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dollfacefantasy · 1 month

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Kiss It Better

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!bunny-hybrid!reader

summary: on a day planned to be just for just you and leon, he gets called into work. it dredges up some old memories, and upon returning home, he wants to make it better by taking extra care of his baby bunny.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, cockwarming, daddy kink, size kink, breeding kink, hurt/comfort, reader copes with her past at the shelter

word count: 6.1k

a/n: yay leon and his baby bunny finally return. i hope this lives up to the first part lol which can be found here. i have another part planned as well if people are interested. as always reblogs and comments mean the world <3

“I could never say no to my sweet baby bunny.”

A statement Leon had said off-hand in the heat of the moment. Something he’d told you as a comfort, a way of warming you up for your first intimate moments together. He hadn’t put much thought into it before it rolled out of his mouth.

But damn, if only he’d known how true it would prove to be.

The words were ringing through his head right now as you dragged him through the mall on another Saturday he dedicated entirely to spending time with you. He’d already bought you a fair amount of stuff from cute frilly socks to pretty pink panties to some tiny t-shirts he knew he’d regret as soon as you used one to get your way. And now you were heading towards a shop tucked away in the farthest corner of the shopping center. His only hope was that the location meant it was the end of the line, the last stop on your trip.

From what he could see, it sold stuffed animals amongst other items that could clutter up his house. Luckily, the small plush toys seemed to be the only things drawing your attention. Your eyes scanned the rows before fixating on a specific one that sat on the bottom shelf. You crouched down to get and pulled it to your chest, standing up again so Leon could see your selection. His eyes soften as he notices your little cottontail twitching with excitement.

He can’t help the smile that spreads on his face at the sight. His sweet girl standing there with a small plush cow in her arms. The tufts of black and white fur jutted out the top of its head near a set of foamy horns. You looked up at him with puppy eyes, which he’d come to view as unfair since he’d chosen a bunny for a reason. But they worked on him all the same.

“Baby-” he starts, but you interject, predicting his argument.

“I don’t have a cow yet,” you plead, “It’s just one more.”

“Yeah, this one is just one more. And so is the next one, and the one after that, and the one after fifty more of these things,” he teases.

“C’mon, please,” you beg, stepping close to him to lean against his chest.

“Is this your way of telling me you want your own bed again? You’re just gonna fill the one we share with more and more of these until there’s no room and I’m pushed to the floor,” he jokes.

“No,” you deny, “Plus I put them away at night anyways.”

“Most of them,” he corrects.

“Cause I need my bear to sleep,” you say with a little pout.

He swears he almost swoons. You’re too fucking cute. He knows he’s spoiled you rotten. You’re treated better than the average hybrid to put it lightly, but he was past the point of paying that any mind. That shelter he’d picked you up from never let you have stuff like this. In his mind, he was righting their wrongs, burying those sad memories with as much cute shit as he could afford. And if other people didn’t approve, if they thought he should keep you silent and on a leash, he couldn’t care less.

Looking down at you now, playfully pleading with him for that stuffed animal, he knew he could never treat you like that. He rolls his eyes and messes with your hair, gently scratching the base of your floppy ears.

“Fine,” he says, “One more.”

You all but cheer with your excitement, bouncing up to give him a fat kiss on the cheek. He takes the stuffie from you and walks to the register to pay for it. You walk, lacing your hand with his and swinging your arms back and forth.

He looks over at you and instantly remembers why he always ends up giving in. Why he can never say no. Now that you had opened up, he couldn’t get enough of you. He’d loved you before that day a few months ago, the day when he’d caught you during your attempt at self-soothing with his pillow between your legs. But since that day, a whole new layer of you had been revealed to him. The sweet and shy bunny he’d met at the shelter touched his heart first, but the affectionate and needy girl you’d allowed him to see owned it now.

He pays for your little cow, adding another bag to the collection hanging from his arm, and leads you out of the store. You tuck yourself under his arm, clinging to his abdomen.

“Thank you, daddy,” you say quietly and press a kiss to his chest.

His heart throbs at the sound of the sweet name you’d attributed to him months ago. He has to remind himself that you’re in public before any other part of his body reacts.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he says and strokes one of your ears with his free hand.

Once the pair of you reach his car, he loads your stuff in before giving you a pat on the ass as you climb in the front seat. You’re all smiles, and he couldn’t feel better. He gets in the driver’s seat and switches the car on. Your hand goes for the controls to the music right away. He always let you pick when you were with him. Each song acted as a little glimpse into you and what you liked.

As you’re selecting one you like, he feels a buzz in his pocket. He fishes his phone out as you share some of the stuff you like about the song you put on. You then start asking him where you’re going next, but the plans slowly begin to unravel as he reads the message displayed over the picture of you he had as his screensaver.

“Shit…” he mutters to himself before looking back up at you. Your ears droop in tandem with his face dropping. “Baby, I gotta drop you back at the house. I gotta take care of some stuff at work for a bit.”

He sees the disappointment in your eyes, and it kills him.

“But… I thought you took the day off,” you say. Your mood rapidly depletes. It wasn’t his fault, but it wasn’t fair. This was supposed to be a day where he was all yours. Twenty four hours where the D.S.O. laid no claim on him.

“I did, but I’ve told you how it is sometimes. I can’t get out of it some days,” he says.

“But you already stayed late all week. What else do they even need you for?” you ask. It may be irrational, but you can’t help how your mind floods with a sense of abandonment in the moment. You knew Leon would never do that, but the years you spent in that shelter had done a good job of convincing you otherwise.

“Just some formality stuff. I’ll be as quick as I can. You know I wouldn’t choose working over being with you,” he says.

Now he’s the one pleading. Your ears are flat on your head, and your eyes are fixed on your seat below you. He knows you feel wounded now even though you’re holding it in.

“If you’re mad it’s ok,” he whispers and reaches out to stroke your jawline, “You can be upset, honey. I won’t get mad at you. I know you were excited about today.”

As much as you had opened up, he could tell you still shied away from showing too much negative emotion. He knew you’d gone through some punishments at the shelter you were still too scared to talk about.

“It’s not your fault,” you say and shrug, dejection all over your features.

He sighs and starts the car, pulling out of the parking space, and heading towards the house. “I know it’s not, but you can still let out some frustration. I wouldn't think you’re ungrateful if that’s what you’re worried about. You wouldn’t get in trouble,” he says, keeping his tone gentle.

You bring your feet up onto the seat and retreat into yourself a bit. With a simple shake of your head, he knows the topic has closed.

He lets out a quiet sigh as he drives down the road. It drips with the frustration that he’s letting you down. He can’t reach inside your head and pull out the negative effects of the shelter. He can’t tell the D.S.O. to fuck off and let him spend as many hours as he wants with his precious girl. All he can do is pull into the driveway and watch you get out of the car, your posture slightly slumped with the encroaching feelings of loneliness. You pull your shopping bags from the car. At least you give him a little parting kiss so he doesn’t feel completely emaciated.

He watches your sad trudge into the house before taking the car back out of the driveway and down the same road in the opposite direction.

Inside the house, the silence dominates you. You pad down the hallway to the bedroom that had once belonged solely to Leon. Dropping the bags of clothes near the door, you then hop on the bed and toss your new little cow up near your other pillows. Your eyes linger on the ceiling. You’d become familiar with the insignificant bumps and ridges above that provided a distraction on sleepless nights. Nights where you just needed to tune everything out and count them to avoid being haunted by the past.

Before Leon had taken you in, you always imagined you’d enjoy the quiet of a real home. The shelter always echoed with loud cries of sorrow, screams of anger, and whimpers of hopelessness. You’d lie on the thin mattress tucked in the corner of your area and try to dream of the days your bed would be lush with pillows and blankets, decorated how you liked and surrounded by the peace of you and whoever had chosen to love you.

And now those days have come. They’re real. You didn’t have to deal with the constant atmosphere of despair or the looming threat of punishment for acting like a human being. So why was it so easy for you to tumble into sadness like this? Why did the quiet no longer mean sanctuary but rather the absence of the person you loved most in this world? You could never work it out. It was too hard. Any time you tried you ended up spiraling into even more self loathing. Because there’s nothing to be sad about anymore. There’s no reason to feel like this. That stuff shouldn’t bother you; it’s nothing more than a collection of ugly memories at this point. Why couldn’t you be grateful for the life Leon had given you? The man gave you just about anything under the sun you could want, so why did one minor inconvenience have to throw you off this badly?

The bags by the door didn’t make you smile anymore. They only brought guilt. You didn’t deserve them. All the gifts and love he lavished upon you would never make you into what you were supposed to be.

Your thoughts consume you for longer than you notice. The sky darkens outside, tinting the room with a violet haze. You lie on the bed under your self-made cloud of gloom for hours, not noticing how much time has passed until you hear the garage door closing and footsteps getting closer. You glance at the bedroom door as it opens silently.

Of course, it’s Leon. His eyes fill with concern at the sight of you. He’d seen you down before but never so deflated. His face now resembles how he looked when he caught you humping his pillow all those months ago, but it’s also distinctly different. He still has curiosity in his gaze, not able to pin down what exactly is the reason for the present circumstances. Though the reaction this time is more worried than surprised. Your present state doesn’t shock him; instead he feels a protective instinct flare within him.

He approaches the bed and sits next to your limp form. His palm rubs up and down your arm slowly. “Hey baby,” he says softly, “You doing ok?”

You look up at him and nod. Sitting up, you scoot to him and align your side with his. Your legs extend out in the opposite direction of him as your head rests on the curve of his shoulder. “I just missed you,” you say softly, your arms encircling the circumference of his bicep.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and starts rubbing your back. “You do anything fun while I was gone?” he asks.

“Nothing special,” you respond, “Think shopping made me sleepy.”

You speak with a soft tone of voice, attempting to further the idea that this was merely a bout of tiredness. His eyebrows rise with suspicion. As cute as you look with your cheek squished against his shoulder, he pulls your body around and seats you on his lap. His fingers sweep down your jaw and guide you to look up at him.

“You sure you’re just tired? Nothing else? We weren’t out for that long. I just wanna make sure you’re alright,” he says, trying to show you with how he speaks that it’s not an accusation.

But you remain firm in your convictions and nod. “Mhm, I’m already feeling better. I just needed a little rest,” you assure him and tuck your face against his neck.

It’s not a lie. You were feeling better now that he had returned, each passing moment had little improvement for your mood. But he knew something still wasn’t right. He strokes down the silky expanse of your ears while his other hand massages the base of your tail.

“Well, I missed you too, y’know? Couldn’t stop thinking about my sweet baby bunny the whole time I was at work,” he says.

You were already melting against his chest from the physical contact, but now a smile graces your features. “Really?” you ask, looking up at him again.

“Really,” he confirms, “I felt pretty bad leaving you all alone when it was supposed to be our day.”

“Oh, you don’t have to fe-” you start before he interrupts.

“No, I told you the day was gonna be for us. So how about this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your chin, “How about instead we make it a night for us? I’ll give you a nice bath, put you in some of the new stuff I got you.”

He kisses your head again, then your temple, then your cheek.

“Maybe daddy’ll even give you a special treat before you fall asleep,” he murmurs before kissing your lips.

Taking in a deep breath, you nod. You’re helpless when he treats you like this, disagreeing doesn’t even seem like an option.

“Will you get in the bath with me though?” you ask.

He grins and rises off the bed with you in his arms. “Of course. Anything for my baby bunny.”

The two of you head to the attached bathroom. He sits you on the counter while drawing the bath. Steam drifts up into the hair from the hot water pooling in the tub. He lights some candles, dims the lights, and lets you pick out the scent of bubbles you want.

You sit on the laminate countertop, lazily swinging your dangling legs as you watch him. He checks the temperature of the water multiple times and stares at the clear liquid coming from the bottle of bubble bath. Once that’s taken care of, it’s your turn. He slips your shirt over your head and your bottoms down your legs like you’re the most delicate thing on the face of the earth. Kisses land on your jaw as he pulls your panties off too and drops them in the hamper with the other articles of clothing. So meticulous about everything, at least when it came to you.

He scoops you up again and brings you to the bath, setting you down in the water before twisting the faucet off and discarding his own clothing. Then he climbs in behind you, slotting his body between yours and the cool marble.

“C’mere, baby. Nice and close to daddy,” he murmurs as he pulls you onto his thighs.

You sink into his chest. The feeling of his skin against yours is almost enough to make it all better, enough to make you forget about earlier. You nuzzle into his muscular front, making him smile. He strokes your face and takes care to avoid getting your ears wet.

Both baths and showers used to make you anxious, and he knew that. One of the details you had shared with him about your life at the shelter was having to share the space with all the other hybrids, including the bathrooms. You’d told him how much you hated it, and he could only imagine. He tried extra hard now to make both as comfortable for you as possible, pampering you like an absolute princess.

Thinking about all this, him going above and beyond for you like he always did, makes you turn more into his body. Your arms loop around him, and you place your head beside his, obscuring your downtrodden expression from his vision. Your chin rests on his shoulder as he returns the embrace and holds you closer.

“My perfect girl,” he whispers.

The words are complimentary, but right now, the second in particular stings like a blade. You nestle your face against the warmth of his throat and tighten your limbs around him, trying to drown out the bad swirling inside of you with the feeling of his flesh on yours.

He knows you’re still acting a little unusual. Maybe your heat was right around the corner and it had you feeling extra needy. Maybe you were just still a bit sad about missing out on a day with him. He wasn’t totally sure, but he just wanted to make it better. And the way you were starting to press against him, breasts flush against his chest and the warmth of your thighs pressing against either side of him had his cock starting to stiffen up.

“Sweet thing… you wanna feel a little closer, hm?” he murmurs, fingertips rubbing tiny circles into the small of your back.

You weakly nod.

“Is this close enough? Or should daddy get even closer? I think being inside would feel even better,” he whispers.

You nod again, this time with more motivation. “Please daddy,” you mumble.

“Of course. All you had to do was ask,” he says. He lazily strokes himself a few times beneath the water, getting himself a little harder before he lifts you slightly and slides in.

A soft moan drifts out of you as he lowers you again. You put your head back down on him and sit with the comfort of being full.

“There’s my baby bunny,” he coos in a low voice.

He also takes in the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in. The feeling of your warm, wet embrace wrapped around him.

The two of you sit quietly for a while more, the bathroom silent except for the occasional trickle of water when one of you shifts. Flickering lights from the candles paint the walls in dim orange as the scent of the bubble bath takes over the air completely.

But to Leon’s dismay, your mood doesn’t seem to be brightening up. You don’t start squirming with the need to ride him like you normally would. You don’t get extra sappy with him and start going for more kisses or longing looks.

He reaches for the wash cloth resting on the brim of the tub and soaks it in the water. He squirts some soap onto it and gently rubs it up and down your back. He can feel your muscles losing some of their tension, but you’re still withdrawn. He continues tenderly cleaning you off while you sit with him inside you.

After a few moments more, not knowing becomes unbearable. “Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“Nothing, I’m-”

“You’re not just sleepy,” he interjects. His voice is still loving despite the confrontational manner of the conversation.

He gently guides you away from his body so you’re kneeling straight up in the bath. His eyes scan you over, trying to make this easier by figuring out what it is, but he can’t. He brings the wash cloth up to your chest and starts brushing it against your chest, between your breasts, and down your belly.

“I know something’s wrong, and I know you’re scared of talking about things like this. But I would honestly prefer you telling me what it is, even if it comes out harsh, to sitting here and trying to figure out what’s bothering you,” he says as he rubs your skin with the soft cloth.

“I don’t know,” you say timidly.

“I’m only asking because I care. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is. Seeing you hurting hurts me too, baby,” he responds.

“I’m not lying. I don’t know,” you say again, some defensiveness seeping into your words, “I don’t know why I feel bad. I don’t know how to tell you what’s wrong. I just- I felt sad earlier, and I know I shouldn’t feel sad which makes me more sad.”

He sees the panic rising in your eyes and hears your words becoming more rushed. In an effort to keep the situation controlled, he pulls you back to his chest, hushing your worries by engulfing you with his arms. You reciprocate the motion, eager to retreat from your emotions. He takes a pause to grapple with what you had just said.

“What do you mean you shouldn’t feel sad?” he asks.

“Because… because there’s no reason to be sad,” you answer.

“If you’re sad, then there’s a reason to be sad,” he says and looks down at you with growing concern.

You shake your head. “No, there isn’t,” you whimper. You start to feel tears collecting in your eyes while your throat feels like it’s constricting. “You make everything so perfect for me, and I can’t do the same for you.”

He’s beyond confused at this point. He feels a couple tears fall against his neck, and all he can do is hold you tighter.

“Woah, woah, baby, c’mon,” he says, trying to prevent more tears, “What are you talking about? Perfect? I don’t expect you to be perfect.”

“Yeah, exactly because you are perfect. You never push me. You never ask for too much. You never do anything bad, and I still get like this,” you cry.

“... Is that a bad thing?” he asks, still lost.

“No, but I just wanna be perfect for you too. You work so hard all the time at your job, and then you come home and you have to deal with me,” you weep and cling onto him more, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he says in a hushed voice, “You’re exactly what I want. I couldn’t ask for anything more than you.”

“Yes, you could. You deserve someone who can give you what you give. You deserve someone who’s not fucked up by stupid stuff from the past,” you cry, “I’ll never be a perfect pet, and I don’t wanna disappoint you.”

His chest aches and tightens up when he hears that. He starts to pull out, figuring this wasn’t the time to be balls deep inside you, but you stay locked around him so he stays put.

“Sweetheart, you’re not… I don’t see you as…” he starts, being careful with his words.

You continue your quiet crying against him.

“You’re more than a pet to me,” he decides, soft but firm, “You don’t disappoint me ever. You can’t disappoint me because I don’t have expectations of what you should be. You’re not some dumb animal that I want to mold into a fantasy. I know you were treated like that before, but that’s not what you are to me. You’re my baby bunny. My little love.”

More tears spill out onto him. The bathwater ripples with the shaking of your body.

“You’re not fucked up,” he whispers, “That stuff you went through at the shelter, that’s a big deal. I don’t expect you to just be able to move on from that like it’s normal. You need some extra care, and I’ve known that since the first day you came home with me. It’s not a bad thing. It’s something I love about you. I’m not dealing with you when we do things like this. You’re not a burden to me.”

“Promise?” is all you can choke out right now.

“I promise, baby. Cross my heart and hope to die,” he murmurs and kisses your temple. He sighs and squeezes his arms around you before saying a little more amidst the quiet of the bathroom. “I’m not gonna pretend I know exactly how you feel. But I know how it is to get shoved into a life you didn’t ask for. To get expectations put on you that you can never meet. I don’t want you to feel like that with me. I love you, and I’m gonna love you whether you’re a perfect ‘pet’ or not. That’s not what’s important to me.”

You know he’s being genuine. You hold yourself closer and press a few faint kisses to his throat. “I’m sorry,” you cry.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers, “Just try and calm down for me, sweet girl. Take some deep breaths.”

You do as he says and work towards settling down. Your breathing slows, and the tears slowly stop. He grabs another washcloth and wets it. He guides your head up and gives you a small kiss before dabbing at your cheeks and cleaning your face of any remaining sadness. Your eyes flutter shut and relax under the loving care of his movements. He tends to your hair next, caring for it how you need.

Once your bath is done, he pulls out of you. You give him a little pout, bringing a smirk to his face.

“Patience, little one,” he teases before standing up with you in his arms.

He taps the stopper with his foot, draining the bathtub as he steps out. He sets you down so he can wrap a towel around his waist and then bundles you up in a big fluffy one. He dries you off and brings you in front of the mirror. He applies some product to your ears, something he’d gotten to keep them from drying out. You can’t help the smile on your face as his fingers gently rub down your long, fluffy ears. You can feel his love through his motions. He follows it with your hair routine, going through each step with precision and making sure to do it just how you like.

Before he takes you to the bedroom, his arms curl around your waist and he slots his head next to yours, gazing into your eyes through the reflective glass of the mirror.

“My baby bunny,” is all he says before pulling you out to the bed and laying you down on it.

He gets some of your lotion, a scent he’d become so familiar with. He rubs it all up and down your legs, taking time to lightly massage as he works. His hands glide all over your body, over your hips, up your sides, across your chest, and down your arms to your hands. Every inch of you was going to feel soft as silk if he could help it. The soft sighs of pleasure that come from you are enough to keep him thoroughly invested in the process.

When he’s finished, he plants a kiss on your lips and gets up. He heads to the door where you had dropped the shopping bags from earlier. He’s rifling through them, pulling out some new items you could wear to bed. He fishes out a cute t-shirt and some smooth panties when he hears your voice call to him.

“Wait, daddy?” you say.

“Yeah, baby?” he responds immediately, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Come back,” you request.

He looks at you curiously but stands up and walks back to the edge of the bed where you were sitting. Looking down at you lovingly, he holds your jaw and squeezes your cheeks. “What is it?”

“I don’t wanna get dressed yet… Maybe I could still have my treat… if you want to,” you initiate timidly while grabbing the hem of his towel.

He smiles and breathes out a laugh. “Yeah? You’re feeling better and need daddy again?” he asks teasingly, letting you tug the towel loose. It crumples to the floor behind his legs and unveils his cock to you.

“Always need my daddy,” you say, looking up at him.

“Don’t I know it,” he teases.

He pushes you back on the bed and crawls on top of you. Leaning down, he kisses and nips at your neck. His hands squeeze your hips. You nuzzle the side of his head affectionately. Out of the corner of your eye you see him swat away the plush cow that sat nearby on a pillow from when you’d thrown it earlier.

“Hey,” you say, feigning protest, “That’s mean. He didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive me,” he says with a grin.

Your body is already exposed from the bath, and he takes advantage. He kisses down along your collarbone towards the valley of your breasts. His palms cup them at the sides as his lips coast over them. He always took his time with you when he could. He’d get to rush when you were in heat and soaked just from being in the room with him.

Your fingers lace through the strands of his hair as you draw in a sharp breath. He laves at your nipples and the sensitive flesh of your breasts. His tongue caresses along the curves slowly, building your anticipation and causing your tummy to start fluttering.

His hand slides down your body, dipping between your legs to seek out your center. His fingers brush against the velvet folds and feel how they’re beginning to grow slick with your arousal. He swirls around your clit before pressing down on the sensitive nub and rubbing. Your lips part as you mewl.

“Is daddy already making you feel good, baby?” he coos.

You nod as your face starts to morph into that pouty look you get when you’re worked up. He loves every second of it and continues flicking his middle finger against the bud.

“You gonna let me show you how perfect you are, hm?” he asks.

You simply whine in response and tilt your head back against the pillows.

“That’s my girl. So fuckin’ pretty when you get like this,” he says.

He swipes his fingers up and down some more until he feels you're wet enough and ready to take him. He was certain you could take it without as much prep. Over the last couple of months, you’d you’d shown him the phrase “fucking like rabbits” was true after all, but he liked making you feel like you needed it. He like dragging his tip against your entrance, teasingly prodding the head of his cock at your hole. He savored the way you whine and squirm for it. Just like you were doing right now.

He pushes it in you, a deep groan coming from him as he sinks in all the way to the hilt. The way your eyes flutter and droop drives him crazy. His arms cage you down on the mattress as his knees sink into the plush blankets for leverage so that he can start thrusting.

“Perfect fit, that’s for sure,” he grunts, “No one else can take my cock like you can.”

You nod, whimpering and holding onto him. “Made for my daddy,” you say before gasping.

“Yeah you were. My perfect angel bunny. Sent down just for me,” he says and starts rocking his hips.

You writhe within the confines of his arms. Your breasts push up against his chest as your back arches. He fucks into you deep as he can, just how he knows you like it. Gripping your wrists, he pins them on the mattress, keeping you secure and in place so that he can piston his hips against you without interruption.

His own head tilts back, eyes shutting and lips separating the smallest bit. You gaze up at him like he’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Every bit of him makes you clamp around his length.

“Such a good girl,” he mutters, “This is just what you needed. Just needed daddy to breed you and get you nice and calm again.”

That word makes your fuse burn faster, and you nod vigorously. “Can’t help it daddy,” you whimper, “I’m just a bunny. Don’t know any better.”

“Oh, I know, baby. Sweet little bunny like you needs to be bred. You need daddy’s cock to function, don’t you? Nothing feels right if you haven’t been bred,” he says, picking up more speed.

“Mhm,” you squeak.

Your legs start trembling hard as he hammers into your sweet spot over and over. To stabilize you, he lets go of your wrists and places his palms on the back of your thighs. He’s pressing you so hard into the mattress it feels like you might drop through straight to the floor. You cry out for him again and again, spurring him on.

“Good girl. I gotta breed my perfect little bunny. Fuck you nice and full like you deserve,” he grunts. The bed creaks with the force of his movements.

He pants as he drills into you. His head eventually falls forward to your shoulder again, but his hips don’t stop rolling.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard, you’re gonna end up with a whole litter,” he moans.

Your eyes roll back and your legs lock around his waist. “Need it, daddy. Please,” you whine and clutch at his shoulders.

“I need it too baby. Need to knock up my sweet baby bunny. Gotta get you nice and full so everyone knows you’re all mine,” he says.

You’re both almost at the peak, gripping each other as tight as possible, sucking in air like there’s a limited supply. Both of you are moments from snapping when Leon’s eyes screw shut, his mind clouded by images of you pregnant with his babies. It’s too much, and he’s snapping into you like he’ll die otherwise.

“You’re gonna be the prettiest mama to our perfect babies,” he moans against you before his body starts sputtering.

The feeling of his cum flooding into you is enough to throw you over the edge with him. You seize up, back arching off the bed like you're possessed. You babble out some words of love, but all of it gets lost. You’re so jumbled up from the high, you both can only cling to each other as you ride it out.

You’re still breathing heavy as you come down, and so is he. Puffs of his breath come out right next to your ear. He lazily kisses below the lobe as you come back to reality.

“You see how important to me you are? See how much I love you?” he murmurs as he carefully rolls over and brings you to rest on his chest with him still buried inside you.

You nod and peck his jaw as you settle against him.

“Good. I never want you thinking like that again. If you ever need a reminder of what I think of you, I want you to tell me, and I’ll give you this same reminder.”

“I will,” you agree softly as he strokes your back.

You’re both exhausted from the exertion and the long day. He’s content to just melt into the bed while tangled up with you.

“Gonna keep you plugged up for a while, baby. Gotta make sure it takes, my sweet girl,” he mumbles as his eyes start drooping.

You gaze up at him, pretty sure you have hearts in your eyes. Your doubt and sadness had been abated for now. You nuzzle him and kiss his chest before trying to get some rest yourself.

“Love you daddy. So so much,” you whisper.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x you

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k9wa · 4 months

Text

𑣲 MINE, ALL MINE. ft. SATORU GOJO

⠀ — so when i die, which i must do,

⠀ OR

⠀ — it isn’t gojo’s death that kills you, not more so than the circumstances.

⚠︎ 236 spoilers, angst, gn reader, i miss him so much i’m literally spiralling, its been three months i actually can’t take it anymore, angst, Angst, maybe angst idk. wc 797

december 30th rolls around faster than you can hope to process.

nothing in your apartment has been moved even the slightest inch in the last week.

two coffee cups still sit atop the kitchen counter, their contents long spoiled and beginning to smell. one of them is far worse than the other due to the abundance of cream and sugar inside it.

a large pair of black boots, leather with a pointed toe stay messily in the doorway— you’ve already memorised the steps to take not to trip over them and knock them out of place.

the bed remains the same, blankets and pillows in the identical messy pattern they were on the morning of the 24th. (you haven’t even gone into the bedroom, actually. you don’t have the bravery. you sleep on the couch.)

…the place is empty. it’s full, what with the clutter and picture frames on the wall and furniture. but it’s empty. cold, even. like a hand reached in through the ceiling and grabbed any warmth, ripping it out without mercy and leaving you in the frigid remains.

he should be here, you keep thinking. this is his home too.

maybe you’re dramatic. maybe his death shouldn’t have turned you so utterly pathetic. maybe you should be able to get a semblance of a fucking grip and at least clean the apartment that is suffocating you with memories you can’t bare to discard because it’s all you have left.

but it isn’t satoru’s death that kills you, not more so than the circumstances. it’s how.

and it’s not that he went out in a blaze of glory, fighting against the strongest sorcerer of all time who he, momentarily, had backed into a corner. not that he died with a smile on his face, the adrenaline of combat surging through his veins because to his core he enjoyed it.

but that it was megumi who he had to go against. that he found it easy to fight him no holds barred because of the irreparable mark the boy’s father had left on his very soul when he himself was just a boy. why? why did he deserve such a fate? why was it placed upon him? it isn’t fair.

his death incapacitates you because of how sudden it is. with no warning, lured into a false sense of security, just to have the rug pulled out from under you. at only 29 years old, over ten years of companionship are reduced to nothing but what used to be.

you’ll soon forget how his hand feels in yours, the sound of his laugh, the tickling of his hair against your nose when he nuzzles your cheek. it’s nauseating just to think about, yet not being able to recall at all might just be more than you can handle.

it’s not satoru’s death that kills you, because everybody dies. and in your line of work, it’s always sooner rather than later. satoru, strongest or not, is—was human. his death would rear it’s head some day, that was something you both knew.

but fuck you’ll curse every night to a god that doesn’t listen, and to the walls of a room that no longer feels like yours that you didn’t get more time.

he deserved to hit 30, to have what remained of his students crack jokes and call him old, and to watch him whine and run to you with complaints. he deserved to grow old enough to where he could finally be at peace with the death of suguru getou, or at least find peace within it enough to where it didn’t plague his life anymore— despite his insistent denial that it didn’t.

fuck what he deserved, damn it all to hell. you wanted him to do these things. wholly and perhaps even selfishly.

you wanted him to grow old with you,

you wanted him to stay by your side so you could stay by his.

you wanted him to reach a point someday where jujutsu society no longer had the two of you bound in heavy chains like two puppeteers; despite satoru’s advocacy and determination to make it different. where you could live your life together free of its terror.

…you wanted to see him succeed at that so badly. to see the proud look on his face when he no longer had to watch more children be sent to death.

look how well that worked out, huh, satoru?

you open the front door to your apartment, feet weaving easily around the pair of shoes obstructing the walkway. you walk past the same two grey coffee mugs on the counter, past the half shut bedroom door, and sit on the couch. you lay down, still in the same clothes, the same shoes.

you spend the night wishing it was you who’d gone first.

maybe tomorrow you will have the bravery.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

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socheckitout-mikey · 1 year

Note

do u think u could do something where johnny and the reader aren't officially dating or anything but she keeps stealing and wearing his clothes, and the gang starts teasing them for it, which eventually leads to him actually asking her out? i'm sorry if this is too much or anything but thank you so much!!

ahhh this is so cute! idk how i missed this one. my apologies for taking so long writing it out. it came out waaay longer than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy what i came up with. (': <33 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Title: The Shirt Thief

Pairing: Johnny Cade x reader

Summary: A cold night with Johnny Cade in the vacant lot brings you an unusual sense of warmth in the form of his denim jacket. What starts off with said jacket, causes you to end up with multiple articles of Johnny's clothes. It all seems harmless until the gang starts digging their noses into Johnny's business. Are you guys friends or are you more than that?

Word Count: 9,472

Disclaimer: THIS IS EDITED! I fixed the spelling mistakes and some of the grammatical errors. I also added a few new things to it, mainly in dialogue. I hope you like it though! :)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse in Johnny's home (with his parents), animals hunting and fighting, Soc's bullying the reader - vice versa, almost attempted assault, the gang coming to the rescue, rough housing with the gang (banter mainly) and a whole lot of sass! Johnny is somewhat ooc here because he's more talkative and sassy, but it's just how the piece came along! Let me know if I forgot anything else.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The story of our pesky shirt thief begins in the vacant lot under the sparkling night sky. This night was a relatively clear one in the cusp of autumn’s frost. The full moon was ample, a stunning silver glow that hypnotically danced, shrouded slightly from the wispy clouds sent onward by the chilly fall wind. Amber, golden and burnt brick red crumpled leaves tumbled noisily across the sandy dirt in a mini whirlwind. A toasty fire was being nurtured timidly upon the outskirts of this deserted place, courtesy of Johnny Cade. Underneath the jagged canopy of an almost bare tree, losing its wrinkled leaves, our greasy raven haired boy’s fingers quivered around the spindly stick in his hand. Gave an experimental poke to the half snapped branch swarmed by the smouldering, orange flames. He did not shiver from the cold, but from rampant nerves that pertained to someone he was particularly fond of being there beside him. That person being you.

In a gloomy haze, stretched over sixteen years, the dependent vacant lot with all of its decaying junk left to rot had become his home away from home. It was somewhere he could come to in order to escape the harshness he had just down the street, riddled with its cluttered and intense violence. The one he had with his parents – if he could ever really call them that – had never been consumed with even an inkling of love or nurturing. It practically rotted away from the inside out with its creaky floorboards, dust riddled insides and the damp lining the walls like a thick winter scarf. A location where he was destined to be neglected in, for the only attention he obtained was to be hollered at by his mother when she was hacked off at whatever or whoever it was that particular time: Whereas his father brandished anything he could in hand to pelt him with. The thought made Johnny shudder, a sick nauseous feeling welling up inside of him. Slimy and cold.

However, not all was lost. There had been some silver linings in teaching him things such as love, loyalty and camaraderie: His gang of reliable buddies that would stretch to the ends of the Earth for him were the culprits. Although they had nothing too, they gave him everything he’d been missing. Well, almost everything. They were the sole reason he had not run away about a million times by now. They grounded him, created a net of safety and support that he never would have experienced otherwise if he had not been born in this very downtrodden neighbourhood. Yet they could not save him from everything – a harsh reality he came face to face with daily. Nothing and no one could ever replace the lacking love of his parents.

Nevertheless, the youthful greaser that looked as if he were a puppy that had been kicked one too many times had grown used to bumming around most nights on the busted leather car seat left to waste away in the lot. A frequent bed he now sat upon to gaze up at the glittering stars in the midnight haze of the dark sky. He pondered to himself, watching it while his most favourite person in the world sat off to his right. The silence between you both wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Just off experiencing your own inner worlds whilst you enjoyed the other’s presence. Johnny wasn’t much of a talker as is. You understood the chips he had on the table and didn’t mind in the slightest, but you had your ways of getting him talking.

Despite the fact that he had a warmer and much more benevolent destination to crash at nightly: The Curtis House. He felt an immense pang of guilt and shame engulf him entirely at the thought of taking up that space. This house did not consume the same dreamy and abundant riches that one would desire at the core. Instead those fantasies were only destined for reality on the Wicked West Side of Tulsa, Oklahoma. “The home to the rich and greedy,” as Sodapop loved to put it.

Although the Curtis House lacked in material volume, it oozed a charm in its bare necessities and rundown appearance, with its peeling papered walls and well played piano that needed a miracle of tuning. What it lacked when it came to standardised beauty was made up for by its glowing warmth of love, companionship and acceptance of all the inhabitants that nestled under its rickety roof. It was a safe haven for anyone needing a place to lay low to avoid getting into trouble that could be avoided; a.k.a trouble with the law. Dallas and Steve were also regular inhabitants of the well loved couch perched up against the wall by the front door of the home: A product of powerful tempers that needed quenching. They found solace on that old, brown cushiony hunk of junk just as Johnny did when the nights grew too cold or unbearable on his lonesome.

Johnny stared up at Orion's Belt wondrously, remembering the time he'd heard Ponyboy rattle on about how he'd woken up to find the notorious Tim Shepard occupying his couch, reading the morning paper.

'Now, what in the hell was someone like Tim Shepard doin' on the Curtis’ couch?' Johnny thought silently.

Never had he bagged the likes of the eldest Shepard to reach out for a lifeline like that. It was almost unheard of, unfathomable. Tim was a handsome young man with a gnarly looking scar running from his temple to his chin. He was hard, cold and twisted. Jail, booze and all the criminal endeavours he had under his belt were like a morbid toolkit of how to be the best hoodlum out there. He looked about as capable of accepting charity as a lost soul in Hell. Then Johnny supposed that he never really knew him like Dally did. Johnny's silent disposition made it challenging for him to get close to anyone outside of his gang of buddies. Sometimes he preferred it this way, but usually he loathed it. Loneliness was easy in warping the soul of a good man.

From what Dally had told him of Tim Shepard, it'd be an immense knock to his swelling pride to reach out for help and have everyone aware of it. Inflated prides and fragile egos didn't do wonders for people with big mouths. Hence why Johnny kept his damn trap shut about it after Pony had told him.

'Man, he's gotta be pullin' my leg or somethin'.' He said internally before shaking his head.

Expelling a breath, Johnny settled back into the leather seat as comfortably as possible. He swore he'd get a bad back after opting to take the lumpy side of the car bench with the springs gnawing their way through. It had been the gentlemanly thing to do after all. He was a good guy with a good heart.

Warmth pervaded nicely from the reasonably sized fire he'd established in front of you both, but the chilly wind licked at any bare bits of skin daring to peer through tiny cracks in clothes. He hardly shivered outside of a nervous twitch. Perhaps that was only due to the fact he'd grown accustomed to the elements no matter the weather – unlike yourself.

Instead his charcoal eyes were doe-like, shakily flickering to his right where you sat. Only then in this moment did he fully come to the present moment, understanding the cold bit at your nose, ears and fingers in a way that looked cute. Yet despite your shivering that you so desperately attempted to hide, you sat there in all of your beautiful glory with only a few inches of space between you both. A comfortability you bathed in that seemed so raw, as if you were merely sitting on your living room couch with both of your knees and feet tucked under you and just off to the side. Peace prevailed from the tender smile gracing your features. A subconscious practice, you definitely seemed to be lost in your own thoughts. Johnny stared at you, and wondered what kind of movie was flashing behind those pretty eyes to have the sun dawn across your face like that. To him, all he could see was the vacant lot – a desolate place where only hoodlums would hang in droves, drawn in by its trashy grounds.

"You starin' cuz I got somethin' on my mug or it's just that ugly?" You grinned like a chessy cat, turning to look him directly in the eye. Thinking that being a wise cracker was funny.

Damn you and your perceptiveness.

Instantaneously Johnny ripped his gaze from yours, stiff as a plank. Embarrassment dashed across every cell in his body and left his lungs flat of oxygen. Man, if he thought his usual heartbeat was fast, what was happening inside of his chest right then must have been the speed of goddamn light!

All he could do was stammer out, "U-u-uh n-n-neither!" The poor guy sounded like Porky The Pig.

Your eyelids fluttered in astonishment at the stuttering mess of a young man he was. So jumpy. A mouse scuttling around on sharp eggshells. Part of you would've felt proud of your handiwork if it had been anyone else, but it was Johnny, your best friend. "Awe shucks, Johnny-cake," you offered him sheepishly, "I didn't tell you to stop. I was just messin' with ya. Gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

Messing with him? That was evident. He wasn't cross with you for pulling on his leg, just bothered by himself for getting caught out in the act. "S'okay, I g-get it." He shrugged, trying to play it cool whilst he stared into the portal to the Underworld.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You tried again, bumping him softly with your shoulder.

"Nothin' much," He lied smoothly, picking at the hole in his tennis shoe.

"You sure you ain't developin' the cure for cancer or somethin'? You're pretty smart." You inquired with a cheeky beam.

"Shoot! Do I look like I know what two plus two equals?" Johnny was getting a little bit sassy.

"Okay okay, I get it. I'll back off." You chortled.

'Yeah, thank goodness for that…' Johnny thought to himself. Suddenly he was uneasy with the idea of you ever discovering his little moments of staring at you because he loved the way you looked in candid moments like this one just passed. How did one go about saying these kinds of things? Johnny didn't know a lick. He was a dejected lost cause in the romance department. An awkward bump on a log. Felt he looked cruddy right about now too so he scratched the back of his head fervently for a second. No one really gave him a second glance. He was invisible and too quiet to be noticed.

Yet he failed to realise that you noticed him.

His forlorn expression had been obscured by his shaggy bangs that hung on his forehead. In fact, they no longer existed. You watched him struggle with something akin to wrestling a twenty foot gator inside of that skull of his. It made you feel funny on the inside, as if you were to blame. Diligently Johnny picked up the jagged stick he'd used to poke the flames with earlier. Started drawing in the dusty cold dirt at his feet. Back and forth, left and right, then round and round. A tedious therapeutic cycle.

'Yup, he's off to the moon again.' You thought. 'I'll give him a sec to recoup. I think I made him short circuit a little too hard.'

Just then the bleakness of the night pressed its breathy lips against you. You shivered in response, huddling unconsciously to Johnny for his radiator heat. Part of him was shaking too. The flames jolted haphazardly. A violent twirl of dead leaves kicked up into the air before the wind relented altogether and they fluttered into the fire that engulfed them. It was a beautiful sight indeed, albeit destructive. The elements typically were unforgiving. That was the cycle of life. Mother Nature worked in wondrous ways that went beyond the mere perception of the human mind. Ever evolving and always there. It had put a smile on your face, and Johnny looked at you once more.

"Now, you wanna give me a penny for your thoughts?" He asked.

You slowly turned to look at him, your smile unwavering, "And cash in my trade secrets when you won't give me yours? That don't tally up to me."

Johnny shrugged, trying to hide a ghost of a smile on his features, "You just caught me off guard that's all…"

"Oooooh so I got the element of surprise on my side?" You wiggled your eyebrows. "Who knew I was mighty smooth!"

Johnny rolled his charcoal eyes, shook his head with a laugh, "Don't get too big headed now," he warned.

"Why, cuz I'll float away?"

"Naw," Johnny shook his head, "You sound like Two-bit."

Your countenance fell from grace then; all of the humour drained completely, replaced with a sulk. "Now you just went and ruined it."

Johnny laughed heartily, "I dunno why you got it against him, yn. It was only fifth grade-,"

"Don't remind me of fifth grade! He put gum in my hair and you saw it." You warned with a finger pointed at him. “I looked like a coconut headed bum for two years, Johnny Cade! Two years I ain’t ever gonna get back.”

"Alright, alright! Don't shoot." He mumbled with a half smirk on his face.

"And don't laugh either. Who's side are you on anyway?" You mumbled with your arms folded over your chest.

Johnny met his match in attempting to swallow the laughter down, "Who knew you were this much of a sore loser," with a shake of his head.

"Sore loser my ass…" You retorted, looking off to the side like a petulant child.

All Johnny could do was laugh.

The sourness of your mood forced you to realise the lateness of the night. The cold showed its first signs of frost that danced mistily away from the firelight. You quivered fully this time, rubbing your nimble hands up and down your arms. "Are you cold?" Johnny finally had the courage to ask.

"Uh-huh! But I'll be okay."

"You know you don't have to tough it out for me, right?" Johnny said sincerely. "You shoulda brought a coat. It's November not August."

"I forgot, mom." You mumbled wryly.

"Man, don't call me that. It sounds strange." He pulled a face as he spoke.

"And why not?" You demanded.

"Cuz you sound like T-," He began, but you cut him off.

"Don't even think about saying that name!"

Despite himself, Johnny was laughing something awful. A grin spread across his face akin to a mixture of pride and victory. He'd bested you in the end and even you knew it. "You asshole-," You muttered, but it all bled through into your own sense of laughter that mingled with his.

Then it seemed to die down, a comfortable glow encasing you both. In the midst of it you hardly realised Johnny shimmying beside you – too caught up in the afterglow. But then an uncanny warmth of freshly worn denim was draped over your shoulders. Ghosts of fingertips touched the nape of your neck as it was laid there. Your head turned to find Johnny retracting his hands shyly and passing it off without a word. The gesture touched you, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Why?" Your better judgement couldn't stop the question from flying out of your mouth.

Johnny squirmed uncomfortably under your focused stare, "I dunno…" he shrugged. "You were cold and didn't have a jacket. It was the right thing to do I guess."

The right thing to do. It made you beam beautifully then. Johnny Cade was always doing the right thing. Well, maybe not all the time when he was with his buddies, but usually he did. A good guy with a good heart that made yours flutter at the touch. The act of giving you his most prized possession really touched you in ways that made your eyes begin to water. You needed a second to blink them back. Hoping he hadn't noticed. Luckily he hadn't.

You thanked him in the only way you knew how to, by leaning your head on his shoulder. He stiffened to the touch, unfamiliar with it. Johnny wasn't much of a hugger, so physical contact was reserved for special moments. He allowed it this time and you felt his body shake, unsure with what to do with himself. Your fingers wrapped around his bicep, a reassuring squeeze so light it helped him realise you weren't going to hurt him. You never could. He was too special, too gentle, but wild in his own way when he let himself out freely. Yet the person he was now, the boy that gave you his jacket and talked with you the most; that was your Johnny Cade.

"Thank you, Johnny-cake." You whispered into the air, gently holding his hand and squeezing softly. It was sweaty.

"D-don't mention it." He swallowed, giving you an experimental squeeze back. "It's just my jacket, softie."

"Who you callin' softie?" You look up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"You."

Silence befell you, and it was laced in a tranquil dose. Hushed whispers reverberated off of the caverns in your hearts, growing more prominent. All the giggles filled with the springy frolicking of baby lambs. Clumsy and endearing. Johnny lit a fire in you unmatched and vice versa. Young love that was mutual, but unknown to the other. You stayed with him for quite some time, until he walked you home. You'd sent him off with a wave after him shyly telling you to keep it. Made him promise not to sleep out in the cold, and Johnny kept his word. Slunk all the way to the Curtis House three hours before sunup to fortunately find it free. Rest was his, all with a smile screwed on tightly to his features.

Many more instances of thievery occurred with your pesky little fingers and the growing feelings that possessed you like a restless spirit. Time spent with Johnny became your drug of choice, and you could not get enough of him. No funny business was happening, it was just your personalities melding well together. You brought out a sassy part to him, and surprisingly he could keep up with you. Each meeting was set in colder conditions than the last. Forcing Johnny to bring in what little reinforcements he had. You either seemed to forget a jacket or your layers weren't nearly enough. His jacket was a chameleon's skin, bouncing from his shoulders to yours. His shirts were a comforting reminder of him when he wasn't around – shields against the bleakness of winter. His grey sweatshirt was your favourite. Everything began to accumulate.

One day you were both coming from the tracks in the Shepard outfit where a little creek was running through another vacant lot by an old abandoned factory. The water was still frozen and the trees were barren. All sorts of junk stuck to the frosty ground. It was kind of niche-like, a quiet place that seemed abandoned when the sun shone its rays upon Tulsa. It had been an accidental find during a summer day the year before. A superb place to explore when things were warmer and less soggy. Though it was apparent that neither of you had the courage to explore the dangerous insides of the abandoned warehouse in its entirety. Anyone could be lurking there, boobietrapped the innards to protect their stashed hoards. So the pair of you stuck to the outskirts towards the vacant lot beside it.

There you both were, sat upon a crumpled wall, admiring a winter's afternoon like a pair of Humpty Dumpty’s. The sun was bright in the sky, threatening to melt the world entirely. The first inklings of spring graced reality. The robins were chirping, hopping around in search of food nearby. Adorable feathered critters, so fluffy. They reminded Johnny of Christmas as one turned its neck beside him, curiously looking up into his black eyes. Both were inquisitive of the other.

"He looks like you-," your half whisper broke out into the air too loudly. The disturbance made the robin jolt and fly off.

Johnny sighed, "Man, he got so close this time. You just had to go and ruin it didn't you?"

"I'm sorry. Was there a spiritual connection happening? How rude of me!" You gasped with a hand over your heart.

He shook his head, grinning because he wasn't angry about it at all. "He was a cute little guy though…"

"Hence why I said he looked like you." You clarified.

Johnny exploded with a blush, shaking his head again, "You must've hit your head when you fell on the ice earlier."

"My head is not any worse off than it was before, thank you very much!" You defended yourself.

"You know, the first sign of someone tellin’ porkies is denial, right?"

"I am not tellin’ porkies!"

"Are too-," Johnny countered, nudging you with his elbow.

"Am not!"

Falling back into that effortless banter made you both grin like chessy cats. It was silly, but very much needed. You knew Johnny got extra embarrassed whenever you'd start complimenting him, especially in the looks department. You didn't say these things just to throw him off, but because you truly meant them. Johnny was cute. One of the cutest guys you'd seen in a longtime. Maybe he wasn't moviestar handsome like Sodapop, but girls were missing out when they overlooked him. He had his own things to bring to the table; loyalty, kindness, abiding the law… Just to name a few. You suddenly shook these thoughts out of your head, deciding if you went too deeply down this path that it was best not to be done in Johnny’s presence. Lest you were to blabber about it like you'd done to your other friends who'd told you to ask him out already. They just didn't understand how delicate the matter was really. Johnny wouldn't say yes anyway.

"Hey look! Those cats are back," Johnny quietly hissed by your side, pulling you out of your daze.

You followed his line of sight and sure enough the two male felines were there. Lithe in nature and mean looking. A skinny orange tabby trotted forward, a snaggle tooth protruding from his mouth. By his side was his black Bombay counterpart, scraggy bodied with dirty fur and a distinct chip taken from his ear. They were silent, far from their former glory days when they knew what a good home was. The Bombay was a little bigger than his cheddar companion, and it was easily understood by any human looking in that a pact had been formed between them through a necessity to survive. The pair of you had spied them before, a distrusting set that initially hissed and growled. They were all claws and teeth so you kept your distance to avoid any surprise visits to the clinic. However now they seemed to tolerate your presence, acting as if the silence you exuded exempted your existence. Johnny and you admired them, goofy grins on your faces, because the cats were ready to commit their timely crime of hunting for some grub of the day. You knew who they reminded you of.

"Well if that ain't Dally and Tim," You consciously made the effort to whisper.

Johnny nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I can see it."

"Which one's which?" You asked, genuinely curious about Johnny's take.

He was reluctant to take his eyes off the cats, watching them begin prowling forth towards an unsuspecting robin. "Huh?" he hummed, finally looking at you just as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

"Which cat is Dally and which one is Tim? You know 'em better than I do." You pressed softly.

"Oh, that's easy, Dally's the ginger tabby and Tim's the Bombay." He offered with a nod of his head in the felines direction.

"What why?" You demanded it up at him.

“Well if we’re goin’ off their looks for a start, Tim looks like the Bombay cat. Guy is a real alley cat – got a lot of street smarts and carries himself well. Besides, he's tougher than a bag of nails.” Johnny did have a point – Tim looked just like that black cat with his curly jet hair.

Speaking of the black cat, it had entered a state of hunting, kneeling down with coiled taught muscles – just ready to pounce on that unsuspecting robin below, pecking at the seeds you and Johnny had left behind earlier. You hoped it wouldn’t be eaten, couldn’t stomach to see something so savage. However, you supposed that was only the way the circle of life worked.

“The orange tabby’s Dally cuz of that cool look in his eyes. The way he carries himself so freely. Out of the two, the tabby’s the one that’s in charge somehow. He writes the rules that the other cat’s always tryna best.” Johnny offered with a brief shrug before continuing, “Not that the black cat is following any rules. Both have minds of their own.”

Boy, you could really hear the way he admired Dallas Winston from the way he spoke about the orange tabby. It was wholesome. Dally was Johnny’s hero — the kid practically worshipped the ground the guy walked on. You didn’t see why. To you, Dallas Winston was a rotten hoodlum with a track record of breaking the law in every way, shape and form that he could. He frightened you like The Boogeyman had when you were nine. Where you both engaged with each other somewhat cordially, you preferred to keep your distance. You supposed that you had no room to judge after all. There was a deep friendship that had developed between him and Johnny; you’d seen it in Dally’s cold hard eyes… affection. It made you grin then, wondering if Johnny thought strangely of your heroes too.

“And both of them are jackasses.” You countered, bumping his shoulder mischievously.

Johnny laughed a little, looking at you for a few short moments. “Yeah alright, I’ll give you that.”

You liked the way he’d described the two though. It was a statement that fit the pair of hoodlums in a peapod together. Yet the orange tabby did appear to be the leader as it licked its wonky chops delectably. Inched closer by the second, a silent assassin to carry out its hunter gatherer lifestyle. It was intelligent, mimicking the movement of the robin that had caught onto it. It lured the bird on a swift and winding course, swiping for it good and hard but missed. Never mind. The robin fluttered up and into the line of sight of the black cat, a moment of fear in its beady eyes. Yet just as the night-like feline swept its razors at it, the robin burst into the air and flew off in the opposite direction. It had missed its meal by a feathers length. Every other robin in the vicinity flew off instantly, leaving the two cats dumbfounded.

In frustration, the orange tabby yowled and darted forth. Its clawed paw zipped out and popped the mouth of the black cat. The black cat hissed, stunned for a mere second before it lunged for the only comrade it had in this god forsaken world. The two tumbled together in an infuriated Halloween special of blurred fur. A gasp floated from your mouth as they rolled back and forth. A genuine cat fight unheard of. They sounded like two ghouls trying to out spook the other – alien and loud.

Johnny couldn’t help but laugh out of nervousness. He wasn’t trying to be cruel whatsoever. Didn’t like to see animals fighting and hurting each other, but it humoured some sick part of him. “Just like Dally and Tim, huh? Buddies one minute then at each other’s throats the next.”

“Amen to that.” You found the humour of the situation, only because it was too similar to the real life hoodlums you both knew.

You’d seen your fair share of those guys beefing it out in the past together in The Dingo parking lot, let alone practically in your own backyard. They were a strange duo – too competitive and cut from the same cloth. They’d never find another person just like them, that was for sure.

Just then an icy gust came throttling through the area, reminding you both that it was still winter. A tremor ran through the pair of you, and you huddled together for warmth. By now the cats had slumped off to their own corners of the lot, hissing and growling as they went. Sore egos and bodies made them sulk and mewl in the shade whilst they licked their wounds.

“Dammit-,” your teeth chattered, moving closer to Johnny. “March my ass…”

Johnny breathed a laugh, shaking his head. He scanned your features humorously, those bushy brows hidden by a thick blanket of his black greasy bangs that flopped onto his forehead.

“What?” You mumbled, your fingertips unconsciously reached for him in the space between you both. Johnny didn’t notice.

He stared at you for a good three seconds before opening his mouth to speak, “How can you be cold with all those layers you got on?”

“Well I mean it’s obvious, it’s winter.”

“Uh-huh-,” Johnny sassed, smirking slightly, “As if you ain’t wearin’ my shirt, my sweater and my jeans jacket too. Got the whole department store on your back.”

Abashment took hold of you as your gaze dropped down to inspect yourself. There was Johnny’s jacket on you, and underneath his tattered grey sweater, that black t-shirt poking up above the collar. And Johnny? He was adorned in a wrinkled white shirt with a blue and creamy egg yellow flannel over the top you guessed was one of the gang’s. Worn over that was Dally’s brown leather jacket with the cosy sheepskin lining. You pouted with a bruised ego, looking off to the side, “It’s not like you’re naked or nothin’…” you murmured petulantly.

Johnny chuckled breathily, your joined hands jostling as he tugged on it without any semblance of awareness, as if to gain your attention. “Not yet, but I’m gonna be! Man, do you know what I had to say to get this jacket from Dally?” He was teasing you.

“Mmmppppffff…” you grunted, crossing your legs on that wall.

“The guys are askin’ questions and I dunno what to tell ‘em any more!” His voice broke a bit before he continued, “Two thinks I’m preparin' to run down the centre of town butt naked!”

That made you burst out into fits of giggles. The thought was so unorthodox it was hilarious. “You’re tellin’ him that’s the truth right? God, could you imagine? I can see the news articles now: Johnny Cade, Teenage Delinquent Gone Buck Wild!” You beamed, throwing your free hand out to elaborate some unseen picture.

Johnny shook his head again, laughing with you, “Man, you’re just as bad as Soda!”

“I’m twice as good looking too!” You offered with all the cheekiness you could muster.

All he could offer was an entertained roll of his eyes. Your shoulders bumped together, old comrades turned into something more. His soft gaze fell onto your interwoven fingers, and his heart fluttered like dove wings. A widened gaze, then that notorious blush exploded under that tanned flesh. His mind was incapable of functioning. It was wholesome, but you read everything wrong. Made a move to release his hand and he stopped you.

"Don't." It was the strongest word you'd heard from him as he held your hand tighter than he ever had before. Not enough to hurt you, but to let you know it was real too.

"Y-you sure?" It was your turn to stutter.

The look he shared with you may have been wavering to some degree, but there was certainty in those eyes. His mouth opened to speak, "Yeah, I don't mind one bit."

I don't mind one bit. It ran round and round in your head. A starstruck expression invaded your beautiful countenance. The reassurance was a bonus that made your belly fill with a plethora of butterflies. Cloud nine had nothing on this moment.

Johnny explored the expressions flitting across your face with a newfound sense of wonder. That pleasant delight racing through you was infectious as you stared off into the junk riddled vacant lot, your mind preoccupied with his hand in yours. The sun dawned across your features once again, like that autumn night you'd spent with him in your neighbourhood's vacant lot. The understanding that he was the source of that made his belly squirm, a giddiness overcoming him. He could no longer deny the fondness he had for you so blatantly.

With him leaning a little closer to you, he whispered, "How about you give me at least some of my stuff back?"

"Mmmmm maybe,"

"yn-," there was an uncommon sense of sternness in his voice.

"But-," You tried objecting.

"No buts-," he rushed out with a shake of his head, "At least give me one! I've been wearing this shirt for three days now!" He was hilariously incredulous.

"Is that why you stink?" You taunted him.

"Not funny-," He made his best attempt to be cross with you.

"Okay, okay! I'll give them back." You said begrudgingly.

"You better bring the cavalry with how much you have stolen from me, you little shirt thief."

"In my defence, you did give them to me… But I'll have them for you next time I see you, scouts honour!" You spoke sincerely with your free hand held dramatically over your heart.

"Uh-huh, that's what you said last time and I still didn't get 'em back." He bantered.

"Well, that wasn't a real scout's honour." You admitted with a diffident rub to the back of your head.

"yn-," he shook his head.

"Hey! I'm serious this time."

"Good…" He trailed off, his other hand beginning to play with the rings banded around your fingers absentmindedly.

Blissfulness carried upon the wind, a promise of returning what wasn't yours already settled. Golden light broke through the clouds, catching Johnny in the face directly, which made him grimace evidently. You grew lost in his handsome physique, feeling the pad of his thumb drag up and down the back of your hand. The sensation was special, because Johnny had warmed up to you so much.

It was a lively Saturday night, and with the determined honour of a scout member, you showed up like clockwork with a bag filled with Johnny's things. It was just as the crowds at The Nightly Double encroached upon the Tulsa streets in boisterous droves. Everyone was high on the giddy delight of the movie they had just watched – the late night viewing of two specials before the drive-in closed its doors for the night. Previous arrangements with another friend had you missing out on the fun, but here you were wearing your very own leather jacket with Johnny's denim one bunched up nervously in the palms of your hands. Speaking of Johnny, he had tagged along with the gang – minus Darry, because movies seemed to bore the older man to death.

A pair of scrawny looking Socy guys stalked out of the front doors, acting like big shots, cutting in front of a dark green Corvair on its way out and into the oncoming traffic. The driver of the same social class hung out of the driver's window whilst his girl attempted to pull him back in.

"Hey watch it, wise guys! If you're lookin' to get your asses run over, then be my guests and step back in my line of sight!" He snarled aggressively before his girlfriend won the battle and pulled him back inside to tell him to "knock it off".

A line began to form behind them as the couple argued incessantly, presumably over the guy's foul temper. Car horns honked on the spring breeze, forcing the guy to nervously step on the gas. They almost crashed into a Chevy Impala before zipping off home. You could see the animated scowl of the girl refusing to talk to her boyfriend in the side view mirror as they retreated. She glowered at you as if you were the scum of the earth. It didn't make you feel too hot.

The two wisecracking Soc's cackled at their attempts at being hard, stalking forth when they caught sight of your lonesome form. Vile cackles were shot your way as they walked past you before deciding the better option was to encircle you like a couple of hammerhead sharks.

'Boy, these dingbats don't know what tree they're barking up.' You thought, stiffening your body up for any form of unexpected physical contact. You weren't gonna let yourself get blown over that easy.

"What's up, greaser? You lookin' to bum around on our streets?" The six foot tall pencil with the sour breath sneered down at you, bumping your shoulder, making a come around to your left. When he disappeared behind you, the other one with chestnut hair the texture of straw invaded your face.

"Yeah, who said you were allowed round these parts anyway?" He jeered, smacking his gum obnoxiously.

Typically these dorks wouldn't have been graced with so much of your attention, but being on your own with a whole sea of onlookers made you weary. However you sure didn't show it. No one was there to stand up for you so you had to do it yourself. All you could do was raise your eyebrows, feeling the burning sense of humiliation rise from the pits of hell beneath your feet. It felt toasty, but the wrong kind. A glower of pure vexation was sent up their way. 'Who are these cocky jackasses, anyway? I've got the same right to use these streets like anyone else!' You contemplated.

"Oh really? I never knew white trash chequerboards like yourselves owned the streets everybody walks on." Your lips flapped wryly before you could even say a word.

The entertained gazes of onlookers of every social class stopped to stare. Murmurs of speculation broke out: Two against one didn't typically seem like a fair fight, but with the sheer scrawniness of the socially elite, it seemed to look like the chips fell in your favour. Though you knew appearances could be deceiving, harbouring a surprising sense of physical strength.

In a rift of the crowd, six pairs of familiar eyes honed in on your shining moment of unprovoked confrontation.

"White trash chequerboards?!" The pencil growled out, sharing a glance with his straw haired counterpart. For the most part they were dumbfounded, not having expected you to stand up for yourself.

"If anyone's white trash, it's you, greaseball." The second one jutted his finger in your face.

Nothing about your countenance betrayed you. Cold and detached you stared at that finger in your face with a deep sense of boredom. Then an almost smug smirk etched your features as you stared up into his grey eyes.

"Oh my, my!" A dripping sense of mocking venom entered your tone. "Seems like I got more class than that finger you got pointed at me. Seriously, you got a licence to be armed with carryin' that thing? You better watch what you do with it before it falls into the wrong hands. You know, because with great power comes great responsibility and all." You were armed with so much sass it made you invincible.

The crowd surrounding you burst into a fit of laughter so potent that it burnt these punks into a startled pile of ash. The pair of Soc's were so vapid that they were a bore even to themselves, which is why they were acting out as if they were five times their sizes. You were lively, armed with a silver tongue that could slice just about anyone to pieces who tried to humiliate you.

"Oh yeah, you little punk?" The first one growled, invading all sense of your personal space.

You took one step back, your eyebrows raised, "It's his responsibility, not mine. Whatch'yu gettin' all riled up for, eh? Can't take a joke, Mister Funny?"

"I'll show you a joke when I knock your two front teeth out." He barked.

Oooh's and aaah's broke through the crowd on a symphony of guffawing. You cocked one eyebrow up at him, a cockiness overcoming you. What could you do otherwise? If no one had your back, you had to have your own. That was just the way the cookie crumbled when you were a greaser – if there was a cookie at all.

"Oooooh~ Don't threaten me with a good time, pencil dick." You snorted. "I will bend your ass like a goddamn pretzel before you can even have a chance to beg for your mommy to save you."

The two guys shared a look, the degradation burning their senses of pride to withering embers. Their faces were pinkened beyond recognition, boarding on a fiery red. Your insults only poured gasoline on the fires. They couldn't back out now with the engrossed mass around the three of you. Your body stiffened as they went to grab you, preparing yourself for a fight that would no doubt cause the fuzz to come shutting it down. The image of yourself being cuffed in the back of a cop car had you overcome with a sense of terror. You weren't made for jail with your sharp tongue and sass. Wouldn't last two seconds flat in a grim place like that.

Before any contact could occur, a boisterous New York accent throttled into the air, a familiar arm slinking over your shoulders, "Hey Dumb and Dumber, you really wanna go gettin' your asses handed to you by a girl in front of all of these people?" Dallas was snickering with a smoke hanging out of his mouth, leaning against you smoothly as he patted your upper arm, but he wasn't your only saviour.

The other five lean and hard looking members of the Curtis gang had rolled up in all of their greasy headed glory. Pony and Johnny were Dally's flanks whilst Sodapop and Steve jammed themselves on either side of the pathetic turkeys that had bothered you. Two-bit prowled like a cat, that smug, wild grin carved onto his handsome features. The oldest of the six came in the centre of the perpetrators, an arm slung on each of their shoulders. It was overly friendly, even for Two.

"Well, well, well, if it ain't the socially elite barking up a tree they didn't know was a mountain! I'd get your eyes checked if I were you." He laughed, squeezing them together under his impressive arms. The others joined in.

"I think it's time these tuff lookin' sons of bitches got in the ring with the big shots." Steve yipped sarcastically, clapping the straw haired guy on the back a little too roughly.

"Lookin' like a bunch of heavyweight champs, am I right?" Soda leered, his once kind blue eyes filled with a mischievous malice.

The two Soc's looked at each other, realising they'd made a mistake in targeting you. "We don't want any trouble." The first one said, fumbling.

"Yeah! We was only just jokin' around." The other made a pitiful attempt at joining in on the laughter.

"Oh really now?" Dally quipped through dragon's breath, plucking his smoke from his lips and wiping the back of his index finger under his nose like he was annoyed. "I call bullshit, beanpole. Ain't that right, Johnny?" Dally asked Johnny, motioning towards him.

With a black gaze as cold as obsidian, Johnny nodded his head, "Sure thing, Dally." He refused to take his gaze off of the perpetrators who recognised that hoodlum's menacing name anywhere.

"Pony?" Dally turned, looking over your head at the fourteen year old greaser with the greyish green eyes. He put that smoke back in between his lips and inhaled sharply.

"Yup!" Pony popped the 'p' at the end of the word.

"Great, it's settled!" Dally exclaimed, pulling his arm from over your shoulders and rubbing his hands together like a fly with an evil plan. He stepped forward, his face a mere couple of inches from theirs. "You dumbasses get to go toe to toe with me for fucking with the wrong person, and then my buddies will have what's left of you. How do you like the sound of that?"

The way Dally seethed it even had you shaking in your boots. There was almost a sense of honour riding on your guts. It wasn't everyday that Dallas Winston was standing up for you, but when it happened you took it willingly. The two guys had become pale ghosts, shuddering with sweat dewing their foreheads. Dally meant those words, but it seemed he was mainly toying with them. So were the rest of the gang too. With matching Cheshire grins plastered on their faces they watched as the two shoved past Soda, tripping over the boot Johnny had stuck out and shot in through an opening in the crowd to salvation. Sent to faceplant on the ground with a series of laughter as the drama seemed to be over for the most part and people lost interest.

"Where are you goin'? Wait until we set her on ya!" Sodapop called, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders.

"Yeah, she may seem like she’s all bark, but she's got one hell of a bite!" Steve cackled.

Lost in an ocean of chaos, Johnny's inquiry of concern for you slithered back down his throat. He bled into the background, admiring the way your eyes rolled as the wisecracking descended upon you.

"The hell was that, kid?" Dally said between inhaling his smoke. Rubbing the top of your head with his ringed fingers awarded him with a generous shove from you. His treatment hurt, but he was happy to see you, which was unusual.

"Get offa me-," You grunted and he eventually relented.

Before Steve could chime in about you being a smart ass or wandering around on your lonesome, your most dreaded member of the gang came blundering on over. A half drunken stupor holding him up by some invisible string, "Haha! Where did you learn to talk like that? Dare I say you got some inspiration from somebody in particular?" He waggled his eyebrows at you.

"Oh, well ain't those the biggest words you’ve ever said! Ugh, don’t make me sick, two cents." You bit at him.

"Eh, at least I'm worth somethin' in this world." He chuckled, clapping your shoulder.

"That was meant to be an insult." You retorted.

"Really? That's a whole compliment and a half!" He exclaimed with his arms thrown up.

"Yeah yn, I sure can hear the church bells ringin' right now!" Soda grinned at you, cupping his free hand over his ear. In fact, to seal the deal he wrapped his arm around your shoulders as the seven of you began walking to your neighbourhood.

Steve came up on the other side, walking the tight line of the curb, "From haters to lovers!" He beamed, spreading his palms out in the open space before you like he was presenting a far away picture. "It all started when you were in fifth grade and he was in sixth, gum to the hair, a pop to the mouth and the rest was history!"

Johnny listened and observed, laughing halfheartedly along with his buddies. Something about Soda's and Steve's words tugged on his heartstrings in a plucking fashion. It was uncomfortable and didn't sit right with him. Yet he couldn't be too mopey about it, it wasn't like anybody knew his growing feelings for you. By now there was a confusion in your friendship, as if all these special moments you'd experienced together had evolved the friendship into something else. He was afraid of what that meant. Things would never be the same ever again, and he found himself eyeing up the bag full of his clothes on your shoulder and his jeans jacket wadded into your hand.

Well, at least your promise had been genuine this time.

If you weren't riled up before you were now. A sucker punch to the gut was minutely dodged by Steve, who hopped to safety behind Dallas like a kangaroo. Being surrounded by people you knew was nice as the mood settled somewhat. Johnny found his natural place to the left of you, keeping in time with your easy pace.

Sodapop raised his eyebrows and asked the question everyone had been wondering, "Hey yn, what were you doing there all alone?"

"Ain't that Steve's line?" You quipped.

“Gettin’ to be more and more like Ponyboy everyday, yn!” Steve warned, messing up Pony’s hair for comedic relief.

Pony was certainly not pleased, pulling his comb out of his back pocket and using the sideview mirror of a car to fix his hair in the dark. “Stupid Steve…” grumbled past his lips.

“What was that?” Steve barked next to Soda.

“Nothin’, said I looked stupid…” He lied with burnt cheeks and ears to match.

"That's what I thought, little guy." Steve stared at him.

Once the commotion had somewhat settled Dally eyed you up and spoke through his smoke, “Soda’s got a point. What were you doing there?” He noticed that bag over your shoulder and whistled, “Did your goody two shoes ass get kicked out or are you just droppin’ by to bid your farewells on us common folk before you skip town?”

Put on the spot, you hesitated for a second, “Uh, I just came to see Johnny.”

“With the entire mall's inventory?” Two grinned wickedly, pressing for more information. "Johnny's become quite the charity case lately." He teased, noogying Johnny playfully who shrugged him off with a small laugh.

“Hey wait a sec, isn't that Johnny’s jeans jacket?” Pony spoke up once his precious hair had been rearranged.

Dallas’s pesky fingers swiped the jacket in your hands with a mind of his own – and like a chimp, he examined its authentication closely. The five other members gathered around him as if he held the fifth wonder, which left you and Johnny with the liberation of simultaneously backing up at the edges of the throng. “You wanna make a break for it?” You hissed your suggestion at Johnny, who nodded his head.

That’s when five heads whipped up with dumbfounded expressions. This was Johnny’s jacket! The one he said he’d lost. Soda’s eyes were the first to eye up that bag strapped to your shoulder, a familiar grey sweater poking out through the zipper that wouldn't close properly. “Hold on one stinkin’ minute.” Realisation hit him with a dopey grin.

Two caught on next, his hand grasping the bag strap and pulling it from your shoulder. In the same motion he’d freed the grey sweater from the confines, only to find more clothes underneath. “Haha!” He cackled noisily, “You’re the one who’s been swiping his clothes? You sly fox!”

“Johnny and yn sitting in a tree-,” Steve cackled, only to get cut off by Dally who smacked him in the chest.

“What are you man, four?”

“Four?! I’ll show you four!”

“Oh glory-,” You mumbled, looking at Johnny, “I think I made a mistake.”

“You think?” He hissed, his tone was somewhat biting, looking scared stiff for the incoming of terrible teasing.

"Johnny's got a girlfriend! Johnny's got a girlfriend!" Soda and Two started chanting, patting and shaking their pal with enthusiasm. It wasn't long before the other three started in on it too. The chant of the year belted out from strong chests on shrill wails of hyena laughter.

"Check him out, famous ladies man! I knew you had it in ya Johnny." Dally clapped his back.

"Should've known you were stealing my girl, Johnny." Two teased. "You can have her the first five days of the week, but I call dibs on weekends! That's when she gets extra sassy."

"In your dreams, two shits." You barked.

"I dream of sixth grade every night!" Two swooned, making you laugh.

Johnny was as red as a beet, even Ponyboy couldn’t contain his laughter. 'Boy, do we have something to tell Darry!' Pony's and Soda's eyes gleamed dazzlingly.

"Eh, guess you won't be needing this!" Dally grinned from behind you both, softly tugging on his leather jacket Johnny was wearing. In one fell swoop it was off of his shoulders and draped over Dally’s humble forearm.

“Here you go, young sire!” Sodapop bowed with a roll of his hand, an English accent flawlessly executed.

In came Steve on one knee, holding up the humble denim article he'd swiped from Dally's pesky digits. “Oh Johnny, with all of my love for you, will you take this humble offer?” he exclaimed dramatically.

Johnny snatched the jacket from Steve’s gripey hands, along with the bag of his shirts you’d brought along from Two-bit. He was embarrassed, that was evident. Wished you’d done this at a different time, but hey, duty called; a promise was a promise. Scout’s honour, right?

Without even thinking he grabbed your hand in his, reeling you away from the madness, all sassy. “Alright, that’s enough now!”

A chorus of wolf whistles expelled into the air. Wildness evident in the five guys who'd grown up with the both of you. They were just playing of course, excited that Johnny finally had a lady in hand. It wasn't often the raven haired greaser picked someone up, let alone initiated any physical contact – romantically of course. Johnny had always been quite reserved, but here he was taking the initiative, pulling you around in the opposite direction of them. Surprisingly assertive despite him shaking like a goddamn ghost.

You guys got maybe a few feet away when Dallas called out on the wind, “Hey yn, you better not be takin’ off the clothes on Johnny's body or he’ll be arrested for public indecency!”

"I said that's enough!" Johnny called back, heat vivid on his cheeks.

With that you both escaped around the next corner, the gang's calls and laughter fading into the background. Dipped into an alleyway to lose them for good. Glory knew they'd follow you both, and Johnny couldn't bear the thought of that. There was exhilaration in your chests. Johnny's hand was hot and sweaty in yours when you wound onto Pickett and Sutton. The air felt tight and you were afraid you'd just made an inconsolable mess of everything.

“Honest to God Johnny, that wasn’t planned-,”

He was sour, scrunching up his face, “Shoulda just let you keep these things.” He said with a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “They looked better on you anyway.”

“Johnny Cade,” you gasped, stopping in the middle of the street, the yellow light from above illuminating you both, “was that you flirting with me?”

Albeit clumsy, he was endearing. “Maybe, I dunno.” His cheesy grin warmed your heart.

All you could do was gawk at him.

“Look, all I know is that I kinda don’t mind you stealing my crap, okay?”

“So I have special authority to steal? What is this, a secret mission for your girlfriend?” You grasped onto his arm, leaning into him.

Girlfriend settled in the air in a peculiar fashion. It had never been uttered before, you both had just been friends up until this point. The confusion between you both seemed to fizzle away. The term sounded right. Johnny didn't want to be your friend any more, the guy on the sidelines dreaming of being with you. He swallowed thickly, looking at you.

"I'm sorry I-," he cut you short.

"Nah don't be." He shook his head softly.

"So uh," you breathed a laugh, "that means we're like dating? " You tested the word on your tongue.

He exploded with a blush, and a sense of pride swelled in your heart. "Y-yeah-," he nodded softly.

It went quiet, but nothing was awkward about it. Two hearts galloped like wild horses through summer filled fields. You found the courage to speak first, whispering mischievously into his ear, "So what about that secret mission?"

Johnny rolled his eyes, but breathy humour expelled from his lips, “Operation Shirt Thief!” He said in his best movie man trailer voice.

You burst out in a fit of giggles, the walk home feeling bountiful and warm.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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wellfine · 1 year

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HII I love your art so much it's so expressive and it feels like theres so much movement in it! I was wondering if u had any tips or advice to help with that? I practice anatomy and expression so much but it seems like everything I draw on my own is so stiff!! Anyway I hope you have a great week :)) <3

Hi there! Firstly, thank you so much for the kind words, it means a lot that you would take the time to tell me!

Second- my advice is to take everything you've learned about anatomy and THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW!!!!!!!

... For now. Just into the front yard so you can keep an eye on it. But I have seen many artists concentrate chiefly on studying anatomy only to feel like their art ends up too stiff. My own experience has been to treat anatomy as a tool best used to correct an image in the later stages of construction rather than as your driving foundation.

If "correct" anatomy (however you choose to define that) is the priority of your undersketches, I find that you end up with a sort of Skeleton Song approach to drawing - y'know, the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone, etc etc. Whatever energy, emotion, or intent you wanted your drawing to convey is getting lost each time you split it into another anatomical segment. By over-focusing on individual parts, you lose sight of your image as a whole.

The key to conveying dynamic movement in motionless art is to ensure every element of your image agrees on and communicates the same action, the key to which is something called the line of action.

A line of action is simply that - an implied "line" with wich you lead the viewer's eye and communicate movement. Think of it as the core of your figure's action, simplified to its rawest form. By knowing this, you know what to emphasise and what to de-emphasise.

Well, art is a visual medium and I am better explaining with drawings than words or I'd never have picked up a pen in the first place, so:

Images can have multiple lines of action, lines of action can complement and contrast each other, and a line of action isn't always as obvious as something like running. Imagine you're tring to make your art more "aerodynamic" to the eye. Since I draw a lot of One Piece fanart, I assume you're also familiar with it, and you can probably imagine how Oda uses "lines of action" when composing panels of Luffy punching something, Zoro slicing something, Sanji kicking something- etc etc. He's really good at selling the "oomph" of action shots by reducing visual clutter so that the impact of the action is greater.

(The Monster Trio's abilities are all designed in such a way that allow for REALLY striking lines of action... you can tell Oda loves studying manga fight scenes and wanted to create a world where he could push these concepts to the limit, and it's no wonder One Piece caught the eye of animators even before it was serialised by Toei)

You're probably already noticing how line of action also feeds into composition and silhouette when it comes to conveying movement in an image. Basically put, once you've isolated whatever action it is that you want to convey, the more visual clutter you can streamline away from that action, the stronger an impact that will have on the viewer. A firm line of action, an uncomplicated silhouette for your figure, and a readable overall composition of your image/panel are all ways to minimise visual clutter.

You can also use this information to achieve the opposite effect! Sometimes the ideal action you want to convey is not fast, or powerful, or confident, and you can use the same principles.

In fact, you can apply line of action to images that don't have any "action" in them at all. You can make a drawing of someone simply standing there feel more lively by applying these same principles to their body language:

You can develop an eye for how to simplify movement down to its "lines of action" by studying real photos and other people's art. Try simplifying a figure to its silhouette, and then simplify that silhouette further to a stick figure. And honestly, a lot of this could be boiled down to "see your image as a whole and not just a collection of individual pieces". Set anatomy aside during the composition stage and bring it back in when you start building up the sketch.

Moving away from the line of action, my second piece of broad advice is simply to exaggerate more. Lots of artists subconsciously hold themselves back from pushing motion, expression, etc. out of concern that it will look "too much". Well, maybe it will- but you won't know that unless you try! You can always walk it back if you think you took it too far, but I think you'll be surprised by how far you can push your art before you hit that point.

My final piece of advice is to work on line confidence. Even if you follow the rest of this advice, if you have hesitant and scratchy lines, you're undermining the flow and punch of your art. The best way to improve line confidence is simply by practicing! Do a lot of quick, timed studies, and use a permanent medium like a ballpoint pen or marker. Focus on unbroken lines wherever possible even if it makes your studies look like garbo. I find traditional studies are best for improving line confidence, but if you'd really rather stick with digital then just don't let yourself use the eraser tool, and try using a chunky brush with limited pressure sensitivity.

And that's it! Don't stress about it too much though. Loosen up with your art and, like any other skill, you'll improve with practice, time, and analysing what you like about other people's art. Good luck!

#long post #sorry this is so long I just didn't want to hide it behind a cut because I think a lot of people would miss it #I hope this was helpful in some way! I'm always flattered whenever anyone thinks I'd know enough to ask HAHA #if I have the time then I'm always happy to answer questions like this! :)#not that I am an expert by any means but I can at least share what's worked for me

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sashiavi · 6 months

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•·····🍑·····• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓢𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•·····🍑·····•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁

#17•𝙿𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔•#17

𝙳𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚌 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ¹.⁸ᵏ

Working at the Dawn Winery was a dream. The grounds were absolutely beautiful, the staff were nice and extremely helpful. The estate was stunning, the interior decadently fitted with dark woods and ornate decorations. The Lord of the House - Archons, you couldn't even think of his name without your tummy turning. Diluc Ragnvindr, eldest son to the estate, ruler of the wine tycoon, Nobleman, swordsman, bartender and the man that had captured your heart.

It was a wonder you even landed a job like this. You were well versed in the world of the Ragnvindr's - so to speak. You were once a maid for the Knights of Favonius, seen pittering around the halls of the establishment, cleaning products in hand. You were often assigned to Captain Kaeya's office, not that he kept it messy, just there to prevent dust and grime from sneaking its way into the room. That man was the bane of your existence, always a tease, a flirt, a drunk - a pain in the ass. He somehow knew of this little crush you had on his brother, the bantering was endless. But credit to him, he put in a good word for you and one thing led to another. Here you stand at the door, uniform on, tea in hand and ready to go.

You rap your knuckles on the wooden door, knocking a short tune and entering when you hear a curt 'Come in.' Behind it reveals a study, cluttered in books, papers, a sofa to the wall and a large mahogany desk right in the middle of the room. There sits the man of the hour, Diluc. Your body works overtime to keep the silver tray in your hands steady - pull it together, he's your boss.

"The tea you requested, Sir." You struggle to make eye contact, how can a man be so pretty?

"Thank you, [Name]" He smiles politely, turning towards you and nodding a small gesture of appreciation. He knows your name. Your heart trembles, fluttering in your chest. You bow, quick to continue your maidly duties, swiftly dusting off the heavy, hardcover books that lined his study.

"Ah.. [Name]" You hear him call. Oh Archons, you did something wrong. One day in and you've ruined it. You take a big breath before turning to face him. You were a big girl. It was going to be okay.

"This tea is really lovely.. You did a good job." He toasts the air with his cup before taking a sip, returning to the mountain of paperwork sprawled over his desk. Your chest swells with pride, bubbling with all sorts of fizzley feelings. You excuse yourself from the office, off to continue your duties, not before the Young Master waves you off with a soft smile. You shut the heavy door and lean against it for a moment, nearly squealing into your feather duster, promptly coaxing a loud sneeze out of you. You hoped no one heard that.

It continues on - Your interactions with Diluc. He sends you the sweetest smiles when you bring him treats during the day, praising your baking skills when you reveal that you made them yourself.

"I ought to commission you to bake for the Tavern.. You're a great cook," He gives a side smile before biting into the sweet treat. Diluc makes a happy sound, eyes closed and head tilted as he chews. Your heart does that thing again - It makes your chest feel light, throat feel tight and your legs all wobbly.

And again - You had changed out of your working uniform, no longer clad in the pretty frilly apron provided to you. Dressed up, ready for a night on the town with your friends. Nothing too crazy, maybe a visit to the Cat's Tail to have a snuggle with some Kittens. You're halfway out of the estate when you realize you had forgotten a crucial item - Your coin purse. The way in which your eyes widen and the not-so-elegant spin you make towards the Winery would have been comical - If anyone had been watching. You hastily make your way through the Winery doors, making a beeline for where your personal belongings were stashed during the day. You find what you were looking for and make a swift exit. But not before nearly barging into your poor boss.

"Ah- [Name], oh.. You look really lovely, heading into the city?" He smiles, arms crossed against his chest. You nod and briefly tell him of your plans before excusing yourself. You were sure your face was the colour of a sunsettia. You were sure you were going to faint if this kept up.

"You look so pretty like this," Diluc muses gently, carding his fingers through your hair while you swallow around his length. Archons there it is again, that fluttery shiver in your tummy. You hear the scratch of pen upon paper above you, Diluc works through the last of his paperwork you always saw plastered over his desk. You couldn't recall how you got here, but you couldn't care. He caresses your face softly, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. He touches you so tenderly, purposely, with care and ease as if you had been lovers for an eternity already. You sigh blissfully on his thick cock, taking him sweetly down your throat, swallowing around his plushy soft tip. Your nose nestles into his pelvis, lips kissing at the base of his length.

"Gods… You're perfect.." He nearly groans, his fingers dig sweetly into the back of your neck, massaging into your hairline. You keen into him, moaning airily on his cock, swirling your tongue around his length as you take him in. His sweet praise makes your tummy swirl, you nearly beam at him, heart full and proud that you were pleasing him.

You pull back on him, suckling sweetly at the soft pink head of his cock, swirling your tongue around his velvety tip. You hear his pen clutter on to the desk above, accompanied with a short profanity. Both of his hands are on you now, holding your face and neck, cradling your head in his palm.

"Such a sweetheart.. Treating me so well.. doing such a good job." Diluc breathes. His words go to your head, they toy with your heart and make you ditzy on his cock. You pop off of his length with a soft squeeze of your lips, earning a little whine from the man above. You kiss at his cock, leaving spitty wet kisses on his velvety tip. Your eyes make contact with his, deep pools of hot lava melt into your pretty gaze. He drags his thumb across your spit swollen lips, thumbing into the corner of your mouth, pressing it sweetly against your tongue. His fingers caress your face lovingly, curling behind your ear in a soft drag. Your tummy flips and aches, dripping sweet arousal into your panties. Diluc openly sighs, a hint of his voice trickles through his throat.

"How can you be so gorgeous?" He breathes, slipping his thumb from your lips, not before you press a kiss to his finger tip. He couldn't help but lick your sweet spit off of his thumb, humming a soft groan as he wraps his lips around the wet tip of his finger. You give a sweet whimper at the sight of him, heart nearly busting out of your chest with a flutter. You kiss your lips around his flushed head, sinking back down on his aching cock. You bob your head up and down his thick length, taking him in with an earnest feeling, a strong desire to give back the sweet kindness he had shown to you.

"Gods.. Making me feel so good.. My good girl.. My [Name]" Diluc babbles, petting your hair, his praise is soft, full and swelling with adoration. His hands find their way back into your hair, threading through the strands, massaging your scalp. He humps short little thrusts into your throat, relishing in the soft vibrations of your keening moans around his length.

"Never want you to stop.. all I need is you-" His voice strains deliciously. It all goes to your head, his sweet syrupy words set your body on fire. A shiver runs down your spine, flashing and fizzing like water on hot coals, earning Diluc a sweet and pliant darling in his lap. The aforementioned man groans softly, eyes never leaving yours as you swirl your tongue up and down his thick cock.

"Getting.. getting close Darling, 'gonna… Your pretty mouth is 'gonna… Send me over the edge..!" His face burns red at his own words, ears tipped pink and lips bitten raw. You're eager to swallow him down, take him deep and prove that you are what his sweet words say. You feel his fingers tighten slightly on your hair, balling your hair into a gentle fist. His hips stutter sloppily, fucking back into your awaiting mouth with careful, soft thrusts. He babbles sweet praises as he reaches his peak, cradling your cheek, telling you just how good of a job you were doing.

"Cumming-! M'comming~!... so pretty for me.. Treating me so sweetly- ought to treat you- for your good work~" He luls his head side to side, prattling on and on in a pretty whimpery voice. His hips still, his hand pushes your head down. Diluc groans out, thumbing at your cheek as he shoots his thick, milky cum down your eager throat. He babbles again, nearly deluded from just your lips alone, spouting sweet nonsense into the air of the room.

Carefully, you come off of his cock with a sweet wet pop. He beckons you up, patting his thighs with his strong palms. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, faces nearly touching, breath huffed and hot. He urges your arms to wrap around his neck, just as his arms cradle your waist. He kisses against your lips, capturing them in a searing, tender lock. His warm tongue licks into your mouth and he keens a soft moan, his voice vibrating on your lips. You tug at his hair and squeeze his lap with your thighs, your arousal was surely staining the front of his pants. Diluc pulls away with a heaving breath, thumbing at the soft swell of your bottom lip.

"Darling.. Pretty lips taste so sweet on my tongue… Can only imagine the rest of you.."

Your tummy flutters and spins as he pulls you back into his lips, warm and wet with spit. Working at the Dawn Winery really was a dream.

Confident Diluc thay knows what he desErves >>>> 😤

Im sorry if he's occ idc idccccc he's just <3 also I wrote this in public I am so sorry if it isn't my best work-

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated! I'll Give You A... A Kiss Mua

♡KinkTober Taglist♡

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#ʚ•*°SashiAvi's Kinktober°*•ɞ #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #afab reader #ʚ•*°sashiavi's kinktober°*•ɞ #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #diluc x y/n #diluc smut #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact

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milkncookiesmoonsrambles · 10 days

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Hazbin Hotel, and a list of criticisms

Hi! You can call me M, and I recently watched Hazbin Hotel. I used to be a fan of vivziepop, but I'm not anymore, after learning that she's transphobic and having Helluva Boss leave a bad taste in my mouth. Here is all of the strange areas I noticed, free of anything I've seen already. This is only hidden under a keep reading because I think this'll be a long post and I don't wanna waste space.

The show is way too fast-paced for its own good. The show was on episode 6 of 8 and STILL introducing new characters. I swear the show doesn't know how to pace itself.

Why have Adam be the main representative of heaven? I know that Eve was technically the first person to sin, but Adam sinned as well, and I highly doubt he'd be put into such a position of power after dying.

Why have Lucifer's character design be the way it is? If he's so old and a fallen angel, why not have that represented anywhere? God he looks like a middle schooler but with a horrendous colour palette.

Despite being named after the hotel, it barely serves more than a backdrop. There are no new guests other than Pentious, and there's no reason to have it around at the point of episode 8

Episode 8, after the fight with the angels. They fix the hotel, and say they'll get new guests. The main cast still has no idea how to redeem sinners other than what Adam said in court in episode 6. Why continue on this idea without even knowing if redemption is a possibility? Charlie hates the idea of instilling false hope into people, yet she still advertises the hotel as a way out, without any knowledge of how to leave.

There's barely any interesting representation in a supposedly queer show. When Angel Dust is on-screen, he's essentially the promiscuous gay guy stereotype. When Vaggie and Charlie act like a couple, it feels wrong. Alastor is supposedly aroace, but the only mention is a barely-characterized cannibal he supposedly goes way back with calling him an "ace in the hole", which means next to nothing.

Alastor isn't scary. Not one bit. He's said to be scary, but nobody in the main cast is afraid of him. Sure, Charlie is higher in power than him, and she doesn't seem afraid, but there is NOTHING showing that anyone is even slightly bothered by his threats, other than Husk, and he's revealed to be OWNED by him. Angel Dust even flirts with him in episode one. EPISODE ONE. The only slightly scary line from him is "This face was meant for radio", and even then it's undermined by how it's treated.

Pentious means nothing to the show, and I'm fairly certain means nothing to the cast. His only characterization is that he's a coward, and he's an inventor. Then he's fridged. Not even kidding. He dies to get a big reaction out of another character.

Charlie is strange. Despite being a princess of hell, she acts like she's never seen bloodshed before. She acts like a naive child until she starts swearing, and even then it sounds wrong with her characterization.

We never learn, in-show, how anyone died. We're assumed to know almost everyone.

New characters are introduced constantly, and most of them are treated like we already know them. It's like Spiderman: No Way Home, where they show off new characters, but the story acts like we're supposed to point at them like "OH, IT'S THE GUY FROM THE THING!".

Genuinely had this thought out loud, "If your character is named Cherri Bomb, why have her as a normal sinner?" Like, I know it could be a nickname. I don't care. It makes no sense to have her just be someone normal. She's like, the only character shown to use explosives. Why not have her use it as a main power.

Why is the art style inconsistent with noses? Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor, and Mimzy have noses, as well as others, I'm not sure, but others don't.

On the topic of designs, there's so much clutter, and they all use basically the same colour of red, except for Angel Dust, who I suppose is Vivzie's special little boy. They're all so sharp and uninteresting, there's barely any variation.

Mimzy's introduction is a nothing burger, and is barely anything more than an opportunity to make Alastor look more powerful. She adds nothing to the story, and does nothing other than attract supposedly dangerous people to the Hotel.

I've said it before, but so many storylines are rushed. The episode about heaven could easily have been, like, an entire season's worth of content. It could have been slower, introducing us to the general feel of heaven before slowly showing the cracks, like how nobody really knows how they got here, or how angels don't know much about Hell or the exterminations.

How do the exterminators not know that they can get hurt or that they can die? And if they don't, how come Lute knew that she could remove Vaggie's wings and harm her?

Vaggie says that she didn't know angels could be hurt before finding out about the dead angel. The writing must've been so out of wack, because SHE'S SUPPOSED TO BE AN EXTERMINATOR. An exterminator that was WOUNDED in order to not come back. What in the nine circles of hell.

So much is assumed that the viewer already knows. I used to be a fan of Helluva Boss, so I know probably a lot more than the casual viewer, but if I were to go in blind to this show, I would know absolutely nothing.

This show feels more like Vivienne's character showcase than a story set in Hell. Barely anyone associated with common Christian theology knowledge is part of the story, and even then it's written so incorrectly.

I'll admit, I am slightly biased, as I've read through the vivziepop critical tags, but there's so many small holes in the story.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical

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suzukiblu · 30 days

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WIP excerpt behind the cut; Match is technically also a Luthor.

“The stylist,” the chauffeur–Mercy, apparently–says, sounding disgusted.

“Well, I’m hardly going to be letting the boy run around downtown wearing someone else’s branding,” Luthor snorts. Match considers pointing out how he’s always wearing the Agenda’s branding no matter how he’s dressed, given the obvious, but can’t imagine Luthor appreciating the interruption. Then again, Luthor also might not appreciate finding that out later, if for some reason he’s unaware, so . . .

“I’m already branded,” he says. Luthor pauses, then turns his head towards him, his eyes just barely narrowing.

“Clarify that statement, Lysander,” he says.

“The Agenda had me branded during development,” Match says, because despite his survival instinct immediately kicking into high alert at the sight of that narrow-eyed expression, he’s also not stupid enough to defy a direct order from his new owner. Or any kind of order from his new owner, at this point. He doesn't know where the line is for Lex Luthor yet. “There’s a tattoo of their insignia on the left side of my chest.”

“Hm,” Luthor says, watching him strangely intently for someone who’s not actively attempting to kill him. “Hope. Mercy. Pencil us in for another meeting with Erica next week. Just wherever she’s decided to go to ground by then, obviously.”

“Yes, sir,” Hope and Mercy reply in crisp unison. At least, Match is assuming “Hope” is the bodyguard, at this point.

. . . did Luthor rename them too, actually? Because “Hope” and “Mercy” don’t sound like very Amazonian names, and also are suspiciously close to complementary on top of that.

Well, that clearly is something Luthor’s willing to do, so maybe. It isn’t important or useful information, but it’s still information, Match supposes.

He doesn’t even know why he noticed something that unimportant, though.

“Good,” Luthor says as the elevator stops and its doors slide open all in perfect silence. He adjusts his cuffs, which still don’t need it, and then strides out into the . . . apartment, it looks like. There isn’t a hall, just a flat area with incredibly expensive-looking marble flooring and an end table next to the elevator door, and a much larger open area sparsely-decorated with things that make “incredibly expensive” seem like an understatement.

More than just an understatement, in fact.

Match follows Luthor, because Hope and Mercy seem to be waiting for him to and he hasn’t been told differently by Luthor. There’s no higher floor, as far as he knows, so . . .

This is definitely an apartment. Match has never actually been inside an apartment before, but he knows what they’re supposed to look like from his uploads, and there are too many little hints of personality for it to be an office or hotel. Or at least, he thinks there are.

He really doesn’t know why Luthor brought him here, though. Maybe he just needs to pick something up and this is a detour. Maybe he doesn’t feel like going into whatever lab he’s intending to leave him in today. Maybe–

“I’m home!” Luthor announces to the empty penthouse, and Match feels something move farther into the apartment–back towards the back of the floor, in a large and cluttered separate room that isn’t decorated anything like the rest of the place. And then that something runs out of the room and towards Luthor, a bigger something following it, and Match has exactly enough time to realize what that “something” is before a child rushes into view from the opposite side of the living room, another apparent bodyguard following after her. This one is a generic-looking man in a suit, and looks more harried than Hope and Mercy did in open combat.

The child is . . . five, or maybe six. Female and skinny and tall for her age, with green eyes and chin-length blonde hair held back by a gold barrette, and wearing bright green leggings and a purple T-shirt dress with electric yellow stars on it. She has a few books and notebooks clutched to her chest, and a handful of colored pencils in her free hand. She’s . . .

Match has never actually seen a child in person before, unless in-development and un-decanted clones count. Which they don’t, obviously.

He has absolutely no idea why there’s one here.

“Father!” the child says excitedly, then runs up to Luthor, and Match has the absolutely insane-seeming experience of watching a six year-old prattle on as she shows Lex Luthor a picture of a kitty and a flower and a nuclear reactor.

. . . what? What is actually happening here?

“The reactor design looks promising,” Luthor observes, inspecting the picture with all apparent interest. Match might be hallucinating, he thinks. No, he’s definitely hallucinating. “How’s your new babysitter behaving?”

“He’s inefficient and bad at physics,” the child says with a pout, then makes a face. “And boring.”

“You’re fired,” Luthor instructs the bodyguard pleasantly, who looks alarmed. “Get out.”

“But–!” the man starts to protest, and then Luthor quirks an eyebrow at him and he goes very, very pale and scurries for the elevator. Luthor doesn’t watch him go, his attention already back on the child.

“I’ve brought you something,” he says. “Lena, this is Lysander. Lysander, Lena Luthor the second.”

. . . is this what Luthor wants him for, Match thinks as he stares blankly at Lena Luthor and feels the ex-bodyguard duck into the elevator. Does he want a better bodyguard for . . . whoever this is? There wasn’t any information about any other Luthors in his uploads aside from a passing mention of a sister, so . . . is this that sister, or a niece, or . . . ?

“Lysander,” Lena says, looking past Luthor to inspect Match calculatingly. “He looks like Superboy, but he’s colored in wrong.”

Match resists the urge to bristle. He isn’t–wrong. There’s nothing wrong with him.

“I’m an upgraded design,” he says, short and flat, and then Lena looks fascinated and peers closer at him.

“He’s your new baby brother,” Luthor says, patting Lena’s head. “Make the most of him, hm?”

Lena looks even more fascinated. Match is too busy being absolutely fucking baffled to even say anything to that. He’s physiologically older than her. And also, what the hell does Luthor mean by “brother”? Calling him Superboy's brother is one thing, stupid as it is, but Lena Luthor is a real person.

But also, he’s older than her.

This is the most ridiculous day of his life.

#wip: match is technically also a luthor

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thetriumphantpanda · 10 months

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omg hi congrats on 1k!!!!! you are SUCH a fantastic writer and i absolutely devour everything you write!! that being said i have a request for your celebration: dave york w some thigh riding, doggy style, voice kink/dirty talk and free use 👀 (lmk if this is too many things at once lol) ur the best!!!

Hey! Thank you so much! And thank you so much for being one of those 1K and for always supporting me! Now, I have to tell you, that I love the Suburban Murder Daddy as much as the next person, but I wasn't expecting to produce such FILTH with him.... so I hope you enjoy! I couldn't work in free use here but someone else has requested Dave with this so I'll get around to it!

Pairing | Dave York x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.6k

Warnings | Explicit. 18+, Minors DNI. There's thigh-riding, doggy style, dirty talk/voice kink and because I can't be tamed, there's some infidelity kink in there for good measure.

Part of my 1k Smut Sensation Celebration - if you want in, check here for details - I’m accepting requests through July 15th.

Dave knew the first time it happened that he shouldn’t want you, just like he knows now, on the fifteenth time that he shouldn’t, but that’s always what keeps him coming back to you. Not the vows he made to his wife, not his children waiting for him at home, not the life that he built from the ground up, no, none of that could ever keep him away. Not when you saunter through the office with skirts that hug your curves in all the right places, or when you lean over his shoulder to place papers on his desk, letting your scent wrap around him like a noose. He wants you, he thinks he’ll always want you, because he shouldn’t.

He's stood outside your apartment building now, anticipation growing wildly in his lower belly as he thinks about what he wants to do to you tonight. He hears the buzzer and then the soft sound of the door unlatching once you buzz him in. The first time he’d opted to fuck you somewhere that wasn’t the office, he was shocked that this was where you lived. One of the more expensive buildings in the city, are we paying her too much? Is what he thought as you led him through the maze of corridors, much like he’s doing on his own right now.

You’re already leaning against the doorframe when he makes it to your door. You can’t have been home very long, but you’ve already taken your hair out of the tight bun you insist on wearing to work and kicked off your heels. He presses his whole body to yours in the doorway and kisses you. It was rule he’d tried to set the first few times, if he didn’t kiss you, I didn’t mean anything outside of getting to fuck someone in the way his wife wouldn’t let him. He lasted approximately three and a half meets with you before he was breaking his own rule, latching his lips to yours as he fucked you in the shower.

“Evening, boss man,” You purred when he finally pulled away from him, taking hold of his wrist to drag him inside, letting the door close behind you both, “Drink?” You call over your shoulder as he steps into your familiar space.

It’s small, one bedroom affair, with the kitchen and living room wrapped into one. Its cosy and homely and not at all what Dave had expected from you. You were so clean-cut in the office, a picture of monochrome outfits, clean lines and high heels. The fluffy, pale blue rug and infinite clutter was not something he’d expected, but that he’d come to actually enjoy on his frequent visits.

“I’m okay,” He replies, coming up behind you to circle his arms around your waist, “Only came here to see you.”

His hands are already working the buttons of your shirt open. He never fails to amaze you with his dextrous fingers, how he can open buttons without even seeing them. He drags the material that’s tucked into your skirt free, before the material is thrown to the floor without a second thought. Dave knows he’s strong, and never tires of the way you chuckle when he picks you up, just like he is now, walking you toward the couch.

He's settling himself down, legs spread, before he’s dragging you down onto one his thighs, your clothes core resting on his suit trousers, whilst your knees dig into the cushions of the couch either side.

“Saw you watching me in the office today,” He states, letting one of his hands tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling it back so he can latch his lips to your neck, “Thinking about me fucking you, weren’t you?”

“Always,” You groan, letting your hips move so your cotton-covered pussy is dragging against his thigh, “Always think about how you fuck me.”

“If I put my hands on your cunt, you’d be soaked for me, wouldn’t you?”

Another grind of your hips along his thigh, “Do it, find out.” You challenge him.

The hand in your hair grips firmer now, “Going to have to work harder than that for it, darling,” His lips have trailed up your neck to rest at your ear now, “Think you can get yourself off like this?” He asks, “Grinding that needy pussy on my thigh?”

He always drives a hard bargain with you, always makes you work for what you want. Whether that’s on your knees worshipping his cock, or making you touch yourself whilst he watches. This man is filthy and dangerous, and you can never get enough. You let your hands rest on his broad shoulders for purchase before you sink down as far as you can, grinding your aching sex back and forth on his solid thigh. You can’t deny that the friction is delightful, paired with the assault of his teeth and tongue over your neck and the hand fisting your hair, but it’s just not enough. It won’t ever be enough until he touches you, really touches you.

“Can’t…” You mumble, “Not enough.”

“Awww, poor baby,” He coos, any other man spoke to you like this you’d be likely to slap him, but with Dave, it just works, “Do you want me to help?” The way his voice is so calm, still so commanding when you can literally see the effect you’re having on him through the bulge in his trousers, is mesmerising as always.

“Please,” You beg, “Need your fingers.”

He’s pushing the material of your skirt further up form where it’s ridden to your mid-thigh, bunching it at your waist before he’s pushing the cotton of your underwear to the side, plunging his fingers through your folds to gather your slick before he’s drawing it up to your clit.

“Filthy girl,” He moans into your ear, “Knew you’d be fucking soaked for me already.”

You can’t speak, not now that you have his hot breath in your ear and his thumb on your clit. This man knows what he’s doing, you suppose it’s the reason he’s got three children. If you were married to him, you’d certainly never let him leave your bed. It must be his military background that means he takes you apart with precision. He’s hyper focused on you, and the tight circles on your clit have you crying out his name and clenching his thigh between yours as you come undone for him.

“Hands and knees.” He’s demanding of you, giving you barely any time to recover from your orgasm.

When you don’t immediately follow his instructions, he’s moving you himself. Your hands and knees planed on the cushions of the couch; underwear ripped down as far as your knees. You can hear him undoing his belt and the sound of his zipper, then a little shuffling as he pulls his own clothes off just enough to free his cock.

Then, he’s pressing up behind you, cock slipping through your soaked folds as he positions himself properly. Then, he’s buried inside you in one single thrust. He never waits for you, never gives you that chance to properly get used to the size of him inside you, he knows you’ll always take it, so he’s already setting that bruising pace with you. His cock is brushing that sweet spot inside you that makes you sing, and the grunts and groans he lets out as your tight walls flutter around him are music to your ears.

“Always so fucking tight for me baby,” He growls from behind you, voice barely audible above the obscene sound of his skin slapping against your own, “The best pussy I ever fucking had.”

“God, I fucking love when you talk like that.” You moan, starting to shift back into his thrusts to meet him halfway.

“Yeah?” He asks, folding himself over you so his front is pressed to your back, “Like it when I talk dirty to you?”

You groan out as his left hand comes to rest on the arm of the couch, wedding band clearly glinting in the light of the room, you catch yourself looking at it and Dave, being ever observant, catches you. He’s still pounding his cock into you when his hand comes back to fist your hair, pulling your neck backwards. It arches your back and changes the angle of his cock inside you, hitting that spot on each thrust, all you can do is whine.

“You like looking at it?” He growls above you, flexing his fingers so you know exactly what he’s talking about “Like being my dirty little mistress?”

“I fucking love it,” You sob out from your lips, “Fuck, Dave, I’m gonna…”

“Go on, come on my cock baby.”

You do just that. Spots of white burst in your vision as you convulse, the walls of your tight heat clenching around him. He lets go of your hair, letting your head drop forward as his hips continue snapping into your ass with bruising force. The hand that isn’t propping him up so he can plough into you is gripping at your hip, squeezing your skin to the point of pain, but it’s all worth it when you feel him steady himself, with that final moan of your name he always lets out, his warm cum painting the walls of your cunt.

He always waits for the guilt to build once he’s finished. Always waits for his gut to tell him he’s a piece of shit for fucking his office assistant, but he already knows. He’s been a piece of shit for a long time, he’s just adding this to the list of things that got him there. There is no guilt, only a kiss and a promise to see you again soon.

#Dave York #Dave York smut #Dave York fic #Dave York fanfic #dave york fanfiction #dave york imagine #Pedro Pascal #Dave York x you #Dave York x reader #Dave York x female reader #Dave York x F!reader #PSSC #equalizer 2

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wilcze-kudly · 21 days

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Horrid ramblings related to the tlok rewrite I have in my head. Book 1, Air but with the Red Lotus as primary antagonists.

So my thoughts are that in this AU, the airbending would come from Vaatu (somehow) I like the idea of Raava and Vaatu being these very eldritchy beings that are able to manupulate the world around them. Raava sacrificed this trait in order to merge with the Avatar, but Vaatu is stil lovecraftian and well

With Harmonic Convergence nearing, perhaps Vaatu is able to exude more influence on the world. It would be interesting to see unexplained events happen more frequently as he gains power.

The Red Lotus are on board with freeing Vaatu, as they were in canon, and Vaatu lets airbending back into the world, knowing or maybe just hoping that Zaheer would get airbending and get his jailbird shit together

I think it would be a fun mystery. No one exactly knows why people started airbending all of a sudden ans this is a mystery that we slowly piece together as the show progresses.

Korra hears about airbenders popping up out of nowhere and runs away to Republic City, since she sees this as a perfect opportunity to become the Avatar she was meant to be. At this time the Red Lotus is breaking out and that adds to the tension as we see how woefully unprepared Korra is for this bunch of assassins.

I think it would be interesting to see Korra struggle and fail at airbending while there are randos all over the world getting airbending for free. She can bond with Bumi (who I'm not sure about giving airbending to) lol

I'd have the first few episodes going on in Republic City, but then have Korra and co travel in search of airbenders.

I'm not sure about keeping the pro bending storyline. I know how important it was to the og show, however it would make the storyline incredibly cluttered.

I'd want to highlight the bending brother's connections to the triads too, so I might make them somehow affiliated with the Triple Threats. But then betray them and join Korra in her travels. Because staying in RC after pissing off the triads would essentially be a death sentence.

If the brothers were still in Probending, I'd take inspiration from the storyline of Republic City hustle with the rigged matches. Have the brothers be forced to win/lose depending on how the triad places its bets. Have them be forced to deliberately throw matches cuz the triad invested in the opposing team.

I'm not fully sure how to factor Asami into this, but I had a thought of Hiroshi (who is still an equalist agent but that won't matter until B3) graciously donating resources into the search for airbenders. In order to buy himself into the Avatar's good graces and to have a direct line to the newly emerging airbenders for future evil plans.

Whether Asami is in on her father's plans or not, she acts as captain/pilot of the airship and quickly befriends the rest of the Krew. Gay ensues.

I'd change around the pacing a little, maybe move the Beifong family drama to the later seasons or at least not focus on it as much. But these are minute details I don't really have time to focus on. Maybe introduce Wu earlier. That sorta stuff.

Yeah um. Please don't let this become an actual project. I don't have the strength to write a fic like this. But the concept is tempting. Please tell me your thoughts. I'm super curious about them

#korra #mako #bolin #asami sato #hiroshi sato #vaatu #red lotus #raava #bumi ii #legend of korra #the legend of korra #avatar #tlok #avatar the legend of korra #atlok #lok #zaheer #tlok rewrite tag #is this gonna have to become a tag?

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

Text

Best and worst of both worlds (part 3)

TW: nothing much in this chapter, maybe aside from a bit of university horrors (ie. exams etc)

votz below

part 4

You ended up avoiding the library at all costs. You don't know if you could face Yves after that first cringeworthy meeting.

You worked your ass off for the exams, yet you simultaneously felt like you haven't prepared for it at all. Today's your last paper.

And you left the hall with a thousand-yard stare, it was the most atrocious one yet. You just hope that the university got burnt down and you will just get your degree instantly. No use in crying over spilt milk.

Might as well use the angst to fuel yourself for an entire day off... cleaning your room. You neglected your hygiene and the clutter buildup during exams, you can barely see the floor anymore.

You muttered curses under your breath as you walked to the bus stop. Instead of darkness, it's the blazing late afternoon sun beating down on you.

Maybe you deserve a little treat. The bus goes to a nearby cheap Chinese takeaway that has a rating of 1.8 stars out of 5 online. That's the most luxurious thing you can afford at the moment and god knows you need a little reward to keep you going.

You grunted as you stood up, feeling the pressure in your knees as you haul your infinitely heavy backpack onto your shoulders.

You entered the bus, it's fairly empty. You sat on a seat and placed your load beside you. Sighing in relief as you get to relax for a bit until your next stop.

You begin to ponder as the bus leaves for its next destination. You definitely have a crush on Yves, who wouldn't? But you think he's too out of your league, trying to go after him will end in heartbreak or rejection. Plus, you can't afford to fail, you're not from a very financially comfortable background in the first place. Yves will only serve as a lethal distraction to you.

You gnaw on your fingernails. But Yves is no doubt attractive, it's just a shame that you're not of equal standing. You don't trust yourself to win him over, he will tolerate you at best, despise you for being a creep at worst.

And you think that his flirtatious tendencies are just part of him. He probably does this to everyone, or he's doing this to you because it's funny to see you squirm.

You frowned, this is not a viable relationship for you at all. No matter how badly you want it to be, it's not going to end well. So you vow to avoid the library as much as you can. If you must go, you have to try to limit any interactions with him and leave immediately after you're done with your business.

You pressed the buzzer to the next stop.

It's finally your turn to customize your very own takeaway box. You chose the cheapest possible option, it was hard because there were so many choices to make. The lady over the counter told you to hurry up as you're holding the line.

Once you're done, you fished the loose change from your pocket, only to see that you just have enough for one meal. Better than not enough, you have to make this meal last until tomorrow.

You had to wait in line again to pay at the register. Maybe you should have gone home and enjoyed some instant noodles, this is such a pain in the ass to even get. You have to suffer under the sweltering heat in a hole in the wall restaurant, you can't imagine being the employees here.

"Your meal's been paid for." The cashier monotonously informed you.

Huh?

"Take your meal and move." She bluntly gestured you to leave, handing you your styrofoam container. She paid no attention to you as she went on to collect the money of another customer.

You scratched your head. It's been paid for? Well that's nice, you wonder who was kind enough to do so.

As you inspect the contents of your takeaway and become baffled as to why there's suddenly more items, you notice a shadow looming over you.

You snapped your head up and felt your heart sink down to your stomach.

"Hello." He smiled, giving you an awkward wave before brushing his shaggy brown hair back. "Fancy meetin' you here."

He looks so much better not covered in his own vomit. The stranger is wearing a high Vis jacket that's been stained by wall paint. His sleeves were dusty and he had some dirt smears on his boots.

You greeted him too. You asked if he was the one who paid for your lunch. He nodded.

"Thanks for saving me that night. I wouldn't be here without you." Your eyes landed on his free hand which is subconsciously cradling his side.

You asked him about his rib. He lets out chuckle, telling you it's fine.

"How are your exams?"

Oh.

He remembered. That isn't good.

You said that it's bad. But you will live. You said you have to go, and expressed your gratitude towards him for taking care of lunch.

"Where to? Let me give you a ride." He offered, readying his car keys in his hands.

You said that it's not needed, you don't want to take up more of his time. And it's also because you don't trust this man.

"No, really. I'll take you where you want to go. It's blazin' outside and I have air conditioning in my car. I'm done workin' for the day too."

Now that sounds exponentially enticing.

You have a feeling that he isn't going to leave you alone no matter how many times you reject him. And with your braincells fried from your exams, your safety instincts were dulled. All you want to do is eat now.

He must have noticed your growling stomach. Because he offered to eat in his car first, the driving can wait.

"Hungry, huh?" He commented as he watches you scarf down your order. Including the extra meat and vegetables that Montgomery requested to be added to yours. He barely gets a couple spoons of his chicken fried rice in, and you're already done with half of yours.

You nodded. Focusing on shovelling in as much food as you could.

"You don't usually get to eat much, do ya?"

You shook your head. Not noticing the look of pity on his face.

You enjoyed having the cool wind blowing on you, for once this summer, you didn't have to sweat like a pig. You wished that he could have cleaned his car up a bit though. It was a mess, the entire back seat was basically unusable. His car looked beaten up and rusty on the outside.

You and him ate in silence after that. If you weren't starving, you would have tried getting out of the car due to its crippling awkwardness. You think he's uncomfortable in the quietness too, but it's the opposite. He found peace and the constant loneliness he feels isn't around to bother him today. He just enjoys your presence, even though he doesn't know your real name.

Unbeknownst to you, Montgomery thinks you shared a special connection with him. Two lost souls trying to find their footing in this world, facing problems that are different yet similar. Neither of you are perfect, but you're not like the rest of the people he met who were apathetic and sickeningly artificial. You are real. You have a personality that you struggle to hide, just like him.

Montgomery's delusions and desperation have made him think you were meant to be with him- a godsend. You just can't see it yet, but he is perfect for you. And he's going to be patient and persistent, he doesn't want to scare you off.

"Oh- you're done." He noted as you closed your box and put it on your lap. You wiped your mouth using the sleeve of your shirt. He grimaced at the grease stain.

"I have napkins right here!" He pointed at the dented tissue box tucked under his radio. You're surprised that this bothered him when the state of his car and the conditions of his work were inherently dirty.

You shrugged and took a big gulp of the soda Montgomery bought for you.

You burped in your hand and muttered an "excuse me". He asked if you're full, you nodded in response.

"Well, I'm glad you're fed. Is there anything else I could get ya? Ice cream? Pie? Some cake?"

You said no, you have to go somewhere.

He closed his styrofoam container and tossed it to the back. He gripped his steering wheel and positioned his feet on the pedal.

"Where to?" Montgomery stared at you expectedly.

You took a moment to think and weigh your options.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #tw yandere #yandere concept #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #oc yves #male yandere oc x reader #oc montgomery #yandere ocs x reader #male yandere ocs #yandere ocs

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littlemisspascal · 1 year

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Rockford & Roan Pt. 2

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: A week into living together, you start to realize there’s something…peculiar about your roommate.

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford

Author Note: Thank you so so much for all the kind support 😊 I've really enjoyed writing for these characters and developing their world + relationship. If you want, check out some art I made for the fic here. Hope y'all like this new part!

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Part 1 / Part 3

The Apartment

445D Albatross Lane does indeed have an unmistakably yellow door.

Standing on the sidewalk, you and Banjo stare up at the building. Well, you’re staring up at the six stories of tan bricks and arched windows, Banjo is far more interested in the smells coming from the small bakery situated just to the right of the canary yellow door. A sign on the window says they make pet friendly treats. Banjo would never forgive you if you didn’t buy him some to try sometime.

Overall, it’s a quiet and nondescript place on a quiet and nondescript street. Definitely not as modern or bustling as your current apartment on the other side of town. It’s clean though. Mellow. Charming in its own funny little way.

“Hello again, Miss Roan,” Rockford’s voice pulls you out of your observations, turning around to find him paying a cab driver. “And you, as well, Banjo,” he adds when the little mutt barks in greeting.

His appearance hasn’t changed much since yesterday, same white shirt and ruffled hair, but he’s ditched the trenchcoat this time, revealing just how much the cotton fabric stretches to accommodate his expansive shoulders.

“It’s a nice place,” you say as he comes to stand next to you.

He quirks a smile. “Just wait ‘til you see the inside.”

In the elevator, Rockford presses the button for the 4th floor. You stand next to each other; him silently watching the numbers tick by over the doors, you silently watching him out of the corner of your eye.

He seems calm. Outwardly, at least, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. You wonder if it would mirror the same internally, ocean waters smooth and still. Your mind-gift hovers at the edges of his aura, torn between the selfish desire to submerge into his emotions again and the terrifying wariness of triggering his discomfort. It’s only the second day of knowing each other, after all, and there is such a thing as too much too fast.

But oh how you want…

You run your tongue over your bottom lip, thinking of how you could ask without sounding impolite or, worse, desperate—except then the elevator’s stopping and Rockford’s gesturing for you to follow him down the hallway.

“Only got the one key at the moment,” he produces said item from his pocket, unlocking the third door on the right, “but if you’re still certain about moving in after you look around, I’ll talk to the landlady about making copies. She’s a friend of the family, owes me a favor or two.”

You turn in a slow circle inside the living room, taking in everything while Rockford points out some of the appealing features. Good amount of natural light from the windows, updated appliances, ample sized rooms with high ceilings. The walls are painted a soothing cream color, lined with a couple of shelves here and there covered in books and random trinkets. A miniature globe, a solved Rubik’s cube, and an antique camera standing out amongst the clutter.

What he doesn’t point out is the abundance of boxes stacked in practically every corner, filled to the brim with even more books and folders stuffed with documents. Or the assortment of laboratory glassware spread out across the adjoining kitchen’s countertops. Or, most alarmingly, the joker playing card stabbed to the wall with a knife.

“My brother and I, we’re very competitive,” he explains, noticing your staring. Then, with a chuckle that sounds a bit too forced to be real, “God forbid we ever play Monopoly, we’d murder each other.”

“Does he live nearby?” you ask, filing away the little factoid in the corner of your brain you’ve decided to label Tim Rockford 101.

“Unfortunately,” is the short reply, and that’s the end of that.

You take another look around, slowly drifting over all the details big and small, thinking to yourself you can see it—a life for yourself here—just from this little glimpse.

There’s a comfortable looking plush navy couch pushed against the wall you’ll take naps on after sessions with Dr. Odair, and a perfect spot for a dog bed by the center window, and a pair of floral-patterned armchairs near a dark wood coffee table and fluffy white rug that have no good reason being grouped together and yet—and yet, somehow, you can’t imagine anything else more fitting.

“It's great,” you say, nodding your head. “You’ve found a wonderful place.”

His eyebrows furrow like you’ve given him a complicated math problem instead of a compliment.

“What?” You glance down at yourself self-consciously, worried about finding a stain, but see nothing wrong.

“You’re restraining yourself,” he says at last. “Outside on the street, I could understand keeping your mind-gift close, but here, where it’s just you and me, I’d hoped you would be comfortable enough not to suppress your empathy.”

“You–” Your breath catches in your throat, heart performing a somersault. “You mean, you don’t mind it?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead now, surprised and dismayed. “Of course not,” he says, so earnest and sincere you don’t even need your mind-gift to know he’s telling the truth. “Your mind-gift led to our matching. More importantly than that, it’s a part of you. I can’t promise my emotions will always be pleasant, but I can promise they’re yours to feel just as much as they are mine, Miss Roan.”

It’s…overwhelming to process. Rockford accepting your mind-gift wholly and completely. Rockford giving you unrestricted access to his feelings, the good, the bad, and the ugly. It’s the greatest offering of trust you’ve ever received, not even your own parents gave you such permission to feel their every change in mood.

You’re speechless for a long moment, furiously blinking back against embarrassing tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you croak, and then divert your gaze to the hallway leading to the other rooms. “I’d like to see the rest, if that’s alright?”

He leads the way with an easy smile, and there’s only the faintest of stumbles in his step when your empathy tentatively brushes against his mind before his emotions rise up to greet you like an old friend.

Yeah, you think to yourself, looking around the bedroom that will soon be yours, head filled with the gentle lapping of waves. I think I’m going to like it here.

The transition from living alone with a dog to now living with a dog and roommate is a surprisingly smooth one. Maybe it’s the influence of the bond further tying your lives irreversibly together, but a part of you likes to think even if you weren’t a matched pair, you and Rockford could just have easily carved out a space to cohabitate. A little realm of your own making.

You move into your new bedroom with a mattress twice as big as your old one, the few personal items you own seamlessly mixing with Rockford’s in the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. Your toothbrush shares a cup with his, the grocery list sticks to the fridge with a magnet from the pet shelter, a blanket your mom gave you for your last birthday drapes over the back of the couch.

Even Banjo settles quickly into the new environment. After spending the first two days sniffing everything in sight, he finds a new favorite spot on the living room floor warmed by the sunlight to stretch out his legs like a starfish. His leash hangs up on one of the entryway wall hooks next to Rockford’s trench coat and his basket of toys fits perfectly in the bottom nook of the hall closet, filling up the final tiny gaps, cementing this apartment as home.

The Roommate

A week into living together, you start to realize there’s something…peculiar about your roommate. He’d forewarned you about his unpredictable schedule and insomnia, but you hadn’t anticipated the way he locks himself away in his office for hours some days—spending most of the time pacing, if the creaking floorboards are any indication, deep in thought—or his frequent penchant for leaving the apartment in the middle of the night without any explanation. Not that he owes you one. He’s entitled to his own private affairs, but still. Peculiar.

His emotions provide you with little clues to fill in the missing blanks. Mostly his mood’s a state of calm, calm, calm throughout the day, interrupted by the occasional splash of amusement, rumbling thunder of frustration or jarring spasm that accompanies a sudden change of thought. Epiphanies floating up from beneath the surface, from the vast, dark chasms that transfix your mind-gift with their mystery. How far down do they go? What, if anything, lies at the bottom?

You want to ask—about where he goes, about his gift, about so much—but asking would risk revealing just how much you enjoy collecting facts about Rockford, like a pathetic little magpie constructing a nest of shiny things. So rather than potentially die from embarrassment, you keep your mental list to yourself, adding to it as the days go by.

One - he’s an avid reader.

You’ll be honest, a small part of you initially thought perhaps the heaps of books throughout the apartment were just for show. Some kind of library aesthetic maybe. But no, set any book or magazine or newspaper down in front of him and he’ll inhale the words like they’re his lifeblood. The genre and topic don’t matter either. Historical events, fairy tales, biographies, poetry, science fiction, true crime. You’ve caught him reading all of them, felt his emotions swirl and surge with every turn of the page, heard fragments of sentences murmured aloud dulcetly while you dozed on the couch.

Two - he solves the Fox Leap Times crossword every morning.

Eating breakfast together becomes a staple in your daily routines. No matter where he goes at night or what time he returns, he’s always there in the kitchen come dawn. The meals are never overly fancy—the military didn’t offer much in the way of cooking classes, and your meager skills and can-do attitude are only a little better than Rockford’s—but regardless, just like his reading habits, he isn’t picky about what’s on his plate. A couple mouthfuls and a few sips of coffee—black with a dash of cinnamon—and he’s powering through the puzzle like he’s been possessed, finishing the whole thing in under ten minutes with a pleased little smirk.

Three - he’s a connoisseur of takeout food.

There’s a collection of menus stashed in the drawer near the fridge from every eatery that surpassed Rockford’s high standards, within easy reach during evenings when there’s nothing left to eat except for a jar of mayonnaise or the last swallows of an expired milk carton. Rockford had spent a solid month gathering data and reviews from restaurants, cafes, vendors and food trucks to figure out the best of the best. I was between jobs, is all he says with a one-shouldered shrug of indifference when you ask him about it. Your shock (and slight alarm) at the dedicated lengths of his research quickly melted away during the first bite of a heavenly cheeseburger drowning in grease and a secret sauce from a little hole-in-the-wall joint you’d never have given a second glance without Rockford’s thirty-odd spreadsheets of persuasion.

Four - you’ve never seen him sleep.

All humans need sleep to survive, even eccentric and peculiar men like Tim Rockford. Yet he’s always up when you retire to bed at night and always up before fiddling around with something in his office or reading a book. His emotions are never tainted with the fog and distortion of unconsciousness either. You tell yourself he must sleep while you’re out, and try not to take it personally that he doesn’t feel secure enough to rest while you’re around.

Five - your empathy intrigues him.

For as much as Rockford’s emotional mindscape fascinates your empathy, he seems, bizarrely enough, just as interested in learning the ins and outs of your ability. You’d never previously thought of your mind-gift as a particularly exciting one—influencing and interpreting emotions pales in comparison to predicting events or levitating things across the room. But the way Rockford interacts with your empathy, easily accustoming to its presence, nudging against it playfully sometimes; and the way he hangs off your every word while you describe how you were prone to tantrums as a child, body overwhelmed by emotions that weren’t your own, exploding like fireworks until there was nothing left to do but scream, almost makes you feel like you’re something important. Something special.

Six - there’s a pinboard in his office covered in pictures of dead bodies.

…what?

#tim rockford #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x ofc #tim rockford fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 6 months

Note

Pleaseeeee,i love how you write Viktor so much!!Also,i am ecstatic to still see people writing for our favorie pale victorian child-esque man!How do you feel about a request about tenderness?Maybe someone finding him to be their own little safe haven,even if that means just being in his company?

ask and you shall receive! we love a good dose of fluff <3

cw: viktor x gn!reader, fluff, established relationship, dialogues — because i fucking love writing them. i couldn’t help but fill this with my stupid ass questionable humour — but i hope you darlings don’t mind me being a little silly. didn’t proofread this + i wrote it at 2 am with only one eye open, so don’t hesitate to slap me if i made some stupid mistakes.

wc: 600~

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip

Viktor’s workshop is a sanctuary of some sort, desk a cramped little shrine cluttered with his precious tools, and you wince, absorbing the rhythmic sounds of his scribbling — soothing and steady, mingling so smoothly with the thuds of hail. The absolute misery of the weather has treacherously decided to lock you up in his bizarre chambers — though it didn’t feel like being held hostage: you were a voluntary victim, wholeheartedly willing to spend hours simply watching him tinker. You wouldn’t dare to sneak out even if it did eventually brighten up — who needs sun in a world where Viktor’s eyes exist, warm and museful, orbs the prettiest shade of amber?

He sighs, living up to the proud position of being the most observant man you know, and a sinuous hand nimbly scratches the screwdriver against the nape of his neck — as if he somewhat felt your enamored eyes on the wild knot of shorter hairs sticking out from under the mess of longer ones. Has you worrying that your glances had just accidentally gained the power of giving him itches.

The gesture is charming in its frivolity, though Viktor seems rather unaware of it as he quizzically turns around, thick eyebrows forming a curious arch at your resonant chuckle.

“What?” he mumbles, dragging the last letter with that heavy accented voice — utterly dashing even in his confusion. “Is there something particularly entertaining?”

It takes you a moment to catch your breath — this man might just become the reason for your passing. You can already picture the epitaph — ‘blame my death on Viktor, who’d been cruel enough to overhumor me to the point of undoing.’ You should definitely demand he makes a joke at your funeral — that way mourning won’t overwhelm everyone present too much.

The thought makes you notice that you must inherited your lover’s view on mortality. That’s a little food of thought for another, less cheerful day.

“Your choice of a… scratching tool is rather unusual, that’s all,” the soft response earns you a wry smile on his behalf — no teeth, just a handsome stretch of slightly chapped lips into a thin line. “You could’ve just asked me to do it for you, you know?”

“I would hate to become a distraction for the foolish purpose of using you as a screwdriver,” he remarks with a hum, nodding in your direction. Though his concern about disturbing you vanishes the second you step closer, brushing his hair with a gentle stroke of a touch-starved hand, fingers getting stuck in tangled locks, reminding you to use an actual brush on him later.

“Ah, but I wasn’t busy,” you assure him, savouring the barely audible keen when you part the woven together hairs with the softest of tugs. “And I don’t mind becoming your tool for a minute or two. As long as I can be of service.”

“That’s very, eh… thoughtful of you,” he purrs a careful response, visibly savouring the tender gesture — the man is basking in your gentleness, and you’ll gladly offer him every last bit of it — if only he proceeds with being yours in return. “May I hope for your indulgence in case my tools accidentally become useless?”

He gives you another pretty grin — it’s a toothy one this time, and you stiffen, endlessly proud of bringing such a wide smile to his mostly demure face.

“Of course,” you respond with a sweet peck, placed precisely on the mole above his chuckling mouth.

Perhaps you should change the epitaph to ‘died of overwhelming love for a certain scientist’. Though now that you’re thinking about it — the quote is definitely a little bit too cheesy for your liking.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor arcane fluff #viktor fluff #i love him so much it hurts #i need a beta i'm tired of dying like a man #send me requests

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scham-wcan · 6 months

Note

Prompt: V10 or V11 after Cinder is surrenders and Winter has to be the main guard on duty to watch her. One of the first moments you can tell Cinder is switching sides to be one of the good guys.

Still one of my favourite potential scenes which in my head I’ve written 100s of times, hope this one is half way decent!

It got very too much long sorry!

It had been weeks at this point since Cinder had, well for lack of better terminology, come into Team Remnant’s possession. She had been cast out by Salem following some sort of internal schism, they had no real way of telling the specifics of it but they knew Cinder was on the losing side.

Her Grimm arm had burned itself and a fair amount of tissue it touched on Cinder away. Deepening scars and chasms in the woman’s skin which already laid thick with recovering fibre. When RWBY had brought her back to Vacuo, Winter cursed at the Fallen Maiden first; though quietly gasped at the imagined pain such a severance package would entail.

It was easily decided that while others could assist her, Winter was to be the primary warden for the Maiden. Without her Grimm form they were worried Ruby’s silver eyes would no longer hurt her, so the only way they could counter a Maiden was with another Maiden. Winter quickly stole herself to the task, expecting long hours of cat and mouse, venomous barbs and snarling at the bars as it were.

But that was so far from the truth.

The first week Winter spent watching over a sleeping, well she imagined that’s what it was, and recovering Cinder. Her body lined with gauze and films of medical tape, all of her form made Winter’s mind take flight. She knew she should be spitefully proud, this was one of the people responsible for her home’s destruction, Cinder had so much pain caused in her file that it could fill a leger. But all Winter could hear was the lengthened wheeze-like breathing Cinder had for those long dark nights, no fires or ash or glass, just pained huffs and wheezes.

“Come on.” Winter remembered vividly on their second week of Cinder being properly awake. One hand held a bowl of brown stew while the other had a spoon. “You need to eat.” Her tone sharp and aggressive, biting through her teeth as she pressed the bowl forward. Forward onto the huddled form of Cinder, black clothing tattered, one arm clutching around her knees as she sat against a stone wall.

Silence replied to the Schnee, far from the burning hisses the Maiden had hurled at her in their last dual. Even her golden eye refused to meet Winter’s, staring downward at the floor where Winter crouched instead.

“I’m not hungry.” Cinder’s voice cracked. Blinking long and slow.

It only made Winter sigh, lowering the bowl and utensil with a clutter. “You’re just being a brat now you know that?” Winter scowled, not quite caring if she was being too hostile. Grabbing at the empty cup beside them both now, with a pointed finger she sprayed a gust of icy wind into its form, filling it with cold water fast.

“You haven’t eaten in four days, and even then all you ate last was a chunk of meat.” Winter admonished, placing the water cup down beside Cinder’s right side. Sighing lengthy through her nose then, Winter inspected the battle damaged Cinder. “If you intend to martyr yourself in a hole for your god you have to know we’re quicker to sedate you, right?”

“You won’t.” Cinder smirked for the first time in a long while. A cracking chuckle lowly flicking from her as her eye turned upward to the Schnee. “Then you won’t have your little victory parade with me daily, Specialist~.”

Winter’s scowl deepened as she pressed herself from her haunches, dusting herself off calmly before her hands folded behind her back.

“You don’t think I don’t know why you’re here everyday? Aww it’s cute, I admit.” Cinder lulled quietly still. “Though if you want to truly savour a win, distance makes the heart grow fonder, Schnee Scum.”

Winter rolled her eyes, grand, now the things she had been hearing beyond this cell from the other survivors were inching their way into it as well.

“I do not find any glory in this, Clod.” Cinder looked taken aback by the comment, if only for a moment. Then the Maiden watched as Winter wandered around her to her right side and fell down against the wall as well.

Letting her white hair ease against the wall behind her, Winter swallowed evenly. “Honestly, if anything I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” She feigned to glance at Cinder, though she could guess by the shifting sounds her vision turned from her. “Especially when you’re probably more interested in getting back to your kind of villains than sitting out the end of days in a hole.”

A growling snarl parted from Cinder, Winter supposed some of it was intended to be something like a spit. “I have no interest being with that traitorous, lying, machiavellian witch.” Cinder dragged her form tighter with her one arm, the action seemed to only steepen that anger more. “There is nothing for me there anymore…” A moment took hold where Winter momentarily glanced at the Fall Maiden. “Now, I’m just your toy captive. I suppose.”

“What an ugly title.” Winter sighed out, letting some military wit needle its way through, as she leaned her head back on the wall. “Well, actually, you did call me an Atlas Elite which was hurtful plenty.”

“And Ironwood’s lapdog.” Cinder heaved.

Winter’s expression soured. “Well we both served ungrateful bastards, didn’t we?” Pausing for a moment. “At least I got to finish mine off.” Her eyes flicked for a moment, watching as Cinder uncoiled herself from her knees. It looked painful, but the Fall Maiden slowly leaned backward into the wall like the Winter Maiden. Staring up into the ceiling as Winter had.

Sighing for a long while, Cinder eventually nodded. “I want to kill my bastard too.” Her golden eye flicking with the first remembrance of full fiery gold for the first time in a long while, glancing over to Winter.

“I think we can start getting you on that track.” Winter nodded, then pointed between the pair of them. “But you should eat the soup, I think I made it correctly this time.”

“I fucking doubt it.”

#anon asks #cinder fall #winter schnee #cinwin #snowfall #i love my kids #scham kinda writes

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lightwoodbanethings · 1 year

Text

Murray and Steddie

So, after some discussion and my last Murray/Steddie post and fic I decided to re-write the Murray and Jancy scene from season two but make it Steddie!

Hopefully it makes sense and fits, also big thank you to @steviesbicrisis for giving me the idea of the sexuality crisis comment! It felt like it fit so well and I could definitely see both Steve and Murray saying it!

You can find it here on AO3 and please let me know if you'd be interested in me writing to next scene too (the sharing the bed/morning after).

Psst...part two is now here!

(Please note that there is use of a derogatory slang term for Russians, it is the same as the line from the show)

When Steve had told Eddie he knew someone who could help them translate the Russian interference they had picked up on, Eddie wasn’t expecting to be greeted by a greasy looking, balding man wearing slippers.

But hey, he’d seen stranger things by this point.

When they had first pulled up at the desolate building, Eddie wasn’t sure what he was expecting. It felt like they had travelled hours to arrive in the middle of nowhere, awkwardly sharing a room in a motel along the way, to find this ‘Murray’ that Steve had told him all about. According to Steve, Murray could speak Russian and would be able to get their found information into the right hands. From the bits and pieces he’d heard about Murray from the others, he sounded like a drunk conspiracy theory nut job. Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how much help he’d be.

They got out of Steve’s beemer, because “no way in hell are we traveling in your beat up van Eds”, and approached the rusting front door. Big red letters were spray painted across the front, ‘Keep Door Closed’.

“This feels like a bad omen,” Eddie whispered to Steve, side eyeing him.

Steve let out a little exhale of air at Eddie’s comment and then pressed the buzzer by the door. It let out a shrill buzzing sound that made Eddie jump slightly. There was a few seconds of silence before a voice spoke over the intercom.

“Look at the camera.”

Eddie looked around confused, he turned to Steve who looked equally as confused. Brows furrowed, Steve leaned closer to the intercom, inspecting it as if expecting the camera to magically reveal itself.

“Not the loud speaker, above you to the right.”

The voice sounded condescending, however it was correct. On the building to the right of them was a badly hidden camera. Eddie had an initial thought that his dad wouldn’t have been pleased that he didn’t immediately locate a camera on the property, but quickly pushed it back because fuck him. He isn’t his father.

Both Eddie and Steve shuffled around awkwardly, looking into the camera and then back to the door as the metal creaked on its hinges as it was opened.

There in front of them in a white t-shirt, glasses, dark jogging bottoms, slippers and some sort of dirty multicoloured robe, was who Eddie assumed to be Murray.

“Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson” spoke the man, looking at them both respectively, “you two are a long way from home.”

With a small smile, Murray stepped aside and gestured for the boys to enter. They took one last glance at one another before entering the building. Eddie allowed Steve to enter ahead of him and turned back to see Murray quickly looking around outside before closing the corroded door behind them.

They were led into a living space that was full of clutter, the desk, chairs, sofa, tables all covered with various files and boxes. The floor was a hard, cold looking concrete but there were rugs scattered around the room as if to make up some type of carpet. There were posters on the walls that Eddie didn’t recognise and an obscene amount of televisions with what looked to be radio equipment and VHS players stacked upon them.

Murray turned back to the boys, “I hope you’re not here to tell me about the bear in the little Byer boy’s backyard, I’ve heard that one already.”

Then before either of them could answer, Murray turned back around and unlocked a sliding metal door. Eddie and Steve couldn’t believe what they saw, newspaper articles, documents and photos all pinned to a cork board with red string joining them. The evidence was stacking up that Eddie’s initial judgment of conspiracy theory nut job was correct.

Murray had been tracking the whole upside down shenanigans from the beginning, there was even a photo of bald El with a scribbled comment above her, ‘Russian?’

As Murray started talking about his theories and the connections he had made, Steve wandered over to the photo of El. He reached a hand out to gently touch it and turned to Murray, cutting him off, “She’s not Russian.”

Murray looked taken aback at first by the interruption, “sorry?”

“She isn’t Russian, she’s from Hawkins Lab” Steve said as he turned back around to face Murray.

Eddie could tell he was pleased with himself, knowing something that this wacky man clearly didn’t. Murray also seemed slightly annoyed by this information, his head cocking to the side like an intrigued dog.

“Her name is Eleven,” Steve continued. Murray kept staring at the boys, not saying a word.

Eddie eventually spoke up, for the first time since meeting this man, “you might wanna sit down for this.”

At first Murray didn’t move, he kept staring at them as though they were a puzzle he was trying to solve. Eddie wondered if he was possibly trying to figure out if they were lying or not. But, then Murray turned around and headed back out of the room mumbling something under his breath that the boys didn’t quite catch.

They followed him back out into the hectic living room and Murray pushed aside some of the stacks of papers to sit down on one of the many sofas. Steve got out the tape recorder and hit play, the Russian transmission that they had caught on Dustin’s super radio began to play.

Murray stayed silent the whole time and stared off into space, his face looked serious as though he was really taking in what the Russians were saying. Once the recording stopped, Steve looked over to Eddie, unsure what to do next. Murray kept sitting silently on the couch.

“So…is it important? Is it enough to figure out what the hell is going on?” Eddie asked, turning his attention back towards the bald man on the couch.

Murray stood up, wiped his hands on his dirty robe and walked out of the room. Eddie looked back at Steve who just shrugged at him and then headed into the direction Murray had gone. They came into a kitchen area, just as cluttered and grim as the rest of the building. The kitchen sides and cupboards had paint peeling from them, the fridge dirty and covered in what looked to be grease stains and a shelving unit full of cups, plates, bowls ect. He even had a hanging array of mugs that reminded Eddie of his uncle Wayne.

Murray began skittering around the kitchen and grabbing various items that he then put on the empty little table. Looking at the items he had gathered, he was clearly making some sort of alcoholic beverage. He added the liquids into the shaker with ice and began to shake.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, other hand on his hip, “what are you doing?”

Eddie could tell he was getting frustrated, he understood why but was also just amazed by what on earth was going off in front of him.

Murray briefly stopped his shaking to answer, “thinking.”

“With vodka?” Eddie added, confused but also intrigued.

“It’s a central nervous system depressant, so yes with vodka” Murray replied as he poured his drink into a class and then pushed past Eddie to make his way over to a collection of vinyls that Eddie hadn’t even noticed up until now.

He saw Steve slump beside him and let out a sigh, “music, really?”

“Yes, it helps me…” Murray replies as he gently takes the vinyl out of the sleeve and places it on the record player.

Soothing jazz music begins to play and Murray wanders around the room, with an air of almost grace to his movements. He closes his eyes and begins to sway gently.

Steve stands up straighter and walks over to him, “how long is this going to take exactly?”

“Longer if you keep talking” Murray snaps back, not even glancing Steve's way.

Eddie knows Steve is getting more annoyed, especially if his ‘both hands on his hips’ mum pose is anything to go by.

“Is it useful or not? Is it incriminating or not? It’s a simple question.”

Murray laughs and finally turns towards Steve, “there’s nothing simple about it, nothing simple about any of this situation.”

He begins to walk over to the stack of televisions and gestures around, “we need Them to believe us and that isn’t easy.”

“Them?” asks Eddie.

“Them, with a capital T. The world at large,” Murray scoffs and then takes a big gulp of his drink, “they won’t believe us.”

“But we have the tape, we have evidence! Right?” Steve begins walking closer to Murray who’s looking at Steve like some naive child.

“They’ll bury it, easy. Those people aren’t like us ok? They’re wired differently, they don’t spend their lives trying to look behind the curtain.”

Murray puts one hand in his pocket and the other clutching his glass as he moves closer to the boys. He laughs before adding, “they like the curtain, it provides comfort and stability.”

At this point he has pretty much lost both Eddie and Steve, neither having any interests in his analogies or metaphors. But he keeps talking about curtains and curtains behind curtains and then moves onto authority, which Eddie can understand much better than curtains. Even with all the metaphors and analogies, Steve understands that Murray is saying that their little tape recording of the transmission doesn’t mean shit in the grand scheme of things.

“So this was all for nothing?” Steve shouts, once again interrupting Murray.

“I’m saying that I’m thinking,” Murray says as he lifts his glass in the air like a cheer, before taking another sip and grimacing at the bitterness. He makes his way back over to the kitchen and adds more soda water to his drink, before putting the bottle down with a thud.

“That’s it!” he exclaims, as though he has had his eureka moment.

“What’s it?” Eddie asks wearily, not really wanting to send Murray off on another tangent.

“It’s too strong, we just need to water it down a bit,” he takes another sip of his drink, “perfect.”

He looks up towards the pair, a big grin spreading across his face. Eddie and Steve look at each other, equally confused before turning their attention back to Murray. This whole interaction has been confusing and strange.

Murray begins to explain his plan to make the situation more tolerable for the public, not to introduce them to the true horrors of the upside down and the Russian involvement. As he explains, the boys nodding along, he pours another two drinks and hands them out. Eddie immediately downs a big gulp whilst Steve hesitantly takes a sip of his.

The group then set about making copies of the tape, Murray making written translations to go with them, and begin to put them into envelopes to post to various newspapers and media companies. They spend a good chunk of the evening labeling and securing everything. Before they know it, it has begun to get dark outside and they’re all sitting back in the living area with drinks ready to celebrate a job well done.

Murray pours himself more vodka, “the commie bastards sure know how to make a good spirit don’t they?”

Murray raises his glass in the air and both Steve and Eddie follow suit, “to taking down the man!”

“To taking down the fucking man!” Eddie joins in, taking a big sip of his drink before grimacing at the strong taste.

Steve takes another sip of his drink before they both put them back down onto the table, Steve checks his watch for the time.

“We should probably start to head off, it’s getting late.”

“Shit yeah, Wayne is gonna be worried about me.”

Murray leans back in his chair, “I’m sure whoever Wayne is, he would be proud of what you’ve been up to. Tell them you’re staying at Jonathan or whoever’s house and crash here in my guest room.”

Eddie leans into Steve and asks quietly, “do you wanna stay?”

“I mean, it is getting kinda late.”

Eddie suddenly becomes very aware of how close he leaned in towards Steve and abruptly pulls back, clearing his throat and hoping the sudden redness of his cheeks is blamed on the vodka.

He turns back to Murray, who’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow, “would I be able to crash on the sofa?”

“Ok, I’m confused”, Murray’s brows furrow and he shakes his head a little, “lovers quarrel?”

Eddie and Steve both immediately begin to heat up and jump to the defensive.

“No, no, we’re just friends”, Eddie hurries out.

“Yeah, friends…just friends” Steve tries to explain, but he can feel the blush covering his face and he begins to feel twitchy. All of a sudden very aware of Eddie’s presence next to him, especially where their knees are touching.

Murray leans back further into his chair, head lolling back as he laughs.

“You’ve told me a lot of shockers today, but that is the first lie.”

Steve finds himself shaking his head, “it’s not a lie!”

“Really? You’re young, attractive, you’ve got chemistry, history and then the real shit, shared trauma”, Murray begins explaining as he gestures with his hands, glass still gripped tight in one of them.

“But…I like girls!” Steve exclaims, his last hope in trying to get Murray to stop talking.

Eddie looks towards Steve, trying not to let the hurt show on his face. Of course, he already knew all of this. Knows he doesn’t stand a chance with The Steve Harrington, but hearing Steve be so clearly disgusted in the idea does make his heart ache.

Murray on the other hand just looks bewildered, because can this kid really be this oblivious?

“Oh great, I can’t believe I have to also get you through a sexuality crisis too”, Murray leans forwards and rubs a hand over his face.

He hears Steve try to disagree once again but just holds his hand out to him and the boy immediately stops. He then points towards Eddie, “and you, I’m gonna say trust issues, am I right? Something to do with your dad.”

Even though Eddie feels like Murray is being rhetorical he still feels the need to defend himself, he’s just met this man, he doesn’t know Eddie or his family.

“Wha-I mean my dads an asshole yeah but..”

Murray cuts him off with a short hum, “it is a curse to see so clearly.”

Once again Murray leans back into his chair, the stress leaving his body as he relaxes and takes another sip of his drink. He points towards Steve this time, “you are just like everyone else, scared to be yourself, retreating back into the safety of….”, Murray clicks his fingers, “name.”

He says it like a command and Eddie immediately finds himself scoffing and muttering, “Nancy.”

He feels Steve side eye him before looking back towards Murray.

“Nancy”, he snaps his fingers again, “Oh, we like Nancy….but we don’t love Nancy.”

Eddie dares to look towards Steve and sees the younger boy's face drop slightly, mouth open as if he’s trying to think of a response.

“I mean…Nancy is…well we aren’t together…not since..”, Steve stammers his response, he can’t quite seem to get the words out. He does like Nancy, but Murray is right, he doesn’t love her. Not anymore, at least not like he used to. He wants her to be happy and safe, he loves her platonically.

Steve slumps back, as though he has given in to defeat.

“My goodness, you two are adorable aren’t you?” Murray asks as he leans forward to pour himself yet another drink.

The boys quickly glance at one another before looking away.

Murray stands up, the chair creaking as he does so, “Listen, there is a pull out sofa in my study if you want it.”

He begins to walk towards a set of stairs, once he’s stepped up the first few he gives the boys one last glance, “but if I were you, I’d just cut the bullshit and share the damn bed.”

With that final statement, Murray carries on up the stairs, leaving both boys alone on the sofa.

#stranger things #st4 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #murray bauman #steve harrington x eddie munson #fic #ao3 #st 2 #re-write #the boys are oblivious

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byeol-ssi · 2 years

Text

𝐢. 𝐈 𝐖𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐔𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐝

✦ kamisato ayato x gn!reader | genshin impact x loosely inspired by the manhwas "i have become the hero's rival" or "your ultimate love rival" and "i raised a black dragon"

✦ tags: isekai!reader, historical manhwa au, royalty au, enemies to reluctant allies to lovers, slow burn, cursing, descriptions of pain and fear (nothing graphic!)

✦ table of contents.

You awake to a world that isn't your own.

It's a ceiling you hardly recognize, one entirely different from the view that greets you everyday. Duvet covers that settle too heavily on your frame. Tassled pillows too frivolous for your tastes. A bed far too spacious with sheer white drapes that hung from the carved wooden posts.

There is an idyllic symphony in the air; a chorus of birds chirping, a stream flowing, bees... buzzing, paired with sunlight that symbolizes an invitation to a new day.

You dreamt often—regardless of the time and place—so this wasn't a complete surprise. Your imagination kept you alive, kept your heart beating so strongly, kept you hopeful when reality was otherwise hopeless.

However, your surroundings and sensations were startingly vivid for you to be truly asleep. Were lucid dreams always this accurate in portraying the likeness of life?

You finally sat up, looking about the room. It was much larger than expected and lavishly decorated with vintage furnishing. Elegant creams, and marbles, and gold-trimmed walls. A balcony that opened to a magnificent view of a garden. It reminded you of a royal's chamber described in those fairytales you used to read as a child.

Still, there was an obvious absence of personal belongings and clutter, as if the space lacked an owner for quite a while.

Your gaze fell on the vanity dresser, complete with an ornate mirror. Looking back, you've never actually glimpsed upon your appearance in a dream. You abandoned the gratifying warmth of the bed in order to satisfy your curiosity, padding barefoot across the room to reach it.

The pearly-glass reflected... you.

A lancing pain pierces your skull, leaving a trail of searing heat down to your spine, and you almost expect yourself to jerk awake. Open your eyes to the world you know.

You don't.

It's as if your head had been split open and now swam in unfathomable waves of pain. Feeling faint, you staggered back, knocking over a nearby table as you attempted to regain your footing. The pile of papers atop it fluttered down to the floor like a flurry of snowflakes, along with a few other objects that tumbled off its surface with a resounding crash.

The door to the bedroom slammed open, accompanied by an alarmed shout of your name. Piercing blue eyes took in your distraught expression, and their beholder lifted his hands in a nonthreatening gesture.

The longer you gaped at the man's sudden arrival, the closer you were brought to the preposterous conclusion that you were familiar with him.

From a different place. From another version of reality.

From... across a screen.

Kamisato Ayato.

Head of the wealthy Kamisato family, and youngest ever to be named Master of the kingdom's magic tower. A born prodigy with an unparalled talent and affinity for magic.

The male lead from a story you had been planning to read.

A fictional character. A person simply conjured from the author's imagination. A man composed of lines scrawled on a page by an artist's hand.

The abrupt headache gradually subsided, and the side where the wood's sharp edge collided with your hip now throbbed into a dull ache, bringing more confusion to you than discomfort.

Everything felt real. Too real.

Ayato calls out for you again. Slow. Soft. Reassuring.

There was no mistaking it this time. He'd called you by your name.

How does he know your identity? And why does he act as if your presence here wasn't at all surprising?

The whole situation seemed outlandish but not unfamiliar. In fact, you've read about this sub-genre of fantasy a hundred times.

A reader from Earth who is suddenly transported into another world. In some cases, this happens through reincarnation. Sometimes, the soul occupies another character or individual already living in that world.

Often, and regrettably, it meant that the said reader had died.

Oh my god.

Were you dead? Had you died in your sleep and got sucked into the novel?

You swallowed, panic beating like a drum inside your chest. You closed your eyes and pinched the flesh of your forearm.

This is fine. Everything's fine. This is all a dream. It has to be. Perhaps if you told yourself this enough, you would eventually wake up and find yourself back home.

"You look as if you'll collapse at any second. I'm going to come closer, alright? It's just me."

Your eyelids flew open, taken aback by Ayato's voice. He stood much nearer now, with his lips pursed in worry and his forehead furrowed with concern.

Shit. You were still here. Stuck. Possibly dead. Oh, god.

The horrifying possibility allowed fear to loosen your tongue, and you blurted out the first thought that came to mind.

"I'm not the person you know!"

Ayato froze in his tracks. He studied you for a moment, as if you were a wild animal, and he was figuring out the best course of action to deal with you.

"What do you mean?" His demeanor had turned frigid, eyeing you with apparent distrust and understandable wariness.

You cursed inwardly. That wasn't exactly the way, nor the words, you'd intended to tell him. Even worse, you had no answer to his question, and the countless more popping up in your mind.

If, somehow, and for whatever absurd reason, you had been transmigrated into this fictional plot—particularly as another character—Ayato's reaction should've been wholly different.

Yet, he used your name. The mirror showed your face. Your voice sounded the same to your ears.

Going by the information you possessed, it seemed more likely that you hadn't inhibited someone else's body.

This was simply you.

Except the male lead acted as if your existence in his world was completely ordinary. Which meant that 'other' you had been living here for a considerable amount of time. How long specifically, you aren't sure.

"I'm not the person you know," you repeated. Blood pounded in your ears. Would it be wise to reveal yourself as a transmigrator so early on?

For plots like these, it was common for the transported reader to take fifty or more chapters before they admitted to being an outlander. Even then, the information was disclosed very selectively. "I—this isn't the world where I'm from. We have the same name, face, and body, but I'm not them."

The air shifts. Becomes overwhelming. Similar to a bottle holding too much pressure within. Completely suffocating. Like you've been gripped by the throat and forced underwater.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

Oxygen leaves your lungs, cutting your breath off with a gasp. You fall to your knees and polished shoes step into your swiftly-blurring vision.

Please, wake up.

You craned your neck to the source of the unforeseen change in the atmosphere.

Ayato stood there, looking down on your crumpled, helpless form. Any semblance of the concern he held for you mere moments ago had vanished without a trace. In its place, were wisps of glowing blue light that swirled around his fingers.

"Then what did you do to them?"

Ah, fuck.

— SOMETIME EARLIER —

Exhaustion weighed on your eyelids, but tonight, sleep did not come as easily as you wished it to.

The clock on your phone read 1:57 AM, and for the past two hours, you had settled into a steady rhythm of swiping through several short clips on a social media platform.

You contemplated putting your phone away already when your finger pauses, letting the current video play through its entire duration.

A big bold text in red filled your screen, nearly blinding you. 'New Web Novel Recommendation!' it said. You squinted as it flashed through a series of screenshots from a newly adapted and illustrated web novel that's been circulating through your feed ever since its release.

So far, you've managed to gather a very vague idea of the plot and the notable characters included.

It was a typical romance drama and fantasy narrative. The male lead, Ayato, would spend most of his time trying to protect his sister from the vicious villains who wanted her for themselves.

At some point, the villains force a demon into Ayato's body and consciousness, making his journey all the more challenging. He meets the female lead, a saintess, who offers to assist him with her divine power and save him from fully succumbing to the demon's curse.

Based on reviews and the numerous edits you had come across already, you finally surmised that the story was worth looking into.

Tapping the bookmark button to save the clip, you exited the application and consequently turned your phone off—determined to at least catch a few hours of sleep before the sun rose.

As you nestled deeper under your blanket, you couldn't help but smile. Honestly, nothing would ever compare to the excitement you felt whenever you had the chance to spend an entire day simply reading.

Getting lost in an entirely different world—even if it was only a few hours and pages—was a different kind of bliss.

With that, you drifted off to sleep.

— PRESENT —

Oh god. Any moment longer, and you were certain you would die of asphyxiation.

Considering you were still alive and, you know... not really dead.

"Let me repeat myself,"—Ayato loomed over you. Domineering. Powerful. Perfectly suitable for the lead role—"what did you do to them?"

What in the world were you supposed to say? No matter how hard you tried to rack your brain, you couldn't come up with an explanation yourself.

Would continuing to tell him the truth even be worth it? Come up with some far-fetched excuse? Laugh it off and act as if this was all a prank?

Or should you allow him to kill you? Perhaps crossing your fingers and praying that you returned back to Earth was your best option.

You shuddered.

Nope. No. That would be too risky. For all you knew, this could be your second chance at life already.

More importantly, you needed to figure out a way to calm Ayato down. Still...

How the fuck were you supposed to give him an answer when he was deliberately choking you to death? Also, why would he automatically assume that all of this was your fault?

Your fear morphed into annoyance, and you couldn't hold back the glare you shot up at him. "Let. Me. Speak," you demanded, the words coming out of your throat in a wheeze.

Something akin to surprise flickers in his eyes; then it's gone. A second passes. Then two. Until the heavy weight on your chest, squeezing your lungs, had been lifted.

You greedily took in some air, refusing to back down from his gaze. With your chest still heaving, you rasped, "I don't know what happened to them. To me. I recognize who you are, but not in the way you think."

He crossed his arms. Narrowed his eyes further. "I don't understand."

Great. That makes two of you.

"If I explain it to you, you must promise me that you'll listen." You took a deep breath and spoke in the most pleading tone you were capable of. "And even after I finish, please don't strike me down."

"I'll be the judge of that."

You gripped the carpet rug beneath your fingertips. There was no other choice. Especially when you could tell that Ayato's patience was wearing thin, and the air was getting thicker as he subtly activated his powers once more.

You couldn't die here. Not yet.

"In my world, you're a character from a novel. This world is a fictional story I was supposed to read."

✦ byeol's notes: this chapter is dedicated to my moon @tellerluna-stories (who also came up with the series title!) ♡ without her, this project would've remained buried in self-doubt, anxiety, and fear — never to see the light of day.

thank you for always giving me courage. ily, truly.

✦ reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! to reader, you have my love.

#genshin impact #kamisato ayato x reader #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x you #ayato x reader #ayato x y/n #ayato x you #✦ archon quest.#manhwa x genshin

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