#will probably post onto ao3

[secondbeatsongs]

iCarly Meta, Part 5: Socko, Nominative Determinism, and How I Spend My Free Time

so, you may remember that I've made four separate iCarly posts before, because I am just way too into this dorky, ridiculous children's show.

well, over a year ago, I wrote this fifth one. and after some introspection, some really deep self-evaluation about what I want and where I'm going in life, I've decided that it's time to share it with the world at large

so...let's talk about Socko's family!

to catch you up: Socko is Spencer's best friend, who designs all of the fun socks that Spencer wears! he's first mentioned in s01e07 (iScream on Halloween), though some of his socks are shown as early as s01e02 (iWant More Viewers).

(technical note: production-wise, s01e09 is listed before s01e07, and I think that was intended to be Socko's introduction, and it would make sense, considering how Spencer describes him in that ep. but I can't prove this, and so we move on.)

while Socko is mentioned consistently throughout the show, he's never fully shown on screen. but, he does technically appear in an episode, because you can see part of his arm in s04e11-s04e13 (iParty with Victorious) when he hands Spencer the keys to his van.

Spencer and Socko have known each other since at least 1999 (as mentioned in s02e12, iRocked the Vote) when Spencer would have been 17 or 18. and despite Socko almost never being shown, it's clear that he spends a lot of time with Spencer, and that they're close. if Spencer needs something, Socko is always willing to call in a favor from one of his family members.

and boy, does Socko have a lot of very interesting family members.

let's go over some of them real quick:

Bernie is a welder, Otto is a used car salesman, Tyler designs neckties, Taylor is a tailor, Rob is a thief, Arty is an artist, Isaac is an optometrist, and Ryder is a motorcycle enthusiast.

are we noticing a pattern here?

every single one of these is an aptronym – a personal name that is aptly or peculiarly suited to its owner. and since all of these people are in some way related, this is fascinating to me.

it seems like Socko's family is really into nominative determinism – the idea that people tend to gravitate towards areas of work that fit their names. whether or not this is true of people in real life is unclear, but in the universe of iCarly, this is something that Socko's family is all about.

when did it start, I wonder? who was the first in the family to have a job or hobby that related directly to their name? and who continued that pattern? because someone named Bernard going by "Bernie" and taking up welding is one thing, but an entire family of people going into fields that have to do with their names is unsettling.

is this on purpose, now? do the parents in Socko's family choose names for their children based on what they want them to be? is there an expectation that each child will have to choose a profession based on what their parents name them?

I think there is. and I think it's fucked up.

imagine growing up knowing that your name would control your future career options. that no matter how you felt about your name, choosing a career or hobby that matched it is what would make your parents happy. that at least some portion of your parents' love is tied to the idea that you will be what they named you.

and depending on the name, the kids aren't always left with a lot of options! someone named Bernie could be a welder, a woodburning artist, a firefighter, etc...but for Taylor, there's really only one path to take.

what if a kid is trans? I just have to wonder, would they be judged more for not identifying with their assigned sex at birth, or for changing their name?

and one of Socko's cousins is named Mary. think about that with me for a second – Mary.

imagine that the only dream your parents have for you is that you get married. and not just fall in love! no, you were given this name because their express purpose, their biggest hope for you is that you get legally married.

what if Mary had been gay? what if she grew up with fear in her heart, knowing that the only thing her parents had ever wanted from her wasn't possible, was actually illegal, because of who she was?

or what if she had been aro, or ace, or just otherwise not interested in relationships? or what if she was interested in relationships, but not the serious, legal commitment of marriage?

my hope here (my one fragile hope) is that Rob, Mary, and Josh are siblings, and that their parents were trying to escape this part of the family legacy. maybe they named their kids Robert, Marian, and Joshua, and tried to steer clear of any obvious career choices – but then their sons started going by "Josh" and "Rob" and causing trouble, and "Mary" started talking about her upcoming wedding, and they knew that they would never be free of the family curse.

'cause it's gotta be a curse, right? I feel like at this point, it has to be.

but hey, worry not! because I think there are some loopholes.

Penny, for example, had a lot of choices – she could have minted coins, or built fences, or designed ball-point pens, or been a cashier (etc, etc). but she didn't do any of those things! she started a t-shirt company, and made shirts with fun phrases on them like "church pants" and "parole baby" and "chest words" (all shirts I would wear for real).

her job didn't have anything to do with her name – but she still followed the family pattern. she named her t-shirt company "Penny-Tees", and sewed a single penny into each of her shirts. instead of finding a name-based occupation, she made her own.

I really think it's brilliant – she got to do what she wanted, and her parents couldn't complain, because it still suited her name! and if this pattern is curse-based, she found a way around it by following it to the letter (but not exactly the spirit), and because of this, she got to make her own choices.

and speaking of jobs that may or may not suit one's name: let's talk about Socko.

early in the show when we're introduced to him, we know three things about him:

he knows where to find huge pumpkins

he sells Spencer all of his wacky socks

his name is Socko

but, thinking about that third point…is it?

like, is his name actually Socko?

let's look at Socko's family tree for a moment:

(ID in alt text)

(yes, I made this. it took over two days. I skimmed through many episodes, looked through a large amount of the old iCarly website on the Wayback Machine, and as far as I know, this is canon accurate.)

(shhh, this was absolutely a valuable use of my time. don't worry about it.)

look at his family. look at the names.

almost all of them are, well…normal names. names that could belong to any acquaintance, friend, or relative in your own everyday life.

the only real exceptions here are Freight Dog, Boomer, and Dr. Paxil – but if we're being real? "Freight Dog" is almost definitely a nickname, "Paxil" isn't that strange-sounding of a surname, and I have actually seen people named "Boomer".

so that just leaves…Socko.

"Socko" is not a people name. it sounds mean, but I don't know how else to word that – it's just not a name for a human person.

it would be a great name for a cat or a dog (especially if they had paws that were a different color from their body – man, that'd be so cute!), but it is not a name that many parents would willingly give to a human child. especially when all of the other siblings in the family have relatively normal names.

my theory, my hottest take: I don't think "Socko" is his legal name.

think about it: Socko and every single one of his siblings went into the fashion industry. even accounting for the fact that they probably wanted Penny to have a different career, would Socko's parents really want all three of their other children going into the same industry, especially one as tumultuous and challenging as fashion design?

I think not. I think they gave Socko a different name, one that they believed would lead him down a completely distinct career path. and then, like Penny, Socko found his own true calling – but instead of changing his occupation to match his name? he changed his name to match his occupation.

it is my belief that Socko's birth name…the name his parents gave him…

(drumroll please)

…was "Socrates".

now hold on, just stay with me here. because I swear that this does make sense, really!

so, back at the beginning of this post I mentioned nominative determinism, but that term wasn't actually used until 1994. before then, it was called "onomastic determinism" or "die verpflichtung des namens" ("the obligation of the name"), but it wasn't really…a thing? it wasn't something that people really studied, and when they did, nobody could seem to come to a solid conclusion about whether or not your name does actually influence your career choice.

I think that in some way, Socko's parents wanted an answer. they wanted an explanation as to why their family tree reads like a joke book. and by naming their kid "Socrates", they were sending that question out into the world, hoping for a response.

because there were really two options here – either Socko would grow up to be a philosopher, someone who could search for meaning in the pattern of family job-finding, or he wouldn't. and if he didn't, if he threw off the shackles of his name and did something else entirely, then that in itself would be an answer.

and sure, maybe his parents should have thought about how "Socrates" might be abbreviated. maybe they should have considered that he could grow up to design socks. but hindsight is 20/20, and I don't know if that's something any parent would expect of their child, so I won't hold that against them.

I will however, judge them for naming two of their kids "Taylor" and "Tyler" – like, my god. can you imagine how often people got them mixed up? it's inhumane.

even worse if they were twins! though actually, that would make some kind of twisted sense – to give twins names that not only match, but that would lead them to careers in the same industry. maybe they wanted them to go into business together? hoo boy.

anyway, sorry, I've gone off-topic. back to Socko – or should I say, Socrates.

"Socrates" is a pretty fun name. two parts of it are σῶς (sôs, “safe and sound”) and κράτος (krátos, “power”), which is an interesting name meaning for a dude who was executed for corrupting the youth.

(I'm talking about the philosopher here – as far as I know, Socko from iCarly was not executed for corrupting the youth. at least, not yet.)

and if we keep thinking about Socrates (the philosopher), I think there's another reason that this name fits: we know fuck-all about Socrates.

sure, he's well-known – lots of people know about his ideas, and the Socratic method – but…he never actually wrote anything. everything we think we know about him, we learned from somebody else.

all of Socrates' interests, his skills, his beliefs? they were all things we learned from Plato, Xenophon, or (I guess) Aristophanes. we have no idea what the dude was actually like, outside of that.

just like we have no idea what Socko is like, outside of what Spencer says.

Socrates is a vital figure in the history of western philosophy, but all of the things we know about him are altered by the opinions of other people, filtered through the lenses of their perception.

and Socko is a vital character in the show iCarly, but all of the things we know about him – his hobbies, his opinions, his wants – are things we've heard second-hand from Spencer.

(you're laughing. Spencer Shay is a stand-in for Plato, and you're laughing.)

so in a very fun way, Socko (Socrates) did live up to his name…by being unknown to us, the audience.

us, watching this TV show the way chained prisoners watch shadows dance on the wall of a cave.

continuing down this rabbit hole…does this mean that one of the iCarly crew is Aristotle?

no…perhaps that's taking it too far.

(it'd be Gibby)

final notes:

I haven't seen all of the iCarly reboot yet (I'm on episode 3! I have mixed feelings, but I think one of the writers ships the thing that I ship, so that's fun), so if it mentions something about Socko lore, I unfortunately do not know about it.

fun fact: the ancient Greeks did often have names that were meant to have sway on their lives! for example: Hedistē ("most delightful"), Demotimos ("honored among the people"), Hippodamas ("horse-tamer"), Nikomachē ("victorious in battle").

additional fun fact: I asked one of the mods of the iCarly wiki, and they said I could put the family tree I made on the page for Socko's Family! :D

look! it's my thing! the thing that I made! how cool is that?!

(I'll be real; I am way too proud of this)

yes, two of Socko's family members have inaptronyms instead of aptronyms: Harry (bald) and Jean (allergic to denim). but in my mind, they still count – the names are still weirdly suited to their specific lives.

since I'm pretty sure "Freight Dog" is a nickname, I also took a crack at what I think his legal name might be. my theory? "Aaron".

(get it? Aaron? because he's in the air? okay, I'll see myself out.)

anyway, my new hobby is coming up with more family members for Socko to have. descend with me into the deepest reaches of The Headcanon Zone, and behold:

Lisa: She's a landlord (she leases apartments). Socko hates her.

Barry: A big ol' bear of a man. Or he could work for Gund or Build-a-Bear or something. That could be fun!

Mike: Audio technician

Amy: Sharpshooter

Summer: Camp counselor

Tony: Orthopedist. (toe-knee)

Marty: Owns and operates a supermarket

and because it's fun, my friend @wonderbound joined in and came up with these super great ones:

Drew: Illustrator

Cody: Programmer or hacker

Pete: Bryologist (he studies moss!)

Norm: He's just a guy

Flo: Plumber – or maybe, an expert in fluid dynamics

Hattie: Milliner (she makes hats)

Howl: Werewolf (or perhaps, the owner of a moving castle 👀)

Will: Estate planning attorney (he writes wills)

anyway, I think that's about it. thanks for coming with me on this adventure! I hope it was as much of a rollercoaster to read as it was to write, because yeah, it was a weird one over here.

I mean, it started out normal? but then the next thing I knew, I had gotten invested, made nine edits to the iCarly wiki, and designed that whole family tree. so I think maybe I went a little overboard with this one. xD

tune in next time, for…I dunno. I think my brain needs a break after that. but, eventually I would love to write more meta! just…maybe not all for iCarly? I have some things to say about Gravity Falls that I think are gonna blow your minds.

(not really; I just think it's great)

#icarly #icarly meta #socko #spencer shay #id in alt text #back on my bullshit etc etc #this is probably one of the best things I've ever written #I solidly lost my mind for a week and then woke as if from a dream #thinking...hey. maybe...I'm onto something here? #like maybe I connected the dots. I connected them #xD #but yeah. it took a while and a lot of thinking #but I did decide to put this on tumblr and not just on patreon #I think I'm okay with it now #tbh. the reason that I kept it only on patreon to begin with #was because there was going to be some weird overlap with a fic I wrote #one I never finished or published. a long time ago #but I decided...to not finish that fic #at least not now #so there's no risk of you finding my ao3 because of this post #and there won't be for a while. maybe not ever #that's what I was worried about #I try to keep my main fandom life separate from this blog #that's just how I like it to be #but now I think I can relax about that for a bit #and let you enjoy this post

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

marichat 24 <3

Hi Autumn! Okay, I laughed so much when I looked up what number this was, especially because it was for Marichat

#24 on my Playlist was... She's So Gone from the Lemonade Mouth soundtrack

This Prompt kind of got away from me, and was A LOT longer than I had intended, but I'm not mad about it, also it's kinda crack, just as a warning lol

For context, this prompt takes place right after Weredad, hope you enjoy!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If You Want Her Back Gotta Let Her Shine

She yanked the brush through her loose midnight tresses, perhaps a little too harshly, as the previous week’s sting rose to the surface.

Marinette winced at the lingering pain in her scalp and met her mirrored gaze with an indignant determination.

The plan was a go. 

Smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on the flared skirt of her scarlet dress, Marinette took a step back to survey her full appearance in the mirror. 

Satisfied with what she saw, Marinette turned on her heel to the exit of her room. It was time to make that cat pay.

It had been barely a week since that fateful day, since a series of misunderstandings had led her to become humiliated and rejected, and in front of her parents, no less. Yes, Chat Noir needed to pay. For you know, being an idiot.

A voice that sounded something like reason, kept reminding her that she wasn’t in love with Chat Noir, that Adrien had her heart. That same voice kept telling and reminding her that Chat Noir had rejected her for her.

But Marinette tuned the voice out. The bitter twist of hurt at his words, I’m sure you’re a great girl, panged her heart and vexed her thoughts far too much for any rationality.

She did not stop to consider, did not pause to think why this bothered her so much, why Chat Noir rejecting her, for someone else still herself was so upsetting.

She merely, calmly (too calmly, according to Tikki) began the process of changing from her usual image and clothing, into something more… striking.

Cataloging in her mind the locations and times of Chat Noir’s usual patrol route, Marinette weaved her way around her parents and out of the bakery, with barely a goodbye.

She did not stop her brisk pace, until she saw him, sitting atop a lamppost just a few blocks from her home, his gaze trained in the opposite direction from her.

She took a moment to collect herself, and then walked down the street in as graceful a walk as was possible for her.

She turned her face in the opposite direction, her mannerisms measured in faux aloofness and unawareness of him. 

In that moment, she was grateful for the light of golden hour, and the stolen gentle breeze in the air, that ruffled her loose hair and made her appearance all the more dramatic. 

“Marinette?”

She had been spotted. 

She tucked away her furtive smirk, and turned herself slowly towards Chat Noir, giving him plenty of time to take in her pretty red dress and carefully applied makeup, and giving him plenty of time to see what he was missing.

“Oh Chat Noir,” She said smoothly. “didn’t see you there.”

Chat Noir leapt down from his post, landing right next to her. 

“Wow, you look nice, not that you don’t always look nice, it’s just um- wow.” Chat Noir shrugged his shoulders and scratched the back of his neck.

In spite of herself, Marinette felt her cheeks getting warm. NO! This was not part of the plan stupid catboy was not meant to be charmingly smitten, he was supposed to feel regret!

Clearing her throat to steel herself, Marinette fluttered her eyelashes and twirled a piece of her hair coyly.

“Thanks, you’re sweet.”

“Did you make this dress?”

Marinette self-consciously bit her lip and nodded her head.

“Wow, you are so talented, this looks incredible!” 

The warmth in her cheeks blazed in an undoubtable scarlet. A strange, fluttery feeling began to unfurl in her chest.

“Thanks.” She said in a tone breathier than she had ever intended.

Distant, cold! Marinette! You sound like a lovesick Victorian heroine! She berated herself harshly. 

“You know..” Chat Noir drawled bashfully, his hand returning to the back of his neck. “We haven’t really hung out recently. I should be done with patrol soon, do you maybe want to do something together? As friends of course.”

His hastily included addendum, reminded her why she was here and shook her effectively out of her thoughts.

“Afraid not Chat Noir. I’m meeting someone soon, so I won’t be available to meet up.” 

She made sure to keep her voice light and her plans vague.

“Well… tomorrow then?”

“Hmmm…” She hummed in mock-thoughtfulness. “I guess I’ll have to see, I’m pretty busy right now, but maybe sometime soon?” She patted his shoulder playfully and saw his eyes track the movement. 

“Oh um, alright then, sounds like a plan.” Chat Noir said sweetly.

This time, Marinette did not let his tone or words curb her plan.

“See you around, Chat Noir.” She said as she walked off.

Ha! That’ll show him that little ol’ Marinette has moved on and is a brand new person who doesn’t need him to love her!

Still, she couldn’t stop the victory-marring regret from flooding in, after all she really would have liked to hang out with him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

Request a lovesquare side and a number from my playlist for a drabble!

#sorry if this is a little rough #im still getting back into writing after a break #asukiess #miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous #ml #weredad #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #drabbles #asks #my asks #my drabbles #drabble-dee-do #my writing #drabble #crack #will probably cross-post onto ao3 later

[vesuvian-meme]

I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the v

#astarion #fuck not again #bg3 #literally how was i supposed to find out about this man and not fall in love?? #to me he gives off opposite asra vibes #thats....probably part of it.... #also if they existed together theyd either despise each other on sight or be gosip buddies. tell me im wrong. #astarion brainrot #astarion bg3 #the audacity of larian studios targeting me directly by making him smh #yall have no idea how hard im fighting the temptation to start posting on ao3 again just to write about him #i have a problem. and it has white hair and fangs #i did not!! need!! a new!! hyperfixation!!!! #gdi i have to write abt him now or my mind will never know peace #......i am not normal about the vampire elf... #*comes onto my semi abandoned blog to scream about astarion and then leaves*

[all-thestories-aretrue]

Soooooo I wrote this incredibly self-indulgent thing about Miles. I have many feelings about how he keeps himself so tightly in control. It's gotta go somewhere.

Disclaimer it's quite dark, so mind the trigger warning and keep yourself safe <3

TW: self-harm, not what I would consider graphic descriptions, but it is the central theme and way more than a mention

The lock clicks. He slips his suit jacket off. Loosens then removes his tie. Untucked, buttons undone. It’s all laid out on the bed. Step by step. Shoes set to the side and trousers swapped for silken pajama pants.

The bathroom door closes behind him. The second lock between him and the world. The shower comes on. Towel laid out on the counter.

His drawer, second down on the left. He pulls out the small black bag. Gold zipper. Supple leather. Inside, his collection. Three packs of new razor blades. An open pack of blades; used ones tucked into the back. A single hypodermic needle. A crafting knife. Two unopened band aids.

The rest of the drawer’s contents is ignored, antiseptic and suture kits, butterfly closures and rolls of gauze, in favor of practiced hands sliding the tin of blades from the bag and the blade from the tin.

He sits on the toilet, lid down. Elbow straight. Fist clenched. The first slice with a small inhale. Bright and sharp and stinging. Familiar and comforting. Line after line as red blooms from the wounds. The ecstasy second only to the Kiss. Rivulets follow gravity down. Strategically placed tissues catch the mess.

Stained crimson, they fall into the waste basket. He flexes his wrist, testing the pull of the broken skin, blots the last of the blood away. Blade inspected and stowed; everything returned to it’s place. Pajamas folded on top of the toilet, he steps into the shower.

#path of night podcast #my fic #*clenches fist* i WILL get better about sharing my writing #but yes many many thoughts about how he regulates himself emotionally and the toll that keeping himself in check takes #i dont have actual like coherent thoughts otherwise i would have written more lmao #but i always gotta have some character to slap the self-harm headcanon onto and unfortunately for miles he is The Chosen One this go around #i would imagine hes very methodical and ritualistic about it and finds it very centering and grounding and cathartic but also #tips right into that edge where he NEEDS it and its becoming a coping mechanism he doesn't really have a replacement for when push comes to #shove and how does he cope when this thing that supposedly gives him control leads him to being more out of control v juicy thoughts for me #if i actually bothered to write anything substantial i would probably post it to ao3 but for 250 words im not sure its worth it lmao #i feel like my tenses are all over the place too but im just going to live with it!!!!!!!!! #i also have many many thoughts about how marcos is involved and complicit spoiler hes the one who put all those medical supplies #in the bathroom just in case miles ever needed them #and the blood bond only complicates things

[notebooknonbinary]

when Mike and Will are in first grade, they attempt to run away. This is spurred by two things: Lonnie Byers’ general presence, and the boys’ current favorite book series, the Boxcar Children. The thought of living in a train car seems super cool to them, and since they live so near to train tracks, they figure that there must be an abandoned train car or two somewhere nearby. They begin trying to gather supplies—as discreetly as two six year olds are able to, which isn’t very discrete. Jonathan, age 11, finds out almost immediately. When he tries to convince them why it’s a bad idea, they—with their little kid logic—actually convince him to go along with it, at least for a little bit. With the condition that he goes with (after all, there’s an older sibling taking care of the kids in BCC, right?). He helps them pack a little better, maybe talks to Joyce about the kids going on a camping trip (to get away from Lonnie for the weekend), maybe implying (lying) that there will be Actual Adults there with them. And there’s no need to make excuses to Mike’s parents—Karen is pregnant with Holly and the whole house is focused on getting ready for the new baby. Karen will likely just think he’s at the Byers’ house. So over a weekend (starting on a Friday after school), Mike, Will, and Jonathan go exploring— looking for a boxcar or any abandoned train car—mostly looking along the train tracks. They eventually find the Junkyard—which the kiddos get excited about anyway (even Jon bc Boxcar Children was his book first shut up), so they proceed to search for hidden gems. They find a bunch of little treasures (a cracked but useable magnifying glass, an old working radio, and even a set of slightly cracked dishes in the trunk of one of the cars), but their biggest discovery is an old Bus. Jonathan tells them that, at least for tonight, it’s almost as good as a boxcar. Mike and Will immediately agree and the trio set out to make the space livable (to kid standards, at least). Set up their blankets and sleeping bags, etc. Jonathan reads to them (from the Boxcar children ofc). And the weekend goes along in a similar vein. The younger boys get homesick by Sunday morning, ofc, so they agree that the Bus can be Their secret place that they go to sometimes. Like the boxcar in the Children’s backyard. (And then Jonathan forgets about it after a while bc I completely forgot about the whole bit in S1E7 where they’re trying to find the kids—won’t remember til they go to pick up the Party and then Jon will want to hit himself for forgetting. The rest of the Party (once they become friends) don’t know about it. It stays a Mike and Will thing—until the Bus is p much destroyed in S2 RIP Bus). Joyce never finds out. (At least not for a v long time—maybe it’s one of the memories Mike uses when Will is possessed by the MF) Not about This run away attempt anyway.

Will tries to run away the second time when they’re in fourth grade. Again, mostly bc Lonnie Byers and his A+ parenting. And plus Will thinks one less child might make things easier on his mom. By this time, Lucas and Dustin are their friends too (and thus voices of reason, bc Mike is an enabler who probably immediately offered up his basement). So they’re talking about it—going over the pros and cons (Mike is still advocating for his basement), but Karen happens to overhear and it’s immediately Game Over: Joyce is told. She is, ofc, devastated. And they have a long talk about how much she would miss him if he were gone (ouch I hurt myself😃). So that’s the last time he actually tries to run away (Joyce gives brief thought that that might be what’s happened at the beginning of S1, but with the confirmation that Mike is Not in the Know, she thinks it’s v unlikely).

(And then during/after the divorce, if Will wants to run away, he either runs to Mike’s house to spend the night, or he runs to Castle Byers… He runs to it in the Upside Down. He runs to it after his possession has been lifted—as his friends (Mike) begin to pull away. And, after a Fight with Mike, he runs to it one last time…then there’s no longer any place in Hawkins Will can run away to.)

When they move to Lenora, Will thinks about running away back to Hawkins. He doesn’t go through with it though, because Mike hasn’t really been responding to his letters, and thus there’s no one to conspire with. Plus, with El, he doesn’t want to leave her alone. She’s quickly become a sister to him, and he knows (even tho school sucks for her), she likely wouldn’t want to run away from Joyce and Jonathan—considering she already lost Hop.

Once Will and Mike get together post-whatever happens in s5, Will tells him about almost running away to Hawkins (to Mike), and, it turns out, Mike had almost the exact same thought (esp when he couldn’t come for Christmas). Like he told Will during SB, Hawkins isn’t the same without Will there. They talk about ‘running away’ from Hawkins after they graduate high school—basically going to college out of state. “It’s not really running away if I’m with you, though. You’re home.” Michael Wheeler is full of cheese.

#again I dunno what this is but here #have a running away byler hc(s?) #why yes I will project my favorite childhood book and my childhood urge to run away onto Any and All of my favorite characters #stranger things #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #vee attempts to write #maybe one day I’ll write this out Coherently and post it on Ao3 but not rn we gotta drive like 8hrs tomorrow and it’s 11pm rn #Also Why Yes I do Hc that out of the four original Party members Neither Mike nor Will are the Voices of Reasons. #most often it’s Lucas. but sometimes (like half of s1) it’s Dustin. it’s almost never the other two #long post #not part of my fic series Technically but like it’s not Not part of it either #i should Probably format this or something but tbh I’m getting a headache so no thank u #also I’m sorry I wrote this when I was half asleep so it might be Shit and Also ooc I hope it isn’t but #byler headcanon #byler hc #bylers out here making good theory posts and I’m just like Will and Mike Run Away sometimes probably #this is sort of like a 3+1 sort of Not-fic thing ye? or like a 3+1+1 idk #vee fic

[seventh-district]

oh my god i can’t decide what to do with my time today

#Seven.txt #writing stuff #video stuff #it’s Sunday so i need to log into Genshin and do my weeklies and i also need to grind for primos to yoink Yelan’s C1 before Tuesday #but i also need to record that so it’ll have to be done later once the house is quiet but i also need to record Lyney’s story quest but #then ​i also want to record Kaeya’s hangout but i also need to see what events are ending soon but i also need to do other non game stuff #like i need to finish going thru my backlog of likes on here and i need to answer asks and i need to work on drafted posts #and i have GOT to start working on ES Ch.4 to get that up by my self-imposed deadline soon but i’m recording that so i can only work on it #early in the mornings or late in the evenings but i also wanna finish this one-shot i’m working on for Dew and get it up on here soon #and that’s easier cause i’m not recording it but if i work on it today that’s not the best use of my time when it’s SUNDAY so it’s GENSHIN #DAY but i don’t FEEL like playing genshin rn i wanna WRITE ugh #but i’ve also got Ao3 comments awaiting a reply and i need to get a few things updated over there and i wanna work on This Is Unconditional #but i don’t have the TIME for that right now and i’ve got a bunch of messages that need replying to and a many hours of videos to edit #and i slept bad bc Nightmares so i just wanna eat and take a nap but that’s such a waste of time and uuuuugh idk man #So Many Creative Endeavors So Little Time #*collapses onto the floor in a frustrated heap* #okay. deep breath. i think. i’m gonna go work on banging out the rest of Hold On to Something bc that’s nearly fully written anyways #and i am Dying to get it out of my system bc Ghost Band fixation u know #i at least wanna get the draft done. i’ll edit/post it another day #then i’ll probably hop on genshin for a bit and do the bare minimum (i only need like 15 more pulls worth so even if i don’t grind and have #to swipe its nbd) and then i’ll hopefully be able to record the first writing session for ES ch.4 later this evening!!! #‘cause good god i wanna get that fic back into production. i miss working on it it’s just so hard to get started again #okay enough rambling. gonna go make Bullet’s lunch and get myself some lemonade. then i shall work

[bongo-clash]

Hey guys!! I've not really been posting any content for the last while, and it's mainly because I've been busy, but it's also because I've been getting into DC as its own thing as well, so I made a secondary blog purely for DC/mainly Batfam content!!! Don't worry though, I'm still into DP, and I will hopefully post more stuff for that at some nebulous point in the future!! For now, if you're into Batfam stuff outside of DP crossovers, look out for that on @bongo-smash!!!!

(Not much on it at the moment, but there May Or May Not be a Jason Todd-centric fic in the works that I'm hoping to finish soon that May Or May Not be posted to an ao3 account that I May Or May Not be intending to make)

#If and/or when this ao3 exists I'll probably be spam-posting all my fics from tumblr onto it as well lmao!!! #But yeah!! That's the news!!! #not dp #not danny phantom

[leiakenobi]

.

#brand new year and i've decided definitively that i'm not going to bother to maintain a taglist or crosspostmy fic onto tumblr anymore #i know it's partially ''my fault'' for not writing anywhere near as much reader fic last year #but it was starting to feel pointless to post stuff on here so #i'd rather just keep all my fic centralized to ao3 #i'll probably try to get back into the habit of linking my fics here when i post them tho #i haven't done that properly in ages

[aalt-ctrl-del]

The whole thing about Ao3 and inappropriate content is also very confusing, cause I never see it, but people really like to talk about it, and a lot like to circulate this ideal that you’re gonna find niche topics on Ao3 that are controversial.

Disclaimer for the usual spiel on better moderation and also we should not ignore stuff that should be removed when it is meant to reach a certain audience, censorship being a slippery slope and what not.

But if or whenever I run into that sort of stuff, I typically don’t interact of give it traction. It’s impossible to ignore problematic stuff into obscurity, but I see a lot of sjws with maybe good intentions, screaming very loudly about all the terrible stuff they found. Meanwhile, you have the wrong sort of people going 

👀 omg, yus. that is so awful. Link?

People are trying to raise awareness for legit issues that need correction, in the meantime they’re also tossing chum into the water. I could go my whole life without having to bleach after each post, filters aside. But more people who are ‘against’ the content they preach should be removed, are very eager to share insight about what sort of content they seem to have A LOT of interaction with.

So how was the devils sacrament? 

#ao3 #archive of our own #a03 #controversial content #moderation #bubble wrap the internet #im a native to ao3 and its always news to me #but if you're looking for it you'll find it #or stumble onto it #but reading is always needs a little more engagement than a picture #which is the argument #but if articles didnt post so much outrage for clicks over (omg do you know how bad ao3 is) and talk extensively about the content #we might have less people engaging with the site for a specific purpose or seeking that niche #but why dont they go after youtube? #probably because youtubes is a behemoth and the algorithm and filters is a mess due to all the videos getting uploaded #so these people will feel justified if ao3 is canned #even if it does nothing to fix the real issues

[atticrissfinch]

Alright with a Slow Burn | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

A Bonus Meet Me in the Back Oneshot

[Moodboard for aesthetic purposes only]

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: Just a casual cockwarming competition on a weekend afternoon. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink, degradation!kink, cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, assplay, clothes-ripping, brief spitting, v brief over-the-pants footjob action ig, bad casino metaphors, some friendly competition with stakes <3, Olivia Benson appearance, random fluffy moments??? word count: ~5.4K | ao3 a/n: surprise! a dirty little oneshot for you. this takes place a while after part 6, probably a couple months post. title is from Slow Burn by Kacey Musgraves which feels very fitting for them.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

You love when Joel has a weekend night off of work. Your schedules are so misaligned, you often find yourselves stealing frantic early evenings together between your workday ending and his beginning.

The more you’ve taken Joel inside you the more your body molds to him — craves him on the daily. He still takes your breath away each time he enters you, and he still swears up and down about how tight you are every goddamn time. It’s symbiosis at its finest as far as you’re concerned. A mutually beneficial, delicious destruction of your respective selves at the hands of the other.

You fuck and you chill. You chill then you fuck. It’s a lazy cycle, but it works.

Right now you’re relaxing, Joel sitting on the couch and you lounging with your legs draped over his lap. Olivia Benson is solving especially heinous crimes on Joel’s crappy television, filling the leisurely silence of the trailer with a marathon of your shared comfort show. Joel had slept until 2 PM, as is his standard. You’d found yourself at his door as soon as he was once again alive to the world. There’s something about you appearing on his doorstep in fully done face, hair, and dress with him scruffy and bleary-eyed in nothing but joggers that sets your heart alight.

You like him simple, uncomplicated. You bring enough complications of your own. He’s a welcome reprieve with unceasingly open arms and a predictably hard cock. There’s not much more you could ask for.

Joel rubs circles into your ankle with his thumb, occasionally slipping down to the sole of your foot to apply pressure to the arch. Quiet moans of approval creep out of you at the treatment, and you can feel Joel responding to your sounds against your lower leg.

“Hi there,” you giggle, pressing the side of your calf into the initial stages of his bulge.

Joel’s grin gives way to a shallow grunt at the friction, and he clasps a hand around your ankle.

“Better be careful. Snake’s gonna start rattlin’.”

“Well, they don’t call me the snake charmer for nothing,” you joke, sliding your leg over his crotch again.

Joel snorts, quirking his brow. “They call you that, do they?”

“Yes they do,” you assert, nodding resolutely. “I get yours dancing easily enough.”

Joel exhales a laugh through his nose and squeezes your ankle. “Someone’s gettin’ a little big for her britches, ain’t she?”

“I’m not the one bursting the seams of my pants right now,” you retort, a smile playing on your lips.

Joel clears his throat and readjusts his seat, nonchalantly fixing his dick inside his joggers. “Don’t know what you’re jawin’ on about. I am one hundred percent unaffected by those sexy little moans of yours.”

“Oh yeah?” You challenge with a smirk, entirely unconvinced. You bend your leg and inch your foot back slowly, placing it directly onto his growing erection. The arch of your foot starts to massage him gently and Joel’s eyes drift closed for a mere moment before he snaps them back open.

“Yup,” Joel responds matter-of-factly, while noticeably avoiding your eyes.

“Mmm,” you hum, nodding and feeling Joel harden rapidly under your dedicated ministrations. “You, the same man who has never seen me and not popped a boner at some point during the interaction?”

“Don’t know who you're talkin' about,” Joel dismisses, attention honed in on the screen in front of him, but you can see the corner of his mouth fluctuating and his fist clenching at his side.

You catch your bottom lip between your teeth as your grin broadens. “Daddy?”

“Mmm?” Joel answers, like he’s afraid if he opens his mouth again, his whole cover will be blown and a much more vulgar sound will escape.

“You’re hard as a rock right now.”

Joel finally glances down at his crotch and swears. “Fine. You got me. You happy?”

“I will be soon,” you say with a shit-eating grin adorning your face.

Joel rolls his eyes and tugs at your arm, hauling you up onto his lap. “Come here, you little temptress.”

You giggle, swinging a leg over his and sitting on top of his undeniable arousal and grabbing onto the back of the couch. Joel’s smile matches yours now, eyes going hooded as he revels in having you in his lap once again — where you’re pretty sure he would like you to be at all times.

You dip your head down, stopping just short of your lips becoming one, and whisper, “This position familiar enough for you, big boy?”

Joel’s expression crumbles, a defeated moan pushing out his throat before he’s closing the distance with gusto, clutching the back of your head and burying his fingers in your hair as his tongue intertwines with yours.

You sigh into his mouth with a pleasurable sound of your own and begin rocking your hips down onto his straining cock. “Turn the TV off,” you utter against his lips. “Feels weird to fuck with this show in the background.”

The breath from Joel’s laugh puffs over your face as he snatches up the remote and hits the power button. The room goes quiet, save for the sound of your increased breathing and a barking dog outside. Joel’s hands run over the sides of your calves and the tops of your thighs until he reaches the hem of your sundress. Joel already knows what he’ll find underneath, but he moves it up glacially, building the tension rising in your bones.

“Lean back on your hands,” Joel instructs with soft authority.

You plant your palms solidly on the coffee table close behind you and lean back as your dress rucks up along with Joel’s upward movements. When the skirt hem meets your hips and reveals your lack of panties, Joel exhales heavily out his nose and shakes his head incredulously. “Perfect every time.”

You spread your knees further apart on either side of him and bait him with, “So make it not so perfect.”

“Not possible,” Joel mutters reverently, sliding a thumb between your glistening lips and stroking up from your dripping entrance to your throbbing clit. “Perfect now, different kinda perfect when she’s full o’me.”

“Joel, that is so…filthily sweet,” you admit, your voice pitching higher as his thumb makes another pass up the line of your cunt.

“Ain’t never wanna be nothin’ but that with you, sugarplum,” Joel replies huskily, spreading your outer lips with his middle and pointer fingers as he deftly works his cock out from his pants, tucking the elastic band under his balls. His length slaps weightily against his bare stomach and your pussy pulses in response.

Joel’s mouth shift for a moment, his cheeks concaving slightly, and then he reaffirms the spread of your lips and spits down onto your already dripping pussy.

You moan at the gesture and roll your hips onto Joel’s fingers as he rubs his saliva around your lips and pushes it into your waiting hole. “Put your cock in me, daddy.”

“So excited for him,” Joel chuckles lightly, but slides a supportive arm around your back for you to push yourself upright and fully into his lap again.

A gasp leaves you as your bare pussy descends on the underside of his exposed cock for the first time today and adds pressure to your clit. You allow yourself to grind on him a few times as you press your lips to his ear and say, “I’m gonna drop it down on you so good, daddy. I know how much you love this pussy.”

“I do love this pussy,” Joel sighs, his hands gripping your hips as you grind, “But I’ve got a little idea for you.”

“An idea?” You ask breathily.

“A little wager.”

Your hips still in his lap and you rear back to take in his expression. He’s got a mischievous look on his face as his thumbs stroke at the tops of your thighs.

“What kind of wager?” You ask skeptically.

“If I win, I get something I want. If you win, you get something you want.”

You furrow your brows at him. “You’re putting your cock in me. We both win in that scenario.”

“And what if I just put my cock in you? And I don’t do nothin’ else?”

“Like you’re not gonna move?” You ask, perplexed.

“That’s right.”

“So how do you win?”

“First person to give in. To start beggin’. To start movin’.”

“And you really think I can’t handle that?”

“Oh, baby, I know you can’t handle that.”

You scrunch your face up at him. “Rude.”

“Now, now, you said it yourself. I’m about to put my big fat daddy meat inside you. That don’t sound rude to me,” he chides, gripping his cock with his hand and stroking it to maintain his erection as you work through his proposition.

You roll your eyes. “Ok. What are the stakes?”

“What do you want, baby?”

You mull over a few ideas in your brain, humming thoughtfully as you parse through them, until you arrive on one. “You have to go to see Les Mis with me when it comes to town next month.”

Joel’s nose crinkles immediately. “Ain’t that the one where all those sad people singin’ and cryin’ about bein’ sad for five hours?”

“Three hours. You’ll survive. And I’ll let you fuck me to tears afterward if that’ll make you feel better.”

“Deal,” Joel whips out immediately, and you laugh at his haste.

“Ok. What do you want?”

And Joel is already locked and loaded with his answer. “You let me fuck your pretty, puckered backdoor.”

“Joel,” you groan, elongating the vowels in dreadful hesitance.

“Within the next two months,” Joel negotiates, cupping your face with his palm. “I’ll give you time. We’ll prep you real good before we do it. I just need to shove my cock into that juicy forbidden fruit at least once, babygirl. I gotta. Please let me.”

You know how badly he wants this. You’ve known he’s wanted it for a long time. But he’s just so huge. You have no idea how you’re going to fit him, and you mean that so honestly. But people do it, right? He’s done it with other women. He’s told you about them. It’s possible.

And shit. You are curious. You want to see if you could take it.

You sigh and say, “Two months. Lots of prep. And I can say to stop at any time.”

“Of course, baby.”

“Ok,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Deal.”

Joel’s eyes brighten with heartbreaking earnesty, a smile breaking across his face. “Really? Deal?”

“Don’t ask me again,” you advise sternly. “I said deal. Put your cock inside me.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joel replies hurriedly, giddily, guiding your hips up and positioning his cock at the entrance of your cunt. “Make it count, baby. Ain’t gonna feel me rubbin’ on them pussy walls again for a long time if I got anything to say about it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you taunt, taking just the head of him inside you as you drag out the descent. “I know how you get when you’re buried inside me.”

“And how am I?” Joel banters back, his hands flexing on your hips as you sink down another inch.

A lazy smile cracks across your face as you poise your lips at his ear again. “Rutting into me like a mangy mutt until you get your nut out. Like your only purpose in life is to breed me like your bitch.”

Joel grunts at your words, his fingers digging into your flesh as you continue to slide down onto him. “So we’re playin’ dirty, are we?”

You laugh softly in his ear and say, “Don’t remember us ever playing any other way, daddy.” You give a sharp nip to his earlobe and hear him moan.

“Such a naughty fuckin’ girl,” Joel purrs, slipping a hand up your torso and between your tits until he’s cupping your neck delicately. No pressure, just a reassurance of his presence and a daring power move. You hum into the crook of his neck as you finally bottom out, your ass flush with his thighs and the tip of his cock nestled as deep as he can reach in this position.

Joel’s hand glides from your throat to your jaw and guides your face back up to his, his nose nudging yours as he says, “Let the games begin, baby.”

Your mouths fall into each other so naturally like this now, Joel always searching for your lips when he’s breaking you apart, like that will hold your pieces together. When the kisses grow deeper, you have to police your own movements carefully, resisting the urge to roll down onto him as the passion ramps up between you.

Coming up for air is bittersweet, knowing you can’t compensate for the loss of contact with renewed vigor in your hips. You gasp when you feel Joel’s cock flex inside you.

“That’s not allowed,” you whine, leaning your forehead against his and tucking your fingers into the hair at the back of his head as he smirks at his little loophole.

“Ain’t grindin’, ain’t movin’. Not against the rules.”

“You’re making shit up.”

“Am not.”

You groan a little as he flexes again, racking your brain for an idea until you come up with your own sweet revenge. Silently thanking your kegel exercises, you focus your muscles to contract around his cock in retaliation.

Joel groans in response, his head falling back against the top of the couch. “Fuck me, you little devil. That’s so fuckin’ not fair.”

“All’s fair in love, war, and sex wagers,” you tease, squeezing around him again just to hear him grunt again.

“Well, I’m callin’ a truce then,'' Joel says, nipping at your bottom lip. “I don’t move him, you don’t squeeze her.”

“Fine. Truce accepted.”

“Good girl.”

You hum and capture his lips again, sighing as he eagerly melts into you once more. Your pussy feels full, in a sensation that is both incredibly frustrating and oddly satisfying. You’ve longed for a simplified scenario of this for a while — to just exist with his cock stretching you open until your pussy doesn’t remember how it’s ever felt any other way. For time to pass and your bodies to remain as one. For him to take root inside you, cast out tendrils that affix to your walls and imprint their memory in the plush welcome of your cunt. This ever-present, almost anxious instinct to entreat your body to remember him and how he makes you feel.

This wasn’t exactly how you imagined it happening, a silly competitive sex game, but you’ll take it. This route seems much more organically Joel than anything else would anyway.

Your lips part from each other again and you rest your head on his shoulder, a sneaking suspicion that the two of you will be in this for the long haul. Joel’s hands slip under your dress and up your back, thumbs grazing back and forth at the sides of your tits.

“‘S kinda nice,” Joel mutters into your hair.

“It is. Unexpected side effect of our competitiveness, I guess,” you reply, words slightly warped by your cheek smushed against his shoulder. “Better not go soft on me, old man.”

“Can’t help it. You make me a little soft,” he says, a bit of solemnity in his voice.

You feel your heart flip over in your chest for a moment at his words. “Oh. I—I mean. I meant something much less appropriate than that, but…”

Joel expels a brief laugh and shifts his thumbs to your nipples, fussing with them as they harden under his attention. “I think you know, little sugarplum, that you’ve made me hard in the cock and soft in the heart for a hot minute now.”

“Shut up,” you mumble bashfully, but you close in and place a kiss onto the side of his neck. “Say something dirty, please. You’re actually going to go soft at this rate.”

Joel laughs again and tweaks your nipples between his fingers, making you squeak quietly in cheery arousal.

“You wanna know my favorite part of tearin’ up this tiny slit?”

Your giggle mingles with a moan as he shifts tone so effortlessly at your behest, but indulge him. “What, daddy?”

Joel’s hands skip down to the creases of your hip and thigh, rough fingertips running over the divots in your skin where you’ve sat on him for what feels like ages. “When I fuck into you just right and I feel your tight little snatch clamp down on my cock. Jesus.”

You whimper into his neck, actively fighting your body’s need to grind on him, ride him until he loses control and spills inside you.

Joel groans himself as he recounts his memories of you and him together. “Or when I’m hittin’ it so deep you can’t say a goddamn thing. No fuckin words, no slutty little sounds. Just braindead on my fuckin’ pussy pounder like the dick-drunk cumslut you are.”

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine against him, nails biting into the back of his neck as your hips scream at you to move. “You can’t say shit like that to me and not…”

“Not what, baby? Do some pussy pounding? You want Daddy Joel to treat you like a whore, sugarplum? He ain’t do that enough? He too nice to you?”

You moan as you feel wetness flowing out around Joel’s cock at his words. Joel really is usually so nice to you with only a few exceptions. He’s dirty and filthy, but he’s become annoyingly respectful to a degree. “I want you to treat me like a whore, daddy.”

“Poor baby,” Joel placates, raking his nails lightly over the tops of your exposed thighs until you shiver. “Better watch what you’re wishin’ for. Your resolve's lookin’ a bit shaky. And you wouldn’t wanna lose, would you?”

One of Joel’s hands drifts behind you, dipping a finger down between your cheeks and ghosting directly over the site of his potential earnings if you don’t pull your shit together.

You swear quietly and regroup, taking a deep breath. “Not a fucking chance, old man.”

Joel chuckles tauntingly, gripping your asscheek in his hand before relinquishing you and settling his hands back at your hips.

“Can you put on the TV or something so I can distract myself?” You whine, placing your hands on his chest.

Joel puts on a mocking pout and says, “Aww, you need a distraction from daddy’s cock filling you up? Are you daddy’s little bunny rabbit? Just need to bounce, bounce, bounce?”

“Fuck you,” you grumble, burying your face in his neck again. “How is this so fucking easy for you?”

“Who said it’s easy for me?”

“You’re just acting so breezy about this.”

“I still got it up, ain’t I?”

He is still rock hard. You can assess that with no trouble. You’re filled to the brim with him, and you imagine that his precome is coating the entrance of your cervix with how perfectly he’s made his home there.

“Yeah, very much so,” you admit.

Joel’s thumb strokes over your cheek delicately. “Believe me. As long as I’m hard, stayin’ still inside you ain’t gonna be easy for me. My goddamn brain is programmed to bust your fuckin’ walls down.”

“And you do it so well,” you coo, snaking your hand down between the two of you and slotting it into the small opening between your converging hips until your fingers are in reach of his ballsack.

The moment your fingers graze against the sensitive skin, Joel releases a helpless sound. “Oh, sugar, you can’t—” His words are cut off with a deep moan as your hand lightly contracts around his balls.

“Ain’t grindin’, ain’t movin’,” you imitate poorly back at him, cupping his sack and softly massaging the skin between them as he bites his lip and groans at your devious discovery.

“When I win, that little cock box ain’t gonna know what hit it when I’m done with you, little girl. And that asshole’s gonna be puckerin’ in fear knowin’ I’m gonna ream it out just as hard when the time comes,” Joel threatens, the severity of his words significantly weakened by the pitiful desperation in his voice.

“Big talk for a man I’ve got by the balls right now,” you deride with an impish grin, kneading the rounded pair of flesh in your palm, dutifully enough that it makes him keen. You feel the head of his cock twitch against your insides, and you’re fairly certain it was unintentional on his part. “Daddy’s getting a little excited in there, isn’t he?”

“Smug little shit,” he retorts, inhaling deeply through his nose to ground himself while in your clutches. Too lost in the amusement you’ve found in toying with Joel’s testicles, you nearly jerk up on his cock when you feel a spit-slick finger prodding at your unoccupied hole. “Still feelin’ smug?”

“Joel, don’t that’s—ohh,” your words trail off in a moan and your hand stalls below his cock when the tip of Joel’s finger pushes past the ring of muscle to the first knuckle.

“Said we were playin’ dirty,” Joel says huskily, wriggling his encased fingertip in a coaxing circle around the rim of your asshole from inside, pulling a whimper from you. “Figured I’d play where my whore is dirtiest.”

“That’s fucked up,” you argue breathily as his finger pops languidly in and out of your clenching hole. You give a slightly tighter squeeze to Joel’s ballsack and feel his cock twitch again. “You can’t pilfer through the goods before you’ve won. I should make you sit through my shitty rendition of I Dreamed a Dream if that’s how you’re gonna play.”

“Sing your heart out, little songbird. Ain’t gonna get you any closer to winnin’,” Joel says, voice straining against the pleasure you’re driving with your dexterous hold on him.

You whine as your body wrestles with being penetrated in two holes at once by Joel, your clit throbbing at the delicious noises Joel is making at your hands-on treatment, and you feel your determination dwindling by the second. You have no idea how long Joel has until he breaks, and your brain and body are screaming at you to allow this man to do what he does best and let him rearrange your guts with unbridled ferocity.

You know you could convince him to go to Les Mis with you regardless.

And you‘ve been planning on gifting him anal soon anyway. But he doesn’t need to know that. You can let him think he won it from you.

You don’t give a shit about the competition anymore.

You just need to get dicked down.

So you finally blow the whistle, wave the white flag with a, “Fuck it,” and smash your lips against his, ratcheting your hips back and forth like a snapped rubber band.

Joel’s reactionary groan is loud and raspy as his fingers sink into the meat of your ass, hauling you with impassioned movements to assist in your primal need to make up for lost time.

“Fucking finally,” he growls into your mouth, starting to lift your hips and pull you back down onto his length as you moan like a shameless whore at the friction. “‘Boutta make you the sorest fuckin’ loser this side o’the Miss’ssippi, sweetheart.”

“Do it,” you cry out, pressing your foreheads together as your fingers tug at the hair on the nape of his neck and you begin to bounce on his cock with all the tenacity you brought to your stupid competition. “Fucking destroy me, daddy.”

You feel like your cervix is bruising from each punch of his cock inside you, from the way he’s yanking you down on him while fucking up into you with a deafening grunt on every thrust. He gives a final, punishing thrust before pulling you off his cock entirely and nudging you back.

“Get on the fuckin’ floor. On your back.”

You narrowly miss smacking your head on the coffee table in your haste, scrambling down to the carpet and falling onto your back for him. Joel loses his sweats in no time flat, swiping them across his sweat-dappled forehead and tossing them to the side before kneeling between your spread legs.

Joel’s fists clench around the rounded neck of your sundress as he looks you dead in the eye. “You love this dress?”

You swallow and shake your head vigorously. Even if you did, you didn’t give a single fuck in this moment what happened to it. Which is fortuitous, because Joel rasps out a single low grunt and the cotton dress tears like tissue paper at his hands. He rips it right down the center, collar to hem, the straps over your shoulders the only fabric keeping it attached to your body. But Joel, having revealed precisely what he wanted, doesn’t bother with further destruction.

He just takes a few moments to drag his eyes up and down your now fully exposed body, nipples peaked and hard, pussy spread, stretched, and drenched, and your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath for the brief, heavy few seconds you’re sharing before he pounds you into oblivion.

You remember the last time he ripped clothing of yours. That very first time in the backroom when he wrenched your panties clean off your bottom half to give himself unfettered access to your enticing offer. It feels appropriate that the second time he wrecks your wardrobe is to once again lay claim to his spoils.

You love feeling conquered by him. Vanquished.

There really wasn’t much of a point in you winning. He’d won a long time ago. The moment he sunk into you the first time. You were done for.

Joel corrals your legs onto his shoulders, folding you in half as a balancing hand appears next to your head on the shag carpet and the other guides his cock to your waiting heat.

He notches at your opening and looks down at you, halting there. “Tell daddy he won.”

You whimper at the tease of his thick, slickened head at your hole, but concede with no ambiguity, “You won, daddy.”

Your mouth falls open in a breathy gasp as he splits you open around him again, pressing back in to the hilt with no resistance. The hair at Joel’s base prickles at your folds, dampening them with your accumulated wetness. His hands bracket your head as he drops down to steal a sloppy kiss from your lips, sucking your blatant arousal off your tongue.

“Daddy’s gonna enjoy your little slot machine, baby. Heard she’s as loose as a fuckin’ whore in Vegas.”

“She feel loose to you?” You counter, squeezing around his cock again, now that you’re free to do so.

Joel groans, retracting his hips inch by inch, pausing with a smirk to say, “Sure feels like a jackpot to me,” before plunging back inside you.

He hits so different from this angle, and you never seem to remember just how much until he dives in. You feel winded on the first thrust, but it’s an addictive sort of high. It’s like he’s got a hand around your throat, commanding your breath with his strokes, but, as disgusting as it is, the only hold he has on you in this moment is your heart.

Maybe you’re “dickmatized” as your friends say, but you can’t help but think that with a cock like his, it’s so easy to fall for this man. And then he follows it up with attentiveness and affection, and it feels like a fucking rabbit hole you’re tumbling down. Only he has ever been able to steal your breath with his dick, and then steal it again with his sincerity, just to breathe you back to life when you see him again.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating, two sides of the same coin that seems to be spinning indefinitely. Part of you wishes Joel would catch it, flip it onto the back of his hand, and reveal the result for you. But he would never do that on your behalf. So you just let it spin.

The buildup has Joel relentless in his mission to show you just why you lost to him, and what you were missing by thinking you could win. Although, you have a sneaking suspicion that he fabricated this entire game to all but guarantee his chances at exploring your “forbidden fruit” as he’d called it. You can’t fault him for that. The man is clever.

The noises falling from your lips are unfiltered and raw. You couldn’t restrain them if you tried. Joel’s cock is mind-numbingly agonizing, slamming into you with undeniable intent to demolish you. You’re vaguely aware of the scrape of Joel’s flesh under your fingernails as they rake for purchase on his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Joel is definitely babbling to you, but with all the noise in your brain it’s fragmented as it meets your ears.

“…pussy’s so…chokin’…big cock…lucky girl…rolled daddy’s snake eye, didn’t ya…”

Your eyes are rolling around in your skull as he hammers into the end of you with unfathomable stamina. Joel offers what you sense are filthy encouragements as your pussy welcomes the onslaught and your sounds begin to fail you, exactly as he said happens when he’s fucking you just right. Your mouth lies open with nothing to fill it, even your own vocalizations.

You can feel two rough fingers on your clit, but it’s blurred on the edges of your mind. Your brain doesn’t comprehend it, but your body does, because you can feel it seizing, clenching in preparation for the inevitable release. And release it does, your back arching off the ground, forcing the last remnants of sound from your throat in a final, high-pitch whimper as your vision flashes white and your hearing goes staticky.

You think you hear a telling groan from Joel indicating his own completion, but it gets lost in the haze. Your body comes back to you in gradual sections. You feel your fingers first, still earthed in Joel’s back like they were dead-set on drawing blood — which they may well have done. Then up your arms and down your abdomen, where you soon recognize the press of Joel’s face in your neck and his hot, panting breath over your skin. The sensation in your feet trickles back to you and you pinpoint them locked in a vice grip around Joel with your heels still digging into his ass like the masochist you’ve spectated yourself becoming since you met Joel.

You find your voice again, and it feels like sandpaper, but you’re compelled to ask, “Wait, did you already come?”

Joel breathes a laugh into your neck. “Like Jesus Christ himself, sweetheart.”

“No, I missed it,” you groan, dragging out the first word in disappointment.

“‘S alright, baby,” Joel consoles, stroking down your hip soothingly. “There’ll be a million more where that came from if I got anythin’ to say about it.”

You flex your pelvic muscles to suss out the situation down there. It feels empty, evidence of the gaping absence of him. You clench, and your pussy might as well be crying. To be refilled, to be left alone. To lick its own wounds, to have more inflicted before you even bother. And then there’s the drip of him from inside you, a crude balm to the aching gash between your legs. The only remedy that you think—that you hope—you’ll ever need with him.

Your orgasm had clearly taken you out of commission for a few minutes, because Joel’s cock already lies completely flaccid against your stomach, rung dry by the iron grip of your cunt. Joel’s lips find yours and it’s messy and perfect. Like an ardent forgiveness for your self-imposed sin of not witnessing his achieved euphoria. It’s healing precisely where you need it to heal.

“You’re fucking incredible,” you sigh, your limbs going limp around him, sliding off to land where feels natural. One of those places happens to be your hand intertwining with his.

Joel’s grin presses into your neck as he plants a kiss there. He slips his free hand around the curve of your ass, fingers dipping into the split of your cheeks in a cruel foreshadow, chuckling as he says, “Hope you’re still sayin’ that when I cash in my chips.”

Please follow @atticrissfinchupdates and opt in for notifications to get notified when I post a new fic! Visit here for instructions on how to get a tab just for the blogs you've subscribed to at the top of your tumblr page!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #sleazy!joel miller #tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #katy wroted fic #mmitb

[lady-lostmind]

I had the absolute pleasure of getting to write a fic based on this amazing art by @ahhrenata for @strangerthingsreversebigbang! Link to art post Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this! Read the fic on ao3 or under the cut!

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open. 

“Stevie?” 

He hears Steve pad down the hall and then he’s opening the door to their room, a soft smile on his face as he peers down at Eddie on the bed. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Eddie sniffles loudly. “I don’t feel good.” 

Steve sighs and leans against the door frame. “I told you not to go out in the cold with Dustin the other night. You didn’t even have a coat.” 

Eddie groans again and flops over, reaching his hand out to Steve. “Come cuddle with me.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh. “You’re whiny when you’re sick.” 

But he pushes off the doorframe and crawls onto the bed, dropping down next to Eddie and letting him wrap his limbs around his body and press his face against Steve’s chest. 

Eddie snuggles in and hums, ready to fall back asleep for forever, or until he can actually breathe again. Whichever comes first. 

Steve’s hand lands on his forehead, pushing his bangs out of the way. “Baby, you’re hot.” 

Eddie lets out a little chuckle, his voice low and raspy from the pain in his throat. “I’m flattered, sweetheart. But I don’t think I’m really up for anything sexy right now, Stevie.” 

Steve swats his arm. “I wasn’t coming onto you, asshole. You have a fever.”

Steve pulls away, like he’s going to get back up and Eddie holds on tighter to him, another whine slipping out of his lips.

Steve rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go get you some stuff.” 

Eddie’s hand flops onto the bed as Steve gets up and disappears from the room. Eddie rolls back over, pulling the blankets up and burrowing under them to fall back asleep. 

–

Eddie wakes up to Steve nudging him gently, holding out a little cup of red liquid. Eddie’s face scrunches up in disgust and he shakes his head with a groan, trying to hide under the covers again. “I hate that shit.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the blanket back. “Eds, you gotta take this. It’ll bring your fever down. Come on.”

Eddie groans again, but pulls himself up to sit and takes the little shot of medicine with a grimace. 

Steve chuckles beside him. “I’ve seen you drink jager straight from the bottle and you’re making that face over cherry cough medicine?” 

Eddie shoots him a cocky grin. “Jager is good though. That shit tastes like pennies.” 

Steve shakes his head, pulling the covers back up around Eddie’s chin. “There’s tissues and water next to you on the table. You want me to drag the TV in here?” 

Eddie shakes his head, already settling back into the pillows and drifting off. He reaches out a hand to tug at Steve’s wrist. 

Steve sighs, climbing under the blankets with him and pulling him close. “You’re gonna get me sick.” 

Eddie grins and plants a wet kiss to the back of Steve’s hand before he falls asleep again. 

–

The next time Eddie resurfaces it’s to Steve’s fingers trailing softly through his hair. He sniffs, whining when it makes the pressure in his head spike. 

“Made you some soup, baby. You hungry?” 

Eddie nods and forces himself to sit up, smiling at Steve when he hands him a bowl of chicken noodle. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

Steve leans over and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “You sure you don’t want the TV in here? We could watch some movies.” 

Eddie shrugs. “I’ll probably just fall asleep five minutes in. But you can bring it in if you’re bored.” 

Steve shakes his head and grabs a book off his side table, wiggling it in the air. “I’m good.”

Eddie’s eyes lock on the book and his jaw drops open. “Are you finally reading The Lord of the Rings?” 

Steve flashes him a big grin and nods. “They’re confusing though. How do you keep track of all these crazy names?” 

Eddie chuckles. “You get used to it after a while.” He sets his empty bowl aside and lays back down, peering up at Steve with big, pleading eyes. “Will you read to me?”

Steve’s face scrunches up. “I’m not very good.”

Eddie scoots in closer, plopping his head onto Steve’s lap. “I just want to hear your voice.” 

Steve’s hand finds its way back into Eddie’s curls again. “Do you want me to start over?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve read them like ten times. You can start where you left off.” 

Steve nods and opens the book, clearing his throat. “‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.”

Eddie lets the familiar words wash over him. Steve’s voice making him feel safe and warm, the fingers in his hair soothing him to sleep.

–

Eddie wakes up again, his throat burning and raw. He’s alone in the bed again and it’s dark. The blankets tucked in tight around him, making him over heated, his hair plastered to his forehead. He sits up, reaching for a tissue as a harsh cough racks his body. He groans, wincing as he wipes his mouth. 

Eddie hates being sick. And yeah. He knows nobody likes being sick. Obviously. But he can’t stand it. It makes him feel trapped in his own body. Trapped in his bed. He doesn’t like to sit still for so long. To feel like he can’t do anything. 

The door creaks open, a sliver of light peeking through before it disappears again, Steve’s body blocking it out as he leans in, a sad little smile on his face. “You okay, baby? Heard you coughing.” 

Eddie lets out a pathetic whine, falling against the pillows again, somehow still exhausted even though he slept through most of the day already. “No.” 

Steve pushes the door open the rest of the way, comes up to him and puts his hand on his forehead before making a little tsk noise, and brushing his hair out of his face. “I’m going to get you another dose of medicine.” 

Eddie groans, grabbing Steve’s wrist and shaking his head. 

Steve chuckles, bending down to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “What if I bring you a popsicle to chase it with? Make your throat feel a little better.” 

Eddie’s eyes flick up to Steve’s, his eyebrows shooting up. “Not sure your popsicle is going to help my throat much but–”

Steve rolls his eyes with a smile, tugging his arm back and shaking his head. “Would you stop? You’re awful.” He heads back to the door, turning back with his hands on his hips. “Orange or cherry?” 

Eddie whines. “No grape?” 

Steve chuckles. “You and Dustin ate all the grape, baby.” 

Eddie huffs out a breath. “Orange then.” 

Eddie grins as Steve leaves the room. He really hates being sick. But he doesn’t mind this whole Steve-taking-care-of-him thing. That part’s pretty nice. He can’t really remember the last time someone did this for him. Thinks it must have been his mom, when he was still little. Remembers curling up with her on the couch, her humming softly as he fell asleep. 

He doesn’t have a lot of good memories with her. Mostly screaming matches with his dad, and her disappearing for weeks at a time. But there were a few times when things were good. When he felt loved. When he really felt like he understood what it was like to be wanted. And then he’d gone to live with Wayne. And he did his best. And Eddie knows he loves him. Knows he would do anything for him. But he’s a grumpy old man who never thought he’d be raising a kid. His version of taking care of Eddie when he was sick was buying some soup and leaving it on the counter for Eddie to make while he was at work. And that was fine. Eddie is grateful for everything Wayne has done for him. It just wasn’t exactly a lovey household. Not that it wasn’t full of love. They just…didn’t really show it. But he feels the love in everything Steve does. Sees it in the way Steve’s eyes light up when they look at him. In the way his hands always linger. No matter where they touch. Like he never wants to be more than a breath away from him. Like he wants nothing more than to bring him a stupid orange popsicle when his throat hurts to make him feel better. 

Eddie smirks as Steve comes back into the room, cough medicine in one hand, popsicle in the other.

–

Eddie feels a little better when he wakes up the next morning. Late morning. The room bright with the sun peeking in through the blinds. He’s still sick. Still can’t really breathe normally. His throat is still protesting every time he tries to swallow. But he feels a little less dead. And he didn’t wake up drenched in sweat this time so, hopefully that means his fever is gone. Thanks to Steve’s stupid medicine. Not that he’d ever admit that to him. 

Steve comes in with a plate piled high with toast, and a mug of tea that Eddie is sure has way too much honey in it, for his throat. 

Eddie takes the offered breakfast with a sleepy smile. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

Steve presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “You’re welcome, baby. You feeling better?”

Eddie shrugs, stuffing half a piece of toast in his mouth. Steve climbs onto the bed with him, grabbing Eddie’s book from the table on his side of the bed, settling back against the pillows.

Eddie perks up, shifting so he can watch the way Steve’s mouth wraps around the words Eddie knows by heart. They’re some of his favorite configurations of words in the world, and Steve somehow makes him love them even more. He loves the slight hesitancy he has as he stumbles over the names, the pauses he adds in strange spots when he’s clearly trying to piece parts of the story together. He can tell he’s really trying to get it. Trying to understand why Eddie loves this so much. Trying to understand Eddie more. Which he’s pretty sure no one else has done before. 

Everyone else just takes him at face value. The loud, over the top, obnoxious behavior, his weird obsessions and interests. People either look at him and want nothing to do with him, or they look at him in awe, like he’s something shiny, something to distract them from whatever bullshit is going on in their own lives. But he’s never had someone look at him like he’s something to be treasured. To dive into and see all the sides of. Until Steve. 

Steve, who he knows hates half of the stuff Eddie is into but still asks questions. Who knows Eddie’s favorite songs and books and movies. Who knows he prefers grape popsicles. Who looks at him in that awestruck way even when he’s quiet. When he’s just existing in their space, not putting on a front or a show. Steve still sees him, even then. 

Eddie leans forward and presses his lips to Steve’s, cutting him off mid sentence. 

Steve huffs out a laugh against Eddie’s lips before pushing him back. “Is my reading that bad?”

Eddie shakes his head and takes another bite of toast, getting crumbs all over the bed as he scooches closer to Steve who lifts his arm to tuck Eddie into his side. 

–

By day four Eddie is still feeling pretty bad, and worn out, but also bored. He still doesn’t have the energy to leave their bed much but he also can’t stand just laying around anymore. 

He shuffles his way out to the living room, ignoring Steve’s squawk of protest as he spots him from where he’s doing dishes in the kitchen. Eddie makes it halfway to the coffee table before Steve is there, a hand towel slung over his shoulder as he tries to push Eddie back down the hall. 

“What are you doing? Go back to bed.” 

Eddie groans and gestures to his stack of notebooks on the table. “I’m bored, Steve. I want to work on my campaign.” 

Steve nudges him back again, a crease forming between his brows. “I’ll bring them to you. Go lay down.” 

Eddie lets out an annoyed whine but turns and heads back down the hall, collapsing on the bed where he immediately lets out a sigh of relief, the pressure that was building in his head from being vertical backs off as soon as he hits the pillows. Because Steve was right, of course. He should have just asked him to grab his stuff for him. 

Steve comes in a few minutes later with all of Eddie’s notebooks and campaign books piled high in his arms. He dumps them on the bed and disappears again, coming back with a stack of Eddie’s tapes and his walkman, adding them to the mess on the bed and perching on the edge. 

Eddie grins at him. “You’re the best, you know that?” 

Steve shrugs, a little blush flashing on his cheeks. He reaches out and squeezes Eddie’s knee. “Just know you like to listen to music while you work. I’ll bring you some dinner in a little bit, okay?” 

Eddie watches as he gets up to go, smirk firmly in place as he pulls his notebooks closer to him and flips the top one open, trying to jump back into the story he was forming.

–

Eddie stares down at his notebook, sniffing loudly and tossing a crumpled up tissue onto the floor next to the bed. He taps his pen on the page, trying to will the scene to write itself. A cough works its way up the back of his throat and sticks there, making him hack over and over until he’s pulling in a wheezing breath and falling back against the pillows.

“Fuck me.” He groans out, shoving his notebook away with a huff. He hates being sick. Can’t even manage to focus on his campaign for more than fifteen minutes before he’s coughing and exhausted and–

Steve pushes the door open with his hip, a steaming bowl of soup in his hands and a bright smile that reaches his eyes on his face.

Eddie sighs, pulling himself up to sit against the headboard and lets Steve fuss over pillow placements as he hands over the soup. He stares up at Steve, his chest full of adoration for this wonderful man who works himself into a tizzy because Eddie didn’t make sure he was properly supported by his pillows. Because how is his gorgeous man even real? How did Eddie get so lucky? 

Eddie sets his soup on the side table as Steve leans over him, trying to manhandle Eddie into a position he deems acceptable and Eddie grabs his face, pulling him into a soft kiss, smiling against Steve’s mouth when he feels him melt a little into the touch. 

Steve pulls back with a chuckle, pushing against Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s like you’re trying to get me sick, Eds.” Eddie lets out a laugh and sniffs, trying not to be an oozing, gross mess with Steve so up close and personal. “Sorry. I just can’t help myself when you’re being so sweet.” 

Steve’s face blooms red and he ducks his head with a little shake before standing and grabbing Eddie’s soup off the table again, pushing it back into Eddie’s hands. “Eat your soup, baby.” 

Eddie gives him a little two finger salute and nods, dimple popping on his check. “Yes, sir.” 

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie takes a big spoonful, making an obnoxiously loud slurp just to see the way Steve’s face scrunches in disgust. 

–

Eddie wakes up in the middle of the night, coughing and wheezing, trying to catch his breath and be quiet so he doesn’t wake up–

Steve’s hand lands on his back, rubbing gently.

Eddie groans, looking guiltily over at Steve. “Sorry I woke–” His voice catches on another cough, sending him into another fit. 

Steve sits up, hand still on Eddie’s back, the other coming up to sweep the hair away from his face. “It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.” 

Eddie nods, sucking in a deep breath and trying to ignore the tickle in the back of his throat threatening another cough. Steve gets up and heads out of the room, coming back with a glass of water that he hands to Eddie before sliding back into bed, his hand finding its way back to its spot on Eddie’s back. Eddie takes a couple of small sips before setting the glass aside and laying back down, Steve scooches in close, pressing their foreheads together, one hand still on Eddie’s back, the other working its way to tangle in his hair.

Eddie hums reaching up to cup Steve’s face, feeling content as his eyes slip closed. 

–

The next morning Eddie wakes up feeling much better. He’s still a little stuffy, but his throat doesn’t hurt anymore and his head feels a little clearer. Like the sick haze is starting to dissipate. He stretches, letting out a satisfied groan and slips up to jump in the shower. 

The hot water does wonders for him and by the time he steps out of the bathroom, rubbing his drenched hair with a towel, he feels almost human again. 

He glances over at Steve, still fast asleep in the bed. Eddie’s brow scrunches together and he looks at the clock. 11:15am. 

Huh. Steve never sleeps in this late. He gets up obnoxiously early to work out before he gets moving for the day. Eddie climbs back into the bed and presses soft kisses along Steve’s jaw, smiling when his sleepy eyes peek open at him. 

“You slept in.” Eddie traces his fingers along Steve’s arm. 

Steve lets out a little whimper, pressing his face into the pillows. 

Eddie pushes some hair out of Steve’s face, his fingers grazing his forehead which is blazing. 

Eddie curses under his breath, planting his hand more firmly on Steve’s skin. “Oh no, sweetheart.” 

Steve peers up at him with big, sad puppy eyes, his voice strained and nasally. “I’m sick, Eds.”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fanfic #stranger things reverse big bang #strbb #steddie fluff #ahhrenata #lady lostmind

[carduelis-carduelis]

Fandom PSAs

Dont’ Like, Don’t Read

or DL; DR

You are responsible for curating your own online experience.

If something upsets you, makes you angry or queasy or triggers you, stop reading/looking at it. Avoid things that might make you feel that way.

Learn to use the Sort and Filter function on AO3, especially the Exclude tools.

On social media, block and mute accounts / tags / words when necessary.

If you hated something, you don’t need to tell that to the creator or start pointing fingers at them publicly.

The Back button is free. Use it.

Addendum:

Yes, for this to work, creators need to tag their works accordingly, so that people know what sort of content they are about to engage with and can nope out if necessary.

I will probably make another PSA about the importance of proper tagging later.

Ship And Let Ship

or SALS

You are allowed to ship whatever you want.

Everyone else is also allowed to ship whatever they want.

You are entitled to dislike or even hate a ship. If you want to do this online, in public, don’t use the ship tags for hate posts.

If you see someone posting about a ship they like and you don’t, there is no need for you to start arguing with them in their replies / comments / QRTs / reblogs. Don’t throw your hate in their face.

Do not harass fan creators or fans for shipping something you disapprove.

All of this also applies to liking / disliking an individual character.

Addendum:

”I agree with this, except when…”

No, then you are NOT agreeing with this.

Let me make this VERY clear. There are NO exceptions. None.

You don’t EVER harass real people over pixels.

If you disagree with this, kindly block and move on.

Your Kink Is Not My Kink

or YKINMK / YKINMKATO

The longer version is ”Your Kink Is Not My Kink And That’s Okay”.

People have different tastes. Not everything is for everybody.

Even if you don’t like a specific kink, other people are still allowed to use it in their creations.

You are entitled to dislike kinky content and think that it’s ”weird”.

Don’t kink shame or judge people based on their kinks.

This goes both ways: your kink is not someone else’s kink, so don’t push it onto those who are not into it.

Be Kind

or Don’t Be An Asshole

Focus on the things you like instead of the things you hate.

Create and unite instead of destroying and dividing.

Don’t harass real people over fictional things.

Stop stirring up petty drama just to get some attention on social media.

Stop trying to ”win”. Fandom is not a competition.

Remember that your own experiences aren’t universally shared. Your perception of things can differ from someone else’s, but that doesn’t mean either of you is necessarily wrong.

#fandom #fandom guidelines #fandom etiquette #cross posted on twitter

[vinthetiefling]

I hear talk about FFN going down every other year. How worried should I be? There’s so many fics on there belonging to inactive authors, which would break my heart forever if they were lost.

#like I’m not gonna comment and jam up their inbox 15 years later #to say hey are you alive #wanna post this thing you probably hate by now onto AO3?

[owliellder]

Two's A Crowd

College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)

Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.

Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing

Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags to be Added

Author's Note: Yay!! New multi-chapter fic in honor of 800 followers!!

I'm a sucker for tropes and mean Leon is one I can't keep out of my head. If you're not good at math then this is the fic for you! (also don't mind me slipping some Sky lore in here...)

Cross-posted onto AO3

Chapter 1

Growing up, college had always been a big dream of yours, leaving you fantasizing day in and out about all the possibilities that would open up, along with actually getting to live through the renowned “college experience”.

In reality, college was a lot harder than you were expecting. Your parents had told you to jump right into it after high school, fearing taking a gap year would ruin your good streak. The stress was starting to get to you and it was only a semester into your freshman year. All the tests, projects, and general studying really wore down on your mental health, not to mention you were failing the one math class you had.

You couldn’t tell your parents, no, they’d probably have a heart attack, especially since that math class was a prerequisite to another class that you needed to take. They were already worried enough that you hadn’t picked a major yet, so who knows how they’d take the news that you were failing right off the bat.

It was hard enough that you were feeling homesick. This was the first time you’d ever been this far away from home, studying at a university when you would’ve been perfectly content going to a community college closer to home. Your roommate was nice, but the two of you weren’t growing any closer than mere acquaintances, so it always felt awkward to just exist in your own dorm room.

Your eating habits worsened with the lack of any real food within five miles of campus. Sure there were a couple fast food chains on the campus itself, but they closed incredibly early. By the time you finished studying, which was around six in the evening, it had already closed. Not to mention that when they were open, the lines were comically long. University food was out of the question after you got violently ill from their “chicken nuggets”, so you were left with the little money your parents provided once a week to order takeout or make quick trips to the store to buy a frozen meal. Only one, since the mini fridge in your dorm was almost always occupied by your roommates stuff.

Everything was so exhausting and you were way out of your comfort zone having to use the community bathrooms for all your hygienic routines. Walking in always made you feel like you were interrupting a meeting in the president’s oval office with how many nasty looks you were given when all you were trying to do was brush your teeth.

The first thing you saw whenever you opened up Canvas was a massive F staring you down from the little box that comprised the majority of your math assignments and tests, making you feel less than worthless. This one semester alone helped you understand why so many people dropped out, this was hard.

By now you’d already gone to your math professor multiple times asking for redos or extra credit work. He was probably sick of seeing you since you showed up after almost every single assignment’s grades were submitted.

“Heeeyyy, Mr. Lebovic..” You said after knocking your knuckle against his open door to grab his attention. “Listen, about that last quiz, I-”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand before gesturing towards one of the chairs sitting in front of his desk. You hurried to sit down, watching nervously as he slowly pulled his eyes off his computer and onto you. “I get it, you don’t need to explain yourself.” His relaxed tone and faint smile was enough to ease your nerves a bit, letting your shoulders slump with a sigh. “You’ve been trying really hard, I can easily recognize that.”

You nodded eagerly, licking your dry lips as you opened your mouth to speak, only to be cut off again. “I’ve been looking into studying options that might help you. Resources are scarce for this material, but I think I finally have a tutor to help you out.” 

A wave of relief washed over you at the mention of tutor. Maybe you wouldn’t have to face the wrath of your parent’s disappointment after all! “Oh.. o-okay…” you stuttered, eyebrows furrowing as you silently beckoned him to continue.

“I teach another math class, it’s higher level, but I have a student in there that’s just taken up tutoring the material you’re learning.” Your professor seemed just as happy as you were about the opportunity. “His name is Leon Kennedy, he’s got one of the study rooms in the library from three to five in the afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

It took you a second to process everything Mr. Lebovic was telling you before you scrambled to pull out a sticky note and a pen to write all the information down on. You heard the older man chuckle softly, looking over at him when he held out a small piece of paper to you. “I wrote it down already for you, don’t worry.” You wished you could’ve thanked him tenfold, but his office hours were closed for the day now, so you said a quick goodbye and hurried back to your dorm, holding onto the piece of paper like a lifeline.

Contrary to what your math professor thinks, you knew the name “Leon Kennedy”. You had a couple friends that you hung out with occasionally out in the grass in front of the science building and they’d brought him up before. The few vague bits of info that you’d heard weren’t flattering, painting this Leon in quite a bad light; the stereotypical jock in a frat flying by on a full-ride scholarship. However, he was your saving grace now and you needed to develop more of an unbiased opinion of him if he was going to help you raise your grade from an F.

“Yeesh, sorry I’m not better at math or I would’ve helped you.” One of your friends, Sky, spoke up as they read the piece of paper your professor gave you yesterday from over your shoulder. “Even if you were better at math, I still wouldn’t trust you.” Ella, your other friend, laughed out.

“Ha ha, yeah, Sky failed math four times. Big whoop.” Sky waved their hands dramatically before walking over to sit down next to Ella in the dead grass. “Seriously though, you’re better off taking a failing grade and dealing with your parents. Kennedy is the devil incarnate.”

“The devil incarnate sounds easier to put up with than my parents, so I’ll take my chances..” You grumbled, taking a seat on a medium-sized rock close to the pair. “Maybe he’s turning a new leaf? Deciding to tutor?” 

Sky crossed her arms and rolled her eyes which made Ella elbow them in the side before giving you a sympathetic smile. “Maybe so, but please just be careful. I don’t want you having to put up with some jackass that has an ego bigger than Texas.” 

You nodded with a slight frown, moving your foot side to side lazily to push the grass blades around. You didn’t even think to consider the repercussions of studying with some random junior. “I’m sure it’ll be alright. Besides, just tell Sky and I if he’s giving you any trouble. I know damn well no man likes to put up with two women yelling in his face.” Sky nodded and pointed to Ella for added dramatics. “Yeah, and I bite. My top six teeth are porcelain so that shit hurts. Trust me.”

Your friends never failed to make you laugh, a slight resolve in a pool full of worries, you suppose. “Don’t worry, you guys’ll be the first to know if Leon is mean.”

“Good. Now, when’re you gonna go see the guy?” Sky rested their arms on their knees before looking up at you. “Uh.. in a couple hours I guess. I already made the appointment.” Your response seemed to surprise both of your friends, giving them a confused look in response to their shocked ones. “Is that.. Is that not a good time?”

“No no, just.. I thought you would’ve maybe taken a little longer to go and see him.” Ella shrugged, reaching a hand up to scratch behind their neck. “Proud of you, taking the initiative like that.” She then looked at her phone before pulling herself off the ground with a small groan. “I got class in a couple minutes. Good luck with the frat boy.” 

She patted your shoulder as she walked off towards the larger building on campus, leaving you and Sky alone for the rest of the time. Part of you wished both of your friends could walk you to the library when the time came, but having Sky was enough. “So.. Leon’s bad bad?” You needed a bit more clarification on the guy you were going to spend one-on-one time with, something to calm you down after running through countless scenarios in your head.

“He’s not all bad, 'least I don't think. I’ve exchanged a few ‘hello’s’ and ‘excuse me’s’ with him here and there since we apparently frequent the same building.” Sky scooted over to the rock you were sitting on, placing the back of their head on your legs. A couple brown leaves blew over from a nearby tree which they grabbed and crunched with their hand. “I haven’t personally experienced any bad happenings around him, but he is part of a pretty notoriously rowdy frat, so you have to promise me that you’ll only study with him on campus and never go to that frat house or any frat house in general, alright?”

Sky pointed up at you, poking the underside of your chin which made you laugh again and swat their hand away. “As much as I rave about wanting to have the stereotypical college experience, going to a frat house was never part of my daydreaming.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” They switched their fingers to give you a quick thumbs up before letting their arm flop down into their lap, eyes closing with a sigh. “Anyways, besides all that, wanna go get some food? I don’t have another class today and you’ve got about an hour and a half to spare, so actually you have no choice. Get up.”

You stood up with a shake of your head once Sky pushed off of your legs who stood up as well with a small stretch. “Don’t burn me at the stake, but I kinda want grocery store sushi. I’m feeling lucky.”

“Please don’t.” You sighed, pocketing the piece of paper before beginning to follow behind Sky as they started to walk across the grass. 

After the two of you shared a sandwich from some random shop not too far off campus, Sky walked with you up to the library, stopping just before the front desk. They agreed to not wander in with you under the condition that you’ll go to their dorm straight after to discuss details.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. Most of what you heard about this guy meant he was bad news, though you really didn’t have much of a choice when it came to seeing him. Like your math professor said, there weren’t a lot of options when it came to studying the material you were learning. Sure you had the internet and other students in the class, but you preferred the idea of a tutor since you’d already exhausted yourself trying to follow along with various youtube videos. You needed the in-person teaching, it just stuck better in your head that way.

Slowly starting to walk, you made your way over to the study rooms lining the back of the library. The rooms seemed pretty private with the only window being on the door, which had glass nearly top to bottom. Thankfully the rooms were numbered and Leon had texted you which room to go to when you made the appointment with him, you had no idea what he looked like and you didn’t want to look like a creep eyeballing people through the door until you hopefully found the right person.

Standing off to the side, you could see the number you were looking for sitting above the door, taking a brief moment to collect yourself and hype yourself up to talk to someone who didn’t have the greatest reputation. Set aside everything you’ve heard and just hope for the best..

You took in a deep breath as you strode over to the door, glancing inside through the window before knocking to let him know you were there. The table was angled off more to the left so you didn’t immediately see him until he leaned over the table to see who had knocked. Confidence left you as soon as you made eye contact with Leon due to the groan you could hear through the door. It took you a couple seconds, but you eventually managed to get your body to work with you, hand turning the handle to let yourself in.

“-the last thing I need..” You caught the end of his little rant to himself as you opened the door. The saying “fake it ‘till you make it” is harder than it sounds since your entire body decided to betray you, deciding that shrinking in was the best move. Quietly, you shuffled over to sit across from him at the table, placing your backpack in your lap in some weird way to provide comfort in this situation.

“You weren’t supposed to show up.” Leon grumbled, sitting far back in the tilted chair as his feet lifted the front end of the chair slightly. His arms were crossed and he was giving you probably the nastiest look you’ve ever seen, next to your parents, of course. All you did was sit there giving him a blank stare. It was obvious what he’d said, yet the sheer forwardness of that snide comment had you more than confused. “What?-”

“You weren’t supposed to show up.” Apparently he felt the need to repeat himself with some added bite, barely letting you get a word in. “No one ever shows up to these shitty tutor- whatever the fucks.”

Wow. Okay. “Uh..” You didn’t even know what to say to that. It completely caught you off guard. You’d run through countless ways this interaction would go in your head, but this wasn’t one of those ways. The two of you sat in a very tense silence with Leon just glaring at you from across the table, continuing to rock back and forth in the chair.

Without uncrossing his arms, Leon lifted a hand and waved it around slightly while shaking his head. “Are you actually still gonna sit here orrr…?” The sound of his voice finally snapped you out of shock, causing you to shoot your gaze down to your backpack, fumbling with its partially broken zipper. “I-.. Mr. Lebovic recommended you..?”

You pulled out a few of your failed assignments from your bag before setting them down on the table with shaky hands, keeping your eyes glued to the papers to avoid that burning stare the man in front of you has. “I need-.. I need help..?”

“Do you?” Leon let the chair fall forward, his sarcastic tone starting to make your whole body tremble. “You don’t sound like you do.” He snatched one of your assignments from the table and held it up, pursing his lips as he studied the various red marks made on it closely. You chose to not respond to that, letting your hands rest on top of your backpack so you had something to squeeze.

He turned the page around, the sound of the paper wobbling the only thing you could hear right after the sound of the central heat blowing through the vent in the room. Suddenly, Leon started chuckling to himself, shaking his head incredulously as he flipped the paper back and forth a couple times before letting it fall back to the table. “This is terrible!” His laugh grew louder as he tilted his body to the side to pull out his phone, taking a picture of the assignments you’d put on the table. 

How on earth were you supposed to react to that other than just sitting quietly? He was actually making fun of you right to your face. Hell, he might as well point and laugh if he’s going to be this brasen. 

The most you could muster up was a quiet yet high-pitched “... huh?” in response to him. This whole ordeal was spiraling a little too fast for you to keep up with. You were expecting to put up with some grown man with a bratty attitude or even just a very uninterested, not all there jock with how Leon’s been described to you, not blatant bullying.

“Huh?” He mocked, taking one last look at his phone while loudly sucking on his teeth before pocketing it again. “Anyways, this is actually sad. How are you managing to fuck simple math up like this?” He roughly grabbed all the papers on the table and stacked them before partially tossing them back at you, some slipping onto the floor. “You’re too far gone, even I can’t fix that.”

You let out a gasp when the papers were tossed at your face, scrambling to catch some of them. Pushing the chair back, you leaned over to grab the few that fell on the floor, desperately holding back tears. “Please, you don’t understand.” You pleaded, voice cracking as you tried your best not to start crying in front of him. “I-I need to pass this class. I’m passing everything else, I just can’t keep up with this one!” You were speed-talking to try and argue your case, sitting back up with the small pile of papers that you struggled to stack properly.

Leon started rocking back in his chair again, arms back across his chest as he watched you with squinted eyes. The corners of his lips soon turned up into a smirk, taking in your sorry state before rolling his eyes with a dramatic groan. “Alright, alright, stop whining, jesus..” He cleared his throat, letting his head fall over the back of the chair. “I’ll help you only because I feel bad for you.” It’s not like he was going to admit that he was being forced to be a tutor, no one needs leverage over him like that

You couldn’t help but give a small smile despite his implication. It was a start. “And I’m not gonna do it today, either.” Well, the sooner the better, but still, it’s a start.

He then stood up from the chair, fixing his jacket with a sigh. “If you show up even a minute late on Friday, I’m not helping” and before you even had a chance to reply, he walked out of the room, the door shutting with a slam which made you flinch. Luckily, you were a very punctual person when it came to this kind of stuff. This was important, so if you had to show up early, so be it. You hurriedly shoved your assignments back into your backpack, not even fully zipping it up before rushing out of the study room, back through the library, and to the dorms.

“He said that?!” Sky yelled, quickly wiping their hand over their mouth to quiet themself once you shushed them. “I don’t really feel comfortable with you going to another ‘study session’ with that guy if he’s just gonna bully you.”

“I wouldn’t call it bullying-”

“He was bullying you.”

“OKAY! So what if he was?!” You fell back onto Sky’s bed with a sigh, arms splayed out with your legs dangling off the side. “I can handle it. As long as I get my grade up, who cares?”

Sky sat down next to you on their bed, giving you a sad look as you sat yourself up with your elbows. “I care. So does Ella. You shouldn’t put up with that just for a grade. I’m sure if you explain to your professor and-”

“And what? Tell him that I’m a grown woman getting bullied over something I should know by now?” You sat yourself up fully now, leaning forward to place your elbows on your thighs as your head rested in your hands. “It’s only until finals are over and we’re already halfway through October. Maybe I won’t even need that much time, maybe I’m just missing one simple… math move and it’ll get the gears in my brain moving again.”

You tilted your head to the side to look at Sky, head now resting only in your right hand as you took in their annoyed look. “Trust me. I can handle this.”

“If you say so.” They ran their fingers through her hair before looking away from you, directing their attention forward to stare off at nothing. “Just remember that I bite and I’m not afraid to use my fake chompers on that no good-”

“I don’t wanna think about escalations right now, but thank you.” You chuckled, playfully nudging Sky with your free hand before moving it back to hold your head up with the other. Though you were trying to convince Sky on this, you were mostly just trying to convince yourself that you could handle this. Handle Leon and his.. alluring charm..

Only until finals, maybe even sooner.

#college au my beloved #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #re4 #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x y/n #bully leon #college AU #leon scott kennedy x fem reader #leon scott kennedy x you #multi chap fic #multichapter

[kennedysbaby]

be my angel — leon kennedy

wc: 2.3k

pairings: re4r! leon kennedy x fem! reader

synopsis: leon hated coming home late. hell, he hated going on those morbid missions in the first place. he can’t help but feel like a sweet girl like you deserves better than some guy who goes away on missions for long periods of time without even telling you much about them. thankfully, you’re there to tell him just how much this stupid blondie means to you.

warnings: none. slight sexual content but nothing more than making out really.

author's note: inspired by the mazzy star song! the lack of leon kennedy fluff is concerning. also first time posting on tumblr yay.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55001149

if it weren't for you, leon probably would've lost his mind a long time ago. you were so sweet, so gentle, so understanding—he sometimes questioned if he even deserved someone as unscathed as yourself. it was comforting dating a regular civilian, someone who wasn't exposed to the daily nightmares he faced in his line of work. being so blissfully ignorant to the horrors of the world was a luxury he no longer afforded, never did. 

leon hated the sad look that'd cross your perfect features as he left for one of his gruesome missions, that last goodbye kiss that had him tightly gripping the steering wheel as he pulled out of the driveway, the asphalt crackling beneath the tires. the fact that he couldn't tell you much about said missions, given their classified nature, only made him more upset—it felt like wordlessly forsaking you for one-to-two weeks at a time.

oh, but the sweet expression you'd have on your face as you twisted the metal doorknob, the way it lightened up at the mere sight of him. it had leon's chest tightening and breath hitching, wanting nothing more than to pull you into a long, hard kiss. you had him acting a fool, needless to say. 

tonight was a little different, though. the digital clock on the dashboard read 12:47 am, causing leon to scoff lightly under his breath. he disliked coming home late, knowing most likely that you were probably up, huddled on the couch with thick blankets wrapped around you, wishing it was his arms keeping you warm instead. 

leon's gaze then drifted back up towards the heavy rain thrashing vehemently against the ground, the deafening silence disrupted by the droplets pattering against the window and the swiping of the windshield wipers doing their job, giving him a clear view of the road ahead. he was still a good twenty minutes away from home, and that fact alone makes him press his foot against the gas a little harder, damning any traffic laws at the moment. 

though, crashing the car in an attempt to see you sooner was a bit counterintuitive—and he'd be seeing god, if anyone.

once leon finally pulled up to the quaint little townhouse the two of you owned together, he parked the car, pulling the keys out of the ignition and shoving them into the pocket of his black cargo pants. with a soft sigh, he quietly shut the car door, and walked up the steps to the front door. the rain had calmed down a bit, simply drizzling now. 

knock, knock, knock . his fisted hand gently rapped against the door a few times, but to leon's dismay, he still hadn't heard your footsteps leading up to him. it then hit him that it was one in the morning, and it was more than likely that you'd fallen asleep—possibly from staying up for him. a frown creased onto his lips, upset with himself for coming back so late. even if it wasn't his fault, he still felt guilty. despite how much you reassured him, leon always thought you could a whole lot better than him.

reluctantly, leon pulled his set of house keys out of his pocket, and slid the metal through the lock, opening the door with a click . inside was dark, quiet…yet peaceful. as he padded across the area, the floorboards lightly creaking beneath his feet, he took notice of how clean it was; someone had used their time wisely, he thought with a smile. well, either that, or you had just gotten so bored out of your mind waiting for him. he was well aware of how antsy you'd get on the days you knew he was coming back.

leon was also now aware of how disappointed you probably were now, seeing as he came back far later than anticipated. 

that's when his eyes land upon you, snoring away softly on the sofa, and—just like he imagined—curled up beneath a warm, knitted blanket. the open tv cast a soft glow across the tidy living room, alongside a few warm-scented candles you had lit. that, alongside the rhythmic thrumming of the rain against the windowpane, made for a very cozy atmosphere. leon took careful steps towards the couch, kneeling down in front of you. 

"i'm sorry, angel," leon mumbled, his voice soft as to not wake you up. he brushed a few stray strands of hair behind your ear, the contrasting feeling of his calloused fingers against your soft skin roused you a bit, causing you to stir in place. leon chuckled at your tired grumbles, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

the kiss is what fully wakes you up, instantly jolting upwards, sitting yourself upright. the blanket rustles around you as your sleepy eyes widen, registering the fact that your boyfriend—that you hadn't seen in two weeks—was right in front of you, giving you the softest smile. "leon?" you muttered, still in disbelief.

"go back to sleep baby, we can talk in the morning," he said, peppering gentle kisses across your face. your skin burns beneath his lips, any feelings of exhaustion slowly slipping away. if leon really wanted you to go back to sleep, he damn well knew better than to act all sappy like this.

"no, no, no," you quickly—and incoherently—mumbled, blinking a few times to adjust your eyesight, "it's okay, i'm not sleepy. i was waiting on you anyway," that's when you started to excitedly ramble, "i just…forget about me, what kept you so long?" you raised a curious eyebrow. "something bad happened?"

"nah," leon shook his head, still smiling—god, it felt so good seeing you after so long. "writing up that report took a little longer than anticipated. i'm really sorry, pretty." his smile then shifted into a frown, a soft sigh escaping from the depth of his lungs. "so sorry," he whispered as he kissed your lips for a quick second. 

the look of pure anguish contorted on his sharp features sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. despite how tired you were, seeing leon look so upset over the fact that he couldn't see you sooner made your mind dizzy with love. 

"that's okay. it happens. i understand." you replied honestly. you were aware of leon's job before getting wrapped up in a relationship with him. and you also knew just how much this man loved you, even if he couldn't see how amazing he was. flaws were human, you'd tell him. people tended to forget that—leon might be a zombie-killing machine, but deep down, he was only a man. one with feelings and emotions. 

dating leon made you feel like such a special girl. he was a closed-off, reserved man. just one quick look at him and you could tell that he most definitely could kill a man with his bare hands alone—if he wanted to, that is. he was cold, intimidating, and brutal on the field. but you didn't see that side of him. 

no, you saw a total sweetheart. in your presence, leon was a complete softie. it was actually quite adorable seeing him sleepily pouring himself a cup of coffee at the crack of dawn, dressed only in loose pajama pants, his chiseled abs put on display just for you . his blonde hair framed his face so perfectly, the soft strands falling in front of his face. despite being a total fucking unit, having biceps nearly bigger than your face, he was so gentle with you, treating you as if you were a porcelain doll. 

at least, he tried to be, but sometimes he got a little… carried away .

you were the person who got to see him leaning over the bathroom sink, holding a razor to the lower half of his face, shaving away the light stubble that had formed after neglecting the duty for a few days simply because he got too lazy. you saw him narrowing his eyes at the god awful instruction booklet that came with ikea furniture as he attempted assembling a new bookcase. you loved the way he would sometimes squint while looking at something afar, then claiming he "didn't need glasses" when you pointed it out. 

it was so raw, so real. 

leon just sighed, shaking his head in disbelief, "you do realize you are too sweet for your own good sometimes, right? you should be upset i was late, i promised i'd be home for dinner." he chuckled dryly, climbing onto the sofa and taking a seat right next to you, sitting above the comforter. 

"i dunno what i'd do without you," his gaze was trained on you, admiring how pretty you were in this state—with messy hair, half-lidded eyes, and puffy cheeks. "i love you so much." would it be too awkward to mention that he'd marry you in a heartbeat at this time of night? probably.

you can only laugh in response, trying to downplay how much his words were affecting you. "you're so corny. i love you too, lee." yeah, if he was so corny, then why was your heart beating of your chest?

leon was being dead serious, even if his execution made it seem like he was just playing around. you were his light in the darkness, his sole comfort amidst his disastrous life.

he slid his brown leather jacket off, letting it fall to the ground. your eyes fall to his arms and how yummy they look in his compression shirt. would it be weird to say you just wanted to take a bite out of them sometimes? lovingly, of course. "i missed you," leon mumbled, his own voice taking on a sleepy lilt. 

"me too." you shook your way out from beneath the thick blanket, scooting closer to your precious boyfriend. you cradle his cheeks with your hands, smiling as you stared into his icy blues. his eyes really were to die for, you could just get lost in them sometimes. he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. you go in for a kiss, soft lips meshing with his chapped ones. 

the action elicits a soft, content sigh from leon, his big hands running up and down your back above your thin tank top as the two of you stayed like that for a few moments, lips moving against one another languidly. your chest presses up against his, sending a pleasant rush through leon's veins. when you two pull away for air, a bit breathless and frazzled, you can only marvel at the sight of him before you.

his lips were parted, taking slow and deliberate breaths, his pale cheeks now a little rosy, and his tired eyes now glazed with lust, drunk on your lips alone. you chuckle softly, your hands still cradling his cheeks as you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. he kisses the tip of it, allowing you to slid it between his lips for a split second. it's so awfully intimate, causing waves of satisfaction to wash over leon. 

that's when you plunge right back in, this time your tongue slipping past his lips, interlocking with his. he moans so softly, his hands roughly gripping your hips, drawing out a sigh of your own. leon mutters hoarsely, "you're too good for me, sweetheart. way too good. what did i do to deserve you?" he's still so in disbelief that a precious thing like yourself is all his .

this causes you to part again, a slight look of confusion crossing your features. "are you serious, leon? what didn't you do?" you shake your head, sighing. "you're way too hard on yourself, baby. i swear, i've never had a man that's as perfect as you before, regardless of what you might think. you deserve this. you deserve everything after what you've been through." 

you loop your arms around him tightly, hugging him as your bury your face in his chest. your thumb traces little circles on his back, as you whisper, "don't ever think you aren't enough." that was a little something you'd picked up on in the three years you'd been dating leon. he was very unsure of himself. he didn't deem himself worthy of love, no less the amount you poured out for him.

"i love you, in all your blonde glory," you chuckled, not wanting to sound too deep, even if your words carried an incredibly heavy weight.

leon couldn't help but feel a swell of emotions all at once, instinctively holding you even tighter, pulling you close and never wanting to let go of you. not even for a single second. "you're so corny," he mocked, letting out a light laugh as he pressed a kiss on top of your head. god, you fit him just like a puzzle piece.

"it's all your fault, asshole. you started it." you grin, lifting your head up from his chest, and leaning into kiss his perfect lips again. 

"hmm," leon mumbled, a low chuckle erupting from his throat, "guess that's too bad, then." 

finally, after kissing him for a good several minutes, taking labored breaths through your nose, you pulled apart, a thin trail of your mixed saliva following suit, now dripping down your chin. you chuckled, wiping it away with the back of your hand. your hips shift a bit suggestively as you climb off of his lap, causing leon to inhale sharply. 

"you need a shower. i'm going to bed." is what you say with a snicker as you turn on your heel, padding across the wooden floors to your shared bedroom. leon just scoffs, and shakes his head, watching as you stumble away from him.

"that's not fair." he grumbled to himself, his hands falling to his thighs.

he did tell you to go back to sleep earlier, though. damn it. 

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #re4 remake #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #leon kennedy oneshot #re4 leon #first post #leon kennedy x y/n #leon scott kennedy #i literally love him so much #kennedysbaby

[floralcyanide]

― 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜 (nsfw)

⌯ pairing: bale!bruce wayne / afab!reader ⌯ warnings: smut, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, fingering, nipple play, friends to lovers, love confessions, mentions of fear toxin (dcu), no gender affirming language other than anatomy description ⌯ word count: 2.5k ⌯ summary: based on these prompts: “I dreamed of your legs wrapped around my waist.” and “How do you always end up under my blanket?” your best friend bruce wayne has been missing for a while. when he comes back, he has a confession to make. ⌯ author’s note: this took a little while to write because I wanted to write an actual fic for bale!bruce. I hope yall enjoy (:

divider credit: @arminsumi | @firefly-graphics | @cafekitsune ⌯ masterlist ⌯ taglist form

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

You’re busying yourself by folding laundry, trying your best to get your mind off your best friend Bruce. While his job is very demanding, and he goes away for a while sometimes, he’s never been gone this long. You’re beginning to worry- so much so that you’ve lost sleep and the ability to eat properly. But you know Bruce, and you know he’s resilient. It’s just a matter of time. But, of course, he was presumed dead for years before now, and that will always haunt you. So it’s not entirely irrational of you to worry.

A knock at your apartment door startles you out of your sleepy stupor. You set down the towel you were folding before shuffling to the entrance. You peek through the peephole to see none other than Bruce standing there. You swing the door open, and Bruce immediately wraps his arms around you. You do the same to him, holding him tightly, fearing that this is some hallucination from lack of sleep. Your face is buried in Bruce’s chest, and his scent tells you that this is real and he’s really here with you. 

“Where were you?” you whisper, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

It had been quite a few days of radio silence from Bruce. You know he’s Batman, and he keeps you updated on his safety status. But he, of course, doesn’t tell you details of the villains and crimes for your safety. You’re his childhood best friend, so you knew he was Batman before he even told you. The day he told you, you just laughed. “I know, Bruce.” But you were still very concerned about his well-being after trying to approach one of his enemies. 

“One of the guys I was after had a toxin,” Bruce pulls away from you, looking around to ensure no one would hear, “It got to me.”

You furrow your eyebrow, “Come in.”

Bruce enters your apartment, waiting for you to close and lock the door. He shoves his hands into his pockets, unsure of whether or not he should explain the situation at all. But he knows he owes you an explanation. 

“A toxin, huh?” you ask, crossing your arms as you lean against the door.

“Fear toxin.” Bruce clarifies, “It makes you hear and see the things you fear the most, but they aren’t really there.”

You shudder, “That sounds horrifying. And you said you experienced it? How long did it last?”

“I was out for a few days while Alfred worked with someone to make an antidote. I saw things. Things I didn’t want to.”

You pull away from the door and slowly walk to Bruce, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Bruce looks at you as you stand before him, “No, but I probably should anyway. Considering the things I was seeing.”

You pull the sides of Bruce’s jacket together, holding onto them as you search his eyes. They’re different, and you figure it’s from whatever he experienced from the fear toxin.

“What did you see, Bruce?”

Bruce grimaces with a nervous laugh, “Are you sure you want to know?”

You look at him and nod, still clutching his jacket. 

“I saw you,” Bruce sighs, shaking his head, “Something kept hurting you and killing you over and over. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

You stare up at Bruce with a frown etched on your face at the thought of your best friend feeling helpless. 

“That sounds awful,” you say.

“It just made me think about a lot and realize things I didn’t see before.”

Bruce turns his thoughts over carefully, choosing what exactly to say next. He had always loved you, sure. But Bruce never thought of it as a romantic thing. Not until the fear toxin made him see things and feel things he had never felt or seen before. He wants to protect and care for you so you never have to go through what he saw you go through. Even though it isn’t plausible that you would, Bruce still wants what is best for you because he does love you. A little more now than he did before. You, on the other hand, have always loved Bruce. You've been enthralled with his presence since you were kids playing in the Wayne Manor backyard. Everything he did amazed you, especially now with him helping the people of Gotham. His intelligence, softness, even the cockiness he sometimes lets seep through. Even before, when he was a slightly bratty rich guy, you loved him. Bruce's absence for days has made your feelings for him more intense. With love comes worry and concern.

“And what would that be?” you ask.

Bruce pulls your hands from his jacket, enveloping them in his, “You’ve always been here for me, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I love you and will always do anything to protect you.”

“I love you too, Bruce,” you say back, not realizing the total weight of his words.

“No,” he says, “I really do. It’s taken me this long to see, but I do love you. And not like a best friend.”

Your face softens, “Bruce, you don’t mean that-”

“No, I do mean it,” he says, squeezing your hands.

There’s a pregnant pause before Bruce slowly leans down to capture your lips with his in a swift, gentle motion. The world seems to stop around the two of you, the sirens outside quieting and the sound of your washing machine fading away. Bruce lets go of you and cradles your head in his hands, deepening the passionate-turning kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him ever closer. Bruce slips his tongue past your lips, battling yours for dominance, which you gladly let him take. He guides you backward until the base of your spine is pressed against the kitchen counter. Bruce moves his grasp from your hair to your thighs, where he hikes them up around his waist. He smiles into the kiss, and you pick up on it.

“What?” you ask, pulling away briefly.

“I dreamed of your legs wrapped around my waist.”

You feel a warmth spread along your ears at that confession. Trailing your palms up Bruce’s neck and past his jaw to his cheeks, you stare into his eyes. A smile spreads across his face into slight laughter, to which you mirror. 

“What else have you dreamed of, Bruce?”

“Want me to show you?”

A nod of your head leads to Bruce walking you to your bedroom, still perched on his waist. He gently lies you down on the bed before climbing over you, his strong arms on either side of your head. He lowers himself onto you to kiss you again, his weight on his forearms by your ears. Bruce then moves to your jaw, teasing you with small kisses and nips. You can’t help but giggle at the feeling of his stubble on your skin, tickling it. Bruce travels down your neck and then down to your torso, where he lifts your shirt and kisses your stomach. You watch with content as he tugs your shirt over his head so he can reach higher to your breasts. You don’t wear a bra when at home, so Bruce has easy access to them. He softly kisses your skin, avoiding the areas you want him most. You open your mouth to joke about it, but before you can say a word, his fingers pinch one of your nipples as he lays his head by the other. Bruce shoves your shirt to your shoulders, resuming his previous position of pressing his cheek to your left breast and toying with the right one with his hand. With a slight movement of his head, Bruce is now suckling your unoccupied bud. Your hips buck into his stomach, and you feel his length growing hard against your leg. Bruce gazes up at you through his lashes, his eyes a little darker than before. Your hand finds its way to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in it. 

Bruce tweaks your nipple with his teeth as he rolls the other with his fingers, making electricity jolt through you. A gasp leaves your lips at the sensation, your grip on Bruce’s hair tightening briefly. He leaves open-mouthed kisses along your breasts before moving down your sternum and stomach, toying with the hem of your sweatpants. Bruce glances up at you to ask for permission, and you nod.

“You can touch me.”

Bruce pulls your sweatpants down, and you kick them off the rest of the way. He bites and licks the skin of your thighs before cupping your clothed heat with his mouth. Bruce flattens his tongue against you, dragging it upward against the cotton material of your underwear. You whine at the contact, wanting something a little more direct. With your hands still in Bruce’s hair, you remove them, moving them to pull down the barrier between you and Bruce’s mouth. He helps you with a knowing smirk. He softly kisses your clit before letting his tongue delve into your wetness, a sharp inhale through your nose letting him know it feels good. You would be lying if you had said you hadn’t thought of this exact moment before. Bruce steadies your hips with his hands, his fingers digging into your flesh. When the tip of his tongue comes in contact with your bundle of sensitive nerves, you attempt to buck your hips up to no avail. Bruce is incredibly strong, so you had no chance of moving. But he begins to guide your hips up and down, making you ride his tongue on his own accord. You move with what he’ll allow along with his guidance, and pleasure flowers through you. Bruce coaxes a finger into you, the feeling of him exploring you with it making you moan loudly. When he finds your spot, he adds another finger to circle it slowly. You gasp, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loud again.

“No,” Bruce shakes head, pulling away from you and stopping his movements, “I want to hear you, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” you exhale, hands clutching the bed sheets.

Bruce resumes pumping his fingers in and out of you while pressing his fingertips to your spot every now and then, eliciting noises from you that you’ve never let out with anyone else. He laps at your clit simultaneously, and he allows you to move your hips freely as he spreads your legs with his free hand. You feel yourself becoming lost in pleasure, your head cloudy and letting out noises without a second thought. Bruce feels you tightening around his fingers, signaling you’re close to release. So, he pulls away from you and sits up on his knees. You wriggle at the loss of his fingers, but he quickly replaces them with the tip of his hardened length. Bruce holds you still with one hand as he drags himself up and down your weeping cunt with the other. You pull your shirt the rest of the way off as Bruce slowly pushes himself inside you. Giving you a moment to adjust, he peels off his own shirt and tosses it before continuing to thrust slowly into you. 

When he’s entirely inside, he notices you taking deep breaths, “All good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “It’s just been a while.”

That and Bruce is well endowed, so you have to relax fully to take him comfortably. When you finally feel comfortable enough to move, you give your hips an experimental roll. Both you and Bruce groan at the feeling, to which Bruce pulls out a little before pushing back in. 

“Don’t be shy, Bruce,” you joke, “You can go faster.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bruce smiles deviously down at you.

He picks your legs up and lays them on his shoulders before he begins to pound into you, leaving you gasping for air. You grip Bruce’s biceps, his rhythm is merciless as your bed frame squeaks underneath you. He moves you upward to the pillows so you can rest your head on them and so he can grip the headboard for leverage. Bruce’s hips snap forward rapidly, just as he assured, and he has to put a pillow above your head so it doesn’t slam into the bedframe. Your moans are incoherent at this point, and your eyes are wound shut.

“Look at me, babe,” Bruce says, moving a hand from your thigh to your cheek, bringing you out of your fog.

You open your eyes to gaze into his, Bruce pressing his chest to yours and fucking you at a new angle as he puts his forehead against yours. You gasp and pant into each other’s mouth before finally embracing in a heated kiss. Deciding to switch up the angle, Bruce removes your legs from his shoulders and spreads them apart as far as they go. You howl into the kiss as Bruce hits that spot inside you, driving you crazy. 

“Right there, Bruce,” you manage to stutter, “Right there!”

He hooks his arms under your knees, slamming you against him even harder than before. Bruce presses a thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles into it. You curse, no longer caring if your neighbors hear you or your bed slamming into the wall. Heat builds up in your belly as you struggle to maintain eye contact with Bruce, stars flooding your vision. He hits that spot inside you harder than before, sending you over the edge in a snap. Your walls clench around Bruce, causing his orgasm to unfold shortly behind yours. The feeling of him emptying into you coaxes your release to last longer, and Bruce not letting up on your clit adds to the overstimulation. You cry out as another orgasm washes over you, and Bruce hisses from his own overstimulation. He curses under his breath as he pulls out of you, hurrying to your closet for a towel. Bruce cleans the two of you up as you work to bring yourself back to Earth. 

“That,” you say, Bruce hovering over you, “was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Bruce says, and you both laugh at his cheesiness.

Rolling over to lie next to you, Bruce pulls the blanket on his side of the bed over him, and you do the same. But the ownership of blankets doesn’t last long as you cuddle. You manage to pull Bruce’s blanket over to your side, much like you used to when you were both younger. You had sleepovers a lot, and you’d always somehow end up stealing Bruce’s blanket.

“How do you always end up under my blanket?” Bruce sighs.

You peek at him, opening your closed eyes momentarily before shrugging, stifling a laugh. Bruce pulls your head into his neck before kissing your hair, allowing you to doze off. Even if the things he saw during the toxin’s hold on him were disturbing, at least it allowed him to see things more clearly and find his way to you. 

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