#just commissioned a friend to pretty up this skin. and i decided that this is Oleander Reborn™️

[partyinthemysterymachine]

hi

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ CHALKBOARD AND NAILS

tw. noncon, yandere, dumbification, objectification, daddy kink, some degradation, some praise, threats, brief mention of murder and blood, hair pulling, forced oral wordcount. 4.5k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @totalleelee ♡♡♡ here you are my loVE!!! happy late birthday to your friend as well, and I really hope you guys enjoy it! I always like getting to write new characters and Nanami was definitely a fun one. I had to make the fic longer bc I wanted moreEeeeee but yea i just really really hope you enjoy it, and thank you again a miLLIOn for commIng me iM so sO HONOUREDDD

nanami kento x fem!reader

You should think about what you’re doing. Lying upside down off the couch with your eyes big and long, distracting lashes and your hair hanging; casting playful shadows on the floor when you move. His couch. He’d like to believe you’re doing it on purpose -hell, most people would probably be inclined to- when you’ve got that coy, little smile on your face and your shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of skin above your pants.

He would assume if you had ever dared to come onto him in any way. But you haven’t, and so he can’t, not when you remain the perfectly sweet, kind, respectful graduate they hired only a few years ago— and it makes him too aware of you.

Nanami’s not the prim and proper bootlicker Gojo jokes he looks like; so among the other sorcerers, it isn’t even too illogical that you would cling to him a little. A kouhai dumped on his doorstep when the higher-ups decided to employ them fresh out of school. If it were anyone else, he would’ve complained until the choice was overruled. But you’re not anyone else. He can’t even lie about the fact that he’s grown quite the attachment to you.

Your bubbly, engaged energy and blueberry scented shampoo and cheap coffee in styrofoam cups that you always, always forget to throw away at the end of the day. Your chattering that rings through his brain before he goes to sleep and the way you talk and talk and talk when he won’t. You’re the exact opposite of an enigma, because that would require that you left him with some mysteries, and you don’t have the ability to keep your mouth shut. He hates how easy you wind him around your little finger, and he hates that he hates it.

Nanami’s not a dependant guy- and it seems to be your goal to prove him so fucking wrong.

“Why wouldn’t that be possible? I mean, it’d be hard if suddenly a curse shows up and you’re called up in the middle of the night and have to rush to work, and our rates of serious injury are pretty high. But I think I could make it work! Y’know, communication is key and all that.” Your pretty lips shine as you ramble on. You prop your head onto one arm, and turn over so your leg is basically straddling his furniture. “Have you ever dated a non-sorcerer while you’ve been a grade one, Nanamin?”

He lets out a slow exhale, and shifts his gaze back from the lines of your throat to his book so you don’t catch him looking. “No.”

“Not once? In like twelve years?” You raise a brow like you’ve suddenly discovered he’s some ancient fossil dug up from the canal.

“I prefer not to leave my partners for weeks on end with no explanation because the sorcerer world forbids it— so no. And I didn’t graduate twelve years ago, brat.” With the spine of the book he taps your nose, before getting up from the chair to join you on the couch. The few drinks have been abandoned as you finally let the blood back out of your head and wobble like a deer, blinking too slowly. Even now, you’re pretty. Prettier than he wants you to be, taking in the soft slope of your nose and the pillowy lips and your stupid flush on your face. Brat is right.

“I think I’ll do it,” you declare after a few seconds, and rest your head back into the couch with a pout. “I get lonely. And most sorcerers have giant egos.” He’s not sure if it takes him aback -can’t place the emotion that washes over him a few inches at a time- but he finds himself watching the side of your face a little too tightly. The cogs turn in his head and send some uncomfortable cold to gather in the pit of his stomach. Your lashes flutter and some wetness lines your waterline, and he can tell that you mean it. It isn’t the alcohol, he knows you better than enough.

When you look up at him, your faces are only a few inches apart— soft breaths filling the narrow space between. Has he ever told you he loves you? He’s not a man of too many words, that’s always been more your style than his— so probably not. But he does. So much it carves a gaping hole in his chest upon impact. He doesn’t have to say anything to see the way your eyes flutter shyly with the near perfect closeness. As your silence hangs as the room disappears, his hand twitching on his thigh. Aren’t you partly his like he’s yours? That’s how it should work. It’s the only logical course of action, and so he can’t help but lean in.

You’re just too shy to say anything- right? You wouldn’t hang out with him so much if you didn’t, wouldn’t trust and touch him, or confide in him so much if you didn’t. His heart burns in his chest the closer you seem to get. But before he can finish up the gap, you giggle and back away. “Wow! Hey, we almost kissed.” Your voice is a higher pitch than normal, but still rambly. Fuck. “I didn’t expect you to be so close when I looked up,” your nose and cheeks are burning hot, “you scared me, Nanamin~”

You stand from the couch instead, and lean towards him with that little smile that drives him crazy at night. “Senpai, it’s clearly time for me to go home. I’m getting sloppy.” You are. And as much as he wants to use that as an excuse to grab you by your waist and pull you into his lap, it wouldn’t do any good. Not when you’re too busy running your mouth to understand the consequences. He loves you, but you’re one infuriating little runt. You run your hand through his hair like it’s an intrusive thought, spilling loose locks onto his forehead, and then you smack your lips. “Will you see me to the door at least?”

For not the first time, he blames your loose lips for making it so hard for him.

+

You’re entirely different outside the four walls of his apartment.

It’s a coincidence that he finds himself across the street as he spots you walking under the streetlights with a little jump in your step. You look a different sort of formidable— clinging to the arm of some plain fucking loser that is so very clearly drooling all over you. It’s almost pathetic how easily swayed the guy is, as you bat your lashes and smile at him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, it rings a little familiar, but common sense and logic get pushed down a little under the feeling of anger that he feels bubbling up in him.

Not at you— though he told you he didn’t think it a good idea, you’ve always been a bit dense. In need of protection. It isn’t an option, and Nanami’s responsible for you. He looks out for you. This fucking loser though, is oblivious about anything but the skin your dress is showing off. In the brief few moments he gets to spot you walking off towards your street, that much becomes clear. You love making it hard for him. You’re basically magnetic, dragging him along from whatever chore he was doing to follow behind patiently, getting more and more agitated.

See, Nanami has thought quite often about what he is, and isn’t. You forced him to think it over whenever he found his mind wandering back to you each time it had the chance, squeezing around his cock and whining out your dramatics into his mouth. In his imagination, he’s easy to wrap up into a neat bow. With a begrudgingly growing interest each time you landed on his couch, or trailed behind him like a puppy at work. It’s because of all that introspection that he decided he isn’t a good do-er. He does good, and he is perfectly adequate at doing it too. But he doesn’t do it for the praise of it.

Nanami isn’t a hero. He isn’t a vigilante.

He’s a simple guy with simple wants: you. So there’s only one reason that crystalizes in his mind as he finds himself walking a good distance behind this fucking loser that you’re blinking stars up at. It isn’t a noble one. Just that every fiber in him aches to grab the guy by the back of his neck and kick his head like a soccer ball. You wouldn’t like that much, but he still wants to do it.

You’re beaming and chattering along like you do at such a pace that you don’t even notice that he’s started to follow behind. Hell, you barely even acknowledge a passerby to move out of the way. You’re totally zoned in to your doe-eyed, little fantasies— even as the distance gets closer and closer, and he’s walking down the now familiar streets towards your apartment. And as much as he wants to blame you, he can't. Not really. It’s not like he didn’t know what a sweet little cheerleader you were when you were prancing around his office with the shortest skirts known to man and a coquettish blink of your long lashes. But it’s different when it’s some two-bit, middle aged non-sorcerer with a five o’clock shadow.

It’s different when it isn’t him. Even you must know that. You must feel it.

The sky’s darkening as your conversation goes from enthusiastic to clearly flirty, letting your giggle ring out down the lane— as he makes up the last bit of distance. The guy’s probably musty breath reaching you as he swings his arm over your shoulder, as he pulls you close. As he fills your head with all kinds of promises that he definitely won’t actually meet as soon as he gets your pretty hands around his cock. He knows it, and he knows that even your innocent, sweet personality would take a hit if that happened. You wouldn’t be able to perform well at work, and maybe even your relationship with Nanami would suffer if you got your heart broken.

There’s a very clear path before him that ends right where you’re walking up the steps towards your door, and those pretty lips form words he can’t focus on. He walks up to the door, and only now do you glance behind you and your pretty eyes go curiously wide at him. “Nanami?” You’re so fucking cute. But that stupid fucking arm around your shoulders is in his way. It blocks you from view, and ruins the sight. It’s a bother. There’s only the faintest hints of  jealousy and rage left in his veins - when he gives you a quick nod, then turns towards the guy who’s now got an awfully dumb expression on his face. It reminds him a little of a curse, blank and narrowed and disturbed. He feels eerily calm, really. It’s a simple problem with a simple solution, isn’t it.

“What are you doing here-” you start to say, before you stumble back.

Blood splatters all over, and with an awfully easy motion that stupid head rolls and drops to the floor. It’s quick, and there’s a few seconds where he waits for the resistance. The uncomfortable feeling of guilt. But it doesn’t come—

Until your shaky hand clutches almost painfully onto his shirt, pinching him. “H- Nanamin. What the hell do you think you’re doing? What did you-” You gasp, breaking off into a choked cry when your eyes take in the sight before you, before squeezing your eyes shut entirely and starting to shake harder. “What’s- why?! What did you do? Why did you do that?! I can’t- I can’t even- what- why?!”

You shove him aside, and his foot lands in the mess as you fumble sticking the key into the lock— too shaky to control your own extremities well. But your mouth still hasn’t stopped running. “Stay away! Go away! You’re- I- hick- I don’t wanna look!” You finally manage to get the key turned by the time the tears are making your cheeks entirely shiny, snot running and lip wobbly like a five year old— and sink down into a crouch to start sobbing it out into your arm. “You just killed a-an-” You can’t even make it halfway through without breaking out into another squeak. “F-for no reason. I invited him here- seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Your face doesn’t come up again for breath until he grabs you by the arm to help you up, and you shove at him again, almost yelling this time. “No, no, no no no! Leave me alone!” This little scene you’re making is gonna attract attention, you know. “Leave me alone, I want to go in!” Before the situation can get out of hand, he pushes your door open enough to toss you inside, and the body after you. There’s a muffled little whimper from you when it lands with a thump on your floor. But as soon as he closes the door, the surge of adrenaline calms.

He just has to explain it to you, give him a minute.

“I don’t wanna- I don’t-”

For some reason, the entire situation winded him, and his beating heart bangs loudly in his chest. He drops his weapon aside and kicks off his shoes, and goes to you— where you’re cocooned in your own arms, knees to your chest. “Hey, it’s-”

“Leave me alone!” you squeak, knocking his hands away from you, only briefly looking up. “Go. Hck- go away!” You’re crying so much that your eyes are red and your cheeks puffy. But he still grabs you by your arms and hauls you up into his chest, ignoring the way you make yourself dead weight. Brat. He wants to say it, but he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t be too happy to hear it at this very moment. It’s not like he blames you. He’s always tried to shield you from the more gruesome parts of the occupation as much as possible. Of course you’d be upset. “Nanamin~” you whine.

“Shhh, just calm down. It’s all good now.” His heart still beats so loud. Maybe he was angrier than he first imagined. He carries you -much to your dismay, if your sniveling cries are anything to go off- out of the hall and into your bedroom. Where it smells of perfume and girly body lotion, and so overwhelmingly like you it takes him aback a little. You’re still crying, and still talking- but he does his best to drown it out in favor of explaining. See, he’s always been such a sucker for you. Swallowing down the slight rasp in his voice, he allows you to drop back into your bed, and looks down at you. You’re still pretty even with your eyes clenched closed, and crying like a baby. “There, ‘s okay.”

He runs his thumb along your eyes, then settles down next to you on the plush mattress. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Listen-”

“How can I -hck- listen?!” You’re quick to turn your face away from him, and wrap your arms around yourself a bit tighter— probably unaware of the distracting way you push up your tits that way in that little implication of a dress. Really, Nanami swallows, you can obviously do much better than that loser that’s probably staining your carpet at the entrance. Your lip wobbles again, before you suck it into your mouth. “I don’t know what- or how- but that isn’t okay, Nanamin. I just-”

So again, he tries to get your attention, this time by grabbing your arm. “Just listen. I did it for you- if this was anyone else I wouldn’t have been so pressed.” It’s true. No one is a priority like you are. “I had to.”

“What are you talking about? How- is killing someone- oh god, there’s a dead guy in my house, Nanamin! I don’t k- what am I gonna do? Why would you-”

“I’m trying to tell you something.” His voice is lower and sharper this time, and your eyes finally shoot open to look at him. But it isn't that adoring little look you normally have, and somehow that pisses him off too. You really need to have everything spelled out for you, huh. He loves you though, really, he genuinely, genuinely does. As more than just an equal— if he could, he’d give you everything. He just doesn’t know how to say it, staring back at the wobbly tears on your face. “I love you,” is what ends up coming out, and then a breath.

And he’d say more if you weren’t such a talker.

Your face goes a little distant for a few seconds, before you shake your head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I will tell you, if you just-”

“I can’t accept that, senpai! You can’t just go around and kill-”

“I was protecting you!”

“From what?!” Before you even give him a chance, a real one, you start righting yourself on the bed and run a hand under your nose. And you stare at him with such disbelief and broken trust that it makes him feel a little dizzy. He doesn’t know exactly how he imagined himself spilling his guts, but it wasn’t like this. “You need to leave. And I need to contact someone from the higher ups to- take care of- I don’t even know,” you sob, “I don’t know how any of this goes. That’s so messed up, Kento.” That’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his first name. Scolding him for a choice he made purely for you. He did this for you. “You need to-”

He can’t let the first time end this way.

“Stop talking.”

“Stop talking?” You echo back to him, and glare, also getting up off the bed and farther away from him— and he can’t help but follow. “What did you think was gonna happen? That I wasn’t going to say anything?” As he gets up with you, you walk back a step, and your eyes flick back and forth between him and the door a few times. But he chases, and you jump in surprise when your back meets the wall, effectively trapping you between the wall and him. “I- Nanami-”

“Kento.”

You barely blink as you take a sharp intake of air, and then hold your hands up to his chest to keep some space between you two. “Look- just- we can talk about this, but I can’t just ignore that there’s a dead body in my house, Kento.” He’s really sick of you talking. You’re lucky he loves your voice so much, because if it was anyone else, he wouldn’t stand for it. Whatever you see in his expression must have you worried, because that slight defiance that remains gets awfully feeble when he reaches for you this time. “You’re scaring me. Please, just- hck- just back up. Let me process this, and then we can talk.”

“No, all your talking just gets in the way.” Your eyes go wide and a wave of heat washes over your features, making you look even more attractive. If he can’t tell you, he’ll just show you. You’ve got it all fucking wrong. What he feels for you is true love. Before you can go on another mad ramble, he grabs you and drags you back to bed, as gently as he can while having his hand screwed tight around your wrist. He wouldn’t ever actually hurt you. As you land on the bed, he holds you down— watching as you open your mouth to talk. But you can’t, because he’s already shoved two fingers between your lips and feels the way your hot, wet tongue squirms as he pushes them down your throat. “There, that’s better.”

Still you’re trying to talk, it’s almost funny. You whine around his fingers and gag when you can’t, breathing his name into an uncomfortable moan that just turns him on. You try to pull your head away, but you can’t. “You’re a lot sweeter when you’re not running your mouth sometimes, baby.” He can’t help it, it just comes out. He likes you so much, and you just look so cute gagging on his fingers and grabbing his sleeve like you’re not sure whether or not to pull or push. Tears start welling up along your waterline when he runs his fingertips over your soft, pink tongue. And his cock twitches in his pants.

That’s the good part, see. Even with all this fighting, you two still get along so well. You make him a better man when he’s around you. At least, in theory. He’s not crazy, he knows that holding you down and making you choke on his fingers isn’t really the best course of action -but you left him no choice- and he’s better off finishing what he started. “If you shut up,” he draws his fingers out of your mouth to start unzipping his pants, “I’ll let you breathe. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you won’t want to talk again.” It’s all up to you, pretty girl. Simple cause and effect. You take one sharp breath as you try to get out from under his weight, but there’s really nowhere you can go.

So you do what you do best, and whine. “Nanami~” It’s a baby-ish little whimper that makes him name sound so fucking good. But still. He grabs your face to squish your cheeks, and stares down at you with such intensity that you keep your cries in.

“It’s Kento.” His voice is a low, soft rumble. He wonder if it gives away the way his body feels right now, standing above you while his cock strains against his pants. They’re getting too tight to be comfortable. “Or daddy- you like that better? Say it.” You shake your head into his grip -but your ears start glowing another color brighter, almost like he’s caught you in a lie. Of course you do. You and him are made to be together. You let out another little squeak before he lets go of you to start undoing his pants. 

That apparently seems to be too much, because suddenly you’re trying to get up as you speak. “No, no, I’m not-” You’re trapped when he forces you back down and now yanks your head back by your hair, making you cry again. “Ow, please senpai— I like you, I really do- but I can’t- I- hang on.” The heat crawls up his neck to his ears watching your eyes go big as the belt falls and his pants go down his thighs. You really do look good on your fucking knees.

“I told you to stop yapping, didn’t I?” He asks in return, and finishes sliding his boxers down, kicking them aside. Then he pulls your face towards his cock and watches as you whine. “Open up for daddy. There’s only one thing your mouth’s good for.” You’re so easy to hold in place, and it sends unimaginable gratification through his body when your little tongue comes out for him. You’re really such a brat, making everything so fucking hard for him. 

You open your mouth enough for him to start pushing inside at just the slightest yank of your hair, making you whine and whimper as you shuffle around between his legs. Your hands come to rest on his thighs, but that doesn’t hold him from sliding the hot head of his cock as far as he can into your mouth right away. You look amazing drooling all over his cock, choking when he starts to move with the most patient moves he can manage. It’s not easy to do much of anything except rock himself on your soft tongue and feel your whining go down his shaft and balls. “There, now you’re making yourself useful. That’s what you do best, hm, fucking brat?”

“Agh, fuck- that’s- such a soft little mouth.” You make him feel heavenly, and by the way you’re shifting down there on the floor -trying and failing to get the friction you want- you’re also feeling it. He can tell by the way you blink up at him so slow, swallowing around him and letting that pretty voice out in the cutest, little moans. Just for him. Only ever for him. “You’re so lucky you’re this fucking cute,” he ends up rasping out, before letting you finally pull back to breathe when you start jittering. “Say something smart again, brat.”

“Agh, daddy,” you sob, drool spilling down your chin, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He can tell you are. Your big eyes glossy and cheeks hot, you try to get up from the floor, and he yanks you up to turn you over instead. Your little dress rides up too easily, giving the rest of the way when he shoves it up your back. It’s almost embarrassing to see how wet you are, lacy panties soaked all the way through and peeled too easily aside to reveal that needy pussy. And you don’t even deny it, just shiver when he runs his finger up and down your slicked up cunt. “Please.”

He’s such a sucker for you, fuck. It’s almost like you know it. “My little cock slut, look at that. You’re dripping down your thighs, brat.” He spits on your center once before lining up and sliding in, and watching as your little pussy stretches around his cock with some effort— as you let out a lewd, almost desperate whine. “Fuck.” And Nanami hoists himself over you to start fucking into you, hips meeting your ass as he bottoms out, as you open your legs further to let him in. Your back half hangs pathetically over the end of the bed as he fucks into your tight, hot -so fucking hot and wet and beaming- pussy and his balls clap against you. You feel so good it’s hard to hear anything over his own heartbeat hammering wildly against his ribs.

“Daddy feel good inside?”

“Mhm, agh-yea.”

You too, baby. Nothing in the world feels as good as letting your pussy swallow and suck him in deeper, like you’re trying to hold him in that impossibly hot, blissful clutch forever. He can’t even hear much of your whining and moaning and pitiful struggle, but you probably haven’t stopped. You don’t even have the energy to close your mouth, trying to push back to meet his thrusts more even as he bumps against the end of your pussy— and his one hand is squeezed around your neck. But you look pretty this way. You look useful.

“Tell me how much you like me.”“So~ much, so much, fuck. I’m gonna cum, Kento. Daddy.” Your mouth’s still running when he snakes his hand underneath you to start rubbing at your puffy clit, and feels the way his own body starts to tighten when your walls clench wildly around him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I want you to cum too, want to feel it- I wanna have you deep inside me forever, ah, ah. Oh, you feel so good, fuck.” It’s almost ironic when he thinks about it. How much he likes you running your mouth like this, begging for more. It’s poetic.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[kingkatsuki]

— late

This was completely inspired by a conversation I had with my friend about her kids.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Warnings: girl dad!Bakugou, established relationship, not proof-read as always.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Juggling family as a Pro-Hero in the top 10 is never easy. No matter what you do to ensure your plans go smoothly, crime doesn’t sleep— especially not when it’s your daughters fifth birthday.

“I hate you!” Is the last thing Bakugou hears before his daughters bedroom door is slammed shut, the silence after is deafening as you watch the colour drain from your husbands face.

His chest still heaving from the speed in which he rushed home, dirt and grime stain his skin as he stands dejected in the middle of the living room. Boots that are usually abandoned at the door trudge filth through your home as Bakugou stands statuesque in place.

“Baby,” You hum, reaching around his frame to bring him closer to you as you rest your chin on his chest to stare up at him, “You know she doesn’t mean that—”

“Course she does,” He rasps, “She said she fuckin’ hates me.”

You can tell from the slight lilt to his gruff voice that your big, strong husband is on the verge of tears. Bringing his arm up to rub at his blackened eyes with the ball of his hand, smearing the eyeliner along his cheekbones.

Bakugou was used to being hated, from the public to the media and the Hero Commission. It was usually something he could brush off with ease, laughing off angry emails or poorly written articles. But it was a different kind of hurt when the words had come from his own daughter.

“She’s hurting right now,” You soothe, tightening your grip on him as his Adam’s apple bobs, “She was just excited for you to be at the party, but she understands—”

Bakugou had booked this day off a year in advance, it was always the first thing he looked at on the calendar, even before your birthday. It was his daughters special day, and he was determined for it to be perfect. Fully embracing whatever theme she’d decided on for her celebrations— this year had been a Barbie theme that had left your home embellished in vibrant pink and glitter that would probably stay embedded into your plush carpets until her next birthday.

He’d spent the previous night carefully wrapping a custom Barbie doll in pretty pink paper as you prepared the house for her party. Bakugou had even picked out an entire hero outfit that was an on brand Barbie pink, instead of his usual colours that he was planning on surprising his daughter with.

But even with all these plans in place, and even arranging backup from his dutiful sidekicks at the agency— the life of a Pro-Hero is never easy. And just as Bakugou was preparing to change into his outfit for his daughters party, he was called into work. An emergency that superseded anyone working at his agency today, as the Hero Commission requested his presence in the field.

It’s not the first time it’s happened, and Bakugou knows it won’t be the last. Even a last minute phone call to Deku to take the lead wasn’t enough to save his day, as the Commission ended up calling both heroes to the scene.

Hours later, he was explosive and inconsolable. Telling the authorities to fuck the crime scene reports and statements as he shoved an unwitting reporter out of his face as their camera crashed to the floor, certain his PR team would be in his inbox about that incident first thing tomorrow morning. But he was completely uninterested in humouring any of them today, not when he could’ve been at home with his family.

Coming in through the front door as he finally realised just how late it was when the house was completely empty besides you and his daughter.

“I should’ve been here, she needed me—”

“The city still needs Dynamight,” You murmured, “What was the situation?”

“Bad,” He grumbled, “Shithead derailed a train in the city, had a group of school kids on it. One almost— the look in his eyes when he was fallin’.“

He trailed off, scrunching his nose as he thought back to the scene. You felt his arms wrap around your shoulders as he clung to you, leaning into your warmth as he tried to calm his racing heart.

“But he didn’t, right?”

He shook his head as you smiled, breathing in the scent of smoke and ash from his quirk as soot covered his body.

“Because Dynamight is a hero.”

“But not to my own daughter.”

“You’ll always be her hero, baby.” You soothe as he leans down to bury his face in the curve of your neck, deeply inhaling the scent of you.

“I’m a terrible dad,” His breath tickles your neck as you pull back to frown at him.

“Don’t you dare say that,” You scrunch your nose in irritation, “You’re the best dad, Kats.”

“If I was, I woulda been here for her.” He scoffs.

“You’re out there keeping us safe, keeping other kids safe. Making sure they get to go home to their dads too.” You cradle his face in your palms to press a soft kiss to his chapped lips.

The sound of little feet coming down the stairs breaks him away from you as you turn to see your daughter, still dressed in her full party outfit, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey, is that my little princess?” Bakugou rasps as she comes towards you both, crouching down to her height and adjusting the pink tiara that sits on top of her head.

“Barbie princess.” She whispers, holding a piece of pink paper out to him as he takes it.

“Barbie princess.” He corrects himself, moving his attention to the words words etched onto the page as he unfolds it.

‘I’m sorry I wouldn’t trade you for any other daddy in the world.’

A smile spreads across your face at the cute sentence as you feel the muscles in Bakugou’s back immediately relax, reaching down to lift your daughter up to hold her to his chest as her small arms immediately circle his neck.

“I’m sorry I missed your party, sweetheart,” He rasps, smoothing her wild hair down.

“I’m sorry too,” She sniffs, “I don’t hate you, daddy.”

Bakugou’s lips curl into a soft smile as he leans forward to press a kiss onto her cheek.

“I love you, princess.” He whispers, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.

“Love you too, daddy.” She smiles.

“But you know you can’t trade me anyway, right?” He frowns, pulling back to meet her gaze, “I’m your daddy and I always will be.”

[some-insomniac-writes]

♡ Picture Perfect ♡

A/N: COMMISSION FOR MY LOVELY SUNSHINE ANON!!!! Thank you so so so much for your support and patience my love, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!!

Content/warnings: Puppy! hybrid reader x Vendetta era! Leon, 2nd person (you/yours), fem AFAB reader, reader calls Leon daddy, very grump x sunshine, lots and lots of fluff, a moment of angst and realisation but it all gets resolved :3

Word count: 7700 est. (sweet jesus)

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Leon hadn’t gone to a shelter expecting anything. An act of service, he told himself. That’s what this was. Entertaining the idea of adoption. Like people who drop loose change into charity boxes, the ones by the cash register with scuffed edges, to feel better about themselves. Right now he feels like the scuffed one. 

‘Go to the shelter,’ Chris said. ‘Hybrids make good companions,’ Chris said. He was vouching for his fellow soldiers at the BSAA, stick-up-the-butt men with trained military hounds. And judging by the posters hung on the windows outside the pet store, satisfaction was guaranteed. So he expected to enter a building of colourful lights, cheery music, and happy hybrids as far as the eye could see. Fluttering butterflies, sunshine and rainbows. Just like the commercials on tv. 

What a heap of shit. A smelly one, too. Big, steamy, stinky load of it. Those flyers were all smoke and mirrors, and let’s just say this was one hell of a broken mirror. The place reeked of bad luck. At least the stalls were cleaner than his conscience. Should he have actually done his research for this, even if it was just for appearances? It wasn’t the worst place in the world for him to go looking, right? No, right. 

Leon had seen his fair share of hybrids in his time at the DSO. Missions where he took them out of labs, stopped genetic modification. Sick bastards they were, people prodding rabbits with all kinds of needles. Yeah, he enjoyed taking those types of operations down. 

But he’d also seen the ones trotting around the office on occasion. Trained to sniff out B.O.W blood, or health herbs and antibiotics. And yeah, he was intrigued. Had watched the training rounds, memorised the starting commands, noted the stiff tail and hard gaze on every breed there. So he figured he may as well take a look at the less hard-ass offers.

God, what a mistake that was.

How had the mighty fallen so far? He’d planned to walk the dusty concrete floors with pride, to look down at the row upon row of hybrids only to decide no, he did not in fact, need a pet. A companion. A friend, a lover, whatever. No rabbits, no puppies, no kitties. He was too old for this shit. He’d seen it all before, lazing black cats and bouncy bunnies. Nothing stuck out to him, he’d tried. He could at least say he tried. From then on if anyone asked why his face would sink into a frown watching his coworkers bring in their happy-go-lucky hybrids, he had an open opportunity to rub a calloused palm over the salt-sweat skin of his neck and mutter that he tried.

That’s what mattered, right? Sure, that’s what mattered. He tried. He kept that thought in mind as workers tried introducing him to some of their more ‘respectable’ species, the fluffier cat girls and boxier dog boys. None of it was for him. All of this was a lost cause. 

And then there you were. 

Next thing he knew he had the thought of you living at his house stuck in the back of his head. Not just the back, though. No you’d left handprints - pawprints - over every fissure of his brain, burrowing into the ventricles. Now you were doing two little circles before settling into his cerebrum, digging at the surface to bury down nice and deep. Maybe bury a bone there. Extra comfy. 

He’s stuck. 

You’re a cutie. Pretty as a picture. A fine should be plastered across that sweet face for even existing, a paper bag over your head. It’s a crime for anything resembling you to exist, because otherwise Leon would’ve picked up every hybrid on the street. Those puppy-dog eyes pierced right through his soul like a bullet to the chest. And he left his kevlar vest at home, too. What a mistake. 

A floppy eared thing, fluffed to the max, your tail tapping aimlessly behind you. Bored. Lonely. They kept the pup hybrids in separate kennels when the little kids weren’t here to meet them, so you were on your own. Eyes as big as saucers, he was sure they’d have popped out of your head by now like one of those squeeze toys, the ones you squish so they squeak something reedy and awful. 

Glossy. You looked dejected, sad. Hopeful yet hopeless. In his mind he saw you bounding through long green grass in the dark night, nipping at fireflies between golden giggles. Watching you paw at the sky aimlessly, beckoning upon lightning bugs so you might try and ‘accidentally’ catch one in your mouth. You were made to be loved by someone.

It hurt. In a way you reminded him of his younger self. That cop, once bright eyed and bushy tailed, now decaying and withering into the husk of a human he was now. The one that burned down with the rest of whatever was left of Raccoon City.

And yeah, he wasn’t proud of this shelter specifically being his only pick of the bunch, there were hundreds he could’ve picked from. But this was a boot-out shelter, AKA they only hold onto hybrids for so long before kicking them to the curb. Just the thought of you, your fluffy self out on the streets..

He couldn’t let that happen to you.

And then those wet eyes fell on him and your tail swished quicker, your ears perking. Like a heartbeat picking up, a skipping pulse. You’re playing jump rope with the veins to his heart, his BPM’s music to those fuzzy ears. And that tail? Oh it’s swaying to the beat.

Something in your body seemed to click at the sight of him. It was an instinct, a switch flicking in your puppy brain. If he were in a movie this would be the part where time slows down and the camera focuses on his face and your own, panoramic view of the environment you both found yourselves in. Your face behind the bars, slowly shuffling your way towards him in curiosity. 

That’s when he knew he had to take you home. Surely he was a better choice than the other scum that might get a hold of a soft thing like you. And you seemed sweet. So it was settled.

The paperwork was easy enough. Signing on dotted lines, signatures to his left and right. Handing over his credit card for the chance at ‘friendship’ or something like that. The only thing he truly recalled was leaving with you in the backseat, curled up against the car cushions. 

Change. That’s what this would be.

You were well behaved. Quiet, too. At first anyway. Leon’s whole life had been thrown into disarray and all he had to do was give his credentials to some lady with a blurry nametag, confirm he wasn’t a psycho murderer or trying to Cruella DeVille you for your ears and tail. Which he absolutely didn’t have the time for, so no need to worry about that factor.

It only took a few hours for his house to be filled to the brim with new puppy gear. Collars and leashes of different colours (he couldn’t decide on those), squeaky toys and stuffed animals, comfy clothing, food and water bowls, and of course one of those playpens to lock up overnight. Leon wasn’t entirely educated on how to take care of you. Was he supposed to get you a room, a proper bed? How human was he supposed to treat you? 

The overall adjustment period was fast, for you anyway. Sure, at first you’d gone all timid when he brought you home, staring up at this well-built, shaggy man in a leather jacket like he was about to lock you in your cage forever. Might be a poacher, your brain scrambled together, or one of those mill owners. Yeah, he looked the type. But as soon as you heard him whisper a “Well hey there, sweetheart,” in your direction in hopes of coaxing you out of the backseat you were set and smitten. And in case he was still hesitant, you gave him a pretty clear giveaway on how you felt. After he’d set up your cage in the living room, packed full of blankets and pillows atop your pet bed, and watched you practically dolphin dive into the sea of plush, it became clear you were truly just happy to have a home. You were happy to be with him. 

Not like you spent many days in that puppy bed anyway, it only took a few days for you to come whimpering at Leon's feet in the night to climb under the blankets with him. And of course, he caved. How strong could you expect a man to be? Not to mention the stuffed toys you brought with you every time you hopped up, he’d become familiarised with all their names by the third week. 

Sure, it’d been tough for Leon in some areas, but in some ways it was also easy. You brought solace where you went, and you knew better than to overstep boundaries. He found out quick enough that you didn’t entirely know what to address him as, ‘Leon’ felt strange for some gut reasons but ‘sir’ and ‘mister’ were too formal, so you immediately leapt to daddy. Which, of course, caught him horrendously off-guard. Almost sent him into cardiac arrest the first time you yipped it in his direction, a plaque of cholesterol, fat, and an unbelievable amount of cuteness clogging his arteries. 

The worst part? After a few days he found himself enjoying it. Had his heart fluttering when you giggled it out as he ruffled your ears, rolling onto your back as he gave your belly an affectionate rub. Was he sick for liking it? Sure. He needed a doctor, stat. Symptoms included being extra ready to get home from work, planning his meals more thoroughly, and catching himself daydreaming more than usual. The diagnosis was a fluffy tailed sunshine puppy who trotted around behind him 24/7. A sweet shadow, a nosy thing. Prescribed treatment? Lots of cuddles, apparently. Cuddles, and plenty of daily shenanigans.

On one particular day he caught sight of you padding through the hallway slowly, looking up at all the photos he had hung upon the walls. Drinks with Claire and Chris on his birthday where he (begrudgingly) attended the surprise party they’d set up. Standing in the Whitehouse with some old man in a fancy suit. An old picture of just him sat atop the table below it all, his graduation photo from the police academy. He didn’t have the heart to throw it out. That was merely one of many old-news trinkets scattered around the house, objects that told a mixed story of Leon Kennedy. Well, now it was the house of Leon Kennedy and his puppy girl.

With a soft thud you sat your cute butt down on the floorboards to simply.. Stare. Examine, memorise, imagine what it was all like. 

Maybe his hair was softer in this photo, shaggier in that. Darker features and rougher around the edges, as if someone had switched from watercolour to graphite, defining his jaw. More stubbled and strong now, with a broader frame. Like watching a tree trunk even out, sprouting tough branches, leaves coming to fall over his eyes in bangs. He needed a haircut soon. 

However, in that moment of watching you, he knew he’d made the right decision. He saw it in the way the silhouette of your tail swished in interest, how your flopped ears perked up an inch whenever you focused on the finer details. Most of all he loved that signature puppy head-tilt. He got one of those whenever you didn’t understand what he was saying, be that garble about his work or the lulled out words from whatever book he read to you as you laid in his lap.

Yes, you laid in his lap now. And it was starting to feel so normal to him. The wagging tail in his peripheral vision, your eyes peeking up at his desk in his study. It all came so naturally, including the moments of chaos. One of which was the messy dance of getting you bathed, or dressed.

Baths. God, you stood your ground on baths. As soon as you heard the pipes squeal you took off like a rocket. Zoomed past the potted plants, darting through the backdoor if you could make it in time. Leon had to scoop you up mid-sprint as you wriggled and squeaked to get out of his hold, and shit did you run fast when you felt like it. Oh sure, you dragged your feet to snails-pace when you had to leave the park, but suddenly his puppy had the legs of a trackstar when it was bathtime. Once he actually had you in the warm water it was a whole other thing. You just couldn’t sit still for the life of you. Thank god for bath toys, or else you’d spend every second giving your flapping ears and soaked hair the signature wet dog shake. He turned his back? Shake. Reached for the shampoo? Shake. Went to turn the faucet on? Shake. He’d honestly rather you do that than try to jump out, and at least you got extra comfy with him when it came time to towel dry you. The last time he tried the hairdryer method you’d snapped and barked at the hot air like it was a personal affront, as if the loud hum was cursing you out in its own fan-whirring way. Then came the clothes.

On a good day he could wrangle you into a shirt of some kind (usually one of his own) and a pair of fluffy shorts with a hole in the back for your tail. On other days it was a tug-of-war fight over a v-neck because it’s obviously an invitation to play and growl between giggles and not Leon seriously begging a quiet “Baby- honey, no- Please, sweetheart, Chris is coming over and you can’t be butt naked, listen to daddy-”. Sometimes he really thought those floppy ears were just painted on. God, you were a little menace.

Luckily you were also adorable. Sure, a little dull, but so damn sweet. He couldn’t count how many times he’d pretend to throw a ball, watching you go sprinting out across the floorboards, slipping in your socks, in desperate search for it. Then it’s the head tilt, a routine trot around the coffee table, and sitting in the hall with a quiet whine. Vanished, poof, thin air. Gone.  Not to worry, cause soon Leon calls out an ‘Oh look!’ and the ball has magically teleported back into his hand to your shock and awe. Pawing at his hand and begging him to explain how on earth he learned such witchcraft. 

But there were a few things that threw him off guard about you, even after settling into this routine. For starters, your face. He didn’t mean that in a harmful way, he promises. Cross his heart and all that. But you were just so… gentle. Bright. Sometimes he found himself squinting at the sheer shine of you. Made him wonder if you came with batteries that just never got removed, corroded into place after years of chasing your own tail. Stuck on this constant sunshiney state with no way to power down. 

And you were manufactured in some lab, a biological anomaly even he couldn’t wrap his head around. A person who wasn’t whole and yet was so much more than that. You contained multitudes, brought life and colour in ways those others may see a ‘normal’ never could. The pitch of your bark, your hatred - and he meant hatred - of squirrels, how fast you leapt at the opportunity for a ride in the car. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was proud to be the one to bring you home. That he was the one to trace the curves of your hand, to rub your ears, to hold you in his lap while watching late-night tv. This was good for him. This was good for both of you.

Day after day he found himself adoring you in a new way. A week ago he’d have dropped his head in his hands at the sight of you nosing his morning slippers towards his feet in the wee hours of the morning, now he can’t help but smile sleepily. Lopsided and scratchy from his beard. Because despite the energy threatening to burst from your body, you still took the time to sit and wait for him to get up. 

He was a weak man now. A trained government agent was trailing behind his puppy girl in a pet store as you insisted on getting specifically that bunny with those ears cause it looked like the one that ran outside the living room window every day. And he listened to every ramble about said rabbit as you trotted to the cash register, plushie in mouth.

He’d fallen. Hard. 

Time had passed in the blink of an eye before either of you could process it. Seasons blurred into a kaleidoscope of colours, and soon enough Leon found himself with a cuddle buddy more often than he did an empty bed. The feeling of your nose nuzzled into his shirt, strings of happy whimpers and whines mumbled from your sleepy lips, it all became his white noise. You’d made very quick friends with the sprinklers out in the yard by the time summer had rolled around, jumping back and forth over the swinging water in an attempt to catch it in your mouth. All Leon had to do was sit on the porch and watch in adoration.

What you both seemed to adore much less was when Leon left for work. It had you pawing at the windows with screeching nails, teary eyed and howling when he got home extra late. He didn’t have the heart to lock you up when he left, something about it made his chest strain. His poor girl, stuck in her little blanket cave, wondering where her daddy went. Pawing aimlessly at the wired frame, chewing on the gate between whimpers. He couldn’t bear the thought. It ached, in fact. You were hurting his heart without even doing anything.

But the past four days had been a nightmare. His first long term assignment since adopting you. Sure, Claire and Chris had done their best to entertain you since you couldn’t just be left home alone, plenty of toys and games and walks, but it just wasn’t it. You’d pace in little circles, whining and crying and crying and whining. Hours spent drying your tears with cooing and shushing from the Redfield siblings only to burst the pipes and sob some more. It was no use. Until he came back.

And now he had. After so many days (a million, you’d told Claire) without him, he was home. 

The sound of his motorcycle - that he’d retired from everything other than work for obvious reasons, vis-à-vis your sensitive ears - was a dead giveaway, and soon enough you had your cheeks squished up against the front window yapping away till your vocal cords strained. God, wasn’t that a sight. Face lifted into a glowing grin, ear perked up, tail a wagging mess. You looked like a whirlwind had been stuffed down into a body, and you were ready to tear through his home. An oh so dangerous fuzzy tornado on the hunt for endless snuggles and belly rubs to swallow up, up, up into your cyclone of love. 

You were gorgeous. You were adorable. You were everything he didn’t know he needed. He’d hardly stepped foot in the house and you were already jumping up to try and kiss and lick at his face with a thousand puppy kisses, tail wagging so fast you might just take flight. Like one of those cartoon dogs from those 80’s shows, ones Leon still can’t name to this day. That was the other good thing about all of this, you made him laugh. Chuckling hoarsely as he pushed past the door only to be met with your arms wrapped around him excitedly. 

“Daddy, you’re back! You’re home! I missed you!” Yip, yip, bark. You were melting his heart, almost running yourself into the wall at the sheer buzz of excitement thrumming through your body. 

Oh, how he’d missed you, rubbing that tender spot between your ears with a kiss to your hair. 

You’d made him soft. A side of him he never knew existed came out when he got you.

“I missed you too, pup.” He could only shake his head with a tired grin, dropping his bag at the door by the coat rack and shoe cubby. He’d had to buy one since you’d developed the habit of stealing his slippers to use as makeshift mittens. “Be careful where you’re walking there, honey.”

You were too busy babbling away about everything you’d done while he was gone to hear him properly, from playing a gazillion games of fetch to daily trips to the park. How that chipmunk had purposely ticked you off so you pawed at a tree trunk yapping at it for a good 5 minutes. And of course, how you’d almost managed to finally catch your tail. Looking up at him with so much pure puppy love with every step you took backwards through the hallway with a quickly wagging tail. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, you’d just missed him too much. 

That tail of yours though, it was out of control. Swish, swish, wag, sway. Mind of its own. Too happy to have your daddy home to focus on anything else. Pure puppy love. 

During your ramblings as Leon slowly worked at his shoelaces and zipper, all you could do was emphasise how happy you were that Chris had caved and let you visit the cafe downtown. Whilst mid explanation about what a ‘puppuccino’ was and how spectacular it tasted, the sudden smack of your fur against glass had you jumping in surprise. It seemed you’d collided with something in the midst of your excitement. The impact was followed by a loud crack, one that had Leon’s head pulling up to a swift stillness, no longer worried about getting his boots off. 

“What was that?”

There’s a concoction of emotions in his voice. A cocktail of worry, concern, and an off sternness. He’s hardly ever been stern with you. The last time he had been, the sad look on your face had him faltering. Usually he was so comfortable with being stern, it flowed freely through his body like the familiar warmth of whiskey. It was something he was so used to. But he wasn’t used to those glossy eyes tearing up at him. He was just a man, after all. And you were his puppy. 

That thought seemed to elude you both right now though, jolting to step away from the broken picture frame, looking down at the damage you’d done.

“Pup, are you-”

His academy graduation photo. You’d smacked it with your tail, and the frame had snapped.

All the colour drained from Leon’s face in one fell swoop. His calm, tired gaze ripped wide into one of shock, kicking his shoes into the shelves with a harsh thud.

“No- no no, no- shit!” His voice was a boom, it was loud and uncontrollable. Shaking the plaster of the walls with rolling thunder, his eyes zeroed in on the shattered glass, lightning crackling behind stormy blue eyes. Usually they looked so clear. Usually he was clear, his intentions and his love, how he was trying to and learning to get used to this life. And for a while he really was. “Goddamnit!”

And then this happened. 

And it was scary. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it frightened you. A dead giveaway was how your ears flattened against your hair, once wagging tail now dead still and tucked between your legs. You’re cowering. 

You were afraid. 

But Leon didn’t notice. No, this was the end of a short fuse after a long week of work. A flame to the stick of dynamite Leon Scott Kennedy sometimes found himself to be. This was not what he wanted to come home to. He was too busy pulling at his hair in a nostalgic wave of guilt, of horror clawing up his back, staring at the mess.

The mess you’d made.

Cracked fingers pick at the shattered glass in hopes of salvaging what he could, the sharp edges slicing at the flesh that had grown tender with your touch. 

You’d made him soft.

Had that been a mistake?

It must have been with the way he flinched back, cursing under his breath. Shards of the frame bit at his fingers as if in anger, snapping dogs of his past. Not like his pup, not like his sweet girl curled up in the corner, wondering if this meant he hated her.

That wasn’t the worst part.

Right across the top corner of the photo the paper had been scratched, ripped by a stray piece of glass. Slicing through the date he’d graduated. The day he thought everything was going to start getting better way back when. The sight had his whole body frozen in place. Bracing for something to happen, because something always happened to him. The feeling building from his belly to his chest, from his chest to his eyes. It was sickeningly familiar. It was a bullet to Leon’s shoulder. It was the click of a lighter to a cigarette. The screams from an Eastern European church. His bloodied fists against Arias’ face. The mole in his unit.

It was the gunshot that ripped through his family home. 

That’s what really set him off.

“This was the one thing I had from it all, this was it! The one good thing!” Rambling like a mad man, someone you’d watch talk to himself on the sidewalk late into the night. “And it was in such- such good condition. It was perfect. It was all perfect before you- Damn it, pup, why couldn’t you-”

By the time he’d finally turned to you, his words screeched to a halt. Brakes squealing at the velocity of such a hit, a surprise, he could feel his heart overturn. Rolling haphazardly down the highway. He couldn’t stop it, because he caused it. He caused such an accident. So busy running on empty thanks to work that the dried out tank had crushed beneath his feet, crunching steel caving so easily. Weak. You were weak for him. He was just only seeing it now.

He’d hurt your feelings, whether he meant to or not. Over an accident, no less.

He was the reason your body was quaking in fits similar to that of a leaf atop frozen winds. Why your eyes were shot open, glossy and round, like the first cracks in the icy pond at your favourite park making way for water. And you looked like you’d plunged through the surface. 

Maybe the most awful detail of all was the fact that Leon simply didn’t know what to say to make this better.

Licking over his chapped lips, the air in his lungs seemed to dissipate. He was left breathless, and not in the way he usually liked to be. Not like when he watched you pick at the dandelions in the backyard, or when you chased your tail in circles to the point of dizziness. Someone had trapped him in a vacuum of consequences, leaving him to face them. To face you, you and those big puppy-dog eyes threatening to flood with tears. “Look I didn’t- Oh, c’mon. You know I didn’t mean it like-”

It wasn’t working. His words were getting caught in his throat, pulling a tense cough from his chest. As if the answer was teasingly scratching at his vocal chords and no amount of water could wash it away. He could feel his chest tighten, any trace of anger or frustration being flushed from his system. Now he could think clearly. He could see how heartbroken you were.

The biggest giveaway was how your body leaned in the direction of the living room without thinking, braced on your toes. An instinct dug deep beneath those layers of fuzz and the warmth of your hand in his own. Something to be left untouched, like a toy you’d buried in the backyard, under pile after pile of soil and past traumas. 

Now Leon had dirt on his hands. The clouds in that stormy blue seemed to clear out, the moonlight streaming through the window like a lighthouse reflection. He was seeking you out, trying to let you know it was clear. That you were safe.

It just wasn’t enough.

“Hey.. Hey, no. Honey-

It was no use. He’d blinked and you were gone, left with the echo of your sock-clad footfalls against hardwood floors. Every step beating in unison with his pulse, his ears rang to the rhythm of your rushed breaths. Now you were the one pulling him along on a leash. Tugging at the weak retractable cords of his heartstrings, you’ve wrapped him around a tree once, twice, three times. His head was spinning, a splitting heat sizzling in his frontal lobe frying the edges of his mind until they curled. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, smearing the guilt from cheek to cheek, up to his forehead. He was swimming in that grief. Mourning a time before this one, praying for a reset button. You had such a way of turning him inside out without knowing it, pulling his muscles and bone up from his anatomy to gnaw affectionately on his femur and nip at his biceps. He barely hid anything from you, he never felt the need to. Who were you going to tell? The mosquitos you stalked after with a batting tail in the cooler summer nights? Please. And half the time you didn’t really understand what was going on, anyway. So there was no harm in letting you lay your head in his lap while lounging on the couch, his voice a deep lullaby soothing you to sleep, aimlessly tapping your tail against the cushions. You were so pure. You didn’t mean any harm, you never did. Leon wasn’t sure you had one malicious bone in that cute body of yours. 

How was he supposed to approach this, though? This had been the first major incident in your white-picket-fence-esque lifestyle. Did he go upstairs and change out of clothes dusted in gunpowder and shame? Try with a clean state so you had some time to yourself, some space? Is that what you wanted?

No. No, knowing your usually chipper clingy self that was probably the last thing you wanted. So he manned up, got his shit together. An unusual thing for him to say about himself, but he was in an unusual situation.

After shrugging his leather jacket off and leaving it to hang on the coat rack, he swore to leave his aggression with it. Tucked into the pockets and zipped tight, so he might save it for his next mission. There was no use in bringing shit like that into his home, where his girl was. So he’d let it gather like lint until the next time he washed it, then he’d let his conscience run through a spin cycle; in which he meant watching you do three little spins before settling into bed. You were better than any washing detergent, cleaned his slate better than disinfectant. They should sell your personality in stores, bottle your giggles for junkies to get hits off. You could be the next meth with how happy you made him, had him flying high as a kite.  

And he’d made you so sad. He was your daddy, it was his job to keep you safe, not sad. Now he had to fix that.

Your playpen. It was a puppy’s dream to get the luxuries you did, most likely. Leon couldn’t help but spoil you with everything soft, plush and velvet. It matched you. And watching you lay in front of the window, squeaky toy mid squeal lodged between your jaws lazily, was worth all the money in the world to him. Everything you did drove him nuts, he was starting to realise why so many people suggested getting a hybrid. Leon hadn’t understood what the deal was until you arrived. And now? Oh, he needed a lobotomy at this rate, because all he could think of was you. Work? You. Driving? You. Hell, his breaktime at the office made him miss the way you’d yell ‘Are you doneeeeee?’ at him from down the hall, awaiting your allocated cuddle time. You had him chasing his own tail, and he didn’t even have one.

Draped in a paw-print blanket and stuffed full of toys, the sides of your food and water bowl lovingly chewed on. Always sinking those canines into whatever you could. Well, whatever you could that wasn’t out of the question. Shoes were a big no no, the sprinkler system too, Leon was sure to make that clear. Not like the water tasted any good from it, anyway. 

With a quiet grunt (he really wasn’t getting any younger) he slowly kneeled down, denim brushing over varnished wood, peeking through the open gate of your pen. Despite having both feet on the ground - well, rather two knees - this still felt risky to him. Not like disarming a bomb, more like negotiating a hostage situation. Taking your hand in his own to lead you away from himself.

He kept his voice soft, quiet, as gentle as someone of Leon’s stature and nature could be. Like asking a wolf to hide its fangs, but he did his best.

“Hi there, darlin’.” 

He always did his best with you.

Well, almost always.

No answer. Just the sound of your meek panting, sniffling between breaths. Tears making every inhale salty in your nose and on your tongue. You always preferred it sweeter. He hated being the reason your mouth felt off, watching you run your pink tongue along your cheeks as if trying to get the taste out. At least you were still awake. Amidst the darkness of your cage he could see you buried under a mountain of blankets, digging yourself in like a tick. Head burrowed in tight, he felt like even if he tried to gently coax you out by the body you’d keep shuffling along into the plush. He’d have to stop this from the root, twist and pop you out gently. So he tried that with words. 

“You wanna come out of your little cave there?”

The brief whimper that passed your lips was enough of an answer for him, no words had to be spoken for him to catch on. He sighed.

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair enough. Daddy was a bit of a dick, huh?”

The slight movement under piles of pink and yellow told him your tail was wagging, and that made his heart hurt even more. It was bleeding through his shirt at this point, darlin’. Don’t do that to him, he’s too old to deal with this kind of pain. Might just kill him one of these days. Because even after he’d snapped at you, broken down the walls of trust you’d both spent months building, you were still reaching out to place a new brick down. To keep it all from crumbling. Leon rested his palms on the scuffed denim of his jeans. Sure, he’d done his schooling, graduated and all that, but now he found himself searching the corners of his mind for the right words. Like he was putting a puzzle together, trying to piece syllable to noun to verb until they clicked. But they didn’t exactly click. Then again, nothing ever did with Leon. 

Except you.

“I didn’t.. Mean what I said. I just cut myself off at the worst time possible. I wasn’t thinking. Da-” he paused himself for a moment. Fuck, it’d become a bad habit. Was it still okay to call himself something like that in this kind of situation? “I’m not very good with words. M’ better with actions, y’know. Making things, helping people. I’m not exactly a wordsmith here, darlin’.” 

There was a rustle. In the darkness of your pillows and blankets you found room to move. And he could tell it was closer to him from how the pile slouched in his direction, indicating the shifting of your body. You looked a bit like a molerat to be honest, an adorable one, or one of those prairie dogs, with the way your head makes an evident dent in the covers. He wouldn’t tell you that, though. Might take it the wrong way. 

Out pops your fluffy ears, the silhouette of your tearful face. His stoic demeanour over the years shatters like that same photo frame, how the hallway’s dim lighting catches in your glossy eyes. It’s like looking at the moon in all her solemn sadness, amongst the stars, alone.

He can’t leave you like that. 

“Hi, baby.” It’s a whisper. He’s too scared if he talks any louder you’ll huddle back up. He never wants to make you worried, or frightened, or anything really. He loves you just the way you are.

“Hi..”

Leon had no idea how much he’d missed that voice until he heard it for the first time after a long lonesome 20 minutes of silence. It’s an icepick to his frozen mind, chipping away those worries he had of you maybe never talking to him again. You were a sweet thing, but also sensitive. It was part of the reason he cared for you so deeply. You’d dug down under his skin, doggy-paddled through his blood stream and settled comfortably right on his heart. 

“..Are you gonna, y’know,” Through the dark haze of shadows and soft rain against the windows, he could see you fiddling with your fingers. You’re nervous. Voice small and isolated, muffled through your soundproofing of comfy blankets and soft stuffies. It only made his head ache more. “Take me back?”

That one threw him off guard. He wasn’t expecting that kind of question, if anything he thought you’d ask if you were still in trouble. “Back? Back where?”

“..The shelter.”

He couldn’t see his own face, but he could just imagine how it twisted in confusion. “What? No, darlin’.” 

“Oh..”

Yeah. Oh. So that’s what all of this had been about. It wasn’t just him yelling, it was the thought that you might get boxed up and shipped back. Kicked to the curb. Leon pictured it again, your shivering frame on the street, or back in that damp kennel surrounded by yelling dogs and strict meal times. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Cause I broke something, and I was too rowdy.. I can’t sit still..”

The very reason he’d adopted you in the first place was to save you from that life, one of struggle and pain and sadness, yet you still feared it. Solely for, what, acting like a puppy? The very thing you were a hybrid of? If he weren’t so worried about you he’d be pissed at the world in all honesty.

“Baby, is that how you ended up there? Did someone..” He had no time to finish that question before you were nodding. You looked so ashamed, it ripped him in two. Someone had shoved his heart through a paper shredder and used the strips to line a hybrid play-pen floor. 

Returned, handed off, a hand-me-down. That’s what you saw yourself as. Damaged goods. His voice cracked as he muttered softly, his face painted in nothing but sympathy. “Oh, puppy..”

Almost instantly a ball of fluff came barrelling out of the playpen right into Leon’s chest, a winded ‘oof!’ puffed from the man’s ribs. Could’ve cracked them with the force of your love. Softer than any cannon ball, fuzzier than any bullet. Yet you still managed to have him coughing out a chuckle, his nose nuzzling up into your hair. He couldn’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief. Because it was a sure sign that you didn’t hate him.

“There’s my girl.”

A meek whine bubbled up from your throat at the sheer joy of being back in your owner’s embrace, enveloped in his comforting smell. And Leon couldn’t resist resting his chin on your head as you sat crumpled in his lap. A scarred-over hand brushing through your hair, rubbing bruised thumbs over the soft velvet of your ears. Every touch, every loving gesture had your tail whipping against the floorboards. You truly were his good girl. Still sniffling, you tilted your head in that sweet puppy way to look at him properly, taking in the face of the man who you loved more than anything; yes, that included treats, walks, and toys. It was quite the accomplishment, an honour really. Leon should be proud of himself for that one. 

“M’ sorry..”

There it was again, always saying sorry for things you didn’t mean to cause. Sometimes things you didn't even do. He shook his head at even the thought of that. Not scolding, but shushing. Like he didn’t want to hear you apologise for something that was hardly your fault. “Sweetheart, hey. It’s alright. I can always get a new picture frame, it’s no problem. What I can’t get is a new puppy. Wanna know why?”

Of course you did, that was a silly question. But he loved watching your ears flop as you nodded, made his pulse flutter like he had a butterfly in his veins, or a hummingbird. Humming away to the steady thrum picking up in pace. “Cause there’s only one you. And frankly, I’ve already called dibs, so I’m not givin’ you up for anything.”

That seemed to settle something in you, the pace of your tail picking up to its regular happy thump. Large hands encased either side of your head to brush over your fluffy ears, the velvety texture smooth under years of scarred tissue. And that fresh cut he had yet to bandage up. That could be done later, though. Right now he was more focused on plastering a hello-kitty bandaid over your heart. Leon was bad at this stuff, real bad. If there was a class for hybrid owner’s he’d have been expelled in seconds, set a new world record. Because even after having you with him for months he had to admit, he still had no idea what he was doing. He wanted to make that clear, no point in lying to you.

Gravelly voice turned smooth and soft, someone had put his whiskey rocks through a blender. He was a slushy now because of you. A messy, overpriced, alcoholic slushy. 

 “But I wanna try my hardest to make you feel loved here. Because believe me, you are. You and all your.. Energy, let’s say. You’re my fluff ball, aren’t ya?”

He doesn’t need words, words aren’t a strong suit for either of you. So he settled for the affectionate lick to the cheek you gave him, followed by your high pitched whine when you snuggled down into his lap with wiggling hips. Makes a huff of laughter rumble from his chest, not like the thunderous yelling you once heard. This was that of a car’s slow movement, of white noise to sleep.

Because at the end of the day you were each other’s peace. 

Lips press to your hair in a gentle manner, and Leon found himself nuzzling his nose down against your own.

 “Yeah you are. You’re daddy’s best girl.”

It’s a balm for the wounds on your soul, settling into his arms like you were made for them. Manufactured with his name printed across your heart where no-one could see it, you’d just had to find him. And now you had, and he had no intention of letting you go. If he could, he’d velcro you to his body.  

Yeah, Leon swore he’d never let you go.

And he might be a bastard at times, but he made good on his promises.

The next week you were walking past the hall of photos, the one Leon commissioned of you and him out in the backyard was already hung. The outtakes of you sprinting off to chase a squirrel mid-shutter are his to keep tucked in his wallet, though. For the longer work days or boring lines at the DMV, all that shit. 

 But the formal one, the proper one, is right above the new frame you insisted on decorating for his graduation photo. Complete with smiley stickers and paint and hearts he’d carefully exacto-knifed around to give a clear view of his picture. You’d jumped around like a bouncy ball when he was cutting the excess sticky paper away, little yaps of ‘Is it done?! Is it finished?! Can I see it?!’ like you hadn’t been the one to seal it in glitter glue in the first place. 

And honestly, he loved it. Like you were leaving your pawprints on his past, making a new path of swaying tails and giggling fits to lead him with a tugging leash into his brighter future. Like you were meeting an older version of him. One before he became a little more bruised, a little more cold. But you’d helped chip that down with your tugging paws and cute canines.

He was softer now. And he’d decided yes, that was a good thing. Meant he was more suited for you, more tender with you. 

“C’mon, babygirl. Wanna go for a walk?” He already knows the answer. But watching you skitter on your feet to sprint towards him never gets old. Wagging tail and voice chirping.

“Can we get a pup cup on the way back? Please?”

Because if that freshly appointed rookie cop version of Leon could meet you, he’d be just as in love with you as he is right now. 

“Aw I’m not made of stone now, am I sweetheart?”

And he’d agree, that new frame looks much better.

Consider buying me boba!

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: situationship!rafe cameron x afab nerd!reader

cw: angst undertones w/ a hopeful ending, black cat!coded reader x whatever rafe would be, suggestive action in the shower & mentions of off screen nsfw (cum and thigh fucking but the latter is a bit more graphic lol) , class differences, rafe is pathetic and weird, implied drug use, rafe beats a man but you can decide if he killed him, reader has implied mental health issues and low self esteem, ambiguous feelings on rafe’s part (he said ily but he could be lying), dark content themes, rafe calls reader kitty in both a mean way and a pet name way, if the thing with reader’s first crush sounds too real that’s cause it is 🤫, started my period while i was formatting this (i just thought y’all should know)

wc: 1.9k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

consider commissioning me 🫀

“Hey, babe, would you be a good kitty and let me in?” Is what you’re greeted with when you swing open your screen door. Rafe Cameron looks pleased as punch, all things considered, soaking wet due to the pouring rain and no doubt high as a kite.

The slurred speech doesn’t alarm you as much as the river of blood flowing from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Rafe, what the fuck?” You try to sound harsh but the fuck is noticably softer than your other words and Rafe smiles, more blood drips down his chin.

You look over his shoulder to see his bike on its side in the dirt, it’s raining and you just know he’ll be pissed to see the mus clinging to it tomorrow. But for right now, you have an injured situationship to patch up.

He stumbles as you struggle to yank him aside, and he sways but collapses on your couch. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to lose your shit immediately. The audacity of this man to waltz in on you barely alive and expect some twisted kind of comfort, after everything.

“I was studying you know, textbooks are expensive so don’t start getting your blood on them.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I know.”

Rafe grunts but keeps his body away from your books. That’s the least he can do, the bare minimum. You sigh and walk over him, kneeling in front of the couch. His eyes are dazed and unfocused as you brush the hair away from his forehead, but his fingers twitch.

“Why did you come here, Rafe? To me?” You whisper, tired and unamused.

You’re startled by his harsh cough, his fingers twitch in your direction again, “ ‘Was nowhere else, wanted you.”

Isn’t that good enough?

You blink dumbly at that, but you have no answer for his crazed ramblings so you slap your knees and make your way to the bathroom. You procure a wet washcloth and some measly bandages, he would just have to deal with it. Rafe’s eyes drag towards you when you kneel back in front of him and bring the cloth to his mouth.

You avoid his stare as you sop up the copious amounts of blood, praying that this wouldn’t need a visit to the hospital. In some ways, you’ve seen too much blood since Rafe Cameron decided to make a mockery of your existence. The gaggle of rich girls he used to have on each arm disappeared but he excused it by detailing his plans to lead you on in front of his friends, checking to see if you were in ear shot.

There’s nothing you did, in your mind. You stuck to yourself and somehow invited the attention of some psycho. That’s the hardest part of the situation, you can’t pinpoint a true beginning. You can only remember being in this murky middle, devoid of an ending. Rafe does have a pretty face though, unfortunately, the water from cloth making his skin glisten. You’ll throw the rag out after this, there’s no point trying to get the stain of blood out of anything.

Eventually, you’re done with the first part and have an excuse to turn away from him. You get back on your feet to reach for the bandages but a groan coming from behind stops you. You turn around and freeze when Rafe buries his nose into your lower stomach, barely brushing the top of your mound over your pajama shorts. He hisses through his teeth in pain as he pushes your shirt up with his bloodied knuckles.

“Rafe Cameron, what the hell are you-“

“ ‘Smells good as fuck, love you.”

You refuse to admit that you love him too, you can’t give him that. Okay, now shit’s really getting out of hand. He dips his head to get closer to your pussy but the second you see the tip of his tongue touch your shorts, you direct his face back to your stomach. You’ve never gone further than ‘will they-won’t they’ type touches with Rafe, but you just can’t give in no matter how much you lie awake at night thinking about it.

“All this is because of you, you know that? You fucked me up and made pummel the crap outta that guy.” The vibrations his clumsy words send through you gives you a serious case of the shivers, so you distract yourself by running your fingers through his matted hair. Because of course there’s blood on his head too. You’d usually chalk what he’s saying up to drugs and insanity, but with Rafe you just never know.

“What?”

“He said maybe I should lay off you so he could have a piece instead, and I just…. lost it. Why should some chump get a part of what’s all mine?” He says with a startling amount of clarity, voice flat and low.

You don’t designate him with a response, and truth be told he doesn’t want you too. You stretch for what in actuality is a $3 dollar package of hello kitty bandaids and rip the white coverings off a few of them. He makes god awful sounds as you apply them to his mouth, head, and hands. The mess in his hair probably isn't his but your conscience won't let you leave it alone. Something foreign to your head and your heart won’t let you leave him alone.

You decide to put the knife in your back all on your own and look up into his eyes. They’re too half lidded to get a clear reading on them but you’re afraid to rely on the emotions underneath the surface. You used to be scared that he couldn’t feel anything. Now, the idea of Rafe Cameron believing he’s in love is far more terrifying.

He’s a bit ridiculous with My Melody, Kuromi, and Keroppi all over himself, you can’t help the small smile that comes over you. You quickly flatten it before he can get too pleased with himself but the fingers curled against your tummy spasm as they spread out to caress your skin. Rafe has an unreadable look on his face as he smears blood over your womb, but you think if you step away he’ll lunge at you.

“I can help you wash the blood off in the shower.” Saying that is in no way a promise of commitment or change, but it might be the closest you ever get.

You’re used to scraps, scraps are fine.

And well, for much you pride yourself on being perfectly fine being alone, it’s achingly human to crave being loved more than anything else. You wander aimlessly because you won’t go where you’re not wanted, and for the longest you’ve been wanted nowhere. But here you are, obsessed over by someone who everyone wants.

Maybe you’re sick of trying to make all the right decisions if this is where it gets you, cold and alone. Is it so bad to not care anymore? It couldn’t be worse than when your first crush told you he loved you and then had a baby with your bully, you reason. Or when he dated one of your friends and she would “joke” about marrying you when you were alone.

The short trip to the shower is awkwardly silent, you have to lead Rafe and make sure he doesn’t trip. You stare more than any Twilight character as you help each other strip. You try to avoid the bruises on Rafe’s torso, but he chuckles about how “You should see the other guy, kitty.”

So you don’t back away when he slows the trajectory of your calloused hands and drags them up his body. Your nails are bitten unevenly, some leave scratches on his abs and some don’t. It’s exhilarating to see Rafe Caneron’s thread come undone, to watch as he tilts his head back and sighs. You rest your hands on his pecs and kiss the hollow of his throat before you can stop yourself.

You won’t mention the squeak he tries to stifle with the back of his balled up fist.

You step away from him to be vulnerable in return, his satisfaction is much more evident this time around. He rips your camisole in two and unhooks your bra too well, clearly having had practice. He cups your breasts in his hands with tenderness that you’d think is out of character for him. Rafe doesn’t even honk them in the dude bro way that you’d always assumed he would. No, he… massages the flesh in his palms between slow squeezes.

“Don’t see why you’re so insecure about these, I like them just fine.” He huffs, bending down to motorboat you before pulling you in the shower through his grunts of pain and exertion.

You notice that he doesn’t steal a glance at your pussy, almost like he’s scared of seeing it bare and puffy… and wet.

You like to feel like a boiling lobster in the shower, so you turn the dial the same direction as always. You’re worried that Rafe will hate the sting but when the water hits, he moans with an open mouth, eyes shut tight. Before your next breath, you’re pushed against the wall and now the blood’s in your mouth as you're taken into a french kiss right out the gate.

You go with it against your better judgment, until Rafe pulls away to pant against your collarbone. His next kiss is softer, shy like it’s an unknown thing to the two of you. His lips glide and mesh with yours as the water trails down in between your slick bodies. You feel like you’re going to pass out but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

You open your eyes to see the water at the base of the shower run red, and you lose yourself in the swirling motion until the pop of your honey scented shampoo bottle lid snaps you out of it.

“Turn around kitty, ‘said I'd help you scrub down.”

He’d be embarrassed if you said it, but it’s obvious he’s never done this before. He’s like a bull in a china shop gathering you up in a loose bundle and sloppily spreading the soap throughout it. You stay silent, preferring to bask in the absurdity of it all.

Washing Rafe’s hair takes less time, but like he did when you were cleaning him up earlier, he chooses to stare at you the entire time. You scratch his head to really work the shampoo in there and get the dried blood out, he latches onto your wrists and lets his eyes drift shut. He makes it inconvenient to help him when he kisses your jawline, but you allow it.

“Thanks, you’re pretty good with your hands.” Rafe whispers with a wry grin, pecking your mouth and dropping to his knees. Your pomegranate body wash in his uninjured hand. The amount he squirts onto the dollar store loofah on his other hand is a touch too generous.

You have to replace the hello kitty bandaids when the originals fall off after Rafe steps out of the shower minutes later, he insists on it. You make him lean against the bathroom counter and watch as you take a second shower to clean out the cum, he wears a petulant frown the whole time.

You’re bent over that same counter when you’re back in his orbit, teary eyes wide as he fucks your plush thighs.

The rain turns into a thunderstorm outside.

[dollfacefantasy]

Like a Friend

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

summary: it's been months since you and toji split. when he shows up at your apartment, you struggle to not fall back into his arms.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, toxic relationship dynamics

word count: 4.7k

a/n: commission for @nexysworld <3

One eye cracks open when a loud pounding sound rouses you from your sleep. You sit up, rubbing your face and yawning. The red numbers on your alarm clock glare 2:37. After a few more moments of it, you register the sound as knocking on your front door. As you drag yourself from the comforts of your bed, you wonder who and why. Who would not only disturb you at this hour, but also be so brash about it? You kind of hoped it was no one you knew so you wouldn’t have to deal with anyone’s bullshit problems at nearly three in the morning.

When you arrive at the entryway and glance through the peephole on the door, your wishes dissipate immediately. Standing outside your place was the biggest bullshit problem you’d ever encountered. You unlock your door and crack it open, the bright light of the hallway making you squint as it casts over you.

“Toji?” you ask, your voice still a bit raspy from disuse.

“Hey baby,” he says quietly. Despite his subdued tone, he still flashes you that grin that lets you know he’s still himself.

“What… what are you doing here?” you mumble. You rub your face again to try and make yourself a little more presentable. Even though he was an asshole and you couldn’t say enough about how you had totally moved on, the sight of his shaggy hair hanging in front of his eyes and the faded scar on the corner of his mouth still made your heart flutter.

“The place I was staying kind of fell through. But you know, it’s kind of a good thing. Brought me back to you. I’ve been missing you a lot,” he says.

You roll your eyes. He must need more than just a night to get himself together with how thick he was laying it on.

He reaches out to stroke the curve of your cheek. His rough fingers drag against the soft skin while the two of you stare at each other. You know you should swat his hand away. Tell him to go to hell. Get lost and lose your number. But you can’t be that cruel. Not to him. Even with everything that’d happened, all the tears he’d caused and days he’d ruined, he was still your Toji. Your bad habit. Your never-ending vice. A piece of you that’d you’d never cut out no matter how rotten it became.

“Fine, c’mon,” you relent. You open the door wider and allow him entry.

“That’s my girl,” he says and steps through.

“Don’t call me that,” you say quietly. You were falling for it, but he didn’t have to throw it in your face.

After following you in, he doesn’t shut the door behind him. You raise an eyebrow.

“Before we catch up…” he starts with a chuckle, “I kind of need you to pay for my ride. I don’t have any cash on me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you ask, walking to the window and looking down. As he said, the cab was waiting outside.

All the dreamy thoughts you’d just had about him being yours no matter what start to have a bleak tint. Your gaze hardens as a harsh sigh leaves your lips.

“Fine, but you’re gonna pay me back,” you say. You stop at the counter to grab your wallet and fish out some cash. Then you slap it into his palm and gesture for him to go. Sure you’d give him the money, but no way were you gonna scamper down there out into the cold in your pajamas.

He leans down and gives you a small peck on the cheek before heading out. You stand in your living room alone. He was still affectionate even though you’d been apart for months. You knew he was that way with his words. The occasional texts he sent you during this break always held copious amounts of “baby’s” and “my pretty girl’s.” You just didn’t expect him to touch you like nothing was different.

You rub your eyes in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Deciding to be proactive, you occupy the small wait for his return by setting up some things on the couch. You rifle through the closet in the hallway to find some spare bedding. Pillows are easy, you toss two spare ones over to your couch. Blankets are more difficult. You initially grab the fluffy lavender one he gave you for your last birthday. It looked brand new. You hadn’t had much time to use it before you kicked him out. Then when it felt like he was actually gone for good, you’d clutched it to your chest while crying your eyes out for days. But since that week, it remained hidden away in the depths of this closet.

He probably wouldn’t even notice if you did put it out, but he didn’t need confirmation that you hadn’t thrown the stuff he gave you away. So instead, you pull out an old blue one with little fish all over it. You spread it out on the couch as he slips back into the apartment, this time closing the door and locking it. Your back is turned while smoothing out the wrinkles in the plush fabric, so you don’t see him sliding a leftover bill into his pocket.

As you finish up the makeshift bed on the couch, he approaches you. He places a cautious hand on your waist, his fingertips rubbing tiny strokes on your t-shirt.

“You’re really gonna put me out on the couch? I thought you’d want me in bed, all to yourself. Like old times,” he teases.

“I don’t want it to be like old times,” you say.

“C’mon, they weren’t all bad,” he says and pulls you a little closer, “You used to love to cuddle. You’d curl right up to me, give me those little kisses. We had a lot of fun together in that bed.”

You look up at him. His familiar eyes meet yours. It would be so easy to give in. To connect your lips and pull him back to your bed that had been missing his presence for months.

“We did. But not anymore. They’re good memories, and that’s it,” you say, turning your head and stepping away. You needed the distance between the two of you.

You further separate yourself from him by sitting in the chair near the couch. It was a single seat, no room for anyone else to slide in next to you and drape their arm around your shoulders. He knows what you’re doing of course. You can see the look of amusement in his eyes. This was how you got during fights. You just closed off, tried to remove yourself from him and not engage. It was kind of cute you hadn’t changed.

He plays along and sits down on the couch, leaning back into the cushions and propping his legs on your table. The silence between the two of you feels heavy. It fills up the room, suffocating any space words could have gone.

“Do you want a drink?” you manage to get out.

“I’m fine,” he says. And in contrast to you, he did seem fine. He seemed unbothered by the lack of conversation. He looked content to stare at you, drag his eyes over every detail of your figure.

“Are you ok?” you ask. You just couldn’t take the silence.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks in return.

“Cause you said you didn’t have anywhere to go and the place you were staying, something went wrong,” you answer.

“That was nothing, I’m fine,” he deflects.

“Well I just want to know if I should be concerned if there’s a hit out on you or something. If someone’s gonna burst through my door in a few minutes cause you ripped them off,” you say and cross your arms.

“Nothing that serious. Just some lady problems,” he says with a smirk.

A dark cloud forms over your head at this. It wasn’t like he was cheating. You weren’t together anymore. But the thought of him with another woman drove you crazier than just about anything else. And of course he knew that.

“What happened? She get smart enough to kick your ass out?” you say, unsuccessfully masking the bitterness in your tone.

“Something like that,” he says. He pauses, still looking smug as ever. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“You wish,” you respond. He doesn’t seem to believe you.

Another bout of uncomfortable silence crowds the distance between you two. This time it’s broken by him.

“You got anyone I should be jealous of?” he asks.

“That’s none of your business,” you answer without a second thought.

“Guess not. I mean if you did, you probably wouldn’t be letting me crash on your couch. And anybody who was a real threat would be here. Would’ve answered the door instead of you,” he mocks.

You roll your eyes yet again. “You’re so smart,” you say.

He shrugs. “Only when it comes to you.”

Rage boils within you. You know you shouldn’t feed into him, give him what he wants by getting all riled up. Your rational mind knows this. But the irrational part of you loves the game. Walking as close as you can to the line without stepping across. Pulling and pulling until you feel something about to snap.

“Well I’m not like you. I take a while to move on since you actually mattered to me. I just can’t jump into someone else’s arms and pretend that nothing is different,” you say.

“Don’t start that shit. Don’t act like I’m some cold-blooded asshole who broke your innocent little heart,” he says. His eyes don’t leave you once.

“You did break my heart and you are a cold-blooded asshole, so tell me where the lie is,” you challenge.

“You aren’t innocent,” he states, “You could get just as nasty when we were fighting. And you’re the one who broke up with me.”

“Because you are a dick. Cause and effect. If you weren’t so insufferable, we wouldn’t have so many fights, and I wouldn’t have broken up with you,” you point out.

“So it’s all my fault? You never do anything wrong? Whatever you say, baby,” he says, now taunting you with the pet name.

“I didn’t say I never do anything wrong. But everything we fought about is because you did something stupid,” you say.

“I make a little mistake once in a while and you blow up on me. I think you just like fighting,” he says.

You dig your nails into the flesh of your arm to keep your temper from flaring. You begin to wonder if it’s too late to throw him out again. Part of you had the urge to go back in time and slap the version of yourself that let him in cause he was “your Toji.” But really, this was your Toji. Your Toji with his sleazy smile, dumb shaggy hair, smug eyes, and chilling voice. This was the man who had you hopelessly trapped.

“Whatever,” you huff, determined to prove him wrong. You rise from your chair and walk towards the hall that leads to your room. “I’m going back to bed. Do what you want, just stay out of my room. If you want to change, I can bring you some clothes.”

“You have clothes here that will fit me? Maybe I should be jealous,” he says, leaning forward and resting an elbow on his knee.

And instead of taking advantage of his assumption, like he would have done to you, your mouth opens and words fly out before you can even think of that.

“They’re your-” you start, your mental brakes screeching to a halt. Suddenly, you felt so stupid for putting so much thought into avoiding the purple blanket.

The smile that breaks out on his face is so wide it’s almost unsettling. It would be if it was anyone else.

“Aw baby,” he coos mockingly, “You didn’t get rid of my clothes? You still been using ‘em? Cause that’s fine you know. I like it when they smell like you.”

You didn’t even know what to say. You had used them a few times since he’d been gone, but it wasn’t like a regular thing. You did like that they smelled like him, and you liked hearing that he felt the same way about you. But he couldn’t win.

“Just shut up. Do you want them or not?” you say and look away.

“No, baby. I’ll be fine. Thank you,” he says, every word dripping with condescension.

You slink away without returning the courtesy. It takes you no time to collapse back into your bed, but resuming the sleep he had torn you from proves more difficult. Your thoughts just keep drifting back to him. You toss and turn, legs kicking away the blankets and then arms pulling them back.

He really was out there on your couch. You thought you may never see him again. You’d broken up a few times before over different small things, but this time felt different. It was supposed to be for real. But just like that, he came back. 

Now that he had returned, you felt the dull ache for him returning as well. You had hoped it shrunk over time until eventually it didn’t exist, but here it was, showing itself again. You know you shouldn’t, but you were starting to regret not asking him to join you. He was fucking infuriating, but you had missed him so much. He could help push away the memories of loneliness that had occupied your bed in his wake.

After nearly an hour of this, you manage to slip into some form of sleep. It felt like you were still awake, but far away. You were floating, drifting around aimlessly. You were resting, but you probably wouldn’t feel that way if you woke up right now.

You’re deep enough that you don’t hear your door creaking open. You don’t feel the mattress dip slightly with additional weight. You don’t sense your blanket being lifted as another body slides in next to yours. You only begin to wake once you feel his skin on yours, his thick arms wrapping around you and pulling you close.

You babble tiredly as he presses kisses to the back of your neck. Humming in confusion, you turn and crack your eyes open to see what’s happening.

“Toji?” you croak when you register his face so close to yours. 

He’s still kissing up and down your neck. His fingers trace little patterns on the skin of your waist. Once you realize it’s him and what he’s doing, you squirm. You whine and try to pry his arms off you.

“Stop. What'd I tell you? Quit it,” you grumble as you struggle more with him.

He squeezes you tighter and nuzzles you. “But it’s cold out there, sweetheart. Lonely too,” he murmurs.

“Don’t care. It’s the couch or the curb, so take your pick,” you yawn.

“Baby, it’s me. I’ve been missing you so bad. And I wasn’t being a very good guest before. Let me make it up to you a little,” he whispers.

“No,” you whine, “Make it up by letting me sleep.”

“You can sleep whenever. I’m here right now,” he purrs. His fingers ghost along your waist making you squirm and whine at the slight tickle.

“Why do you always have to be so annoying?” you huff and try to readjust to be comfortable within his hold since he shows no signs of letting up.

“You know you like it.”

He pulls you tighter against him and drags his nose against the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent. It felt good, natural more than anything else. Like this is how things should be.

“Has anyone been in this bed since I left?” he taunts.

“You already asked me about that, and it’s still none of your business,” you respond.

“Can’t be too careful. Especially with a cute thing like you,” he says.

“Just shut up and go to sleep. Count yourself lucky I’m not forcing you back to the couch,” you say as if you could actually force him to do anything.

“It’s been months. You really want sleep more than you want me?” he teases and nips at your earlobe.

The drag of his teeth on your flesh pulls you back into the waking world a bit more. Your sleepy eyes open more and take in the sight of his face. He looked almost innocent in a way, like he was truly just asking for another chance to connect.

He leans in for another kiss, this time catching your lips with his own. His toned chest and abdomen pressed against the softness of your side, and despite his claims of being cold, he felt like a space heater the way warmth radiated off him.

You indulge him a bit, gently reciprocating the affection for a moment. But after a few soft movements of your lips, you pull away.

“We can’t… I shouldn’t do this,” you whisper through the darkness of your bedroom.

“Why not?” he says back. His fingers rise to your face, stroking over your temple, from your hairline to your cheekbone.

“I can’t do this again. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of believing you’ll be different and then you’re not. And then we break up again and then make up a little bit later. It’s exhausting,” you sigh.

“It will be different this time, babe. You recognizing this stuff shows that it will be,” he says and brushes his thumb over your lips. He moves even closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs.

The soft hum of his voice alone made you want to give in. Combine it with his gentle touches and firm body, you were fighting with your urges to let him ruin you. Your head tilts back to contemplate, and he takes advantage of the position to start peppering kisses on your throat, sucking love bites into the sensitive flesh.

“Toji,” you whimper, “Stop, you’re gonna leave a mark.”

“I wanna leave a mark, baby. Gotta remind everyone that you belong to me. Can’t have you forgetting either,” he mutters.

A breathy whine floats through your room, and one of your hands laces itself in his hair. You close it into a fist, giving the dark locks a little pull. Your mind was an echo chamber of don’t don’t don’t stop stop stop. But familiar heat bloomed between your legs as his large palm coasted up your side to find one of your breasts. The sound of his lips on your skin and his shallow breaths gave you heart palpitations.

“I didn’t forget,” you gasp softly as his fingers dig into your tit.

“Yeah? So you’re all mine still?” he teases.

“Mhm,” you hum, taking the last step to giving in.

“That’s right,” he says. You can feel his smirk against his neck. “My baby. Back where she belongs.”

“I missed you too,” you whimper as he continues the assault on your neck.

“I know you did,” he breathes as his tongue slides over your skin.

His hand continues to grope your breast. You arch into his touch, a wordless plea for more. He snakes the limb beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and finds your soft skin. With no barrier separating the two, his fingers toy with your nipple. They pinch and pull, twist and tease. They’re merciless until he feels the small bud start to peak. That acts as his signal to direct his attention downwards. 

He moves to be more on top of you. His thumbs hook beneath the hem of your shirt and pull it up over the swell of your chest. Immediately, his mouth latches onto the nipple his fingers had neglected. His saliva coats the area as his tongue laves on the skin, getting it to rise to attention just as the other day.

“Been missin’ these perfect tits,” he mumbles before using his mouth again, “No one else could take care of ‘em like me.”

You whine and squirm a bit, your hands staying firm in their grip on his head. You nod along with his words. A completely thoughtless gesture. You didn’t even fully register them. Your mind simply believed he couldn’t be wrong while making you feel so good.

As he works on warming you up, he begins peeling off your clothing. Your shirt comes over your head and falls off the side of the bed. Your bottoms are next, slid down and flung away from the two of you. He kisses down your belly before leaning back on his knees. His shirt meets yours on the ground when he pulls it off.

You’d seen it so many times before, but you couldn’t help gawking at his figure. Your fingers glide up his abdomen, feeling every ridge in his abs. He smiles down at your wondrous expression.

“Remembering exactly what you missed, hm?” he asks.

You reach up to pull him down to you at the same time he starts lowering himself. Lips collide and hands slide all over now bare skin. Your fingers find the familiar grooves on his back that they always dug into when he was buried deep inside you. His digits snake beneath your panties and slip between your folds.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he laughs against your mouth, “That’s probably just her natural reaction when I’m around though.”

You grumble in response and try to mute his words by making out. He cuts you a break and does shut up for once while rubbing your pussy some more and getting your panties off. It’s not long before he follows suit by freeing his cock and brushing it through your slick.

“Time to see if she’s as tight as I remember,” he grunts as he lines up and then sinks in.

Your heat engulfs him like it’s a natural fit. Your walls squeeze around him, the massaging sensation making his breaths more labor.

“Fuck… might be tighter. Think she’s begging me not to leave again,” he teases.

He begins thrusting, working his hips back and forth. He’s so big that he’s instantly hitting pleasure spots. You sigh and wrap your limbs around him more.

“Just be quiet,” you whimper as your cheeks burn.

“Not a fan of me making fun of you?” he mocks, “Doesn’t shock me since you didn’t before. You’re just usually more agreeable while stuffed full of cock.”

You go to argue, but the words in your throat die and shrivel up into a whine. Your body rocks with each of his motions. He’s not even going that hard yet, but you still feel his raw strength as his muscles flex against you.

“Aw, it’s ok, dollface. You just go a little dumb. It’s only natural for bratty girls like you,” he coos.

The whole time he continues, in and out. You stay tight around him, and you start thinking his theory about you not wanting him to leave may have some truth to it. This felt so good. So much better than the couple guys you’d had in between. And even though you are going to be fucked dumb soon enough, you’re not totally there yet.

“The only time you don’t act dumb is when you have your dick out,” you say between soft sounds of pleasure.

He grips your hips harder upon hearing your words. “That so?” he grunts. He picks up the pace, his pelvis making a loud noise every time it slams against your ass. “Like I said, the only time your silly little head isn’t clouded by your attitude is when I calm you down on my cock. So shut it and let all those thoughts melt away.”

And you listen because despite your little comments, you liked how it felt to lose everything except him. You couldn’t live without the feeling that nothing else in the world mattered but you and him. All your worries that plagued you during every other moment of the day transformed into distant ideas as the feeling of him battering into your cunt moved to the forefront.

And as much as you love feeling it, he loves watching it. He loves watching your eyes blank and become thoughtless, totally dependent on him to guide you to release. He was obsessed with the way you’d start to drool. Your inhibitions all but disappeared, and he couldn’t get enough. He’d never admit it to you, but he could never find anyone else with reactions that captivated him as much.

After an extra sharp thrust, your body seizes up and you shriek. “Toji!” you cry out.

“Mhm, never too dumb to remember that, are you? My little slut always knows who owns her,” he says.

You nod mindlessly, your head bobbing in wide movements. “Fuck me so good,” you babble, “No one else. Don’t want anyone else. Always gonna be you.”

“Good girl,” he grunts, “Pussy’s all for me. Takes me like it was made for me.”

“It’s all yours. Nobody else gets it,” you whine.

“Gonna be mine forever. Just look at you. No one else could do this to you. You ever fuck anyone else, and all they’re gonna get out of it is that they’re not as good as me,” he moans while ricocheting his hips off yours.

You gasp, getting to the point where words are an unrealistic concept.

“All your neighbors already know who this pussy belongs too. I’ve got you trained so well, I know my dumb little girl calls for me whenever she cums, even when I’m not there,” he whispers. His voice was starting to strain under the proximity of release. “Even when you’re just soooo mad at me. You press your toys to that pretty little clit to blow off steam, and you can’t help but cry out-”

“Toji!” you mewl as if he had been asking you. It was good to know your mind was still good for at least one word.

He grins like a madman and drills into you harder. Your limbs flail and your noises become short and rhythmic.

“You take any cock from any guy, and what are they hearing the whole time?” he asks.

“Toji!” you repeat.

“What was that? Don’t think they could hear you.”

“Toji, Toji, Toji,” you sob out.

“Good baby. Perfect little whore all for me. Never letting you go again,” he grunts.

“Never gonna be apart again. Gonna be yours forever,” you mumble.

Both of your breathing is picking up. Your chests puff against each other as your sweaty skin rubs against one another. It’s all a blur at the end, like always. You think you cum first, but as soon as you hit that high, you pretty much black out. The room spins and your vision fills with stars. All you really register are his groans that make your tummy flutter, and the feeling of his warmth flooding your pussy as he shoots his load inside.

This time though, the after part is fuzzy too. You vaguely feel him pull out and guide you to lay against his chest. You feel his lips against your head and his large hands cradling you close, but then you’re gone. You pass out and sleep till late in the morning.

By the time your eyes reopen, the room is full of sunlight. You take a second to remember the previous night and all that happened. Surprisingly, a sense of regret didn’t crash into you like a swat van. You actually feel some sort of satisfaction. You feel sated. The ache is gone at least for now. You have him back. As he opens his eyes and sits up to give you a kiss, you return the gesture in full.

“You gonna stay a while?” you whisper.

“Yeah. No reason for me to leave,” he says.

You give him another kiss before he lies down again and pulls you onto his chest again to rest some more. You sink into his toned body. He was yours again. You could admit now that you never stopped being his. As you lay there and absorb the dreamy atmosphere in your room right now, your poor heart truly believes that this time will be different.

[sirellas]

post canon ds9 fic i won't write for real, in bullet points:

story starts with jake sisko, pondering and writing. he got a commission from some federation news service to do a fluff piece on "the soul of the klingon people" now that the war is over and they have a new chancellor, essentially a "look federation people, klingons are still chill. maybe chiller, even. so everybody be cool" deal (i'm imagining they have to do an article like this for every group of aliens that were a major combatant in the war) but jake takes it seriously and refuses to phone it in.

first he goes to alexander, who's visiting the station while between KDF assignments or something idk. but he says look buddy i wanna know what's up with klingons, you get me? alexander does not get him and also would like to know what's up with klingons, so he says hell yeah human friend let's figure this out.

then it becomes a series of vignettes of these two kind of out of touch young people learning about the klingon spirit and also themselves as they seek out someone who can tell them the secrets of life and honor etc etc. jake has a warped sense of normal from growing up on ds9 and alexander has never felt right in solely klingon or human spaces, so they have some gaps in their knowledge to fill.

i'm thinking they start with worf and martok, who are busy on qo'nos building their credibility and new government. worf isn't great at talking about feelings and martok's being pulled in a lot of different directions, so they're not much help. hanging around on qo'nos is interesting, but ultimately not what jake and alexander are looking for either.

then they start thinking outside the box. order isn't important but they start hitting up all relevant klingons and klingon adjacent folk: darok, sirella, ezri, nikolai, kurn, maybe a duras sisters cameo for equal representation of shitty klingons.

last we saw of kurn of course he had lost his memory but since this is my fic i'm not writing i'm gonna say bashir's not as great at brain reconfiguration as he thinks he is and it didn't take fully. so he's a little confused but getting the hang of it. a lot of "which one of you is my nephew again? i can't tell humans apart" kind of deal even though alexander is 3/4 klingon. he tells them what he's re-learned about klingons since he's been rebuilding his own identity.

nikolai also was essentially exiled but it's fine. he's got a gaggle of kids now and alexander and jake have to do the fake forehead thing to blend in while they talk to him. nikolai's got a lot of insight into worf as a brother but not much on klingons as a whole. alexander brings him some pierogi helena made.

alexander: "wow my foster uncle's wife looks a lot like your stepmom, isn't that funny?" jake: "nah i don't see the resemblance"

maybe at this point nog joins them because he's having his own identity crisis as the only ferengi in starfleet so he decides to just hop on board for jake and alexander's identity crisis.

they go see jeremy aster too, the kid from tng who became worf's brother through a whole thing, and he's got a pretty interesting view of klingons and the klingon spirit from an outsider/insider perspective.

sirella and darok are probably the least helpful but i think sirella baby-ing alexander would be fun. they're both trying to deny it and deny how much they like the attention (sirella at having a new-ish nephew-ish and one who wasn't raised klingon so she can do all the classic klingon things with him fresh, and alexander at having a(nother) mother figure to love him). jake is studiously taking notes in the corner while sirella tries to teach him how to skin a fresh kill or something like that.

anyway this whole journey ends with them finding kahless 2 (the clone of kahless) whose only occupation is thinking about the klingon spirit. but his wisdom boils down to "everyone's different and everyone has to figure shit out on their own, but together we can strive to be greater than yesterday" etc etc and jake gets his article. alexander reaffirms his grasp on his cultural identity and also gets to see a lot of his family so he's reminded that he's loved, even if everyone is doing their own thing. and nog develops a huge crush on sirella. everybody's happy.

[bryce-bucher]

500 CALIBER CONTRACTZ Post #12

Dialogue!!!11:

The main thing I did over the past week or so was put together this dialogue system. The system itself was fairly easily to implement, and I think the only interesting part of the process to share is how I went about making the UI. As per usual, I wanted to have a cool mechanical feeling ui, but at the same time a friend of mine suggested an AOL instant messenger inspired chat window. I loved both of these ideas so I decided to combine them into a screen that pops up and contains the aim-like window. The modeling process for the screen was similar to how I went about making the other two bits of ui that are on screen in the above photos, but I decided to include a VGA port.

VGA PORT:

I didn't originally plan to include a VGA port, but I was in the middle of researching monitors and accidentally left a window open on my computer that just had a big photo of one and I went "wait a minute.". With my final two braincells I suddenly decided to slap together a model for the port which I ended up being proud enough of to, for some reason, make an entire section for it.

Sorry if any of the above sentences read horribly. I am going to need a third braincell if you want this stuff to be coherent. Anyway, Blender is so cool. Using the array modifier to make all these lil squares for the holes in the port is just such a satisfying process. I've come to really like makin pre-rendered assets like this.

New Movez:

This is actually a pretty big inclusion, and I probably should've ranked it in my mind above the VGA port. I added some new movement options to the game!

Firstly, I added this melee move where you swing the back of the sniper forwards to propel yourself a bit. It is mainly useful as a bunnyhop that allows you to conserve momentum.

Next up I added this kick that happens if you melee while in the air. It's basically just the one from mario64. It lets you gain a little bit more height and distance. It also becomes way more effective if you have a lot of momentum. A good tool for correcting jumps and reaching new heights.

Finally, we have the big schmovement slide. This slide gives you a huge burst of speed that you can jump out of in order to send your self flyin. Surprisingly, it didn't really break any of the level design and ended up being a really fun addition imo. In order to perform it, you have to do a ground pound and then melee as you hit the ground. Also, I feel like I basically stole this from pseudoregalia. Played through that recently and it has been a good source of inspiration.

Nova!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:

This is a cameo skin I've been really excited to finally make myself put in the game. Anodyne 2 is a really important game to me, and I love it much. I'm really happy tha folks at analgesic let me put her in here, and I'm p happy with how her model came together. If you haven't peeped the Anodyne games I highly recommend them. The first one was a major inspiration for parts of Fatum Betula.

Conclusion:

Lately I've been playing this game way too much. It has made it impossible for me to tell if it is fun or well designed. Some problems cropped up during playtesting that ima need to address, and I hope that it all comes together into something that one could say is "fun and cool". I think takin this weekend off is gonna do my brain good. Oh yeah also I feel like I should advertise that I'm still doing commissions if anyone is interested. Anyway, have a good 1 and enjoy urself.

[mysteryanimator]

ANIMATION BREAKDOWN PROCESS OF THIS LETS GO (Sorry for any grammatical errors!)

SCRIPT/STORYBOARD: (you can watch here)

Now THIS. The script was very weak because I wanted to board immediately, so it started strong then fell off at the end (also generally I'm not a stronger writer, which haha fics my beloved). Now I know this, spending more time simmering with the script will genuinely only 1) stronger compositions for storyboards 2) it will be so much faster to board. Like I can board fast, but I can board fast AND well if I sit with the idea a bit longer. This will be a massive running theme how I like my shots earlier rather than further in.

side note I LIKE PANEL 11 A LOT, I just feeI didn't translate it well enough into animation which sucks because its a pretty panel and you get a softer moment from Olrox which I found was important to get across.

Also at some point, the 180 rule (which keeps characters on like one line behind the camera... not sure if I worded that right) gets broken and it bugged me for AGES but decided I had to just move on LOL.

These are my thumbnails b4 I go to animatic/cleaned storyboards which are SO MESSY (I'm a lot better at annotating my thumbs now LOL). The original prompt was top service blood bag x powerbottom vampire and i don't think i portrayed that well enough throughout BUT i think the intro did a good establishment. Which fun fact, this was scrapped but there was actually 20 seconds of Mizrak eyeing Olrox "What is it like? Blood?" Then Olrox leans down and commences the thigh glide.

These backgrounds are a mix of texture-bashing (walls/floors) along with some good ol' painting materials from scratch. Also, these are olddd and I can do a lot better yay, but was a good test to see how to make a consistent-ish scene.

ANIMATION: (You can watch the rough anim here)

I'll be super upfront how I don't like most of it AHHA. From starting this in July to posting this in September, I've improved a lot since then.

Since this was a bit ago, I don't remember too much but I remember going ham onto learning material from Dong Chang and animation servers. However in all honesty I think this was only really applied to the earlier shots. I got super frustrated with my "slow speed" so I tried to jump ship and do cleans super early on, which like lets be honest- pumping out two rough anims a day with uni on top is not slow idk what I was on about. This ended up giving me MORE work during the line/colour stage PFFT because I would end up correcting my mistakes in my roughs. Like Myst stop, this is for fun and you're learning, please take it easy LOLOL.

COMPOSITING:

Working on compositing this time around was slightly different, and I'll also admit it is not my favorite composite I've done (and again, I like my earlier shots then my later shots). My after-effects layers looked insane keeping track of the highlight glows on their clothes BUT it definitely paid off. Skin tones however were SO DIFFICULT (mostly in part to the fact I decided to experiment with how I approached it, so it definitely skewed how I worked with this)

I also definitely struggled between the dreamy look and keeping it clean and crisp, and while the dreamy blurred aesthetic does work in some cases, I opted out for the sake of clarity.

Beloved edge light my friend. It's making me learn SUPER late into it how I probably should have planned out a third shadow pass since edge light at the point is a crutch and I think planning it out ahead would get nicer more precise shadows LOL.

Because I brain rotted so hard for this animation I actually commissioned two people to help me work on this! I'll briefly talk about their stuff but please check out their work!

MUSIC: Astralbardkeep

Due the fact I don't have voiceactors, and I had a very specific vision in mind, I decided to go "you know what, let me be super self-indulgent". I had a lot of notes and inspirations for the music, BUT i wanted to have Olrox's theme from the original games peek through, which you will notice happens at the bite AND at the end.

TITLE CARD: Hataui0

This might've seemed overkill, but this friend of mine is very talented at making graphics/typography to suit the requirements of each individual project. (Also a secret ploy to make him make nocturne fanart /lh). So that entire end bit, he illustrated it along with that title, in which the themes I bestowed him were Mucha and Gothic art.

Thank you for reading if you got this far! Suffice to say this was supposed to be a compare and contrast between the animation I did in February, and while I may not quite find this body of work up to my normal standards, it substantial amount of improvement, which is the most important thing here! With the ten billion other things in my life going on, I can only be happy with the progress thus far :D

February on the left/September on the right

[in-my-feels-probably]

Paper Rings by taylor swift with sirius black

Paper Rings

Request: Paper Rings by taylor swift with sirius black

Hi! So sorry for the wait, I was in a bit of a writing slump, and then I was a little busy. I was just writing a fic before this request and it took me so damn long to finish it, but I finally did. Now I’m here! I love Paper Rings, it’s such a sweet song. Hopefully you can see the lyrics interpreted in what I wrote. Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it :)

(Warnings: like one swear word, mentions of Sirius’s home life, insecurity, very brief underage drinking, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You truly met Sirius in the beginning of your Third Year. 

You had known of him beforehand—even briefly chatted with him during classes and in passing—but you weren’t friends. Lily Evans was your friend, and Sirius was her friend. So, by extension, you two were…something. 

You didn’t know each other well enough to consider yourselves friends. 

You had always liked him, though. You thought he was charming, funny, and annoyingly beautiful. Maybe a bit loud, but it was also an endearing quality. He thought you were pretty, and bookish—not that that was a bad thing—and a little quiet compared to himself. But there was something about you that he liked, and he wanted to know more about you. He just didn’t know how to go about it. 

That was until, in the middle of Third Year, you stumbled into each other’s lives.

Quite literally stumbled, to be technical about it. You were on a late night trip to Hogsmeade after dinner, Lily and a few other friends by your side. You had snuck out of the castle on a whim, Lily for once actually recommending you break the rules to have a little fun. You were walking past an alleyway when three boys came tumbling out of it, the one in the front accidentally knocking himself into you. You stumbled back on your feet, but you were steadied by a loose grip on your forearm. 

You looked up to see who it was, eyes widening in shock. “Sirius? What are you doing?”

“These two are pissed,” he motioned back towards who you recognized to be James and Remus. “I’m taking them back to the castle before we get ourselves caught.”

What you didn’t know at the time was that the full moon would arrive in just a few days, and the boys knew about Remus’s condition. They skipped dinner to get a few things, and then decided to stay out so they could have a little fun before Remus would be out of commission for a few days. It was a story you’d be told later on in your relationship with Sirius, but as of this meeting, you just assumed they were looking to get into trouble. 

And you wouldn’t be taken down with them. 

“They’re a little loud, don’t you think? Do you plan on getting us all caught, or do you think you can manage getting them back to your dorms unharmed?”

Sirius grinned, raising a brow at your sharp but playful tone. “There’s already been a little bit of harm, actually. Prongs fell, and—”

“Prongs?” You asked, eying both the boys knees. 

“James, I mean,” he corrected, motioning back to the flush cheeked boy who looked a solid minute from keeling over. “I don’t think he’s ever drank like this before.”

“I’m a good boy! Mum would skin me if she knew,” James inserted, hanging his arm around Sirius’s shoulder.

“She absolutely would not,” Sirius groaned, wrapping his arm around James’s waist to keep him upright before turning back to you. “Sorry, as you can see he’s a bit in over his head. He tripped earlier and scuffed his knee. But don’t you worry…I’ll keep him quiet long enough to get him back. Wouldn’t want to take all you ladies down with me, now would I?”

You watched him for a moment, deliberating, before pointedly walking around to his other side, taking a hold of James’s other arm. You turned around to face Remus, offering your free hand. 

“Do you need help, too?”

“Y/N!” Lily rushed out in a hushed whisper, looking around to see if anyone was watching. “What are you doing? We’ll get caught!”

You shook your head, grinning. “Not if we’re careful. We should be heading back anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius asked, a bit confused as he watched James lean some of his weight into you.

“I’m sure,” you mused, turning back to Remus. “What about you?”

He was clearly amused by the whole situation, content to watch from the sidelines. He raised his hands, motioning for you to go ahead. 

“I think I’ll manage, don’t worry about me.”

You nodded. “Alright, then. Shall we go?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” James mumbled suddenly, making both your and Sirius’s eyes widen.

“Alright, let’s go, let’s go! Merlin, Prongs, I swear I’ll hex you till your eyes cross if so much as an ounce of vomit lands on my new shoes.”

“How gallant,” you mused, although you were now a bit wary about being this close to James yourself. “You can always get yourself another pair.”

You caught a glimpse of his grin from the other side of James. “It’s the principle, darling.”

Together, you managed to sneak everyone back into the castle without alerting anyone. By the time morning came, no one would even know you left. You walked James all the way to Gryffindor tower, everyone quietly chatting amongst themselves. Lily eventually had to hex James’s mouth shut when you passed the Prefect dorms, afraid he’d get you all a month’s detention, or worse.

He—even after all these years—still insists that he considers that night to be the moment he truly fell in love with her.

Remus, pretty much sober now at this point, took on the task of getting James into the Common Room and up to bed. The girls whispered a hushed good night, going to bed soon after. When they were gone, it was just you and Sirius, standing out in the lamp lit corridor.

He gave you an awkward smile, leaning up against the wall. “So…what were you girls doing out so late? It’s against the rules.”

“It may be,” you nodded. “But you were out there too.”

“I’ve got so many detentions wracked up that I’m expecting a Howler from my Mother any day now. I have never seen you, however, in any sort of trouble, let alone in detention. You’re not fooling me.”

You grinned, a glint in your eye. “Maybe I’m just better at not getting caught than you are.”

Sirius felt something flicker in his chest. A faint sensation, no more than a second, but it was there. It was something. The glint in your eye made him want to stand on his toes and lean over the edge until he fell overboard into the depths of you. Your mind was something to be explored, and your heart an adventure to be had. His curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn’t let you go without solidifying another excuse to see you.

“Thank you for helping me bring James up.”

You shook your head. “It was no problem. You looked like you needed the help.”

“I think there’s an insult hiding in there,” he chuckled, ignoring your teasing. “But I’ll forgive it, considering you risked your own shoes to help me. I don’t suppose you let me thank you properly…maybe on your next trip to Hogsmeade?”

“You’re trying to buy my time, Black? Need a friend who won’t need you to carry them home?”

He huffed nervously, retreating. “It was just an offer, love. You can just say no.”

“I was kidding, Sirius,” you smiled, shaking your head. “I’ll go with you. But there’s no need to buy me anything. I’ll take your word as enough thanks.”

His confidence slowly returned, his usual smirk reappearing. “Like you said, love. If I have the means to buy myself a new pair of shoes, I can certainly buy you a butterbeer or two.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, biting your tongue. You supposed that was Sirius’s thing. Winning people over with his charm and riches, so they’d never stop and try to look any deeper. But there was more to him. You could see it. And you wanted to get to know him, not shrouded by his show of wealth. 

“I can pay for my own butterbeer, Sirius.”

He grinned, the glint now in his eye. “We’ll see about that.”

—

You spent most of your spare time with Sirius for days after your first trip to Hogsmeade.

He made good on his promise. 

Despite your efforts, you walked back to the castle with a bag of Cauldron Cakes from Honeydukes and a Sneakoscope from Zonko’s. He rationalized it by saying that you could share the sweets with Lily, and use the scope for when you needed to find him when he was creating mischief somewhere in the castle—which you’d later use the Marauder’s Map for. You could have refused them, but you knew he’d make you accept the gifts anyway, even if he couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to buy them for you. 

Over time, you stopped scolding him for buying you things. You knew he’d do it anyway regardless of what you wanted, and it was easier to thank him than argue with him.

Your trips to Hogsmeade became trips to the Astronomy Tower, or the Room of Requirement whenever you wanted to be alone together. Picnics down by the Black Lake—or winter swims, even though it was freezing—to evenings at the Quidditch Pitch where you’d watch him practice tricks and fly laps between the goal posts on his broom. He even resorted to spending afternoons with you in the library, watching you read with a content smile on his face. Of course, he’d eventually get bored and bother you too, but he was so adorable that you’d usually pack up and follow him wherever he was begging you to go.

The gift giving didn’t stop. 

It was one of his main love languages. He wasn’t always the best with words, but he prided himself on his ability to understand a person and know what would make them happy. No matter how small or big the gift, he’d love seeing the little smile on a person’s face when they opened it up. The way their eyes would light up when they realized that another person had thought of them enough to get them something they’d like. 

It was intimate. 

It was easy and natural to Sirius. 

A locket with room for a photo in the middle, a bouquet of flowers, a book you’d been mentioning you wanted to read, one of his old sweaters that spent more time in your closet than it ever did in his.

Money was never a problem, so he never even gave it a second thought when he’d see something on a shelf at a store and immediately think of you. He’d buy it and happily give it to you, telling you to get over yourself when you’d tell him he shouldn’t spend so much money on you. You’d try and gift him things too, but he considered himself infinitely better at giving gifts than getting gifts. 

“Beautiful girls deserve beautiful things,” he’d always say, and you couldn’t help but flush and grin every time, dropping the subject. 

It became a staple of your growing relationship together. Eventually, days with Sirius turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact time that it happened, but it was without a doubt—you had fallen for Sirius Black. 

And you had fallen hard.

—

Before you knew it, years had passed. It was Fifth Year now, and you couldn’t love him more. It was an accident, really—falling in love.

Loving Sirius was as easy as breathing.

Every inhale was another second you got to love him, and every exhale was the comfort of knowing that he loved you just as hard. It was bliss.

If only you knew what was coming.

Sirius had run away a week before. He’d gone straight to James’s house, scared out of his mind. He hadn’t even been there more than an hour before James had sent word to you. You were on his doorstep in mere moments after, begging James to let you in so you could see him. Although he knew Sirius was in a fragile state, he reluctantly let you in. 

There was no harm you could truly ever do to him, and, if anything, you’d bring some good.

Sirius always had an unusual peace about him when you were around. Maybe it was your calm demeanor, or your ability to make silence comfortable. There wasn’t any reason you could pinpoint, it’s just how it was. You were always able to calm him when he needed you to.

Euphemia spent most of the evening tending to him before you were allowed to go up. 

He had taken a few calming draughts, and he was quite tired by the time you knocked on his door. Euphemia let you stay with him for half the night before she made you get up so he could get some rest. She knew there was no telling you that you couldn’t see him, and she knew you’d help him rest easier. 

You sat up against the headboard, Sirius resting with his head on your chest. You had the blanket pulled up tight around him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other secured around his shoulders. You were quiet for a long while, doing nothing but listening to him breathe. Each exhale gave you a little bit of peace. 

They meant he was alive. 

They meant he was here, right here, and he was safe in your arms. Nobody was going to hurt him, and they most certainly weren’t going to take him away from you.

It must have been an hour before he finally spoke. He clung to you, his voice muffled into your shirt. He sounded so small…and it broke your heart.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” he whispered, though he made no move to let you go. “I may be a burden, but I don’t have to be your burden.”

“Don’t say that!” You rushed out firmly. 

Your grip on Sirius tightened, and you could feel him let out a sigh. His chest rose and fell as he tilted his head up to look at you. 

“And why not? It’s true—”

“It isn’t!” You interrupted, looking him in the eye. “Sirius Black, you listen to me…you have not been, and you never will be…a burden. Do you know how many people love you?”

He said nothing, only staring up at you with sad eyes. You frowned, reaching down to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. You cupped his cheek, running your thumb along the top of his cheekbone. 

“Look where you are. You’re home and safe with a family that loves you and considers you their own. They’re your family, Sirius…you’ll never be a burden to the people who love you. You’ve got Euphemia and Fleamont. You’ve got James, and Remus, and Lily, and Marlene, and Frank and Alice…and Regulus, and your Aunt Andromeda…I could give you an endless list of people who care about you. People who love and adore you so much.”

You hooked a finger under his jaw, making him look you in the eyes as you spoke. He let you, his hands still clutching your shirt.

“And I love you,” you whispered, tilting his chin upward. “I love you so much that it scares me sometimes. I don’t think it’s normal—to feel like this about another person.”

You smoothed your hand over his hair, leaning down so that your forehead rested against his. You spoke softly, so soft that you could practically hear your own heart beating.

“I would follow you wherever you wanted to go. I don’t care where, I just want to be with you. I want to sit with you and listen about your day, however good or bad it was, and talk with you until we can’t keep our eyes open and we fall asleep. And I want to wake up next to you—wherever that is—and I want to lay with you until we have to drag ourselves out of bed and start our day. I don’t care where we are, I don’t care what we’re doing, I don’t care who we’re with…I just care about you. And I would give up anything to have that life with you. Anything.”

Please believe me, you thought to yourself. Please believe how much I want you.

You watched his eyes brim with tears, and you could feel his hands shaking as he held you tighter. A stray tear spilled over the top of his cheek, and you were quick to wipe it away with your thumb.

He let out a long breath. “That’s a lot of love.”

You managed a small chuckle, smiling down at him. “It is. I’m not quite sure what to do with all of it.”

“I’ll take it,” he replied, once again letting his head rest on your chest. “It sounds really nice. If you’ve got no one else to give it to, I’ll take it.”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s all yours, love. All yours.”

—

Sirius got better, with time. 

Sirius’s parents never came for him, although an owl from his brother came a week after he left to let him know just how finished with him their Mother was. He’d been permanently burned off the family tapestry. 

He had laughed it off when he found out, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Just like my Aunt Andromeda. Always one with a flare for the dramatics, my Mother.”

“Is that who you get it from?” You teased, ducking when he chucked a pillow at your head.

“Be nice to me!” He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest as he laid back against the couch. “I’m fragile right now.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning over and pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek as your way of silently apologizing. It made him giggle, which was a sound you didn’t realize just how much you’d miss until it was gone. You’d have done anything to hear it again and make him smile.

His pout disappeared, replaced by a small smile and flushed cheeks. “Alright, I guess you’re forgiven.”

“How generous of you,” you mused, grinning. 

“It’s a gift.”

The days rolled on, and he slowly returned to his usual self. 

Euphemia and Fleamont treated him like he was one of their own, and James was relishing in having another sibling. He’d already considered Sirius a brother, but living with him somehow made it more official. 

Remus came over whenever he could, and you spent every spare minute of your time at the Potter’s. Euphemia said it constantly looked like a parade of zoo animals running around her house, but you could tell she was secretly enjoying the company. Like you, she had a lot of love to give—and you and all your friends were her honorary children that she could love and spoil. 

You were beginning to realize why James had turned out how he did. Like the sun, personified.

Eventually, Sirius seemed entirely himself. He was back to cracking jokes and getting into mischief, never a dull moment with James by his side. He didn’t often speak of home, but when he did, it was of lighthearted memories and long forgotten tales. Everyone kept him well occupied, and he learned to fill the rare silences and still moments when he was alone with things that made him feel hopeful and content. 

If you were anyone else, you would have missed the signs. 

He seemed entirely happy to the untrained eye. But you noticed something was wrong during quieter moments when his mind would stray, and there was this far off look in his eye. It was minuscule and fleeting, but it was there. You knew it was bothering him, and yet, he never brought it up. You figured it was best to stay quiet and let him come to you about it…but he never did. And the far away stares were becoming more and more frequent. 

One evening, you couldn’t help but gently confront him about it. If there was any chance you could bring him some peace, you had to at the very least try and get him to fess up. 

You were sitting on the porch, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky. It was just after dinner, and he had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire time. You couldn’t stay at the Potter’s every night, but on the nights when you could, he was usually quite excited. It was unusual for him not to be teeming with excitement, and you led him by the hand to the porch the minute dinner was over and everyone had dispersed.

“What’s going on, darling?” You asked, your shoulder brushing his as you laid down on the porch floor next to him. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the stars. 

You gave him a pointed look, but turned your attention back to the sky as well. “It’s not nothing, Sirius. You’re quiet, and you’re never quiet…and you may be quiet right now, but I know your mind isn’t. I can practically hear the cogs turning. You can tell me what you’re thinking about if you want to. You don’t have to, of course…but I’m right here if you do want to.”

Neither of you knew at the time that his Uncle Alphard had set aside a small fortune for Sirius to live on until he came into his own, which subsequently got him burned off the family tapestry too. 

He was a blessing, and you’d always be eternally grateful for what he did for Sirius. It truly changed both of your lives.

The money didn’t pass to Sirius until after Alphard died, so Sirius was under the assumption that the inheritance he’d been promised all his life was taken away from him. That fact had been bothering him since he left home, and the reality of his situation was beginning to set in.

“I’m just worried,” he finally murmured, rolling over to face you. 

You rolled to face him, so close that your noses were almost brushing. “About what?”

“About how long James’s folks are gonna let me live with them. We’ve only got two years left, and I’m sure they’re not looking to support another child that isn’t even theirs.”

You frowned, reaching for his hand and intertwining your fingers. “Don’t worry about that, Sirius. They’re happy to take you in, and they’re absurdly rich too. I don’t think you’re going to make a dent in the family fortune.”

He could tell you were trying to make light of the situation, using humor to make him forget about how much the Potter’s were doing for him. He shook his head, growing frustrated. 

“I don’t want to make a dent. I don’t want them to feel like they have to take care of me, even if they have the means to. They shouldn’t have to support me, I should be able to do it on my own—”

“You’re still a kid, love,” you interrupted, squeezing his hand. “You shouldn’t have to worry about those kinds of things yet. They wouldn’t want you to.”

“And what about after school? What about when it’s time to move out, and I’ve got nowhere to go?”

“You can go with James,” you tried to rationalize.

“And when he gets bored of me? When he gets tired of living in a flat with another grown man, and decides he wants to settle down in a house of his own.”

“Then you can live with me,” you said softly, eyes softening on him. “James is your brother, and he’ll never grow tired of you, but you’re right…he will eventually want to settle down on his own. But then you can come live with me. I told you, Sirius…wherever you, I go. No matter what. I promised you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do that, darling. How would we live? I won’t be able to give you all that you deserve, and I refuse to let you accept anything less.”

“Beautiful girls deserve beautiful things, right?” You asked, offering him a small smile. “That’s what you said to me. And I’ve got my beautiful boy…that’s all I’ll ever need. The rest of it doesn’t matter. We’ll make it work.”

There was a choked sound in the back of his throat, and he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck so you weren’t able to look at him. You wrapped your arms around him as he took a deep breath, feeling his chest rise and fall under your touch.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled into your shirt. “I’m going to ask you to marry me one day. Merlin, I hope you say yes.”

You shook your head, chuckling, sitting up and pulling him with you. You tugged the spare hair tie off his wrist, twisting it around your finger until it was bundled into loops. You slipped it over his ring finger on his left hand, securing it in place. 

“I’d marry you with nothing but one of these around our fingers,” you smiled, twisting the hair tie around and around. “I like shiny things…but I’d marry you with paper rings…a rubber band, or a string, or a tattoo—even a Ring Pop, I don’t care—it doesn’t matter. As long as I get to marry you.”

He was quiet for a long moment, a silly grin on his face. His cheeks were flushed, and he knew he was beet red, but he didn’t care. He just cared about his girl—the one who just said she’d marry him no matter what. He felt like his heart could explode.

“What’s a Ring Pop?” He finally asked, smiling wider when you let out a bright laugh.

“It’s a muggle thing. A lollipop carved into the shape of a giant jewel or diamond, and it’s melted onto a plastic ring you can slip on over your finger so you can wear it while you eat it. It’s cooler than it sounds, I promise.”

“I think it sounds very cool,” he said as shook his head, grinning. “It’s good to know you like them. It may be all I can afford.”

You smiled, continuing to twist the tie around his finger. “As long as it’s the blue raspberry one. Those are the best ones. Turns your tongue blue, though.”

“Is there a red one?” He asked, and you nodded, making him grin. “Good. Then we can make our tongues purple.”

“Sirius!”

—

The day his inheritance came in was the happiest he’d been in a long time. 

Euphemia and Fleamont had kept him well taken care of, but he wasn’t content. He didn’t want to spend any more money than was necessary to get him the things he needed, and he often went without some of the things he wanted. 

But what he really wanted, and what he really missed…was being able to get things for you. 

James had a countless number of times seen him staring longingly in a store at some little knick knack and offered to buy it for him, but Sirius always politely refused. He never felt right about it. You were content to never receive another thing from Sirius ever again. You didn’t need him to spend a galleon on you. But you knew it made him happy to give people things. It wasn’t just you he missed spoiling. 

So when the money came in, he had a field day. Everyone who had supported him and loved him since he left home received a gift of some kind within a week, and Sirius hadn’t smiled that wide like he did watching people’s eyes light up as they opened them in a long time. 

He saved you for last, pulling you aside one evening after a gathering at the Potter’s. He pulled a small box out of his pocket, tied shut with a ribbon.

“Sirius,” you gasped, eyes widening in shock. “Is that—”

“It’s a promise ring,” he finished for you, slipping the ribbon off.

You felt your stomach knot itself up, afraid your palms were beginning to sweat as he opened the lid to show you the ring. He grinned when you paled. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not a real silver band. And it isn’t a diamond—it’s a moonstone. Lily told me it’s a symbol of protection or something like that. I figured that you’ve spent so long protecting me, it’s my turn to start protecting you.”

You raised a brow. “You’ve been talking to Lily about this? No wonder she and Marlene have been so secretive recently. I was beginning to think I’d done something wrong.”

“Apparently, McKinnon has a thing for astrology and crystals and all that shit. Someone should tell her she’s a witch,” he chuckled, pulling the ring out of the box. “Lily helped me pick the band a few days ago. The shopkeeper thought we were a couple while we were in there.”

“I’m sure Lily loved that, and I'm definitely sure it amused you,” you laughed, smiling at the thought of Lily scrunching her nose up at the mere insinuation that she and Sirius were together.

“It most certainly did.”

He pocketed the box, holding his hand out for you to take. You placed your palm in his, letting him slowly slip the ring onto your ring finger. He twisted it around once, before squeezing your hand in his. 

“I’ll get you the real thing one day.” 

You smiled, admiring the ring. “It’s beautiful, Sirius. Not as tasty as a Ring Pop, but I love it.”

“I love you,” he breathed through a laugh, running his thumb along the back of your hand. “And I love that you would have let me propose to you with a Ring Pop. I love that you want a life with me, and Merlin, I want it too. And I love how you make me feel. I love that you feel so deeply and love so hard…I love that you love me just as much as I love you.”

You felt your chest swell with emotion, feeling your eyes sting with tears. You gave him a watery smile, squeezing his hand tightly in yours.

You were only able to choke out a few words. “I love you more.”

He laughed, like you had just said the most unbelievable thing he had ever heard. He hooked a finger under your chin, titling your head up until your eyes met his. He looked at you a long while, before shaking his head.

“Impossible, darling.”

—

A/N - Hi!  So so sorry for the long wait, it took me so long to get this out. I really enjoyed writing this one, I really appreciate the request. Small Fleabag reference for my girlies who caught onto that. I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think :)

[florianniss]

Dungeons and Drag Queens

RatedE, Identityporn, drag queen!eddie for @steddie-week July 3: Long / mutual pining / Holding Me by Warlock

The feel is silky and light between his fingers, cornflower blue and not particularly racy. Steve holds the hanger against his chest and looks down, trying to decide if he should get the medium or the large bottoms to go with it. He does some quick math as he looks at the measurements on the tag. They’re both —

“Can I help you?”

Steve comes fucking unglued. He throws the bra and panty set in front of his face to protect himself against attack. He’d been so careful to avoid all the sales clerks. This lady must have been lurking behind the return rack, just waiting for him to make his move.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, but looks pleased with herself. “Looking for something for your girlfriend?”

“I wish,” Steve mutters as he fixes the strap on the hanger. What he wouldn’t do to make that happen.

“Excuse me?” 

Steve looks up and meets her eyes. She’s probably his mom’s age, her hair teased so high it’s clear she’s trying to look younger. It makes it only slightly less embarrassing, considering he’s been caught feeling up the ladies' lingerie on the upper floor of JCPenneys.

“Uh. Yeah.”

Her smile is knowing; she gets he’s covering up something. “Well, what size is she? Maybe I can help.”

Steve understands she makes a commission, but this is ridiculous. “Um. Well. She’s about my size.”

The woman blinks. “Your size. You mean your height?”

Steve thinks back. With the heels? Yeah. Without?

“No. She’s shorter.” He doesn’t know what this has to do with buying underwear.

She looks at him now like he’s stupid. “And what’s her bust size?”

Steve panics and stares at her. She takes his increased breathing rate for later stages of stupidity. Her shoulders heave a great sigh and she points at one of the mannequins who sports handful-sized boobs. “Bigger or smaller than that.”

It’s good that Steve deals in motorcycles for a living. He’s failing miserably at everything else. “Uh. Smaller. Pretty — pretty flat, actually.”

Steve notices for the first time her name tag says ‘Robin.’ Oh, how his friend would be laughing at him right now.

Robin gives him a look that for sure means she’s sorry for whoever this girlfriend is. “All right. I’m not sure this is the best option for her, then. How about if we try something else?”

Steve nods his head. Because apparently he’s a spineless weakling.

Robin the sales clerk takes him to a rack of nightgowns and pulls a silky cream colored, long floor-length thing that’s more wedding than sleeping attire.

“All the girls love this,” she says, fanning out the dress so it’s skirt twirls. “I’ve sold so many of these I’ve lost count.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest so he doesn’t touch it and imagine smooth skin beneath the beaded bodice. He’s suddenly picturing long brown hair cascading over bare shoulders, and he wants one too.

“But blue,” he asks. It’s got to be blue.

“OK,” she hums and searches through the rack until finding one in powder blue. “Any particular reason?”

Steve wonders if she’s pushing the cream ones on him because there are dozens still on the rack. He stands his ground. “Her eyes are big and brown. And I think blue would be pretty on her.”

Robin gives him the first genuine smile as she searches his face for something. “That’s nice.”

She hands over the nightie and Steve is careful to only touch the curved part of the hanger.

“Anything else I can help you with?”

Steve looks longingly over one shoulder at the lacy blue lingerie set and wonders if his Robin might agree to pick it up later.

“No. That’s it.”

To be continued on AO3

[mewtwowarrior]

In honor of Tron Day, here's my project for my Tron OC Ark that I've been working on or a while now!

I used this base with some modifications to it for everything:

Iyzel Reaar's F2U Female Ref Base

The main modifications I did were to mirror half of it so I didn't have to figure out how to draw the circuits twice, erase certain features I'm not sure Basic programs have, and make the lines solid.

I used Windows 11 Paint's line and shape tools to draw the circuits, with adding a few pixels here and there when needed.

I used the GNU Image Manipulation Program for a lot of the color editing I did and for layering the textures.

-

The first two are Ark's base circuits, along with the red rectified version of them for Mars.

I used my friend @quesadillawizard's art and design for Ark - Ark's circuits are based off ones from the DS version of Evolution and Wolfy added more features to them.

I used the reference he made for me to make the circuits and referenced this sketch as well.

-

The next two are the Tron/Renegade circuits from Uprising, in both gray and black, as seen in the show.

@tucatalog was super helpful for references!

I mainly used two posts of theirs:

I looked at a few others as well, but I have a list of 50+ of their posts and were flipping between them, so I'm not entirely sure which others I used.

-

The next two are Grid scar versions of the Tron/Renegade circuits.

In Ark's backstory, she was captured and tortured by the Occupation. I've played around with different scar configurations for her and I love the idea of them literally carving the Tron circuits out/off of her.

I decided to do a little something different for the scars, I've tried another technique that wasn't much fun, and I'm not sure how to mimic the scars from Uprising.

So, I took some textures I got from Etsy and layered them over each other to try to make something interesting.

Textures I used:

Gemstone Crush

Iridescent Textures

Glassy Textures

Iridescent Glass

Sparkly Glitter

Fake Glitter Particles

I'm not sure if most of these came through, I figured out the glitter ones did a lot of the heavy lifting I wanted, so they're the most visible ones and the ones on top.

Anyway, one is just the Renegade scars and the other is the scars overlaid on Ark's circuits.

-

The last two are the circuits and scars over a skintone for circumstances when Ark ends up in the User world.

I like the thought of program circuits being barely visible in the User world, with just a hint of faint iridescence when the light hits them just right.

One of the textures from this pack fit my idea fairly well, so that's what I used:

Iridescent Textures

The scars are the ones I made earlier with a skin tone color overlay to make them blend in.

This is what I started this project for, as I wanted a visual for an RP and a potential fic.

-

I've done a smaller scale version of this before, that time I made the scars by repeatedly scribbling over the circuits with multiple different colors, which hurt my hand, lol:

-

Anyway, that's my project! It's not perfect, but I'm pretty pleased with how it came out!

A big thanks to @quesadillawizard and @proto-actual for looking them over!

Happy Tron Day!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Heeyyy my first time requesting I read all your works I just wanna say it’s absolutely Amazing 🤩 but I’m here to request hawks x chubby black reader (if you don’t write for him I’m so sorry 😞)

Hopefully you can make it like “smile for the camera” except hawks is like “😳” when he first meets the reader but reader doesn’t like the way he’s staring at her and thinks he’s judging her (but really he’s not he just luvs the reader)

I’ll let you do the rest yourself

Again if you don’t write for hawks then it’s fine ignore the request😁

Stay safe,drink water,and luv yourself😘

As Beautiful as Moonlight (Hawks x Black!Chubby!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot) [REQUEST FILL]

Pairing: Keigo "Hawks" Takami x Black!Chubby!Fem!Reader (Strangers to Lovers)

Synopsis: In which Hawks tries to show you that you are more than just a conquest and that his stares aren't because he's judging you. They're because he is dying to make you his.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+; Chubby!Reader; Black-coded!Reader; Fem!Reader; Sexual Tension; Some Alcohol & Drug (Nothing crazy lol just weed); Flirting; Mutual Oral (Giving & Receiving); 69ing; Missionary; Doggysyle; Sex in the Mirror; Overstimulation; Sloppy Tongue Kissing; Mutual O; Snuggling

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I told you I gotchu! I’m so, so sorry this is so late, anon, but I didn’t want to make you wait any longer for this request. I’ve been so busy with commissions, getting ready for my summer job, AND classes, but this is the least I can do for you. I hope you like it! Thank you so much for the love 🫶🏾🫶🏾 -Jazz

********

“What are you lookin’ at?” 

Hawks blinks once, coming out of the trance you put him in for about five minutes now…which is as long as he’s been staring at you like a weirdo. Or a dumbass, in his case, anyway. 

He can’t blame you for giving him the evil eye as you sit together at the bar while the rest of your mutual friends yack it up over shots and the music playing from overhead. “Huh?” he dumbly asks, his mind having gone to mush in the five minutes he was staring at you. 

“I said,” you pointedly repeat, “what are you looking at?” Your hand with your pretty nails wraps around your cocktail glass. Hawks imagines it somewhere else on his body. 

“Uh…nothing,” he decides. “Just…” He tries to think quick, hating that he took a hit of a blunt before coming here and downed those two tequila shots before Mirko showed up with you as her work friend. 

He isn’t usually like this: so clueless and all fumbly. He is known for his charm and flirtation when it comes to pretty women. You are no different. You’re about the prettiest thing in the bar in your red dress that makes your skin seem so vibrant and wraps around your body. 

The fact that you’re a big girl makes no difference to him. He loves how your stomach rolls as you sit down; how your thick, soft thighs squish on the stool you sit on; how you have such an adorable softness to your cheeks. Hawks has never cared about the size of a woman. If he thinks you’re attractive, he’s going to try his luck to scoop you up! 

But he’s also never had a woman give him such trouble and a cold welcome like you are now. “You were just starin’ at me because…why?” you pointedly ask, squinting at him, your long lashes framing your pretty, brown eyes. “I know this dress is tight, but you don’t have to stare.” 

Hawks simply laughs, pulling the collar of his Armani button-down. “Well, you ain’t really givin’ me a choice in the matter,” he jokes. You scowl at him, earning a sheepish shrug from him. “But since you asked, I’m only starin’ because you’re the most beautiful thing in here.” 

He watches as his words process in your head and registers on your gorgeous face. You look shocked at him uttering such words to you, but then that wall that he sees built up around you comes back, shielding you for whatever reason. “Right,” you scoff. “I think those shots have gone to your head…or you’re just tryna fuck.” 

You turn away slightly, wrapping your soft, glossy lips around the straw in your glass. Hawks stares, unabashed in his attraction to you, his cock stirring impatiently in his jeans. “Well, I mean, if you’re offering…” 

You look back at him with a hard stare that would’ve left him dead if looks could kill. “C’mon!” he laughs. “Can you blame a man for bein’ attracted to a pretty woman such as yourself? Why the pushback?” 

He isn’t trying to sleep with you! He just wants to know why you’re so goddamn cold. Is it truly impossible for you to believe that a guy can be interested in getting to know you without having grimy ulterior motives? 

You turn to him now, eyes still sharp and indifferent. “Because I know guys like you,” you huff. “You butter me up with your flirting, fuck me for the night, and then never call again. You are a bachelor, after all.” 

Hawks states at you, his body becoming hot from such harsh words. “Now why in the hell would I do that?” he asks, honestly offended by such an assumption. 

You blink at him, wondering if he’s serious. “Because I’m…” You motion over your body. “Fat. Chubby. Chunky. Whatever the fuck you wanna call me. I know I’m pretty, but guys like you don’t date girls like me.” 

You chuckle to yourself, but it’s an empty laugh. Hawks can tell, especially with the way you look at Mirko who is so muscular and toned. She doesn’t have to worry about people judging her, flaunting her body in her skin-tight dress on the dancefloor. He hates to see it, so he does his best to stop it. 

“Y/N,” he says, using your name since the first time he met you. It catches your attention immediately. “I don’t want you for a one-night stand. But would I want the chance to touch that body in the privacy of a bedroom? Hell yes!” 

You flush at his boldness, looking away from his intense, golden eyes. “But believe it or not, I was thinking more on the “taking you to dinner and getting to know you” side, if you’re okay with that.” He searches your face for a possible yes, but all he sees is your eyes looking away from him even though your body is still turned his way. You seem like you want to say yes, but something is holding you back. 

Hawks withers, disappointed, but he won’t push it. “I guess not,” he sighs. “Well, it was worth trying anyway. I’m gonna go get some air.” He gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before getting up from his stool and leaving you be. 

He carefully meanders through the throng of pro heroes and regular club-hoppers with his ruby-red wings though people make way for him anyway. He walks to one of the exits and leaves the club’s hot, sticky atmosphere for the cool early-summer air in the alleyway. 

He immediately digs into his pocket for his cigarettes, having toned down on nicotine a long time ago, but he still carries them around for stressful or disappointing situations. But as he sticks one of the cigs in his mouth and goes for his lighter, he stops and turns. 

There you stand in the doorway, silhouetted by the lights behind you like some curvy, plump angel wrapped in a delectable red dress. “I didn’t know you smoke,” you say, nodding at the cig hanging out of his mouth. 

He takes it out from between his lips, chuckling. “Yeah,” he sighs. “You ain’t gon’ tell on me, are you?” You shake your head and slowly walk out into the alley with him. You take something from behind your back: a glass of water with lemon. “I got you some club soda.” 

Hawks takes the water, confused at the offer. “So you came out here to keep me company?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You look down at your strappy sandals with your cute, pink-painted toes hanging out of them. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to people looking at me without judging me or with lust. I guess I just thought you weren’t serious.” 

Hawks nods as he sips the water, his thirst quenched. “I can understand what it feels like to be judged and lusted after.” You stare at him, your eyes as big as the full moon hanging above you. “Really?” you ask, slightly breathless. 

He nods wordlessly. Having made mistakes as a pro, people judge him. Having slept around and graced magazine covers, people lust for him. He can’t remember the last time someone really wanted him for just him and looked at him with kindness. 

“I can’t say that I know exactly how you feel though,” he apologetically says. “I’m sorry you’ve ever felt that way and the need to protect yourself from others who can’t see beyond your body.” 

You seem to know that he means that because you take his glass and drink from it, attaching your lips to the same spot his were on. He watches, his need for you rising. You stare at him over the rim of the glass, your eyes hooded and saying things to him that match his teak and his intentions. “I think I’ll take you up on that dinner date, Hawks,” you say, a slight giggle in your tone. “If you give me a dance.” 

You give him a bashful, crooked smile that lights his damn heart on fire. He nods, too afraid to ruin his with his words, and you take his hand in yours, leading him back into the club. 

Several drinks, convos, and a dance later that gives him a boner because of how close you are to him, your back pushed up against his front and his hands on your hips, you and Hawks finally get to dance in private hours later when you leave together, much to Mirko’s astonishment. 

“Wow, you managed to get her, Hawks?” the Bunny hero gasped while he led you into an Uber. “Damn, you must’ve put a spell on her! I was sure she’d send you packing!” She pulls him close by the elbow and lowers her voice, intimidatingly so. “Just take care of her, understand?” she asks, giving him a stare that would make any man piss his pants. Hawks only nods, promising you mutual friend. 

And “taking care of you” he absolutely does. The man makes you cum four times throughout the night at his luxurious penthouse: 

The fits time on his couch, coaxing you to bend over and let him massage and spank your plump, soft, jiggly ass that he swears his heaven sent as he plunges his tongue into the velvety, wet walls of your pussy while you moan and toss your behind back into his mouth much to his enjoyment. 

The second time is in his bed, your legs pinned down onto the mattress while he tails you, his cock plunging in and out of you and his wings wrapped around you, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable while he dicks you down and makes you gush all over his cock, feeling fetal at the sight of your tummy and tits jiggling, causing him to fill you up. 

The third time is when his dick is down your throat and wrapped in your pretty lips while his face is once again buried between your asscheeks, his tongue in your cunt, hungrily lapping at your folds and making you cum again, your moans muffled from his dick lodged in your throat while your delectable pussy spasms in his mouth. 

And the fourth and last time (because you physically can’t take another orgasm) is when you’re getting bent over and fucked from behind by Hawks in front of his full-length mirror. His hands hold your hips while his wings wrap around you, physically holding you up because your legs are too weak. 

Your hands grip his arms as he pounds into you from the back, creating lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your clir, his firm thighs meeting your asscheeks, and the squelching of his cock plunging deep in your pussy as he fucks you like there is no tomorrow. “F-Fuck, Hawks, right there!” you sob. “Oooh, yes, right there!” 

He watches your pretty face contort in pleasure in the mirror, loving how soft you feel pressed against him and how you sound moaning from your soft lips that he’s been kissing all night. “Keigo,” he huffs in your ear. “Call me ‘Keigo’, baby. I don’t wanna be just Hawks with you tonight.” 

You nod, moving your hand between your thick thighs to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. “Keigo,” you moan. “You’re so fucking good at this!” He smiles, becoming cocky at seeing you lose your mind on his dick. “Yeah?” he teasingly asks. “You love gettin’ this pretty pussy fucked by a pro, don’t you?” 

You only moan and whine in response, but that isn’t good enough for a gluttonous whore like Hawks. 

SMACK! The sharp sound of his hand connecting with your asscheek makes you moan and your pussy tighten around him. “That was a question, baby bird,” he whispers, teasingly sucking on your earlobe. 

“Yes!” you gasp, the sensations too much. “Yes, I love it! I love it s-so, so much!” 

“You’te not to bad yourself, y’know, datlin’,” he moans. “You’re body is so fuckin’ perfect!” He grips one of your juicy tits as he pounds into you faster, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Look at you,” he demands. “Look in the fuckin’ mirror. Look at that pretty face and perfect body gettin’ fucked.” 

You do as he says, looking into his mirror as he fucks you, bringing you closer and closer to your end. “Oh, God, I can’t!” you lament. “I can’t…K-Keigo, I’m gonna! I’m gonna!” You can’t even finish your sentence because of the pleasure, your lips quivering just like your pussy is around Hawks’ thick cock. 

“You gonna…gonna what, baby bird?” he chuckles. “You wanna cum for me again?” You pathetically nod, making him cackle. “God, you’re insatiable!” Bur so is he. He would fuck you all night if he could, but even pros have a breaking point. This second orgasm is going to flood you, he promises. 

“Cum for me, Y/N,” he begs into your ear, slamming into you harder as you rub your clit. “I’m close too. Rub that little pussy and fuckin’ give it to me, baby!” 

It doesn’t take long for him to blow his load inside of you, flooding you with cum that drips down your thighs. His moans and orgasm rigger you, causing your pussy to quiver and flutter around him as you cum. A string of moans of his name and swears leave your lips as you cum, coating his cock in your sticky juices. You wrap your arm around his neck, bringing him into the crook of his neck, connecting you both to this moment of bliss. 

“Kiss me,” he demands. You turn your head and do so, your tongues swirling and lips sucking, creating a very messy, sloppy kiss that makes his orgasm feel that much better. 

When the amazing feeling finally fades and you come down from your high, Hawks gently pulls out of you, making your pussy spurt out his cum. The sight nearly makes him hard again. “You’ve made a mess on me, baby girl,” he pants. He motions to his cock shining in your cum. 

You turn around, your body illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through his balcony window. “I’m sorry, sit,” you giggle, looking up at him through your long lashes. “I’ll clean you right up, I promise.” 

You then get on your knees and begin to slurp his clean, your tongue tunning over his shaft and balls. He moans and whimpets at the sensations, biting his lip.

“M’s-sensitive,” he hisses. Though to see you be such a little cockslut for him after being so closed off and cold is a treat indeed. Perhaps it takes the right person to bring that side out of you. Hawks wants to think that this person is him. 

When you finally finish, you give him a cute little smile, your brown eyes sparkling. “We need to lie down,” he states and you nod, agreeing. He helps you up and scoops you up before flapping over to his bed. He lays you down on the silk sheets first before lying down beside you. 

Both of you lay on your side facing each other, his hand on your hip and yours on his chest. “That was really, really nice, H–um, Keigo,” you softly say into the quiet, dimly lit bedroom. “Thank you.” 

He smiles, filled with butterflies at the sound of you using his real name. “It was my pleasure,” he sighs. “Thank you for giving me a chance. So what do you prefer? A steak dinner or Hibachi?” 

You giggle and press a kiss to his lips as you lay next to him, as beautiful as the silvery moonlight lighting the bedroom.

THE END.

[skyc47su]

Topic: Concerns over making skycotl figurine sculpt commissions

Hi everyone! First of all, I'd like to say thank you so much over your comments and reactions to my two skycotl elder sculpts! I've worked hard for them, and I just feel so happy to everyone's comments on my work! Especially to some where I've managed to convince people they were real sky merch hehe (note: they aren't x'D). I think that's the highest honor I've ever received being an artist~

I'd like to address this topic, as I've been receiving a few comments on how they'd love to own one and perhaps commission me for custom skycotl sculpts. I hope it's alright with you guys for a moment of a very long text post ;u; So for starters, I'd like to state the fact that I am not a professional artist. I'm just a hobbyist with a background in veterinary medicine. ;w; zero background on art school. I was pretty much self-taught. So if I ever do create sculpt works for sale, they will be made by a hobbyist artist with no art background other than years of self-taught art stuff.

I'd like to state reasons on why I hesitate to make custom figurine art commissions.

I have never made nor sold physical merch/ sculpts -However I have made and successfully shipped sculpt works to friends! They were however made with oven-baked sculpey, which did not handle shipping well and had to be glued together. However, the elder pieces were made with quality air dry polymer clay. This clay, when dry, has the same feel as nendroid or SHFigurarts figurines. They are amazingly flexible and takes a lot to break. So I'm confident with these figures being able to survive shipping.

I cannot guarantee flawless, clean, uniform quality similar to goodsmile and other well-known figurine makers, or even indie makers -The results may be different every time, there may be unwanted notches here and there, I might see something during painting progress that I didn't spot while sculpting and cannot adjust it once the clay dries, my paint job may be flawed (uneven lines, color mistakes, etc.). These are my main concerns. Again, I am not a professional, although I do improve each time I work on something new. Currently, these two were the second time I've sculpted using air dry polymer clay.

From the images above, you guys may spot imperfections such as: -Tsadi's helmet and head being a little rough -Rough-looking paint details (especially the white "glow") my hands were shaky -Tsadi's gloves not being perfectly straight -Little dry paint "dirt" bits which leaves some little bumps here and there (Notice Tsadi's arm having little bumps) -The underside of Teth's hair was hard to reach and paint perfectly -Teth's hands looking a little odd (the clay air-dries fast and the more I worked, the more it risked their fingers breaking apart) -Teth's skirt should've been more flared-out, but the clay decided it doesn't want to hence the skirt flaps became a little limp -Accidental score marks I must've left from being pricked by something (like a fingernail or a tool next to me) before it dried completely 3. Price -Even if I consider my work shoddy, I'd honestly price Tsadi (Golden Wasteland elder) $200 and Teth (Hidden Forest elder) $150, without shipping fees and etc. I think that sort of price will turn people off, but these are completely hand-made, from sculpting to painting. No any sort of pre-made clay cast used. I did lose a lot of skin on my fingertips because of this project. I'm actually still in the process of growing it back ;; I was constantly checking my work everyday for 30 days, leaving the clay to firm up a bit and coming back to adjust it as it dries, so it did take a lot of time and effort. (I'm not complaining however, I really did have fun with this project!) 4. Material supply -The main concern is the clay. It's brand is "Modena" air dry polymer clay sourced from Japan. I've waited half a year just to buy it from one local art shop, and currently I've only seen 4 packs left in stock. I had to use 1 and a half pack of clay just for GW elder, because he's such a big guy x'D

So ah... Yes, these are my concerns if you guys do really want to commission me. I'd be willing, of course! But I'd like you guys to know first of what you guys may receive if you do so. Thank you all so much for your consideration and taking time to read my post! I hope you guys have a wonderful day QwQ your comments have made me so happy! Oh and I still do digital art commissions though :3

[shiggyscumrag]

WHOLESOME THOUGHTS WITH SHIGGY!

I've been looking back at my old fics and headcanons and mu god has my writing style and interests changed. So I've decided to make an updated HORNY THOUGHTS WITH SHIGGY!!!! Tbh most of them are gonna be wholesome <3 Bakugou has been on my mind A LOT lately so we're gonna start with him!!

Wholesome headcanons

I feel like sometimes when he gets home from patrol he is either a cuddle bug or doesn't want to be touched at all. Being a pro hero puts a lot of strain on the body! So when he comes home more emotionally exhausted sometimes he likes being cuddled and being taken care of. However when he comes home from a patrol that was particularly cruel on his muscles he prefers to just kinda lay there and not be touched.

I love two ideas. Bakugou either not being to handle his liquor at all OR being able to take shot after shot and not feel a thing but hate the taste and doesn't like to drink very often because of it. Like he'll go party with you and friends but he usually won't drink unless it's a special occasion. For the light weight version he would take shot for shot with you on a holiday (New years, Birthday, etc) and after the second shot he's fuckinf gone. Like he's there but snaps back into reality every 5 secs but he just looks so cute with the blush from the heat of the alcohol under his skin. Or on the heavy weight side he would also take shot for shot with you only getting tipsy as you reach your limit. Let's say around 5 shots for fun. He says to you "I'm glad you're done cause that tastes like shit." He just hates the alcohol taste.

I'm not a huge fan of baths. Like I hate them. So in this headcanon Bakugou would instead take showers with you rather than baths. Or if you wanted company while taking a shower but he didn't want to go in he would just sit on the counter and talk to you, read a book or scroll through his phone possibly looking for new recipes. And I course you would do the same thing for him!!

If you were an artist of any sort (I'm an art major give me a break) he would absolutely adore the home made gifts you'd make him. When you guys eventually move into your first place together he would hang up the gifts you gave him in his office or around the living areas. When guests came over and complimented the piece he would always subtly brag that you painted it and he can only have the best art pieces in his home because he has the best artist in the world living with him and making him custom peices. Also if he ever did a charity event and needed like a design or logo he would come to you either asking advice or commission you to do it. Fuck asking for it for free, even though you'd tell him you'd do it free of charge since you're dating and it's charity. But he INSISTS on paying you because you deserve it for all the hard work, love and care you put into it.

He would give you the aux in the car everytime. He knows you usually ask everytime if he has any requests and just queues them in between songs you like so it works out fine for him. You're happy he's happy, nothing to complain about.

However you met (preferably outside of UA) he would find it pretty important that early on in the relationship that he introduces you to his friends (kiri, mina, denki, and sero) just so he can see how you would fair around them. I mean he's around them 24/7 practically so it's important you get along. They are like family to him so it's also important they approve of you, even though he says he doesn't give a shit about their approval.

He secretly loves when you feel up his muscles. It just makes him feel good. He also likes when you rub his back with your nails. It just feels so nice, especially after a day of training and or patrol. It's the perfect relaxer. I feel he would also like it if you rubbed his temples gently when he laid his head in your lap. It could honeslty soothe him right to sleep.

Not so wholesome headcanons (18+ MDNI)

Biting? Check. Choking? Check. An occasional creampie? ...Check. Sorry just had to check off some of the kinks I think Bakugou would indulge in and fantasize about.

Bakugou is a pretty aggressive guy. Some might even say he's a bit mean sometimes. Cruel even. Never to you though. He can get very possessive though. The way he questions when anyone other than his friends and family talk about you. The arm around you at all times in public. The marks that litter your skin underneath your clothing. Oh yeah, he likes to mark you. He swears it's all for your pleasure, I mean you do love the occasional hickey and the way it feels when he bites and sucks on your skin. But it is a bit much when they cover almost all of the entirety of your body. Of course only the parts he can see and possibly sometimes a few on your neck when he's really worked up.

If he decided to do a little quicky in a semi public place he would most definetely let you bite down on his shoulder. Which I feel would be a rarity just cause he'd rather not deal with the possible repercussions of getting caught. He doesnt mind the pain. Like at all. Actually it helps him get off a little bit. It gives him just the right amount of pain and pleasure to get him going absolutely feral.

Some of his fav positions include: normal cowgirl aka riding him into oblivion, reverse cowgirl aka riding him into oblivion just with more ass, doggy, missionary, mating press, you riding his face. The list could go on.

[gardenofnoah]

it lives where i live

part four

tags: healing, angst, hurt/comfort, childhood friends to ????, hopeful ending

wc: 2k

note: this was a weird thing for me to finish. i feel like i’ve changed so much as a writer and this chapter reflects that. i changed the pov for this chapter because i felt like it was important to see all of touya’s growth and inner turmoil directly. idk y’all this was my baby and it’s weird to say it’s done (also claps for bea for actually finishing a chaptered fic). alright love u be good

Touya starts to get it.

He has no idea what it is–only that he feels different, and he thinks that’s a good thing, maybe. He assumes it is, because there’s been considerably more enthusiastic head nods from his therapist through his screen each week.

It’s new. The therapist, anyway–the Hero Commission sanctioned therapist’s check ins (a generous title, considering the lack of any real therapy) had fizzled out and stopped all together soon enough, and it was at the tail end of another one sided phone conversation with Natsuo that he’d heard of a shrink with a reputation for treating those who’d been harmed by heroes.

“She has a surprisingly booked schedule,” Natsuo had said, half in jest and not without a tangible weight. If nothing else, Touya was curious–and bored. With nothing better to do, he decided to try a session. Before he knew it, he’d sat through the better part of four.

He doesn’t talk much–mostly because he’d talked a whole lot on a national scale and really, what else could he possibly have to say?–but lately, he’s found himself full of questions he doesn’t know how to ask. It’s hard–he doesn’t feel particularly brave these days, and to get his mouth to shift into the shapes of the words is enough of a challenge. But he tries–he figures that has to count for something.

He wants to understand your anger. There’s a weight to it–one that smacks into him solidly every time he’s on the other end of it. He’s not unfamiliar with anger–he’s been pissing people off for years now. But yours is different. Yours is heavy–you hate him and you run your fingers through his hair when he hides his tears in the toilet bowl and heaves out everything he’s buried deep inside himself at two in the morning. It’s not so easy to wrap his head around that part.

“Your friend.”

It comes through the speaker as a statement and not a question, and he scowls. Is that what you are to him? He’d been so sure that he’d never had a friend. But that can’t be right, can it? When everyone had moved on and away from him, but you had not—was that your friendship? The word tastes bitter and unsatisfactory on his tongue, but he doesn’t have a better one. He nods.

“Is that so surprising, Touya?”

He says nothing, only glaring into the camera. She sighs, wholly unimpressed.

“Think about it. You’ve mourned someone and then they show up out of nowhere, and they’re not that person you’ve been keeping in your heart all of this time. It’s like…a second death.” She says, tapping a finger to her chin as if to summon the words. “Another cycle of grief on top of the first. That’s a lot to feel, no?”

And he…knows that. You’d made it pretty clear, of course, but he feels it, now–like a rash. Your grief sits on his skin and festers in a way that his did not. His burned hot and fast and left him empty, and he woke up without a thought of what the consequences of that fire would be. Yours hit him like a brick wall the second he stepped foot through your door. That brick wall only gave way to cement–unending, uncomfortable.

It feels wrong to interfere with it–like for all he took away from you, this is the least he could give you. He can handle the anger, of course–he can sit in your white-knuckled fury and let it close in on him. That’s fine.

The crying is another thing entirely.

It’s not as if Touya is a stranger to tears, either–he saw his fair share of them wet the faces of those he cut down. Just like the anger, it never particularly bothered him. Not like yours do.

And maybe it’s because he doesn’t see them. The only indication that there are tears comes when he lays completely still at night, and he can just barely hear your sniffles through the wall. Something about it feels bad–unfair, maybe, the way you wait until you think he’s sleeping to let out what you’ve been holding on to. He almost wants to laugh at you–he’s already put you through this much. He would deserve to have all of the aftermath be aimed right at him.

But to lie to himself is evidently not off limits, because it does affect him. Every once in a while he’ll hear a whimper that twists his gut into a tight knot. He thinks of the promise he made you, all of those years ago. He tries not to, but your crying fishes it back to the surface–his stupid, idiot promises to protect you no matter what. Only to become the knife that keeps your hands pinned to the table. He doesn’t know how to protect you from himself. He finds himself still taking from you.

“Alright,” he mutters, coming back to himself. “M’hanging up.”

His therapist only laughs. “We made it 20 minutes this time!”

.

..

He starts eating dinner with you. You’ve been dropping little half-invitations for the last few weeks, and he’s been readily avoiding them. To sit across from you at your table feels too much like a confrontation–and the cowardice that he’s become accustomed to shuts it down before he’s even had time to really consider it.

But tonight you’re eating on the couch in front of the TV, and that feels better. In the dark and with a distraction, he doesn’t have to fully face you. He can think of you and you’ll be none the wiser.

He sneaks glances at you from the other side of the couch and finds himself struck–not for the first time–at how for all of the ways you are different now, you are still the same as you were when he was 13. He knows it’s nothing to do with how you look and everything to do with the way that you are–an anchor that both terrifies and comforts him. He woke up in that hospital bed and knew you were there on the other side of the glass before he opened his eyes.

Is that what friendship is?

He shakes himself out of his head when he feels you squirming next to him. From the corner of his eye he watches you fight with the blanket you’ve swaddled yourself in, somewhere between amused and endeared. It’s an unfamiliar feeling and yet, it feels like he’s felt it toward you all his life. He gives you another second to sort it out yourself before he feels bad. He forgets where he is, he forgets himself–he doesn’t think at all when he wraps his fingers around your foot to free it from the fabric tangling it.

Both of you freeze. For an aching moment, neither one of you blinks. And then you wrench your leg away from him like he’s burned you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, already standing, already shaking. “Sorry, I just–”

But you’re already halfway down the hall–voice tapered off in an explanation he doesn’t need to hear you finish because he already knows. Your door shuts quietly behind you, but creates such a divide between you that you may as well have broken it off its hinges. He doesn’t have to be still to know what’s happening on the other side of it.

He can’t listen to you cry again. His body makes the decision before his mind does, and when it finally catches up he’s standing in the middle of your room.

You’ve gone completely silent–he’s not even sure you’re breathing. Rigid and curled into yourself, you look pitiful. Something about it is hard to look at. His stomach twists and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching for the covers and sliding into the bed next to you. He closes his eyes and his body forms to yours on a memory he doesn’t have but feels he must. You make a wounded sound like he’s just punched you.

“Touya,” it’s barely a whisper and wholly a warning. There’s so much pain in your voice it makes him nauseous. He ignores it, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you to him. “Touya–”

“Just let it out,” he murmurs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. “Please. Let it go.”

He feels you freeze–and then the breath leaves you so violently it startles him. He’s almost relieved when he hears the accompanying cry.

He keeps his head pressed to the curve of your back in some strange hope that he might absorb your grief into himself. If he could just carry this, it’d be better. For you, anyway–he’s certain that what you’ve been carrying around would be enough to put him down, but he’d drop dead at your feet if it meant you could be free of what he’s done to you.

His arm tightens around you when he feels you start to fight his grip. “The hell are you doing–”

“Please,” you whimper–only half audible through a tight throat–and it renders him silent. “I just need to see you.”

He can do nothing but let you twist around, and he immediately wishes he’d have fought you on it, because to see your face right now is too much.

Even in the dark your eyes find his and for the first time he can easily name the sadness that permeates into his bones. Sudden and tender like a wound, it’s only a second before he’s pulling you closer for his sake–anything to not have to see. He’d burn the whole world down to not have to see what he’s done.

It's odd, knowing that it’s not necessarily guilt he feels–instead it is a mountain of what can only be his grief, looming and jagged with no perceivable path up it. He looks at you and you reflect back at him a version of yourselves he’d left behind. He takes in your gap toothed smiles and grubby fingers interlocked and tastes iron.

“I was afraid you were really gone.” Your chest shudders harshly against his own. It’s awful–the whole thing. He’s certain he’s never felt like this.

“Yeah,” he can’t get his voice above a whisper. “Me too.”

It’s painful—the child in him that he believed to be destroyed. Looking him in the face now, you stand next to him, but a step behind. That hurts more than anything—the outstretched hand that he never reached for. How different things would have been if he’d have just turned around. He understands now—he’d left you both back there.

He holds you to his chest and feels, for the first time since back then, when something is knocked loose in his chest. He’s not afraid that he’ll bleed all over your bed, because he knows he already is. Something about the certainty of the way you are there, and he is right here next to you, shakes him. There are no tears left in him to shed, so instead he tries to steady shuddering gasps tucked into the crook of your neck.

And then it’s his turn to be held, and that’s painful too, because his skin is still so sensitive and his heart is breaking and god, does he wish he would’ve turned around.

He opens his mouth to say something and can only let loose a tiny, choked sound into the silence, and you understand. But that’s not enough—he needs to try. He needs you to know—to hear him and see that he tried.

“I wanted to find you.”

It shatters the quiet that’s been settled around the two of you. He wonders if it’s a cruel thing to say. He doesn’t know how to gauge your silence. He settles on filling it.

“Didn’t know how,” he whispers to the ceiling, “Was too late—I was too late—“

“Touya.” You stop his spiral and you sound tired. You lay shoulder to shoulder now, and when your fingertips drag up his palm and weave between his own, it feels like you’ve touched down to bone marrow.

“It’s not too late,” you tell him, turning your head to look him in the eye, “it’s not.”

There in the dark of your room, he thinks he could believe you.