#god there's so many typos in here that i do not want to fix | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

virgincels · 2 months

Text

ASKING FOR IT !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, smut, cheating (not on reader), ooc leon sorry, he’s mean, negging, misogyny, reference to past rape/non-con, unresolved trauma, suicidal thoughts duhhh, he calls reader ugly a lot, leon subs for his gf but doms reader, non-con to consensual sex, manipulation, some .. uh waterboarding? he dunks your head in water, opioid addiction but it’s minor LMFAOO

note. haii… um feedback whether it’s good or bad appreciated really forced myself to write this so im like ack. hating everything i write but! ignore typos :3 it’s not as fleshed out as i wanted .. soooo it reads pretty jolty but yah 😭 and the smut is like not. IDK I’m ugh not into it just couldn’t bring myself to extend stuff that I really wanted to develop n he’s ooc. BUT!! again ignore typos or I’ll cry n feedback/constructive criticism appreciated <3

Leon has a girlfriend. He can never hold down a girl, his ability to scare women away is preternatural, so it’s a big deal. And she’s fucking hot. Not like model hot, but pornstar hot. She’s got tits so firm they might as well be bulletproof. Bottle blonde with eyes that swallow up her whole face. Her stomach doesn’t crease when she sits. It’s the type of beauty that takes its form in slashes of red lace and nylon. Not many women are out of his league, but she is.

They have hot sex like attractive people tend to do, and it goes something along the lines of this.

He goes:

Is that dick good, baby? You like it? Right there, baby?

And she goes:

Fuck, yes, baby! Harder, deeper— Oh, right there!

And then she doesn’t cum.

So there’s that, but he’s working on it.

Leon doesn’t take well to tips on how to fuck. Reading advice columns in the Men’s Health magazine leaves a funny taste in his mouth. It might be the blood from the castrated image of his masculinity. Who knows.

He struggles with that sort of thing. A nice face does nothing for a man who doesn’t actually like anything about himself. Leon’s still that wimpy self-hating loser he was all those years ago. In all fairness to God, there are a few added tweaks here and there. Some bug fixes. Now he’s drunk and shallow too! Misanthropic when he’s at his very best.

As a kid, mom told Leon to be a nice boy so he was a nice boy. Not because he was ever a particularly nice boy, but for her sake. So instead of acting out he would go and crush ants beneath his thumb in the front yard because there is this mean part of Leon that splinters inside of him like cooked bones.

Life to Leon is being fucked into apologising for being alive so it’s no wonder he’s still harbouring the insecurities of a boy he isn't.

When he was eighteen it was by ugly old men who abhorred him for being the embodiment of whatever it was they were hiding from their wives. His legs looked nice thrown over a pair of big shoulders. They were so thin back then, model-type shit. All of those men mildly resembled his dad, but that’s something he wouldn’t quite like to crack down on yet. Leon’s being open enough as it is.

When he was twenty-one it was his headache of a first girlfriend. It was the bullet wound in his shoulder. When he was twenty-two it was being passed around boot camp like a dirty needle. When he was twenty-seven it was Luis who was nothing and everything in between. It was a picture book princess like Ashley. The scar on his shoulder. Stigmata. Glory Be. Whatever.

(And Jack, it was always Jack. Pale all over like a healed scar.)

What Leon is trying to get across, he’s not quite sure. Maybe that he's nice in theory and the reality is he’s a self-confessed charlatan of niceness. Or that he can’t fuck. He can’t fuck because he is deeply traumatised. Yeah. Maybe that’s what he’s trying to say. It’s an excuse, sure, doesn’t make it the truth though. Leon can’t fuck ‘cause he’s useless at most things that don’t include guns. He can’t fuck ‘cause he was unattractive as a teenager and that solidified the way he feels about himself now.

Leon’s got one thing going for him - he fingers her pussy till his fingers prune. Eats her out till he gets lockjaw.

“Oh, you’re so good at that,” she says, kissing his slicked-up lips.

Then her eyes flit to his hard dick and she gives him that strange half-smile. One that seems to say: Not with that. His dick. Obviously.

His shit is big enough, it’s long enough— It’s enough. And it’s pretty. Could put a bow on to make it real cute. Could manufacture a dildo inspired by it. So Leon cannot for the life of him wrap his head around her problem. It’s not his dicks fault her pussy is fucking broken. Her broken pussy doesn’t get to make his dick sad. Doesn’t get to lay devastating blows on his gone-with-the-wind ego.

Another thing is, her sister is an ugly bitch. That upsets Leon and his dick in tow. You’re a student, taking a break for some reason Leon has not bothered to fathom. He couldn’t care less. Go do it someplace else. In this house, you’re nothing more than a cockblock. Leon could forgive you for being a cockblock if you weren’t ugly. Or vice versa.

It would be okay if Leon wasn’t stuck at home with you for hours at a time. Work fucked up his back, so he’s staying here in his girlfriend’s apartment eating her food, running her taps, fucking her badly and shitting on her sister.

You’re sat on the other end of the table with a soggy bowl of cereal while he nurses a juice box like a real man. What do ugly little things like you think about anyway?

When Leon was ugly he thought about forcing his dick into the cute girl next door between his more regular thoughts of what to eat for dinner and whether he stocked up on toilet paper or not.

When he was ugly, his day was made simply by a pretty girl looking in his general direction. So Leon makes sure to look in yours. Y’know, to fuel your perverted wet dreams. Your rape fantasies. What freaks think about when they’re near hot guys. Well, it’s strange actually. You tend to totally ignore him. When the two of you make brief eye contact, you don’t flounder or duck or bow your head like you’re shy— You just move on with your life. That bothers him. Leon’s hot now. He’s not the type of man you just brush over like that. He’s the type you gawk at in broad daylight, he’s the sort of guy you see in soft porn magazines.

“Good morning,” his girlfriend greets, “have a good sleep, sweetie?” She bumps your hip when you stand up to hug her.

She’s wearing stockings today. Oh, he loves stockings. He loves pencil skirts. He loves— He loves office wear. He wants to be put over her lap and spanked raw perhaps.

“Yeah, it’d be nice if your boyfriend stopped moaning like a girl though.” It’s said into her ear, but Leon hears it.

“I’m going now, honey,” his girlfriend tells him.

Like a good boy, Leon stands to bid her goodbye. Her blouse is sheer, shows off her black bra and he eyes it with distaste.

“What’s wrong, Leon?”

He doesn’t speak. Just glares at her perfect set of tits like a baby weaned off milk.

“I can’t take them off,” she snorts.

Leon wishes she could. Hang ‘em up in the closet and pop them back on when it’s time to play. Tits are for the bedroom. Otherwise, they’re too much of a distraction. Instead, he settles on slipping his hand up her skirt to check if she’s wearing panties. (There’s no panty line showing through her pencil skirt and that’s always a bad sign.) She shoos him away.

So Leon leans in for a kiss, and she says, “Nuh-uh, honey, you’ll ruin my makeup.” Then she gives in ‘cause Leon can be kinda cute when he tries hard enough. “Just one, okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon nods. Her kisses are analgesic. Which is unfortunate considering he has an opioid addiction. Almost an addiction.

“One,” she counts, Leon kisses her again, “two, three, four.”

She’s teasing him now.

“Okay, well, keep an eye on her, Leon.”

“I’m not twelve,” you say, exiting the kitchen to spare yourself the sight of him groping your older sister.

Yeah, and Leon’s not a bang nanny.

He wipes the red from his lips, takes his juice box from the table where you’re no longer and decides jerking off in the shower will make him feel better. Leon does. He finishes. Watches his seed wash down the drain and wonders if that was wasteful. A short intermission is taken, then he jerks off in front of her full-body mirror. His biceps flex and his abs tighten, and he looks fucking good.

Why isn’t she cumming? What’s wrong with her? Is she getting too old? Is menopause hitting already? She’s only thirty-something. It can’t be that, and she asked Leon to pick up tampons last week— Unless they were for you.

Nobody in this house tells Leon anything. Another shower is what he needs. No, he needs a smoke. Leon doesn’t smoke. He does the next best thing, rests idly against the railings of her balcony, observing the ballet of D.C. life. Man, he could throw himself over right now. Splat against the asphalt and that would be it. It’d all be over. Hauling his weight over would be no problem. Catastrophizing to pass the time. Men used to do this for a living in Ancient Greece. What happened to philosophising? Leon could be a philosopher, all they did was spout nonsense and he is good at that. Not at fucking, however.

Beer. Yeah. Beer. That’s what he needs. Leon ransacks the fridge to no avail. Health-conscious living is the reason for misery, he believes. See, very insightful, modern-day Socrates right here. Lean proteins, vegan substitutes, low-fat yoghurt— It’s so girly it makes him sick.

“She’s still on a health kick,” you say from behind him, “I thought it was a New Years thing, but she’s still, like, super into it.”

Why are you talking to him? Leon blinks at you owlishly. “Right,” he says.

You give him a funny look, turning back to the counter to use the coffee machine. Don’t you want him? You’re not shy. Why aren’t you shy? Shouldn’t you be shy? Ugly Leon was mute around girls whether they were short, fat, ugly or pretty. Shit, he is clucking for a beer.

“There's Chardonnay under the sink.” Well, that’s unhelpful.

“Yeah, I don’t- I don’t drink that.” He would like to finish his sentence off with ‘girly shit’ but you seem like the type to find that offensive.

“Figured.” The coffee machine whirs. A lobotomised silence ensues. “Good talk.”

You’re so ugly you’re asking for it. Perfect subject for the ‘I can’t make my girlfriend cum, is her pussy broken?’ experiment. Ugly girls don’t count as a fuck, right? Not when they’re sent to the very back of your mind after said fuck. He wonders how many girls counted the uglier him as an official lay.

You’re on your tummy reading a book. The Beautiful and Damned. Leon had no idea they wrote a book about him. The door creaking exposes his creeping against his will.

“Do you need something?” you ask without batting an eye.

The swell of your ass is nice. “Uh, yeah, I do.”

Rolling over and sitting up to face him, you tilt your head to the side. “Go on.”

“I want to have sex with you.” Woah. Okay. That’s a genie he can’t put back in the bottle. Fuck, why does he do this stupid shit? Leon should just kill himself. All roads lead to suicide. Every sign points towards suicide and he is still holding on for dear life.

Think about Sherry. Sherry won’t care, kids hit sixteen and don’t give a fuck about much, he reasons with the voice in his head. How about Claire? Oh, she’ll think good fucking riddance. Redfield? No way. You are truly out of options, Kennedy.

“I’m sorry?”

Oh, god no, Leon’s the one that should be sorry. “You heard me.” The apology comes out incredibly wrong. “I’m helping you out.”

“Helping me out with what? I’m sorry, Leon, I didn’t… I didn’t think I— I don’t know what made you think I wanted this from you, but I don’t like you—“

You don’t like him? Why not? He’d like a list of reasons with a page-long explanation. What’s not to like? The hair. It’s the hair. Blond is too girly. That’s what it is.

“—I mean, you’re with my sister, did you really think I would say yes? I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused, where is this coming from? Gosh, I really… I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m helping you out,” Leon repeats, using his hands to gesture at your face, at your body. “No one else is gonna do it.” This apology has gone way out of bounds. A simple sorry would have sufficed.

“What..?” Something doleful crosses your face, then it twists unpleasantly. “You think I want to have sex with you… ‘cause I’m not cute? Like, you think I’m…”

Ugly, yes. He does. Only a little. Can you turn over? He wants to make you cum. “You’re a virgin, yeah?”

“Oh my god, there’s, like, something wrong with you!” You stand to your full height in a pitiful attempt to appear frightening. That face is enough to scare a man away already. “Get out— And I am so telling her when she gets back home, I told her I didn’t like you, I told her and now you just-“

Leon grabs you by the jaw, squeezes you so tight it clicks. “Okay, sweetheart, here’s how this is going to go,” he starts, taking both your wrists in a single hand, “we’re going to start over, and you’re going to be a good little girl and apologise to me like you really mean it.”

“Apologise for what?” It comes out muffled through your forced pout so he chooses to ignore you.

“I don’t know what you fuckin’ said.” Leon should just end it here, he should let go of you and check into the nearest asylum. He’s hot. Leon is box blond. He’s tall enough to dwarf most girls. His face is nice. His body is nicer. So he doesn’t know what his problem is. Once pinned down, you shrink away from him, expression so sour your skin looks ready to melt off your skull.

And then he fucks you till you stop screaming. He leaves you in a withered heap, heads back to his room to take a well-deserved nap, hides his face in the pillows. They smell like her. He should think about killing himself some more. That gun looks awfully shiny. Nth time could be the charm.

She gets home in the evening, drops her bag on the floor to alert him of her entrance.

“I missed you.” Leon noses at her neck.

“You were sleeping.” She ruffles his hair like he’s a child.

“I still missed you.”

“Even when you’re sleeping?”

In the least creepy way possible, he wants to wear her skin as a suit, and she thinks his body doesn’t yearn for her at every sleeping second?

“The most when I’m sleeping, have bad dreams without you,” Leon mumbles groggily.

“How cute,” she muses, “good day?”

“Great day.” Leon nods. “Real productive.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you get up to?” A singular red nail strokes along his spine.

“Thought about you,” he answers, leaving out the part where he spent half of his time jerking off. Oh, and the part where he fucked her sister into submission. He raped you. He did. Leon doesn’t like that word. Far too harsh.

“Now, don’t push it, mister.” When she smiles there’s a lack of wrinkles— Not even smile lines, it’s artificial almost.

Leon’s good at pushing buttons. He should get paid for it. “It’s true, if you said jump I’d ask how high.”

“You’re so funny, Leon.” She kisses his head and laughs all prim and proper.

“Serious, babe, I’m super partial to jumping,” he says to hear her laugh again. He’s more partial to suicide. It’s great. A one-way ticket off of God’s green inferno. Who would he even be without suicide ideation?

“Alright, but I’d like you all in one piece.” She kisses his cheek. “No jumping, okay, honey?” She kisses his neck and his collarbones and his Adam’s apple and he’s unable to breathe.

“Okay,” Leon says. He gets it now. She’s mommying him. Maybe this is what Leon needs. To play house. A daddy to fuck his throat and a mommy to sit on his dick and tell him that he’s a good boy and he’s needed and he won’t have to think if he has a mommy and daddy to do that for him.

Can he backtrack on the rape thing? Trust Leon to take a good thing and ruin it in the worst way possible. If he kissed you he could’ve wormed his way out of it. Told her it was the medication he’s on, that he had a mental breakdown, a midlife crisis.

At dinner, your silence slips under the radar like cumstains on motel bedsheets. You pick at your food, and when Leon’s knee brushes yours under the table, you excuse yourself. Sometimes he thinks that he is a bad person, this can be backed up by many things. Violating you might outweigh saving the world.

In bed, he thinks about changing, about calling his therapist in the morning, he might take a leap off that balcony, cleaning up his act sounds terribly hard. Leon does this all with his head tucked into the hollow of his girlfriend’s neck. The thinking has killed his boner and now he can’t get it up. So he pretends to fall asleep. It’s an unconvincing performance ‘cause the moment she swipes a hand over his ass he lets out a disgruntled noise. Leon clenches so quickly his stomach caves in.

“You don’t like that, honey?”

He shakes his head, overgrown bangs falling in his eyes. Leon has a nice ass. It’s no wonder she wants to touch it, leg presses have done him wonders, but still, it’s off-limits. She can’t sweet talk her way into this anytime soon.

“Why, Leon?” She’s cupping his ass like he’s a girl. Leon’s not a girl. “You’d look so cute.”

“No,” he whines, and it sounds kind of sexy. He gets it. He can see the appeal.

“I think you just need some encouragement, baby.” She’s taking him apart like a gun. Folding him like laundry. Milks his prostate so well he sleeps like a baby. Not even a shadow of an orgasm to be seen from her side.

She leaves early the next morning and he’s left alone to ruminate. What he finds out today is that you’re pretty diligent at sucking dick when forced.

Leon thinks he would like to break you in a way that only he can fix.

He pushes your head down on his dick till your lips are stretched so far they split at the corners, you gag wetly each time the fat tip knocks the back of your throat, heavy balls slapping against your chin.

“Aww, look at you,” Leon coos, “little girl taking big things.”

Fat tears well in your eyes, a faint tremor betrays your effort to hold them back, a single blink and they roll down your cheeks like dewdrops. It might be the dick lodged in your throat, pulsing under your tongue— Yeah, no, it’s his dick in your mouth. That’s why you're upset. No other reason for it. Leon finds you a little ungrateful. A lot of women would pay for this, to drain his balls. Hell, your sister loves to do it.

“One at a time, sweetheart,” he says as he guides you to his balls, “can’t have you choking, can we?” You look up at him blankly. Leon thought he was funny and that’s all that matters. “Go on, spit on ‘em, get me nice and wet.” The drool pooling beneath your tongue drizzles his balls in clear strings, his drippy tip bumps the bridge of your nose, rests comfy on your brow ridge.

You’re struggling real bad. He’ll take it as a compliment. The thing is, you refuse to just lick them, pulling off each ball with a wet pop! and a dry cough. Leon starts to zone out so he shoves you off and quite pathetically, you fall flat on your back.

“You didn’t shave,” Leon notes in distaste, he was going to do you a favour too.

“No— Not for you.” You squirm like a fish on the docks when he hovers over you.

“Not for me, right.”

“Anyone but you.”

“You're not gonna do it for anyone, sweetheart, know why?” Leon clicks his tongue when you dodge his kiss, twisting your neck to keep a distance.

“Why?”

“No one else wants you,” he states, “you’re lucky that I want you.”

“Well, that’s not true.” You’re stubborn amongst all your other undesirable traits.

Leon scoffs. “What, so you ever had a boyfriend?” He runs his index finger along your slit. Bone dry. Serious? He assumes you’re still sore from yesterday.

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t get mad at me, honey, I’m just helping you out.” Leon spits on your pussy, then on his thick cock for good measure, jerks his shaft and presses a thumb to his tip to guide it into you. Your lips fold inwards around him as he breaches your tiny hole. There’s too much resistance for it to be a smooth sailing journey, and you’re new to cock, cunt pushing him out as your body tenses. “I’m being nice to you, so you should say thank you.”

“Oh, god,” you mutter, brows knit in what might be pain or pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s what you’re calling me now?” The look you give him is priceless, small hands settling on his chest as you push at him weakly. “No, baby, you don’t get to do that.” Leon bottoms out, he rolls his hips forward to grind the head of his dick into your cervix, the fleshly opening moulds to his tip and you cry out. He can never tell if you’re enjoying it.

Leon sticks his fingers in your mouth to coat them in spit, you retch and he rubs figure eights on your clit, only then does your cunt loosen up its hold on him. It’s a quick process, the quicker he rubs you raw, the wetter you get, biting down on your tongue to keep quiet, but low groans slip past your cracked lips.

“Oh, there we go, baby, that’s it,” Leon coos, his cock slicked up by your wet pussy, sliding in and out with ease. His hips snap forward, forcing himself deeper into your messy little pussy, so wet you’re dripping down his balls, wetness stuck to your inner thighs.

“Fuck— I can’t, I can’t do it, ‘s too big,” you whimper, a hand slipping between your bodies to lay on your stomach. What you don’t understand is that he is big, yeah, but your pussy just needs to be broken in. Like a new pair of shoes.

“You’re doing it, baby,” Leon says, ‘cause you are doing it. You’re taking it. Body going rigid with each brutal thrust into your sopping wet hole. Whether you can take it or not isn’t for you to decide anyway. “I’m going to stuff your little pussy full,” he tells you.

“No,” you choke out, scratching at his chest, nails too blunt to do any sort of damage. Thank fuck. His girlfriend would go nuts.

It’s a satisfying victory, he covers your mouth to concentrate all his energy into this creampie, fills you to the brim, seed thick enough to stick to your insides. The original aim of his ‘experiment’ is forgotten, Leon doesn’t care if you cum or cry or pass out on his dick.

“I’m tellin’ her when she comes home.” Your threat is weak. He feared the consequences of yesterday, but you said nothing.

“You’re not telling her, you like me too much,” Leon decides, “I know you do, baby.”

“I don’t like you at all.” Your bottom lip trembles, fists balled up by your sides. The contempt only turns him on.

“No, but I think you know I’m right, don’t you?” No one else wants you, and you know that. Leon knows you know that. He’s the only one that is ever going to fuck you.

“Right about what? You’re a fucking psycho— I could get you locked up, I should get you locked up.”

“You should, so what're you waiting for?” If you did report him, Leon would just kill himself, going to prison sounds like a bore. “I think, sweetheart, that secretly, you really like it when I rape you.”

And your silence proves him right.

That report never comes. Duh. You love his dick. You like being roughed up. You know you’re deserving of it. Jesus Christ, Leon needs to call his shrink. Honestly, being around you is hard. It’s like his guilty conscience has developed a human body, shambling around the apartment in the shape of a malformed ghost girl, reminding him of the shit he’s said and done to you. You’re spinning in his necrosed brain like one of those music box ballerinas.

“Leon, be a doll and do me up,” his girlfriend is facing away from him, the smooth skin of her back and shoulders bared to him.

Leon only hears the ‘do me’ part, kissing the nape of her neck, reaching round to grab at her fat tits. “I love you…”

“I love you too, baby, but what do you think you’re doing?”

Leon makes a motion with his fingers, she sees it in the mirror.

“What is that, sign language?”

“No, I want to finger you.”

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, baby, but it’s not the time for that. I asked you to zip me up, Leon.” He zips her up while wondering how she can be so unaffected by him being so stupid.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” You knock on the door, you keep hiding your face from him today. His girlfriend said it’s ‘cause you have makeup on. Apparently that changes things. It’s sort of cute. Like, are you shy? You should be shy.

“Oh, no one likes cliffhangers, honey,” she says, forcing you to swap out some open-toe sandals for a pair of her heels. “Okay, Leon, I’ve left your dinner in the fridge, yes?”

Yes, mommy. “Yeah, babe.”

“And there’s snacks in the cupboard now, oh, and don’t use the tap water, it tastes strange so I stocked up— Leon, will you stop doing that with your jaw?”

Sorry, mommy. “Sorry, babe.”

“He’s totally fucking gurning,” you inform her in a way that screams playground snitch. He’ll choke you out for that.

“Gurning, what’s that?” His girlfriend asks cluelessly. This bitch is in her early thirties, Leon has no idea why she acts fifty. Whatever, it’s hot, he gets a girl with all the traits of an older lady without the sagging.

“Like, y’know, ‘cause he’s on meds.” What a little shit. Is this you getting back at him? Some petty fucking act of revenge? Getting his medication taken away from him by his health freak girlfriend?

“Medication? I didn’t know about this, Leon.” She looks at him like he’s killed her mother. Or raped her sister. If only she knew.

“Yeah, for my back, my back hurts, babe— Th-That’s why I’m on leave. My back hurts.” What a compelling act. Totally not a dude that’s two minutes away from injecting black tar heroin.

“Who prescribed them, a doctor or a vet?” You cock your head to the side. Fine. You fucking got him.

“Same thing.” Leon shrugs.

She makes him empty the bedside desk of pills. “Leon, good boys don’t do this. We don’t take drugs in this household, let me take them off your hands.”

“They’re- Babe, they’re not drugs, they’re for my back— I hurt my back.” Granted, his back stopped aching a few days back, he’s just taking advantage of the break. Also, he’s not a child.

“Your back, honey, I know it hurts.” She waves him off. “We can fix it, huh? I can book you in for acupuncture or cupping— Oh, what about a chiropractor?”

“Fine,” Leon says, voice cracking, watching in devastation as she takes his pills in a black garbage bag.

“Bye, Leon, see you later, honey.” She blows him a kiss and he catches it. He has to catch it.

“Yeah, bye, Leon!” You wave at him, looking happier than you have in days.

The door opens an hour later and Leon takes his hand out of his pants. You stand in front of him with red eyes and messy makeup. Leon, being the gentleman he is, takes you into his arms and rubs your back to soothe you as he tells you, more than a little cruel, I fucking told you so.

At least now you know that some guys aren’t as nice as Leon. Some men will spit in your face without considering how tight your pussy is, they won’t even think about how good your tits look in that push-up bra. See? That’s what the real world is like.

The bath fills as he bends you over the sofa. You’re prettier from behind, dress hiked up, soaked panties around your ankles. His hand smooths down the front of your stomach to cup your puffy cunt, prodding at your swollen clit. You shaved. Funny. Thought you were going to get a dick that wasn’t his.

Leon kneels, he spreads your ass cheeks to lick into your pussy from behind, tongue lapping up the beads of arousal that dribble down the seam of your cunt like sticky honey. He laps at your hole and you arch your back to push into him, his tongue fucking your pussy so well, sloppy sounds fill his ears.

“Been wanting to do this,” Leon says into your cunt, tongue making its way back up the centrefold of your fat pussy, he blows spit bubbles on your clit and then he nips at it until you cry out, startled by the jolt of pain. His dick kicks in his sweats. You taste good to make up for that face of yours.

You cream in his mouth so sweetly, toes curling against the wooden floor. Leon wipes his mouth on his forearm, then he wraps it around your neck, pulling your body flush to his. In his chest, his heart flutters when you press a delicate kiss to his bicep. He feels it and you can’t unfeel that.

“I’m sorry, Leon,” you get out through shaky moans as he sandwiches his shaft between your chubby pussy lips, bumping the tip into your clit as his hips move back and forth. “I’m sorry… Didn’t know-“

“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses behind your ear. “It’s alright ‘cause you know now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree tearfully, tilting your head so it rests on his broad chest, he gives your pout some wet kisses.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm, baby?” Leon nudges you with his nose.

Your idea of cleaning up might be far from what Leon’s is. He doesn’t think you were expecting something so extreme. But it’s for thinking you’re worth something— For thinking that anyone else would do as little as touch you. It’s to wash off that pitiful attempt at makeup.

He bends you in half over the tub. Your tits hang low enough to be squashed against the edge painfully as Leon dunks your head into lukewarm water. Holy shit. Tomorrow will be the day he overdoses. Why is he doing this?

A strangled noise passes your lips as he lets up, and you re-emerge, Leon wipes a hand over your face to rid you of the streaky mascara and sticky gloss.

“There we go, sweetheart, nice and clean.” He presses the tip into your leaking cunt, it catches on your hole, and you flail, water spilling over the edge, surface tension broken as it ripples.

Honest to god, Leon hasn’t fucked a pussy tighter than yours, and when he holds you beneath the surface? Man, you might deglove his dick. He works his cock into you, and when he’s balls deep in your sloppy cunt, Leon allows you to lift your head to which you pant and gasp and cough. All the shit a drowning person does when they’re tossed a lifesaver.

Your body sags, hanging limp with only Leon to hold you up as he roughly fucks in and out of your poor hole, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“I love you, Leon,” you tell him, rubbing at your stinging nose with your fist, pussy tightening when he pinches your throbbing clit.

“Aw, do you, baby? You love me?” Leon laughs, the mean smile on his face hidden in your shoulder, “That’s so cute.” He rocks back and forth, shallow thrusts that are more for him than they are for you, rabbiting his dick into your squelching pussy until his balls pulse and his shaft twitches inside of you. “Real— Real fuckin’ cute,” he grits out as he buries himself to the hilt, shooting his load in your willing little pussy.

“I think so,” you whimper, thighs trembling as the knot in your stomach snaps and you coat his cock in your slick. Hey, his dick isn't a problem then.

Leon thinks about calling his shrink. The bad shit he does won’t fix itself like he wants. “Clean up,” he tells you, looking at the wet ground. The soaked rug. Your face.

“What… Leon, where are you going?” You use your palms to mop the excess water from your face. “Seriously, Leon? I just… I told you that…”

He has things to do - Leon’s going to call his shrink and very promptly throw himself over the balcony when she doesn’t answer his call.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy angst #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

430 notes · View notes

dreamwatch · 1 month

Text

I tell you folks, it's harder than it looks

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest April warm-up round.

(So... I forgot to get something written before today, so this is a bit of a speed write and I hope I got as many typos and redundancies as possible. For anyone interested, the idea came from another fic I wrote a while ago, where you can see Wayne's POV.)

****

Kangaroos. That was the reason Steve had picked Australia to join the tour. Eddie called from every continent, trying to tempt him with far-flung locations, but in the end it was the kangaroos that got him. And thank god, because if he’d got the call that Eddie had collapsed on stage, or worse, saw it on the news, he’d be losing his mind right about now. So yeah, thank fuck for kangaroos.

They’re holed up in a hospital in Sydney, trying to keep the press away from Eddie. Jeff and Ben hover near Eddie’s bed, Gareth standing as close to the door as he can, arms crossed and eyes firmly fixed on the floor. The atmosphere is uncomfortably tense.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s okay then. I mean, as long as you’re sorry—”

“Gareth,” Jeff interrupts. Always the peacemaker.

“Don’t ‘Gareth’ me, man. I’ve been saying for months, for fucking years, we need to slow down before one of us gets hurt. And here we are. But hey, I’m just the drummer, no one fucking listens to me. Or any of us for that matter. Just him.” He gesticulates at Eddie.

Steve feels like an interloper and it’s a little uncomfortable; he’s got no desire to be the Yoko Ono in this situation but he’s not leaving until Eddie tells him to. His eyes drift back to Eddie who’s staring out into the Sydney skyline. The fierce bruise on the left side of his face has come out in anger now, gauze and tape covering stitches. It makes his heart fucking ache.

Steve had been there at the edge of the stage watching the show when Eddie wobbled and went loose-limbed, watched him just drop, the sickening snap back of his head as he hit the drum riser. Ben had got to him first, Jeff signalling for help, while Gareth stood behind the drums, frozen. He had looked terrified. Steve stood there watching helplessly, heart in his throat the whole time.

Eddie’s eyes go wide with panic. “Shit. Wayne.”

“Taken care of,” Steve tells him. “Called him a few hours ago. He’s fine. Getting your room ready as we speak.”

“Press too,” Jeff chips in. “You don’t need to worry about anything, it’s all taken care of man.”

“Shouldn’t need to be,” mutters Gareth.

Jeff sighs, “Jesus Christ, man, will you quit it?”

Gareth finally looks up, first at Jeff, and finally at Eddie. But there’s no anger there. Steve can see the worry in his eyes and he gets it. He’s spent years of his life worrying about bad things happening to his friends and being powerless to do anything about it. It fucking sucks.

Ben puts his arm around Gareth, leading him outside. “Let’s go rustle up snacks, dude, I’m fucking starving.”

Eddie picks at the edge of the tape holding the IV in the back of his hand. “Well, that went well.”

“Hey,” says Jeff, shaking Eddie’s ankle to get his attention. “He’s not angry, okay? He’s just scared. We all were, but… you know what he’s like. He’s our sensitive little flower.”

A little ghost of a smile settles on Eddie’s lips and it unlocks something in Steve, eases the worry just a tiny bit.

“Yeah, I know. I am sorry, you know? I didn’t want this to happen, man. I just… I just thought it was the right thing to do for us. The tour. All of it.”

Jeff sighs. “Listen, when we get back, a few things need to change. Firstly, we’re taking a fucking break. A long one. We’re all burned out.”

Eddie nods softly. “Of course.”

“And we are never doing a tour this long again. Non-negotiable. Strict date limits going forward.”

“Absolutely.”

“And one last thing.” Jeff shifts uncomfortably. “He didn’t say it the right way but… Gareth wasn’t wrong. About no one listening to us. To Phil, specifically, not listening to us.”

Steve knows Eddie has a near-pathological fear of losing everything, but he’s since learned that their manager, Phil, has preyed upon it, tapping into the fear, pushing for more albums, more interviews and appearances, and longer tours. And Eddie just can’t say no. “You never know when it will stop,” he told him once.

Steve would love to get his fucking hands on Phil right about now.

“He’s got to go.”

And Eddie agrees, just like that, because it’s Jeff. To the public, it’s Eddie’s band, but to everyone who truly knows them, it’s Jeff who keeps them together. It makes Steve smile to think about the nerdy kid from high school, comparing him to this man who stands at Eddie’s side in front of thousands, night after night, confidence oozing from him.

The door clicks open, and Ben wanders in with a Coke, Gareth slinking in behind him. Gareth shuffles forward and Eddie reaches up with his free hand, and Steve finds himself letting out a huge breath when Gareth takes it.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Gareth says, softly.

“I know. I know man. I was an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

Steve is expecting a snappy comeback, but Eddie’s starting to wilt, and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

“I think we should let Eddie get some rest,” he says. “Long flight tomorrow.”

The boys say their goodbyes, and Steve pulls his chair as close to the side of the bed as he can manage. Eddie smiles at him, their fingers entwined.

“Close enough there?” Eddie says, smiling fondly.

“No,” he replies, smiling back. He never wants to let Eddie out of his sight again. “How you doing?”

Eddie drops his head back onto his pillow. “I feel like shit.”

“Maybe I’ll need to move to LA to keep an eye on you.”

A soft blush blooms across Eddie’s cheeks. “Maybe you do,” he says shyly.

“Go to sleep then. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As Eddie drifts off, Steve thinks about how to tell Robin he’s moving to LA.

#corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #steve harrington #corroded coffin #ccf warmup: Taxed #steddie fanfiction #corroded coffin fanfiction

82 notes · View notes

milksockets · 1 year

Text

i recently had a very heartwarming exchange… about a typo.

to start at the beginning, at some point during my first couple of weeks at this job, i stopped by my supervisor’s office to mention that i’m very good at spotting typos if that’s something that would ever come in handy. i was referring both to the blizzard of daily emails as well as the information system program we use for documentation. he laughed and said he appreciated it, but also that a lot of people - including himself - are writing emails and whatnot all day and don’t necessarily have the time or ability to catch such errors. i remember thinking “yeah, that’s something i hadn’t really considered” and went on my merry way. note: his office door was open during the exchange because the discussion was not super private or confidential so why the fuck wouldn’t it be.

so the next day, i am summoned into his office, with the door closed this time. turns out some lurking busybody cunt with nothing better to do was hovering around and overheard the conversation, and decided to report it to both him and the supervisor above him that it was inappropriate and “who is this nurse who just started here talking about typos.”

i was flabbergasted at the time, but since then, it’s become apparent just how many things of that nature happen in offices (or mine at least; i’ve never worked in one before). when it comes specifically to pointing out a panoply of constant typos, i am not doing so in a manner that translates to “you’re a fucking idiot and i want to make you feel bad about it.” i guess i foolishly thought people might be open to hearing about ways they could improve their writing to avoid miscommunication.

there have been other instances of this ilk, namely that this woman moved into the office with a door next to me (the rest is an open plan type deal) and never has her door closed, whether she’s screaming into her phone, having an irl meeting, or blasting a podcast. like go figure, that’s sort of distracting and wearing headphones is not a solution because then i can’t hear if someone is trying to get my attention (or sneaking up behind me while i’m online shopping). it soon became very apparent that simply asking this lady to close her fucking door because other people do work here - but in nicer words - had the potential to cause a dramatic upheaval in office politics. i also had said that i would hope anyone in the office with a similar issue with me or my team would feel comfortable simply bringing it up for resolution.

it’s insane to me that these instances of direct communication about practical matters affecting other people are almost taboo and that i’ve been considered “inappropriate” on several occasions for relaying such remarks. also don’t say you value feedback if you actually don’t. let’s not play pretend here.

anyway, yesterday i passed a piece of street art that said “fight facism” and the artist tagged their IG handle so i just messaged them to say i thought they might like to know it’s misspelled. they were so fucking grateful, and said they’re glad someone pointed it out so nicely so they can fix it for the next batch. truly the antidote to the fragile, wretched office bullshit and evidence that i am doing god’s work.

so the moral of this story is that i need to find a way to get paid for finding typos. i mean, i spot them in just about every published book i read, too. and, friends, there is a solution: me.

#words

108 notes · View notes

lestappenforever · 10 months

Note

im sorry i literally just read through all your prompt fics and i would kill for a 44 and 45 if you havent done it yet. love your work so much mwa mwa (its okay if ur not taking prompts)

My lovely anon! Thank you so much for this — my brain kind of spiralled and ran away from me with this, so you're getting 11. "Come to bed." and 13. "Hold me?" as well.

Also, I wrote this on my phone while being a passenger princess in the car on my way across the country, so please forgive any typos.

I love you! ❤️

---

44. "I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it.", 45. "Don't say anything. Just... Just lay here with me.", 11. "Come to bed.", and 13. "Hold me?"

It's not an uncommon occurrence, Charles and Max having a disagreement. In fact, it has been the baseline of their rivalry, then their friendship, and now, their relationship.

They have passionate discussions. Heated debates. They bicker and press each other's buttons. When one pulls, the other pushes, again and again and again.

But, most of the time, it’s fun. Harmless. A disagreement that will pass within a few minutes once they've both had a chance to cool down.

It usually doesn’t turn into a full-blown fight. Not one that leaves Charles looking at Max like he doesn’t know him anymore before storming off into the bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

He doesn’t even remember how it started. Something minor, no doubt, but Max cannot for the life of him remember what. All he knows is that whatever they'd been talking about turned into a conversation about Ferrari and Charles' outright refusal to accept that maybe it’s not the right team for him when they still haven't been able to give him what he needs to win a championship after so many years.

It's something Charles is passionate about, for obvious reasons. But Max is passionate about it too, because he knows what Charles is capable of. Knows that had he only just been in a different team — a team that listened and learned — then he'd already have a championship under his belt.

Because all Max wants in this world is to give Charles everything. But a championship is the one thing he can’t give him. And it’s infuriating, because nobody deserves a world championship more than Charles.

So yeah, when Charles had told him that he still believed Ferrari could help him achieve his life-long dream, Max had snapped.

Because when Max was this passionate about something, his passion could sometimes cross the line to anger. Not at Charles — never at Charles — but at the situation. At Charles deserving so much better than what he was getting.

That, on the other hand, wasn’t always obvious to others.

He overstepped, he knew that much. But he also knew there was no point in trying to fix this now because that would be poking the bear. And right now, the bear needs to breathe.

So Max lets him breathe, and he busies himself playing with Jimmy and Sassy. And when they get sick of him, he sits on the balcony and watches the city below.

He watches the boats, the cars, the people, and has to use every bit of strength to resist the urge to go to Charles.

Once two hours have passed and the Monégasque still hasn't emerged from the bedroom, Max can't take it any more.

Trudging back into the apartment, Max makes his way down the hallway to the bedroom. He lingers outside the closed door, hesitating. Two hours should be enough time, but it’s never a sure thing with Charles. Sometimes, two hours isn’t even close to being enough.

As he opens the door, Max hopes to God it's enough this time.

Charles is lying on the bed on his back, staring at the ceiling. But he'd left the door unlocked, which Max will take as a good sign.

(He won’t entertain the possibility that Charles simply may have forgotten.)

"I'm sorry," Max says as he sits on the edge of the bed next to Charles.

The Monégasque doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring at the ceiling.

Should have waited another hour, Max thinks to himself.

Well. Too late now.

"I didn't mean anything I said the way it probably sounded. I just — I think you deserve so much more. I'm sorry I didn't manage to articulate that."

Charles still doesn’t look at him or speak. But the tightness of his jaw eases slightly.

Max will fucking take that and run with it.

"I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it," he goes on, reaching out tentatively to brush his fingers over Charles' thigh through the duvet.

He sees the Monégasque struggle with his resolve. Can tell Charles wants to hold on to his anger, just for a little while longer.

"You're only shit at showing it sometimes," Charles tells him with a sigh, before finally looking at Max. His eyes look puffy and tired, but still stunning. "Come to bed?"

It’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But it’s a start.

Max wastes no time, stripping out of his shirt and pants and climbing into bed next to Charles. He's about to keep apologizing — plead with Charles to forgive him, but the Ferrari driver beats him to the punch.

"Don't say anything, just — just lay here with me."

It's a simple request. One that Max is eager to comply with.

Hell, he'd launch himself off the fucking balcony with the biggest smile on his face if Charles had asked him to in that voice.

So they lay there next to each other. Not touching. Not speaking. Just existing in the same space. Breathing the same air. It's enough.

Until it isn’t.

Charles turns onto his side, facing Max, and looks up at him through his eyelashes. It’s a look that turns Max's very soul into a puddle.

"Hold me?"

"Always," Max's response is immediate as he shifts closer and pulls Charles against his chest, wrapping both arms around the other man and holding him as if his very life depends on it.

Charles sighs — a soft, pleased sound — as he nuzzles against Max, tucking his face against Max's neck and inhaling deeply. Letting the familiar scent of Max, of home, wash over him. Letting it soothe his soul.

Max lets it soothe his, too.

They don’t speak for the rest of the evening, but they don’t need to. Because as Charles holds on to Max and falls asleep in his arms, Max knows they'll be alright.

They always are, in the end.

#Lestappen prompts #Lestappen fic #My writing #Asks #Ask prompts #Anon #Anon asks #Lestappen #Lestappen drabble

95 notes · View notes

deathits3lf · 2 months

Text

wolf359. its grasped me again.

I have become obsessed again. To the point I wrote a ABSURDLY LONG ramble about Warren Kepler. I wrote it in discord messages and I will not be taking the time to fix the typos. There are so many.

But yes, I wrote a... character analysis? It's honestly just about the last season.

⚠️Major spoilers ahead. For last season, the finale, anywhere past 45 basically. If you have not completed wolf 359 entirely, well, this will be the end all be all of spoilers.

oooh. I should put a highlight here: but he assumed it was a "sorry, you are wrong and I am right, and you are going to die, and perhaps you deserve to in my eyes." when it really meant "You are right. I love you. I would do anything for your safety even if you may never know I was doing it for you." <<<< i love this part. im so smart. squints. im actually not but i was onto somethin

And be warned that it is long. Google docs says 1563 words. I'll put it under this read more.

Have fun. I hope this is any bit comprehensible.

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

okokok. so. warren kepler. i could talk about this man for HOURS, i swear. but i need to START somewhere so why not start at his death. I love thinking aboiut it... and by that i mean i hate thinking about it. buts its great. so tragic. i love characters dying like that; they are introduced as a douche. dickhead, antagonist, honestly villain. not likeable, really. (by that i mean well written but the character themselves being THE WORSTTT) (although i love him i DID used to HATE HIM) (i always joked about wanting to throw him out of an airlock... no seriously. i didnt know. help)

BUT, throughout the show, despite them being a dick, we are shown some moments of them almost.. being human. cause they are. everyone, despite how mean or stuckup or 'emotionless' they are, is human, and humans feel emotions.

okok, so at this point some hate em, some love em (altho mostly lovehate), but overall they are.... antagonistic but with the potential. not enough potential however.- (quick sidetrack here, i swear i get back to my point eventually)

The Last Season. oml, the first time I watched it, before I knew what kepler was doing, I thought,"kepler is acting weird". kepler is acting almost nervous, and something just felt off. yes it was because cutter was there, kepler was used to being in charge and aggressive about it to make his subordinates feel scared and therefore listen to him. which in the last season, is clear where he learned that from; cutter. but now cutter was back and he was the subordinate and scared one. he wasnt The Most Powerful One There anymore. BUT ALSO

Maybe he acted weirdly because,,listen,, he was already planning something against them. it makes sense. he was sort of kept in the dark, but he knew something was going to happen.

He had to watch his crew like that, despite having just held a mutany against him, he still knew them. they were stuck in space together, they knew eachother, but also JACOBI. kepler interacting with mindcontrolled jacobi was. thats a rant for later on.

But. He had just had his morals rocked. His right hand man, his most loyal companion, betrayed him, tried to get him killed, he lost his other teammate- no, friend, and well, if you look closely enough he really had some time to think about it all.

And thats where he decided that he was not on the side he always had been on, the one he worked for for god knows how many years, the one who he had based his entire mindset on, and maybe he realized that his idea of a bigger picture didnt line up with Goddard's.

Maybe he was doing it for Jacobi. and maxwell. Maybe he was doing it for the whole crew. or the whole world. Maybe he really, truely, cared. deep down.

I also think that he wasnt planning to make it out alive.

He didnt want to face it afterwards. He convinced himself that this was the only way- that he couldn't possibly have made it out alive and that sacrificing himself for the greater good was the only way.

He could have survived that. The hardest part would have been convincing the others to let him on the homebound ship. (the sol i believe?) jacobi begged him to stay. oml that scene. another rant for later on.

But going back to my first point- I love that they really gave you one last reason to care about his death. If he died still on goddards side, even if he seemed a bit hesitant, that was still the cowards choice. they really said "hey he actually cares about the greater good and to an extent, the others. anyway immediatly after that revelation kill him." They gave us a reason to cry.

I love characters like that. You hate em, but before they die, you are given a reason to give a fuck. Really wrenches your heart.

back to other points. rachel, had been SHOT. and yet managed to push him into the airlock and close the door. you could say he was overconfident, but I believe thats uncharacteristic. hes always on guard, always thinking of every way something could go wrong and how to account for it. He should have thought about rachel fighting back. he could have stopped her, but he had already accepted that he would, and perhaps should die here. perhaps he didnt want to face everything after it all. how he might actually care about ppl. how fucked up he acted and all his bad actions. and also, how he could keep living beyond His Job. the artist formerly known as warren kepler. if he stopped Making Art, who was he to go back to? warren kepler didnt exist. he was just a husk.

thats why i love reading Kepler Back From The Dead fics. it would have been SO INTERESTING. although its fair they wanted to wrap up arcs, or at least leave them on something somewhat satisfying, and kepler was definitely NOT done cooking. put that man back in the microwave he is STILL cold in the middle.

anyway. kepler was a coward for dying but at least cowardice is human.

>He couldnt tell anyone. What he was planning. couldnt even tell jacobi, "hey, im on ur side and also im going to stop it all. and sacrifice myself" because rachel was there. rachel was watching, and she was arrogant that kepler couldnt possibly not be on goddards side. yeah she probably definitely knew he cared about jacobi, but the others? she was not expecting him to actually have the confidence to go aginast CUTTER.

jacobi begged for him to be on their side, argued good arguements,

but jacobi thought. there is no way this will work. absouletly no way he will actually listen to me. but he did. kepler had already planned this. kepler couldnt put into words why he was doing this, but when rachel asked him why he echoed their words; because he is human.

but kepler couldnt tell jacobi that he was listening. and that he cared about him. he couldnt say he wished jacobi would make it out alive, or that the others would b ok, or that he wasnt going to make it back.

all he could say was "Thank you Daniel, and goodbye." AKJHSDKJAHSKDH that line makes me want to CRY. its more evidence that kepler totally knew he was going to die. or at least expected it. the way he said goodbye like he knew it really was the last. called him daniel, and maybe others werent aware what that really meant, perhaps they were, but jacobi knew he never called him that. that that meant something. he didnt know what, but he assumed it was a "sorry, you are wrong and I am right, and you are going to die, and perhaps you deserve to in my eyes." when it really meant "You are right. I love you. I would do anything for your safety even if you may never know I was doing it for you."

.... "thank you" for being in my life? for teaching me how to be good? for everything? AUGH I LOVE THESE FICTIONAL MEN.

>His interactions while the others were mindcontrolled. I relistened to the first episode or two of the last season, and kepler honestly showed signs that he was already doubting goddard. that he wasnt as confident as when the others last saw him. and they commented on this- rachel talked about hera and kepler replied almost remincing about his time on the hephaestus. he said 'she had always been stubborn.' and rachel said 'careful warren, wouldnt want to sound like you admire it.'

And the whole scene with cutter, pryce, kepler, and mind controlled jacobi. Cutter definitely purposefully picked out jacobi to take notes during that. cutter realized something was off about him. He was weaker, almost upset that his subordinate was mindcontrolled? and would obey his every command? cutter had just improved them; and the kepler that cutter wanted wouldnt have cared. but he clearly did care, as he told- no, lied- to cutter about jacobi being a good team member. despite the fact jacobi almost got him shot, like, not even an hour before I think? He was worried jacobi would be punished, or hurt, or even killed.

Cutter knew this. he took it into account, basically; he didnt kill him, he merely improved his brain.

And. Eiffel, after being de-mindcontrolled because of the alien blood, waiting for Jacobi, had accidentily given himself away as being 'unmindcontrolled' when he ran into kepler. he expected to be carted away, re-mindcontrolled, or perhaps killed, or locked in a room, but kepler instead 'played along' and pretended like all was fine. he even sneakily told eiffel to be more careful next time. AND YET WE DIDNT NOTICE- eiffel didnt think to mention 'hey kepler totally let me get off scot free, he is maybe on our side. maybe i mean totally.' ?? and i didnt notice the first time around that THE KEPLER WE KNEW AT THE BEGINNING WOULD TOTALLY RAT HIM OUT INSTANTLY. he was always on their side, and perhaps always planning something. maybe since the interaction with mindcontrolled "she was twenty-eight!" jacobi.

#Should I ramble about jacobi next??#i could ramble abt his arc and also his backstory. his 'before goddard'#kepler is the only one we didnt get a 'before goddard' peek at. we even got like. hilbert. cutter kinda #we didnt get ANYTHING for kepler. i find that facinating.#i imagine he loved his mother. but had to cut her off bc of the job.#enough rambles in the tags-#wolf 359 #warren kepler #daniel jacobi #kepcobi #a bit implied-#alana maxwell #marcus cutter #w359 #could tag more but. IM SCARED.#wolf 359 spoilers #w359 spoilers #seriously dont read if you havent finished wolf359

18 notes · View notes

orangesaek · 1 year

Note

hi dear! how are you? :) i hope you're well & healthy!

i'm actually new to your blog and i think your fics are so cute ❤️ i was wondering if i could please request a scenario with doyoung falling in love at first sight with a fan during a fansigning event.

this idea came to mind after i watched a clip from one of his vcs with a fan. he couldn't stop smiling and telling her she's pretty, like he had heart eyes :') /jealous/

anyway, tysm in advance and happy new year!

pairings: doyoung x fan (3rd person pov)

genre: fluff

oh my god this is sooo long overdue 🥲 i hope you're still here 😭 anyway, thanks so much for this & hope this year has been kind to you so far!

a/n: I am not, in any way, affiliated with SM Entertainment. All the things I have written here are purely based on how I think video call events are being held.

also, sorry for any typo or grammatical errors 🥲 i'll try to proofread & correct any mistakes as soon as i find one!

DoJaeJung have just successfully wrapped up their media promotions for their official debut, and are now preparing for their first-ever video call event as one of NCT's newest (fixed) sub-units.

Despite already doing this many times as an NCT 127 member ever since the pandemic started, Doyoung still couldn't help but feel nervous each time because he couldn't possibly know what kind of fan he would be speaking with.

He's genuinely grateful to his fans, and he does love them with all of his heart, but all the crazy shit and cringey stuff some of them had asked him to do during the call in the past kinda left him wanting to protect the remaining dignity he has left.

"Are you guys all set? Just reminding you gentlemen that you will be doing 10 calls each today." one of the staff informed as Doyoung, Jaehyun, and Jungwoo did some last-minute fixing to their apperance. Doyoung checked his teeth on his hand mirror, while Jaehyun and Jungwoo fixed their hair.

The three men exchanged a mouthed 'fighting!' as some of the staff went over to where they were waiting, and led them to their respective areas.

"Everything's working fine, right?" Doyoung politely asked one of the staffs who was adjusting the ring light in front of him.

"Yes, Doyoung-ssi. As usual, just 2 minutes for each fan. A translator and a staff will stay here to assist you and monitor your calls as well."

Doyoung thanked the staff and took in deep breaths to calm down.

"We'll start the first call now. Remember, 2 minutes. Don't go any more than that, alright? We'll take a quick break after the 5th call, don't worry." one of the staff that was assigned to him said. Doyoung nodded before the staff finally tapped the call button for the first fan on the list, the familiar ring on speakerphone making him feel all nervous again.

However, Doyoung greeted the fan warmly as soon as he saw their face on the phone screen. Despite feeling a bit nervous, he was still happy to see and talk to them even for just a really short time.

"See you~" Doyoung bid the fan goodbye before a staff covered the front camera and ended the call. He let out a soft moan as he stretched his arms wide, exhaling in satisfaction.

Doyoung remained seated on his chair and took a sip of water as he looked down on his notes before signing the first 5 albums. Aside from trying his best to do whatever his fans ask him to do during the call, he also took notes of the interesting things his fans tell him so he could actually make their signed albums a lot more meaningful.

For example, if a fan told him that they recently got a new job, he would scribble them down on his notepad, take note of the fan's name or nickname, and then include a congratulations or a word of encouragement to that fan in their signed album after the call.

No matter how trivial they are, he always wrote them down. He believes it's one of the ways he could show his fans that he's really listening to them. They made a huge effort to talk to him anyway (not to mention, the amount of money they spent just for a 2-minute call with him), it was the least he could do to give back, he thinks.

"We'll be starting the next batch now. Please be ready."

Doyoung took another sip of water before the staff tapped on the call button again for the next fan on the list. He honestly felt a little less nervous since the first 5 calls were just (thankfully) normal conversations.

"Last one and we're done for the day! I can already hear my delicious pork belly sizzling on the grill." his manager said in excitement. Doyoung chuckled lightly. They actually planned to eat out later with the rest of the boys (and their managers) to celebrate. He was looking forward to it as well.

Doyoung waited patiently for the fan to answer the call, feeling a bit worried as the phone was ringing more than thrice already and the staff was on standby, ready to end the call. Although they would still be calling her one more time if she doesn't answer the first time, he couldn't help but feel worried that she might actually end up missing the entire event. He just couldn't imagine how devastated she might feel after.

The staff was just about to tap the end button when the fan finally picked up the call. Doyoung choked on his own spit as soon as he saw her face.

She was really pretty. Beautiful.

"Doyoung, are you okay?" the fan asked worriedly. Doyoung took a quick sip of water before letting out an apologetic smile, clearing his throat after.

"Yes, I am. I'm so sorry, that was really embarrassing." he said, scratching the back of his neck shyly. The fan laughed softly.

"Sorry, I was waiting all this time, but one of my dogs decided to act up last minute so I had to take care of her." she said. A soft smile appeared on Doyoung's face. He shook his head lightly.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just really glad to see you." he said as the smile on his face appeared bigger and bigger until he couldn't keep himself from letting out a shy but cute giggle. The fan looked quite puzzled but chuckled at his cuteness.

Doyoung pinched his cheeks in an attempt to stop himself from giggling like a kid who had just seen his crush.

"Sorry, I'm really sorry." he said, quite inaudibly as he was now covering his mouth with his hands. He took a deep breath before focusing his attention again to the fan.

"I'm sorry," he spoke again. "You're just... so pretty. You're really pretty!"

Blush crept up her cheeks and chuckled rather shyly at him. It felt nice to hear that kind of compliment, but it feels a lot nicer when you hear it straight from your bias' mouth.

"I'm serious, you're really pretty." he said again, now looking a lot more composed. Doyoung leaned his body closer to the camera and showed her his famous gummy smile. He could only hear the fan sheepishly mumble a, 'what are you saying?'

Doyoung glanced quickly at the staff who was holding a paper that says there's only less than a minute left for the call. He mentally cursed at himself for wasting a good minute of the fan's time just to end up embarrassing himself in front of her.

"So, uhm, I'm really sorry we didn't get the chance to talk much, but I promise I'll make it up to you soon!" he said. Doyoung did feel extremely apologetic, but there's nothing he could do. As much as he wanted to extend, he couldn't.

"Don't worry about it," the fan replied. "I'm going to try my luck again next time." she added.

"I'll talk to you soon, then." Doyoung smiled. The fan only hummed in response, acting as if she was going to think about it on purpose.

"Not sure..." she teased. "I mean, I might try talking to the other members—"

"Nope, nope! Don't you dare." he huffed, scrunching his face cutely in fake disapproval. Well, not entirely, since he was actually quite serious about it.

The fan laughed at his response.

"I was just kidding! No need to choose violence." she chuckled. Doyoung eyed her suspiciously before shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

"Pinky promise me, then. Hurry~" he whined cutely, holding up a pinky finger to the phone screen. Doyoung could actually see the staff signalling him to end the call now from his peripheral vision, but he blatantly ignored them anyway.

The fan smiled shyly at him before raising her own pinky finger and virtually doing a pinky promise with Doyoung.

"I've got tickets to your next show, by the way." the fan added as soon as she heard the beeping tone, which signals the end of the call.

"Then I promise I'll look for you in the crowd." Doyoung said. The staff ran over and covered the front camera.

"Bye, pretty girl!" he quickly added before the staff could press the end button.

Although he honestly felt quite disappointed that the call ended just like that, he was still really happy.

His manager walked over to his side and nudged him lightly. Doyoung had just started signing her album.

"What was that all about? I felt second-hand embarrassment because of you. Was she really that pretty?" he asked. Doyoung nodded rather enthusiastically in response.

"Yes, hyung!" he responded. "Don't get me wrong, though. I find all of our fans really pretty, and this obviously isn't the first time I've seen a pretty girl, but she's just THAT pretty."

His manager smiled softly at him before patting his back lightly.

"Well then, if you actually get to see her again, let me know. I'll try to take her backstage for you." he whispered.

Doyoung's eyes lit up at the idea but was quickly replaced by a pout.

"Yeah, I do hope I can find her soon. 2 minutes wasn't enough, seriously." he said quietly. His manager laughed lightly at him before going out to check on Jaehyun and Jungwoo.

Doyoung went back to signing her album and scribbled a cute note on one of his pages.

"They said hair will grow on your butt if you break a pinky promise, so don't look at the other guys, okay? We pinky-promised, pretty girl ;) looking forward to see you! - your Doyoungieee ♡"

- end

DOJAEJUNG WILL DEBUT ON APRIL 17! 💚 i'm so excited :') and have you guys checked Mark's Golden Hour?! 😭

59 notes · View notes

rv-vn · 3 months

Text

WONDERCORP IMAGINES

there's not enough wondercorp content in existence and I'm here to (try to) fix that. at first I just thought that they would be hot together but then I hyper-fixated on this pairing and realized how perfect they would be as a couple. humour me, please.

also, please excuse any typos.

HOW THEY MEET

it was a fundraiser party hosted by the Louvre. lena's there as a guest and of course diana's there. who better to pull donations than the most charismatic curator on the museum's payroll.

when diana first laid eyes on lena, the CEO was in the middle of a conversation with someone else. she felt her breath stop. she's been alive for millennia, crossed paths with many people, gazed upon the most beautiful artwork, and yet they all pale in front of the younger luthor. yes, she's seen lena before, she is a prolific person after all (and that's without considering her relationship with lex luthor), but those had been pictures. tabloids with the most outlandish gossip. none of them prepared her for actually seeing lena luthor in the flesh.

diana makes it her mission to talk to her at least once that night. after all, if any questions her insistence for conversing with the luthor, diana would just point out that lena would be the a huge potential donor. she is well known for her generosity, among other things.

when she finally, finally manages to get lena alone she completely forgets about the purpose of the party (not that that was her intention with the luthor in the first place). who could blame her? lena is basically living, breathing art.

diana spends the rest of the party with lena. occasionally a colleague of hers would drag her to talk to other potential donors but, as if there was a magnet, she always found herself by lena's side. she can't help but want more of lena's presence.

not that lena minds. diana's not the only one enamoured with her unofficial partner of the night. lena's pretty sure diana belongs in the museum. she looks like a marble sculpture of a greek god come to life (lena doesn't know how right she is. not yet at least) and it doesn't help that, in addition to her beauty, this woman oozes intellect and confidence. every time diana leaves her side she can't help but look for her in the crowd. she catches herself every time she does so and tries to pay attention to the person she's currently talking to but no matter how much she tries to focus on their words her attention eventually drifts off to the curator.

lena's thoroughly put off by how much diana has become the centre of her attention in such a short amount of time but she's not put off enough to avoid the woman. at least not for the rest of the night. she tries to remind herself that luthors don't make friends and settles for making an acquaintance instead (she doesn't know how wrong she's going to be)

they drink and dance and talk about the museum and the art on display specially for the party. that's how their conversation starts but eventually, it drifts off into other things. diana promises to give lena a personal tour of the lesser known areas of paris for the next few days that she's in the state. the smile she gets in return is dazzling and diana wonders what else she could do to see that smile again. her mind heads into dangerous territories and she has to quickly calm herself down lest lena realizes. all of that can come later. with all her years she could be patient, right?

they part with each other reluctantly at the end of the night but the new contacts in their phones is a promise for something more. what that entails is still unknown but it's something and that's enough to tide over until the next morning.

later, much later, when they're alone in their respective residences, they question themselves as to why they were so drawn to a virtual stranger. lena's not quick to trust so just what was the reason for her uncharacteristic behaviour tonight? diana knows that this is the sibling of her teammate's greatest enemy and yet she can't bring herself to care. from what she's seen and heard, lena's nothing like her half-brother but still, you can't be too sure. guess they'll both have to wait and see.

#wondercorp #leana #lena luthor #diana prince #wonder woman #lena luthor x diana prince #lena luthor x wonder woman #lena luthor imagines #wonder woman imagines #diana prince imagines

7 notes · View notes

onsunnyside · 2 years

Note

i was so excited for trailer park daddy night and then i realized it’s not actually trailer park daddy night lmao rip 🧘‍♀️

Oh it’s okay, bestie !! hehe to make you feel better, here’s an snippet from the unedited chapter 2: (pls ignore typos/mistakes !!)

“C’mon, Jake at the tech shop gave you a pair of headphones yesterday—for free. He checks up on you during his breaks too.”

“So what?” You fix the little tie around your neck, the green and pink fabric matched the headband on your head. “He rambles a bit but it’s cute and he’s funny.”

She pouts, “Awh, isn’t that ado’able.” She speaks in a baby voice, pinching your cheeks. “But, you don’t want that, huh? You don’t like ‘em nice and shy…” She holds up the biggest lollipop, waving it before your nose like a tempting treat, “You like ‘em big and bad, rugged and rough Mr. Rock ‘n Roll in denim and driving a bright red Chevy. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

You twiddle your fingers, those little nail decals peeling off already. “You’re not wrong…”

“Knew it.” Natasha, inches closer with a mischievous grin, “My girl loves ‘em built like a tank, beefy enough to crush you like an empty can, rail you into your pretty princess bed—”

You shove a fistful of cotton candy in her mouth, shutting her up. “—Can you be quiet!”

She just eats the candy, licking her blue-stained lips. “What? Are you turned on?”

You have to physically cover your face to preserve a smidge of your honour, god, Natasha was the worst—but also the best. If you didn’t love her, you'd kick her out of Toothache.

“Oh, baby, look at these texts.”

“You coming by The Den tonight? I’m performing. Unanswered. Missed you tonight, hope you’re safe. Unanswered. Did you know there are hundreds of candy shops in the city? I think I’m craving something sweet, any recommendations? Unanswered.” She reads off the screen then winces, “poor fella, it’s like he’s talking to a wall.”

You slump over the counter, eating a piece of cotton candy as if it’ll help—and maybe it does, a little bit. “I’ve been stuck in my trailer for days, you know I haven’t done laundry for almost two weeks?”

Admittedly, you were a little ashamed of that. You wanted to, but doing laundry meant going outside and then hanging up your clothes to dry on the line, which happens to be right in view of your intimidating neighbour.

You’ve resorted to sleeping in the nude after you’ve sweat through so many t-shirts. And you were currently wearing bikini bottoms in lieu of panties.

“You’re embarrassed, and that’s okay.” Natasha reaches over, rubbing your shoulder soothingly. “He’s clearly fine with it if he still wants to see you. Why are you standing him up?”

“Because, I-I don’t know!” You stare down at the one-sided conversations on the little screen, “I like him so much, but, god, he’s so much.”

“As in?”

You gesture to the lollipop, “not just physically, but like, he’s experienced.”

#sneak peek time #fk ask #fk drabble #snippet more like #fk: fluff #fic ask

280 notes · View notes

fangirlshrewt97 · 2 years

Text

About The Two Of Us

Well folks, @burningsheepcrown did it yet again. So this fic can be considered a follow up to yesterday’s piece. I hope you guys like it. And God I really hope this is not the start of a series, but you lot my bully me in that direction anyways.

Here’s the prompt doodle, what cuties, right???

Thanks to @jjwolfesworld for the title!

Also, apologies if I missed any typos.

///

Dhruva hummed in appreciation as the first taste of coffee hit his tongue.

“Still doing your crazy early morning runs, huh? I really thought I would have tired you out yesterday.”

Dhruva hid his smile in the rim of his mug. “I won’t lie, it was exceptionally difficult to get up, but I was already awake, so might as well. Plus, there really is something energizing about seeing the sunrise, you should try it sometime.”

Daya made a noise of disgust that had Dhruva chuckling. He turned away from his window to lean against the counter, watching as Daya rummaged through his cupboards till he made a triumphant sound and emerged with another ceramic mug. And then he frowned when he couldn’t find a coffeepot.

“Where’s your coffee pot?”

Dhruva’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he placed his own coffee on the counter and moved to Daya’s side, grabbing his mug from him. “I don’t have one, how many times have I said that the coffee tastes better when you use the filter.” Daya pouted, and God help him, Dhruva really wanted to pull him in by the drawstrings of the hoodie and kiss at his protruding lip.

Instead he busied himself with pouring the ground coffee liquid into the milk pot, mixing the liquid until it was a dark brown, and transferred it to the mug. He then grabbed the sugar and was about to add two teaspoons, when he paused. “You still take it with sugar?”

Dhruva could feel Daya’s gaze burning the side of his face. “I do.”

Dhruva nodded and mixed the sugar, suddenly feeling off kilter. He handed him the mug, shivering as their fingers brushed. Clearing his throat, he grabbed his own mug, finishing the contents and placing the cup in the sink before turning on the stove. “Sit, there is still time for breakfast before you are expected at the station.”

Except Daya didn’t do that. He reached across from Dhruva and turned off the stove again before wrapping himself around Dhruva’s back, nuzzling against his neck. Dhruva swallowed the groan. Oh how many times had he fantasized about this moment.

“I’ve not changed that much you know.” Daya finally said. Dhruva stiffened. “Dhruva-”

Dhruva shook his head, but was too selfish to push Daya away. They needed to have this conversation, even if Dhruva would rather stab himself. “Daya, I don’t- I’m sorry.”

Daya sighed heavily, leaning his forehead against Dhruva’s nape. They stayed like that for a short eternity, Dhruva’s heart threatening to give out the whole time. Because yesterday had been unexpected, a side effect of the smoke that had curled around them, last night everything Dhruva had not dared to dream of, but today, in the light of the sun, reality was knocking at their door.

Finally Daya took a step back, and Dhruva had to bite back his whimper at the loss of points of contact. Daya didn’t shift far though, just enough to put some space between them. He nudged at Dhruva’s hip so the man would turn, and then enclosed him in the bracket of his arms.

Daya was still lovely, his assessment from yesterday still stood. Here, in his kitchen in the house that still felt so impersonal, Daya’s mere presence rendered it closer to home than it had felt in the last five years. His hair was bed-rumpled, but his eyes were alert, and still capable of penetrating down to Dhruva’s very core. Daya’s shoulders seemed twice as broad as his own, his chest so solid it felt like it would anchor Dhruva against any storm.

Dhruva kept his own gaze fixed on the small silver dollar of Daya’s necklace that was peeking out of the hoodie. He took in a deep breath and talked, afraid he would never be able to say the words otherwise. And whatever the outcome, Daya deserved a proper explanation. “I got scared Daya. I felt like things were working out so well for once in my life, and it terrified me. I got the offer for the promotion, and I was so sure this was the universe’s way of telling me to leave, to get out. To leave before you broke my heart because you realized how broken and damaged I was. You were changing and growing and my god, it was breath-taking to see you transform into such a wonderful man. You deserved someone who matched that, and it was not me. I felt myself stagnating, and it scared me so much. You used to look at me with so much happiness and playfulness and I just didn’t feel like I could match up. So I left, and ended up breaking both our hearts.”

The silence following Dhruva’s speech was heavy, foreboding.

“Have you been with anyone else since you came here?” Daya asked, and it wasn’t what he was expecting but Dhruva shook his head. Besides the fact that he buried himself in his work, his heart was too shattered to contemplate the idea of another relationship. “One night, with a girl whose name I don’t even remember. I was so drunk, it was so irresponsible. I left in the middle of the night, and I was so ashamed.”

Daya hummed. Dhruva felt the bile rise in his throat but he asked the words anyways. “You?”

Daya shrugged. “Nothing that lasted more than a night. I was so angry when you left, at you for not giving us a chance. At myself for not stopping you. At the universe for taking you away from me. I practically reverted to who I was before you. It took waking up on the beach, half naked, and surrounded by my own vomit to realize that I wouldn’t let you break me. Maruti and Shravni didn’t say anything, but I could see the disappointment in their eyes, and that hurt almost as much as you leaving.”

Dhruva felt a tear escape. “I’m sorry.”

Daya sighed again, lifting one hand to rub at his face. He suddenly looked older, shoulders slumped with a hidden burden and Dhruva felt sick again. “You keep saying that Dhruva, but what is done is done. We can keep standing here, explaining exactly how many ways we broke our hearts over the past five years because we were so scared. But frankly, I am tired. I want to live damn it, and I want to live with you. Because despite everything,” Daya gave a bittersweet laugh that had Dhruva reaching to cup his cheek on instinct. Daya rested his head on Dhruva’s hand, closing his eyes as he took a shuddering breath before opening them to look straight at Dhruva, “despite everything, I still love you so much. I still want to see you laugh, and smile, and I want to take you home.”

Dhruva couldn’t hold back the sob, or stop himself from crashing into Daya, but the man held steady, like he always did. Dhruva’s solid ground in the storm. “You deserve better than me.”

“Debatable bangaram,” Daya whispered into Dhruva’s ear as he wrapped his arms around his waist, “but I want you. Do you still want me?”

Of all the stupid questions….Dhruva clutched at the back of Daya’s hoodie, burying himself deeper. “Every second of every day since I left our home.”

Daya held him tighter. “Come home then. Come back with me.”

Dhruva lifted his head, sniffling. He was sure he looked like a mess, but Daya was looking at him so besottedly, he didn’t care. “Now?”

Daya nodded.

Dhruva shook his head. “Daya, I- what do I tell our superiors?”

Daya shrugged. “Dhruva, we can decide about a permanent move and the logistics later. But I leave at the end of the week. Do you have any cases pending?”

“I- just one.” Dhruva confirmed.

“Then wrap it up quickly. You’re the DSP Dhruva, that gives you some authority. It won’t be an abuse of power if you say you need a break.”

Dhruva looked down. Could it really be so simple? “My life is in Hyderabad Daya.”

“What life?” and Dhruva knew he didn’t mean to be callous, but the words hurt nonetheless. Daya sighed. “I’m sorry Bangaram, but I arrived last week. For the past few days I have been observing you and what life? You are the first at the station and the last to leave, the other officers think you are a robot for how little you sleep. And even look at this place. I would bet anything you haven’t actually added any personal touch to it since you moved in.”

Dhruva burrowed into Daya again. “It didn’t seem important at the time, all I could focus on was work because then I wasn’t thinking about how much everything else hurt. And then I couldn’t see the point.”

“Come home Dhruva.” Daya pleaded in his ear. And Dhruva… so tired after all these years of building these shields and walls that were useless against the other man anyways, crumpled. The prospect of being back home, in that little house Daya had by the beach, with their porch and their familiar running routes. The quiet evenings spent smelling the sea salt air, and the warm afternoons burying their toes in the sun-baked sun. Dhruva yearned.

“Okay.”

Daya pulled back enough to look at Dhruva, face alight with so much happiness, Dhruva’s own vision blurred. “Okay?”

Dhruva nodded. “Okay.”

Daya whooped and then lifted Dhruva, spinning him in the narrow kitchen, despite his shouts of alarm. But when Daya set him down again, still laughing, Dhruva couldn’t stop his own laughter. This ridiculous man, this charming, idiotic, brave man. He pulled Daya in by the back of the neck and kissed him. His heart felt like it was taking flight in his chest, and the sun seemed to glow brighter around them as Daya pressed him against the counter. At the edge of his awareness, he heard an alarm going off. Pushing Daya away was excruciating, and Dhruva chuckled as the man merely latched onto his neck instead. He pawed at the counter till his hand wrapped around his phone. Switching off the alarm, he tapped at Daya’s head lightly with his phone. “Come on, we are running out of time, let me make you breakfast, and then we can head out.”

Daya made a dissatisfied noise and he nipped once more at Dhruva’s throat before letting him go. “Spoilsport.”

Dhurva smiled shyly at him. He tugged at the pullstrings of the hoodie. “Go shower, I’ll have the food ready by the time you are out.”

Daya leaned in to press one more kiss before he wandered away, swaying his hips in the most distracting way. It was only when he disappeared into the bedroom that Dhruva slapped himself back to focus on the task at hand.

As promised, by the time Daya wandered back out again, buttoning the top button of his shirt, Dhruva had a nice stack of crisp dosas waiting for them, and was transferring the coriander chutney from the mixer to a separate bowl. Grinning at the tantalizing smell of the dosas, Daya took his seat. Dhruva joined him, distributing two dosas each before spooning some chutney to each of their plates.

Daya groaned at the first bite, making Dhruva blush. “Damn, I really missed your cooking too.”

Dhruva kicked him lightly, only to blush further when Daya trapped his leg between his own, and threw him a cheeky wink instead.

The pair settled into a familiar, comfortable silence as they ate, unable to stop themselves from brushing hands and fingers as they tangled their legs beneath the table. At the end of the meal, Daya disappeared again to retrieve their bags as Dhruva washed their plates. The domesticity of the routine made him smile as his heart ached in his chest. He didn’t know if things really would work out as smoothly as Daya was predicting, but he was going to give it his best shot. He had nearly destroyed them once, now he would be damned if he didn’t fight just as hard to keep the best thing in his life with him always.

Especially when it wrapped itself around his back and whispered jokes in his ear, making him laugh.

///

Am I using their names too often?

Feedback is appreciated!!

Tagging (Please please work, Tumblr I beg you): @rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @junebugyeahhh @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @bluesolace1 @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @percikawantstoread @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @zackcrazyvalentine @stanleykubricks @m3gs1mps4a @tulodiscord @teddybat24 @sally-for-sally

#rrr #dhruya #dhruva x daya #dhruva #dhruva film #daya #temper #temper film #my fic #my writing

84 notes · View notes