out a number of times, with coffee, with tea, with food. But you’re too wired, to strung out with panic to do anything but watch, and wait.

By the time Bruce comes to, night is falling in Gotham again. As his eyelashes flutter, then slowly blink open, you’re certain he’ll ask you for his suit, tell you that he has a job to go and do. But he raises his hand to his jaw, smoothing his fingers across where the dart made contact and wincing. He draws in a deep, steady breath before he lowers his hand to rest atop yours, giving your hand a squeeze with his clammy one.

You pull in a deep breath for what feels like the first time in hours, pushing out a shaky, relieved exhale. Oh, you’ll take him to task later. Right now, you just bow over him and rest your forehead over his steadily beating heart.

He doesn’t try to tell you that nothing’s wrong, or that it’ll never happen again. He does tell you, as Alfred and Fox do, that this is rare—that something like this has only happened a time or two before.

Alfred and Fox hold your gaze when they say so, reassuring smiles on their faces. Bruce’s eyes stay set on the kitchen table, jaw set with resolute determination. He’s not going to stop for you. You don’t think he’ll stop for anything. You’re certain that one of these days, this’ll kill him.

And for once, you fucking tell him so.

You’re alone when you say it. Bruce is still staring at the table, and Alfred and Fox have left, speaking hushed tones as they'd gone. Bruce doesn’t dispute it. He doesn’t nod, he doesn’t argue. For a few moments, he doesn't say a fucking thing.

“I need to adjust my precautions.”

That’s what finally comes out of his mouth. Not, I’m sorry for scaring the life out of you or Thank you for taking care of me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You bat back icily. He gives a small shake of his head.

“I can make changes—”

“You know what you could change? You could fucking stop. This is not your job, Bruce. Leave it to the authorities—”

“Most of them are crooked, and the ones that aren’t are biding their time behind a desk. There are a few good ones out there, but they can’t do this alone.”

“Neither can you!”

You push yourself back from the table, rounding away from Bruce. Your hands flex on your hips, heart thudding with anger.

“You scared the shit out of me!” You’re too tired to cushion or sugarcoat it anymore. “Every goddamn night, I worry whether or not you’re going to come back in once piece. You stagger in half-dead and all you can say to me is that you’ll make adjustments?”

Bruce’s jaw is tight, his hands flexing in his fists. You shake your head, turning from him and scrubbing your hands over your tired face. You hear the scrape of his chair, the whisper of his slippers before you feel his hands rest on your hips. He always gives you a little squeeze when he knows you’re pissed. It's happening more and more these days. You don’t lean back into him; you don’t trust his strength yet. He’s only been up and around for a few hours. But Bruce presses his face into his neck and breathes you in. He murmurs his apology over and over into your skin, like the words won’t make it through your ears; like you need to soak them in the same way he soaked in whatever poison was in that fucking dart.

“...Where’s the first aid kit?” You finally ask.

“Why?” He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Just…I’ll need to know, you know. For next time.”

Bruce uses his grasp on you to turn you around to face him. He presses a kiss to your cheek before resting his temple against yours.

“I am sorry,” He insists.

“You better be, Batboy.”

“...I’m letting that one go.”

“Well, that’s one of us.”

Bruce chuckles softly, nudging his nose tenderly along your cheekbone.

“You ever get a call back?” He asks.

“What?” You frown.

“From that interview.”

“Oh…I don’t know,” You shake your head. “I haven’t checked my phone.”

“Wayne Foundation policy is to get back to applicants within 48 hours.”

“Nice diversion, you fucking know-it-all,” You mumble. You turn your head, pecking his lips gently. “You should go lie down.”

“Come with me?”

You grab your phone off of the table as you trail him, fighting off a smile when you see that Alfred has already changed the sweaty sheets.

“Are you excited?”

“I guess. More nervous, I think,” You admit.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“You’re so frickin’...Sure of yourself.”

“Well, that gets a little easier when you’re the one whose name is over the door.”

“Mm, I bet,” You mumble. Bruce smiles, reaching out and cupping your cheeks. His look, his touch—it’s all so damn relaxed. Bruce is out of the woods, he’s fine. He’s in front of you, giving you that charming smile that you know and love. Standing in the lobby of the Wayne Foundation, he’s the picture of health. He seems to glance around at the empty lobby before he cups your cheeks, drawing you in for a tender kiss. You lean into him, sighing softly. He pecks your lips twice before leaning away.

“Can I you to lunch?” He mumbles.

“I don’t know. Maybe not for the first week.”

“I’ll pencil you in for the second week.”

“Very generous, Mr. Wayne,” You chuckle, backing toward the elevator. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The whispers start around noon. The glances quickly follow. You think that it’s just the fact that you’re new—but when you leave to get lunch, you’re greeted with a veritable wall of paps calling your name. You blink rapidly at the flashing of cameras, stumbling back into the building. Your heart pounds in your chest as you peer to the window before you draw your buzzing phone out of your pocket. You have several missed calls from Bruce, and Alfred, and Michelle. There’s a text from Michelle, too—an article with two pictures right up top: one of you and Bruce kissing in the lobby, and another of the two of getting into the car together in Gran Canaria. Bruce had said that he’d thought he’d seen something. Apparently he’d been right.

Your gaze scans the headline—Prince of Gotham Slumming with Shop Girl turned Wayne Foundation Employee

Aw…Hell. So much for his fear of your being linked with Batman. Now you’re linked to Bruce Wayne.

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half

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dduane · 8 months

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In the "Which Lie Did I Tell?" dep't

[The house where I was boarded as a child] was an establishment run with the full vigour of the Evangelical as revealed to the Woman. I had never heard of Hell, so I was introduced to it in all its terrors—I and whatever luckless little slavey might be in the house, whom severe rationing had led to steal food. Once I saw the Woman beat such a girl who picked up the kitchen poker and threatened retaliation. Myself I was regularly beaten. The Woman had an only son of twelve or thirteen as religious as she. I was a real joy to him, for when his mother had finished with me for the day he (we slept in the same room) took me on and roasted the other side. If you cross-examine a child of seven or eight on his day’s doings (specially when he wants to go to sleep) he will contradict himself very satisfactorily. If each contradiction be set down as a lie and retailed at breakfast, life is not easy. I have known a certain amount of bullying, but this was calculated torture—religious as well as scientific. Yet it made me give attention to the lies I soon found it necessary to tell: and this, I presume, is the foundation of literary effort.

—Rudyard Kipling, Something of Myself

#writing #lying #lying as self-preservation

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sexy-opium-ravioli · 10 months

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Photo Booth

Universe: Resident Evil

wc: 1,791

Pairing: Stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Warnings: Not many, just the fact that Leon is your stepbrother and he is .5 of a little shit. Otherwise, this is a good, old fashioned fluff piece.

a/n: Hihi hello hello :) I've been trying to claw my way out of depression for a while, but here's some cute Leon content in the meantime!

@lipglossanon !! thank you for being such a wonderful writer, honestly reading you has been really inspiring as of late! and your characterization of the Leons you have are among my very favorite.

It not my best work by any means, but I hope anyone reading this enjoys <3

The liminal space of a mall was the place where you could see through a person, like light through glass. You'd get to see what stores they prefer to go to, what mall food they like to eat (or if they can't), what they buy vs what they don't.

Or sometimes, as is the case with you and your weird, pseudo-freudian stepbrother-boyfriend Leon, you just get boba and mess around.

There were other things you'd like to do with him, sure. Sometimes you two would catch a movie- or fuck each other until you're both sensitive and whimpering (as young lovers often do). Really depended on the day.

But it was earlier in the morning and it was a free, clear Saturday, in the haze of a temperate spring. And, the last couple of days were kind of stressful. Keeping up separate social lives, exams, dealing with your shared parents- sometimes just being apart from each other was okay.

You were starting to suspect something in Leon. You didn't know what it was, really. Everything was in a haze with him- truer emotions he always hid behind something snarky and barbed. And since you could never really get an accurate read on him, you could only try to squint in the dark and decipher the signs in front of you.

Still, something foundational was shifting. And there was a strange feeling in your stomach that had been there all morning, and it wasn't bad, per se; but it was constant and unusual. You sipped on your boba and started chewing.

You and Leon were both sitting on public benches. The time was before most of the retail shops started setting up, only the food court was open. You laid your head on Leon's shoulder and closed your eyes while you both soaked in the sun's warmth.

The mall was bright and quiet, not many were there yet. You still felt a bit sleepy, but it didn't seem like Leon minded resting either. There was a difference in the emotions you feel someone going through when you rest your head on their shoulder- and the way Leon's was giving into the weight of your head spelled relaxation. The both of you spent a bit of your morning like this. You lifted your head and glanced at how the sunlight reflected off of Leon's golden hair. How it also cut a shadow at the curve of his jaw.

"You wanna walk around?" You asked with your voice low, not wanting to disrupt the quiet, alive whirring of the building. Leon looked at you, smiled a bit and nodded his head before getting up.

When you caught up to pace with him, you decided to annoy him and cross pinkies. He retaliated by taking hold of your entire hand, and you tried not to make a big deal about it. Your heart was starting to beat really fast, though.

You thought he would let go after a couple of seconds. He didn't.

Exiting the first floor common area to the escalators surrounding it, you both enjoyed the warmth of a second floor perch. Leon hasn't let go of your hand yet, but you were joking around about other people you were seeing at the mall, or the vaguely strange sale ads you'd see posted on windows.

It was light, conversation felt easy for once.

And then Leon saw something, and you watched the way his eyes captured a glint of absolute mischief.

Your eyes followed the laser point focus of his- and oh.

Oh.

A photo booth.

And before you knew it, the distance between you and the box was already halved from Leon practically yanking your arm off. It didn't hurt, so all you could do was laugh.

Walking up to it, Leon already got his wallet out and was feeding the machine bills. You decided to slip in and look around inside. All photo booths look different- this one was pretty new and sparkly.

Not long after, Leon swept the curtains and stepped in with a mean smirk. You got yourself ready, trying to make yourself look alright while Leon selected to start through the menu.

You always felt a weird sort of anxiety in photo booths. They never gave anybody enough time to actually prepare for a photo, but Leon was already doing someth- "Hey-!"

He quickly stepped behind you, caged you in his arms, gave two hand horns, and made such a twisted face he actually did kind of resemble the devil, because in his heart of hearts, Leon S. Kennedy was a dork.

You decided that if he was going to suffocate you with all the muscle he was trying to show off, you were going to get a picture of biting it.

The bite wasn't too hard, but the quick noise that Leon gave was mostly out of being startled anyways. He quickly retaliated by flicking your arm before posing for the next-

"Let's do a nicer one," you interject, quietly and quickly. You both prepare and in time, you're smiling together while Leon has his arm draped over your shoulders. It all happened so quickly and concisely that the warm feeling you got in your stomach from all the affectionate, silly, friendly contact was delayed.

The countdown started again. Leon almost shoved you in front of him, but instead of putting his arms over your chest and neck and face, (being annoying about it), he placed them gently over your waist. And then when the camera flashed, he was kissing your cheek.

You turned around in his arms, not really caring about the photos anymore. But he was the one that leaned down and kissed you gingerly, and with meaning. His lips were always so soft and smooth against yours-

The camera flashed. You two were together a little longer, and then you both separated. It was a few long seconds where time just stopped, and you could swear that if you opened the curtain and tried to find one of the rare morning pedestrians of the mall, they would be left unmoving.

But all you could do was look at Leon. It didn't help that he was so pretty. But there was this weird flash of emotion in his eyes, that same one you couldn't read and he wasn't looking away-

The camera flash made you both jump a little, and then Leon gave a quiet, nervous laugh to himself that sparked yours. He looked at you again, an upward pull of his lips that didn't seem too mean anymore. "Better get those photos,"

"Yeah," you offer back, already leaving the booth. He followed you, and not long after, the booth started to give out a noise before producing two copies of the same strip. Leon quickly snatched them before you could even hope to grab them, and he held them out of your view after that.

"Leon," He was snickering. That pretty smile he hasn't dropped for 5 minutes now has had its teasing quality reapplied. Irritation quickly bubbles back up in your throat.

"Ugh, Leon, you-" He does that little shit older brother thing where he lets the strip creep just into your reach before yanking it away a couple of times, but he doesn't do it too much. He gives you one of the copies after starting to giggle at you.

You shake your head, ready to be embarrassed at your own face or maybe even his, and- well, the first photo has you laughing. Your head is tilted backward and your eyes are closed, and the laughs pour out of your throat like smooth wine.

"Leon you're such a dork,-"

"Oh ok! And we're not gonna talk about the absolutely feral thing latching itself to my arm-,"

"Noo~, we're not," You interrupt teasingly, and you take a look back at the pictures. The air swiftly changes from playful, easy and teasing to meaningful, endearing- kind of tense in a way. Leon looked beautiful, and you looked nice too, and now you just noticed that Leon is right behind you actively gauging your reaction.

The third photo was almost too sweet and intimate to look at publicly, and you could feel the tips of your ears start to heat up. Leon's face is mostly obscured, sure, but the way you react to why it's obscured is so sweet and genuine it kind of embarrasses you. Your lips try to hide a smile and your eyes are cast downward and away from Leon- low, but not closed. One of your arms rests on the lean coils of muscle wrapped around your center, while the other reaches up for your hand to rest on his head.

The fourth makes you inhale a little sharper, and you can now feel the high part of your cheekbones heat with your ears. Leon's chin is resting on your shoulder now, and you can't even imagine the shit-eating grin he must be wearing on his face. Well, both of your faces can't be seen by the camera, if that's any consolation to your poor, heated skin- you might melt ice at this point.

You don't know why it has you so weirdly dizzy, but maybe it's the way Leon looks so boyish, almost soft kissing you. His head is so slightly tilted, and the way his body curls around yours is just so engaged-

The fifth one is sweet in a different way. It makes your heart instantly crackle and spark for hope, which any sort of tired rationality your dopamine abused brain has left is probably screaming at.

There's that fear in your chest, but there's no denying the fact that there's a light glimmering in Leon's sea glass eyes that you haven't seen from him too many times.

It's a look that makes your entire body feel warm, like your skin is being pricked by needles. At this point, you've stopped looking at the photos altogether and buried your face in your hands. It makes Leon's chin lift off your shoulder, and you hear a chuckle come from him, but nothing sarcastic.

"C'mon, stores are opening soon, weirdo," And when he says that you realize that there's warmth behind his words. You lift your head and look at him, and he's scratching his nose but- is he blushing too? Oh.

Oh.

He is.

Probably not as scorching hot as you, but still. He starts walking, you start walking with him. And then, he takes your hand like that entire thing just didn't happen, and you find that you can't really stop smiling. Even if you reduce it to the smallest pull of your lips, it's still on your face for a while longer.

#leon s. kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #stepbro!leon s. kennedy #stepbro!leon s. kennedy x reader

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