#lackadaisy rocky x reader

[mediocrevideopodcast]

Prompt: Calling the Lackadaisy characters by their full name

A/N: University has been keeping me busy, and I've been in a bit of a writers block. So in the meantime, take this goofy little thing!

Includes: Rocky Rickaby/Reader Calvin "Freckle" McMurray/Reader Dorian "Zib" Zibowski/Reader Mordecai Heller/Reader Viktor Vasko/Reader Serafine Savoy/Reader Nicodeme "Nico" Savoy/Reader

Rocky Rickaby: 

Rocky's always pleased to hear his name fall from your lips… "Rocky Rickaby…" he loves to occupy your attention, and he's not above doing a silly trick here and there to get you to utter his name like that. But his given name? You can't even finish "Roark" before he's at your feet, begging for forgiveness. Queue the waterworks -- his muse, his winter sunshine, his summer breeze please, please forgive him. For he is naught but a mortal man, riddled with the propensity for mistakes, but is -- Hm?  The maple syrup is in the back of the pantry, yes. Yes, next to the peanut butter. -- is that not the natural state of such mortal endeavors? Surely, such a divine being must take pity on the folly of man!

He doesn't register that you were only playing with him. Or, maybe he's realized and is just committing to the bit. You'll never know. What you do know, however, is that you'll have him at your feet for the next hour or so. 

Calvin McMurray: 

Calvin, Cal, Freckle… Sweetheart, in private. McMurray, when you're teasing. Calvin really gets the gamut of names and nicknames when it comes to you. But when he hears his full name yelled out from the opposite end of the house, he's nothing if not panicked. The past two decades of Irish Catholicism really beats that into you. He rushes to your side, back straight, head down in silent apology for… whatever it is, that he did. 

"...Yes, dear?"

He has to bite his tongue a bit to not bring out any honorifics, but the message comes across just the same. There's only 2 times he uses "dear" as his go to-- 1.) In front of his mother, 2.) After he's done something he shouldn't. 

Decompresses instantaneously when you ask him to open the pickle jar. He exhales quietly, holding his hand out silently for the jar. His heart can't take this sort of thing. Don't do this to the poor man… too often. 

Dorian Zibowski:

Blinks owlishly when he hears his full name shouted out from across the house. If there's any way to sober Zib up… this is it. He's leaping to his feet in an instant, rushing to where you are… and slowing down when he's just out of sight. He smooths his fur and his clothes and takes a deep breath before waltzing calmly into your line of sight. Play it cool. 

"Funny way of pronouncing "Zibowski, doll. Need something?" 

He takes it in stride, but don't be fooled -- he's quaking in his boots, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels the weight lifted off his chest when you ask him to grab something from the top shelf, although you'd never know that. He does, however, press a lingering kiss to your temple after he passes the item off to you. Don't read into it too much. 

Mordecai Heller: 

He tears his eyes away from his book, glancing at you from over the rim of his teacup. "Yes?" 

He's truly unaffected. He's introduced by his first and last name all the time, and he was never scolded in such a manner as a child.  If you were looking for some outlandish reaction, all you've got is his quiet attention. And you might want to answer quickly -- he'd really like to finish this chapter tonight. This is quite a grueling read, you know. 

His true name, however, is a different story. But that's for entirely different reasons, and well, you wouldn't  know anything about that. Right? 

Viktor Vasko: 

Yet another one who is unaffected. He looms over you a bit -- which really, isn't unusual for him considering his stature -- humming questioningly.

He's a man of few words, and even fewer reactions. You've really gotta put some emotion in your voice if you want to get any sort of reaction out of him, and even then the most you're likely to get is a raised eyebrow… maybe a bit of a head tilt if you're lucky. And you can really only do this once -- he'll remember your little trick for next time. 

(If you really want to get a reaction out of him, use some sort of petname. He secretly finds them rather sweet, and the right one will force-reset his brain a bit the first few times you use it. )

Seraphine Savoy: 

Seraphine isn't unaffected by the use of her full name… rather, she revels in it. She's always enjoyed the flow of her name, but it always seems to fall from your lips like some goldly golden ichor. To call it heavenly would be a bit of a misnomer -- sinful, mayhaps? It's a difficult feeling to place, but she strides over to you confidently nonetheless. Her lips quirk up as she leans into your personal space.

"Yes, amou?"  

Nicodeme Savoy: 

Truthfully, he isn't the biggest fan of you calling him by his full name. Well, his full first name, anyways. Feels too stuffy, for his liking. But he takes it in stride, waltzing up to you lazily. He rests his arm on your shoulder and leans down to be eye-level with you, eyes half lidded with a grin. He throws your own full name right back at you teasingly. Need something?  Want him to grab something, or open a jar? Hm? 

His grin stretches a bit wider when you pout -- you really thought you'd get him this time, huh? He kisses you chastely, nipping at you softly in jest. Gotta try harder than that to shake him, bebe. 

[kalegrinch]

⭐️Sunshine⭐️

Rocky Rickaby x Gn Reader

2k~ words

I’m not normally one to publish fanfiction, but I figured I’d share some to feed my growing infatuation for Rocky. If you like this, don’t be afraid of leaving a request of any sort. Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated. This fic is really reader’s-internal-emotional-constipation heavy (with a side of Rocky), so read at your own risk.

SUMMARY: You meet Rocky in a cold alleyway on a rainy day. What could he possibly want at this time of night?

WARNINGS: None, except for the incessant use of the pronoun he and parentheses-notes (I promise I did those two things for important reasons)

==========

Maybe it was the way in which the cold rain fell from the dark and misty night sky, drenching you completely and you wadded around. Maybe it was how it cascaded down your face like a river, like water running downstream. Maybe it was the way the lullaby yellow color from the odd street lanterns reflected on the gray cobblestone of the streets of St. Louis, casting dark shadows in every direction imaginable. Maybe it was the cold wind whipping past you and flicking your tail back and forth, only stopping to seep solemnly into the fur of your body, hidden away in a jacket you stole from a generic store long ago. Or, most likely, it could've been him. The sole being that could wake you on a night like this. Him, standing peacefully with his back turned to you, always moving and fidgeting and humming along to any new tune he creates spontaneously with the flick of his whiskers and the tap of his shoe. Him, perfectly unaware of your presence.

He’s waiting for me. Even the thought of something so preposterous chilled you to the marrow, but you didn't understand why. When Mitzi told you he wanted to meet you here earlier in the speakeasy, you had plenty of time (A little less than 42 hours) to prepare (Mentally) for him. When and why had it all- everything from his random ramblings to the toothy grin to the syrup-coated language- suddenly become too much? When had it suddenly made you feel differently? Now you look forward to seeing him every day and participating in those stupid antics with him. It’s getting to the point where he’s one of the only things that pushes you forward to face every waking hour you have to endure on this planet. When did it get to that? And why?

You didn't dare let yourself think about (let alone believe in) anything more than platonic feelings. There should be nothing more than platonic feelings between the two of you. Nothing.

But why did that feel so wrong?

St. Louis isn't known for its hills, but this one that led up to this particular spot meant a lot to you. This particular spot, where the sun would always come up in the morning and where no one was curious enough to venture. Almost hanging on the horizon, it always spreads its glorious, haunting light across the acres of water that was the Mississippi River. You would often come to this cliff with him, always sitting on the very edge of the thick, stone railing that tried its best to prevent accidents with the shallow water far below, waffling with him till your throats were sore. And then some more, for good measure. It had become a tradition, to spend early mornings here with him. And you made sure it happened enough, enough to nourish this newfound infatuation for him that you regret admitting even to yourself. Everything on the other end, across that ambiguous, murky sea, was blurry and insignificant, mere blobs of floating rock and bridges you could never cross. Sometimes, when you stared hard enough at the sight, you felt rather insignificant yourself. The thoughts would come running, coating you in the solution of your own despair and agony. Leaving you alone in the dark and endless tunnels of panic and fear, the one of your own creation. But then you'd turn around to your companion by your side, the one bathed in the sun’s orange light that never stopped the goofy yackety-yak and heartfelt, serious conversations with you, and for a couple of minutes the weight would be lifted and the world wouldn't feel as colossal, as cruel as it always did. The world was starting to feel more worth approaching with every day that passed, as long as you could approach it with him. Now, your quiet footsteps echoed out in the dim and suffocating alleyway, a backdrop for his bard as you approached the incoming balcony that, after a long drop, gave way for the river. When you were close enough, you could see his relaxed shoulders, the rain dripping from his hat, and the way he leaned on the nearby brick wall for support right at the opening of the cleft where the two compact buildings ended. Although he was turned around, you could clearly picture his eased expression and considering eyes, scanning the river that was constantly being struck by the rain, mishaping the reflection of the bright, full moon from far above. He was always more subdued here, more calm, as if he felt sufficiently safe enough around you to let his guard down for you (It took plenty of coaxing for him to reach that state, of course) His voice rang into the night sky, only weighed down by the abundance of droplets that made you regret the fact that you did you hair this morning (for him):

A lover of choices more inconspicuous than ambivalent

She walks along penetrated pathways, all apathetic and innocent

The feeling’s initial, official, more vivid and free

Better than the perspicacious preacher of the land and sea

You’d never heard it before. It must have been new.

“Hey there sunshine,” Your surprisingly hesitant voice broke through the silence, “What’s that one about?”

He immediately turned around to face you, just as he always did in response to any of the teasing nickname you decided to use at all given moments. Sunshine had become one of your favorites, as it always earned you a warm smile and tail swish. Now there was a surprised grin plastered across his face, and you had to take your time to observe his pretty features.

Pretty? Where did that come from?

The icy blue eyes that always impeded any train of thought and seized your breath. The expressive eyebrows, imperfect blue suit...the blatant bullet hole in his sharp ears you've always wanted touch. All at once, you had an infatuating urge to run forward and encompass him in a hug as an apology.

Snap out of it, idiot

You had created a seven-inch glass wall between the two of you for your sake. To maintain sanity. And maybe dignity, too. But there was a look of need present on his face, like his want for its demolishment exceeded your comprehension.

“Ah, M’lady! What a pleasure, encountering you today! I was thinking-”

“Cut the dramatics, sweetheart. It's pouring out here. Unless you're planning to take me back to your place, I suggest you get on with it.”

The evident flirting was normal now (You assumed) but it still managed to catch the both of you off guard. It didn’t feel appropriate, this late at night, only reciprocated with the song of rain. Unpunctual nights alone in your drab apartment made you wonder if it meant anything. To him. And maybe to you, too. Nevertheless, it was expected of you. It was a part of your “personality.” It was your thing, your thing around him now.

Still, he smiled, “I wanted to… um…discuss the incident from mere days ago...”

You promptly recalled what he was talking about. A couple of days ago, you had a small argument in the speakeasy, resulting in you storming away from the situation before it escalated. Something about your safety. Ever since your first encounter (The one you’d like to forget but he always teased you about) the two of you followed each other everywhere. You practically had your own language, for whenever the two of you were at it with an easy-going squabble, heads would turn and concerned looks were spread.

I’m pretty confident the nature of pickles do not require an extended thesis, sunshine

But they do, love, they do! Think about it: The earth is a pickled fruit of the universe, just as pickles are the pickled fruit of the earth!

…Pickles are fruits?

Following him constantly resulted in figuring out about the whole rum-running gig sooner than expected, and after a plethora of begging, he let you come with him on those dangerous, late-night expeditions. It had become a trend, and you had more or less ditched journaling and had become an asset for the Lackadaisy. It wasn’t very profitable, but spending time with him was worth everything you had to give. And after a particularly wild quest, he asked you to stop aiding him in those misadventures so you wouldn’t get hurt, and the spat ensued. And you ran away. And you haven't seen him in three days, whether it's out of pure embarrassment or fear. Ah, great. Now you were spiraling into if he cares enough about me to fight me for my safety… then that means something, right? You couldn’t stroll into this dangerous territory of believing blindly. Not again.

“Well,” You took a breath and faced him again, mustering a look of defiance, “I don't want to”

“I'm not going to pester you with that topic, love,” He chose his words carefully, speaking slowly like you’ve never heard before, all while maintaining eye contact, “Not today. I just wanted to see you again. I’ve missed you, to be frank” He made a weird face, a mix between apologies you did not require and come to me, please.

The honest commission left you with your mouth agape and took all of the previous guilt and regret away, leaving you with a horrible feeling of loneliness. Sure, you’d expected it for you yourself felt empty without him recently, too. But verbal confessions were different than made-up acknowledgement. It was as if you had just now processed the days you spent without him, and while a meager three days to the average person, enough to make you start towards him with your arms spread wide, actions tainted with regret. The invisible seven-inch glass wall vanished beneath the desire of him.

You hadn't spared a glance at the look on his face before you collided with him, arms enveloping and causing him to take a few steps backward, trying to regain his composure. It wasn't long before he reciprocated the hug and the two of you were locked in a warm, supposedly never-ending embrace.

The side of your face hung close to the fluff of his chest, and for a few quiet moments, you heard his shallow breathing and heart beating. When you felt his resting head on yours, you brought your tail towards his fluffy one hesitantly, merely tapping the tip of his tail in question. The question was answered as if there was not time to spare and they entwined, a reassuring feeling you’ve never really felt before. A feeling of thank you. Thank you for staying. It was the type of happiness, fondness and fulfillment that captured who whole being and seized your heart, stoping it in this moment of time. This moment of time, with his arms wrapped around your back, his body shielding you from the cold, cold rain. This moment of time, where the forbidden three words were stuck at the edge of your tongue.

Those words were forbidden for a reason, so instead you tried to express yourself in, “God, I’ve missed you too”

It was a soft murmur, accompanied by you pulling your head away from his chest and resting it against his forehead without a glance at his expression for fear of what you would find. You made it fast, you made the motions quick. The big feelings were swallowing you whole and it made you act out of reason. For a couple of seconds, the two of you breathed the same air and felt the same things. His fur touching yours, his paws on your back. You could hear a sharp inhale from him with the touch, but it soon returned to a slow inhale and exhale and his whiskers tickling yours. The low temperature of the cloudy night was long forgotten, now it was just you and him in this debarred show of affection. It was peaceful. It was quiet, giving a movement for the pattering rain to continue singing.

But he spoke anyway, cutting the sweet melody short. Drawing his head back slightly, he averted his gaze from yours, as if what he was about to say was very important to him,“I started wondering-actually-” He cleared his throat, the nerves catching up, “Um... over the past couple of days- If you, um- if you trouble yourself... with the thought of me... like I do... with you” His head faced you once more with a tentative yet adorable look. He was absolutely petrified from this new whatever you were. He was petrified… but you knew, whether it was fact, your intuition, or just simple stupidity, that he craved this new whatever just as much as you did.

But this was weird, you had to admit. His stuttering was weird (He’s never stuttering). This level of touch was weird (The two of you were accustomed to that sort of thing, but not like this). The feeling you felt in the pit of your stomach, the growing feeling was weird. You resented labeling it, whatever it was.

You resented labeling it. Always did, always would. Because once you confirmed to yourself what you felt was real, the chance of making it out alive would deplete exponentially. Because he would leave, like they always did. And if he left now- you’d barely be able to scrape by. So you didn't want to imagine what that would be like after you admitted everything.

But, for once, when you pulled away, there was a new measure of fondness that overtook everything you held close, every rule you’ve ever written for yourself. Because when you pulled away and stared into those blue, thinking and questioning and beautiful eyes, and when you reached up and ran a gentle finger over the conspicuous hole in his ear (despite your better judgment) and when he gasped lightly, his mouth agape and as he continued that observing and questioning stare (With something else mingling underneath, if you dared to dream)... nothing was holding you back. It could be the death of something precious, but as long as you could show him you cared, the needed actions were important and required.

So before you could spiral into another abyss of hurt and regret and rules written in sand, you reached up onto your toes and closed your eyes, still enveloped in a warm embrace that challenged the night itself. You somehow got closer to him, with the smell of syrup and rain coalescing your senses, and your whiskers locked together as you brushed your lips against his. With extreme care, you took the lead in navigating this newfound warmth. For a couple of seconds, you just stood there as your current post short-circuit predicament was brought forth into conscious realization and you started regretting everything that brought you to this point, to this kiss. The confidence was melting away and you were about to pull back, but that was the exact moment you felt him return it with the zeal of a starving man.

For what felt like hours, the two of you stood in the pelting rain and nipping wind and the glow of the bright moon and odd yellow street lights. For what felt like hours, you were free of the problems that veiled you in life and haunted you in dreams. For what felt like hours, you let yourself feel love.

But all good things came to an end, and you were running out of breath. When you pulled away and opened your eyes, you got to witness something not many get to see. His eyes were closed for the first few seconds, but when they opened again you could see the blown pupils and awestruck expression on his face, the parted, gasping mouth, and the shallow breaths and the completely ruffled exterior, with all that thinking and commotion going on inside displayed perfectly for view. Something you didn't know you needed.

When he got himself together again, you were patiently waiting (As you always were). The yellow of the lamps lit up his face, his astonished expression evident as for once he was lost for words.

“I-I… you-”

“I’ll see you again tomorrow, hm?” You let your voice become a whisper to reflect the rain that continued to patter on the stone ground, “Can't wait to see a drunk Freckle. I wonder what he’s gonna do when Ivy kisses him” Back to the persona. Back with the personality.

Before the innate desire to stay with him caught up with you, you sent him a quick peck on the cheek and snapped around without much thought, back towards where you came from. Your tail swished against his leg as you walked away as a last form of good-bye, and before you turned the corner you threw a quick glance at him, the want controlling the rational part of your brain that demanded a dramatic exit.

Cradling his cheek with his hand, his mouth was agape (as it seemed to be quite often recently) and his pretty gaze was trained on you from across the alley. When he registered your eyes on him, he did a slight double take and straightened himself up even though that did absolutely nothing as he still look as frazzled as before. So very adorable. So very yours. Through the rain, you decidedly sent him a quick wink and walked away. Keeping face, and all.

And for the first time in a while as you trenched back to that dingy apartment you’ve started to identify as home, you wondered if the ability to love still thrived inside you. Truly love, not the acting you displayed constantly to satisfy the seemingly infinite void of fear woven into the fabric of your being like an abandon tapestry left to collect dust. You’d have to give love another shot and tend to it, though. As your dad used to say, miracles don't come by often, and only an idiot lets one slip by. Rocky sure felt like a miracle.

[the-marigold-reception]

May I req a Rocky rickaby x upperclass! Gn or fem! Reader who adores Rocky, they give him a place to stay at their humble abode, renew his car and hire a seamstress to stitch his clothes back up.

They’ll probably accept the cactus too ngl

He’s so honored that you like him

He always feels a bit small compared to the others who were fighting for your hand

But he’s comforted at the fact that you chose him!

If you offer to stitch his clothes? He’s fighting the urge to get down on one knee- his appearance is one of the most important things to him so you’re essentially mending the way he views himself

Please let him play his violin for you, dedicate music stanzas to you

Write intricate poetry sonatas about you

If you’re willing he will bring you down to the lackadaisy lounge and introduce you to everyone

Freckles a bit suspicious of you at first- why would someone like you be interested in Rocky?

But he warms up to you as you ditch you upper class facade and start to dance with Rocky

Your laughter mixing together as you enjoy the moment with each other

When you see the state of his car, you’re shocked and slightly depressed at the state of it- so you secretly get it repaired fully behind his back-

You tell him you’re just repairing the windows

You’re not you’re getting it fully done up

So when you tell him, his cars ready and you go with him to see it

He 100% breaks down into tears

He just can’t believe that you’re being so nice and loving to him

Takes him a while to calm down but when he climbs inside and takes you for a ride

He honestly starts to imagine the rest of his life with you

(The cactus is part of the package deal I’m afraid)

I hope you enjoyed!!

[pomegranate-pen]

Are you planning on doing any more lackadaisy rocky x reader stuff 👀 I just really liked the one's you've done and love your writing! No pressure tho 💙

sketches and poems

Rocky Rickaby x gn!reader

summary: in which living with Rocky has become a delight.

waning: tooth-rotting fluff. absolute love for Rocky. reader and Rocky are both down BAD. just, just pure absolute fluff I just wanted this silly cat to be happy for once.

Usually, if asked what you’d do on a daily basis for a calming weekend, you’d say that unfortunately, the morning routine has controlled your head, and you keep forgetting to turn off your alarm clock on those days, so you’re left with waking up at six a.m. with a grumble. But, nothing stays forever, does it? and luckily enough, (or maybe unlucky?) Rocky has accidentally broken your alarm clock with his frantic movements when he’s asleep. And now, you can sleep as deep as you want, with your silly favorite bootlegger right beside you.

Rocky was a hugger, day and night he’d just love any physical contact he could have with you. and the weekends? Oh, they are no excuse to not be attached, in fact, the very idea of being able to cuddle with you till noon is why Rocky has started to like weekends.

Even if you do end up instinctively waking up right near six a.m., Rocky’s tight grip on you will not loosen one bit, and you’ll have to drift off to sleep or if there truly was an important matter, you’d have to wiggle yourself out with all you could muster. But you would be met with a still sleeping, now sleep-talking and perhaps even sleep-walking Rocky who urges you to come back.  

it could be presumed that he's so deeply asleep all the time because of how much he wasn’t when his living arrangements were….well…inside of a beaten down car. With so many supplies in the back that there was very little space left for him, he must’ve slept a very small amount during the days. Something about that makes your heart ache. Seeing how comfortable he seems now, snoring a bit and hugging the blanket as a replacement for your presence, then grumbling and shifting around to find you instead, you can’t help but feel happy. It’s good to see your boyfriend finally get the proper sleep he deserves. As much as he thinks he doesn’t need it, it's a necessity in anyone’s life.

Sure, the bed was small, but you two made do. yeah, Rocky did get up most of the space in the middle of the night while moving around, and you were left at the edge of the bed more times than you could count, but it was all worth it. especially when he suddenly drags you back to the middle of the bed and wraps his arms around you. nuzzling his face right at the crook of your neck without even waking up.

You thanked fate for letting you find out about where he lived that certain night. Where the streets were quiet and he was dropping you off with his car. By seeing the backseat, you started questioning him, and as brows furrowed and his tail wagged, all while he was trying to change the subject, you knew something was up and offered for him to stay the night at your place.   

He begrudgingly agreed, though his stubbornness was quickly replaced by excitement as this is the first time he’d see your apartment. One night became two, and it soon became three with a lot of convincing. And luckily enough, the three-day counter has made it become a regular thing.

On usual weekdays, you’d urge him to get up at six, so you could both eat something and then go to work. He’d insist on having pancakes, or at the very least the ignored brother of it, waffles(his words, not yours.). but that takes a while to make, and the walk to your workplace is long enough, so you have to convince him why he can’t have that this morning, and why it’s quite unhealthy to have it every single day.

“but…Pancakes!” is his only reason, yet his eyes are the main weapon of his, with blown pupils and a pouty frown, you’re always almost convinced to quickly make them, but win against those urges with the excuse of running out of milk.

“But.. didn't I just buy some yesterday?”

“Rocky.”

He pouts, but grabs his hat and follows you to the door. “ fine, you win this time. “ In fact, you win every time. And besides, you do have pancakes, but just in the morning weekends as brunches, something he’s starting to adore.  

Usually, weekends for him were no excuse for not going to the speakeasy, though most of his co-workers also feel it to be pointless not to go to the place, since the ‘work’ they have isn't much anyways, Mitzi herself at some point suggested to Rickaby to take a break once a week. Though it should be mentioned, this was said right after Mitzi told Rocky there’s not much to do for the day, and he in rather a fit of desperation or just pure boredom, made the most gruesome cocktail that had their dear regular Wick almost throw up and get a stomach bug the very next morning.

“I don’t understand why it affected him this strangely though.” Rocky spoke, now fully awake and stomach full with the pancakes you made together. He opened the small refrigerator you had for a moment, brows furrowing in contemplation while his lips munched up into, what you like to call, his ‘contemplation pout’. “ perhaps I should make a non-alcoholic substitute for it here for us to try?”

You panicked, quickly putting down your pencil and looking at him with a wary smile. “uh…how about you not do that and help me with some warm-up sketches instead?”

People weren’t lying, life as an artist can be quite a struggle. Perhaps that’s why you didn’t choose that path, there weren’t many jobs to decide on, nor were there any good ones with decent pay. Though, despite your average day job at an office paying the rent just fine, you can’t help but pick up your pencil and start sketching here and there, an occurrence which only doubled in activity when Rocky visited more often.

“did you draw this?” he had asked that night, the third one of him sleeping here to be exact. His eyes lit up when you nodded.

“it’s not the best though.” You take the paper from him, with one glance at the artwork you immediately noticed every little flaw it had. From the messy lines to the shading being too much or too little in some places. Truly, not your best work. Though, Rocky begged to differ.

“Are you joking? “ he grabs the paper from you, bringing it up to the small lamp light above you. as if he wanted to thoroughly inspect every crevice.

 “ Why this flop of paper has been given an infinite amount of worth with your drawings on it.”

“Don’t try to flatter me, Rickaby.”

“I’m merely saying the truth!” his toothy grin makes you feel bashful. “ you should do it more often, and wouldn’t it be romantic? A poet and an artist-“Before you know it, the drawing is set on a counter as he fiddles with the coffee pot and messily pours in a mug of coffee, a mess of syrup along with it. in a moment, you're reminded of how many syrup bottles have been consumed this past month. “ in a world full of cruel grubby hands of exploiting businessmen taking away individuality, the artist and their poet-and violinist-strumming through the world with peace…” he takes a sip. “…and coffee.”

--

“how do you think people in the past, before the gargantuan rise of photography, would stand behind a painting for hours? Without seeing the work nor the pretty painter behind it?”

“Are you getting tired?”

“….perhaps.” Rocky’s form shakes a bit, trying to be still as much as he can be for one of the warmup sketches you’ve decided to add more details on. he was thankful that at least he was sitting for this form, if not, standing would’ve made it more difficult.

“Well, I believe they do take breaks in between the session. Or that’s just what I’ve read in books.” As you continue the conversation, you glance up at him, noticing that he’s getting quite uncomfortable by the second. “ do you want to take a break?”

He looks back at you with a cheeky grin. “if my dear artist permits it.”

You snort. “ I’ll allow it.” he gets up, walking up to you to see the progress, yet your hands come to block his path and bring the sketch further into your chest in retaliation. “it’s not done yet.”

“Can’t the muse take one glance at the work?” he pouts, pupils widening up to that pleading look that always won you ever. 'But not this time', you try to repeat in your head, resisting the urge of showing him the sketch. “ not until the work is done.” Was your reply, one to that he grunted a bit at and walked around the place instead. With his roaming around, there also was a suggestion. “ maybe a little poem then? Could there be a chance that’ll help my case in stealing a glance at the work?”

“Play your cards right and we’ll see.”

He gives a silly short bow. “As you wish.”

“Pencils skurrying across the paper in glee, a fresh batch of paint near thee, though the artist themselves are as gorgeous as they can be, they find solace in their lover’s art of poetry, but why does such a bard stand still you say? Why it’s because if there’s no muse there’s no art on display!” he looks back at you right as he finished the poem. “was that good enough?”

“You know you can always win me over with those poems.” He smiles a bit giddy and his tail wags in delight. 

“so can I see it?”

“Nope!”

After a few more stubborn acts from you by constantly blocking his view and moving farther away from him, from the couch to the kitchen, from kitchen to the bathroom where you locked the door, you heard a groan of annoyance from him, now giving up and leaving for you finish up the work.

“I promise I’ll show it to you when it’s done!” you shout, though you were a bit too focused on not blurring the shadows with the back of your hand rather than his response.

Though it took a bit more time, and a lot of pain for your eraser, you managed to finish up the piece. Some parts have become a bit smudged up, and you tried your best not to add too many detailed shadows that could possibly ruin the simple piece, but it was nice. a good work, you'd say. ( even if your mind was degrading you and continuously berating you for making the most horrendous garbage on earth and making your boyfriend look bad in it-)

With opening the lock and twisting the door knob, you’re surprised to not see Rocky waiting for you, rather, you search around and find him in the living room, sitting on the couch with a starry-eyed look on his face, his tail slowly tapping the couch ever five seconds with his ears twitching every three.

“…Rocky?”

It takes you a moment to realize a notebook that was in his grasp. Your notebook.

He looks up to you in a frenzied delight. “you wrote a poem for me?”

“you looked through my bag?!”

“Could you read it to me?” he frantically gets up and shoves the paper into your hand, completely ignoring your question. And to his fortune, you completely forget about your question as well. Now embarrassment replacing the shock you had when you take a glance at the paper.

“It’s just a dumb drabble” you tried to excuse. “ it’s- it’s honestly not worth reading and you already…” Oh god, the very thought of it terrifies you. you took a second to breathe before finishing your sentence. “ you already read it anyway, there’s no point in reading it out loud.”

“do you know what’s the second most important rule in poetry?”

“….the third line must be by meaning connected to the second line?...”

A look of lovestruck crossed his face. “you’ve been studying about it?”

“only a little.” And anyway, it was never meant to be known by him in the first place. The last thing you ever wanted was for him to think he’s boring you with all his talks about poetry, so a few months ago you decided to research a bit more about the topic so you could understand what he's rambling about. “ I’m still not the best at it.”

“but you did it for me.” he huffed out a chuckle, one that sounded like he was amazed by the very idea of you caring. “ and that’s the number one rule of poetry. To care about the subject you’re writing about. Another rule, that despite being simple is also important to any poem, is the tone. If you read an important speech in a comedic tone, it won’t feel the same now would it?”

“I suppose not.”

“Well, it’s the same in poetry. every poem has a certain genre, and every genre has a certain tone you need to have when reading it. a poet reading their own poems can indicate the very tone they want any other reader to have when studying their poem, so, my dear artist?” and of course, Rocky smiles at you like he always does. My god, why do his smiles always leave you so gleeful? “ would you do me the honors of reading this very first and magnificent poem of yours?”

You scoffed, taking a glance at the scribbles laced within the paper. A wave of shyness takes over you for a moment, and you’re left with a beating heart that’s too quick for you to decipher and a constant avoidance of his gaze.

You clear your throat and hope that he doesn’t hear the shakiness in your voice. Yet as you speak, his eyes never falter. Even when you stutter a bit, and your foot taps down and you lower your head deep into the paper from the strong embarrassment you were feeling, if you even took one glance up, you’d see how he was slowly falling in love with you over again with every line you spoke. It looked like he was entranced, in a spell that leaves him giggling in pure joy. No insanity or chaos behind it, just a mere blush that couldn’t be taken off his face no matter how much he tried. Even when you faltered, or when you cringed at your lines at some parts, he felt like it was the best thing ever written. perhaps even better than his, he believed, though he’s certain you’d profusely disagree with that. The very thought of you even thinking of doing poetry for him has had him melting, but now, hearing you read the poetry is something more sublime and ethereal than he could ever muster to decipher. You had him stuck in love, and it got him to realize how attached he’s become to you, how his life connects to you so strongly now.

He couldn’t go a day without holding your hand at least once, the dreadful feeling he’d have if you didn’t kiss him on the cheek before leaving for work sounds miserable, and he now gets a bit pouty when he has to stay a little later than usual just before going home. The comfort he feels here, in this small apartment that barely fits two people, is something he realizes that he’s never felt in his life before. 

Hot cocoas by the fire, drifting to sleep in someone’s arms, a mere peck on the forehead that makes the day better, all of this has egged him on to want to live here forever, to never leave such a place, to never leave you. 

 Despite the want to stay with you, the rooted emotions of feeling undeserving for such a nice life were sown into him, and he is left with a thoughtful look on his face.

“was…was my poem that bad?” your shame was evident in your horrified expression. One that quickly made Rocky jump out of his thoughts and deny your claims profusely. “it was lovely. I loved every second of it.”

“ Well now I just feel like you’re lying.”

“I would never!”

Your eyes squint at him in judgment, both of you knowing full well that he did lie, especially at the start of your friendship. He gives you an awkward laugh. “ok…maybe I did lie a few times—”

“a few?”

“— but that’s beside the point!” you’ve begun to notice how his skill in changing subjects is something to be wary of in the future. “ I promised to never lie to you after you found out about the speakeasy, haven't I?” you hummed in response. “ I did love your poem, I adored it in fact.”

“then why did you look so conflicted?”

You could see the small frown on his face, the doubt in his posture, and the avoidance he has in meeting your gaze. “…do you…like me living here?”

“Rocky,” you were shocked, bewildered even. “ I literally wrote an entire poem about how much I love you.” for him to even propose such a question felt baffling.” why would you ever think I’d hate living with you?”

He went silent. Which for Rocky, was something very rarely done.  

“Whatever negative thoughts you have, you better erase them Rickaby." for a moment, your determination and fear got the better of you, and you couldn't control what you were saying. " If I didn’t like you living here, then I wouldn’t have had a spare key made just—“

You quickly bit your tongue, scolding yourself for revealing the big secret you’ve perfectly hidden for a week.

However, the damage was already done, Rocky’s eyes have already been widened up, and his posture shifted from one of guilt to excitement. 

 “you’re going to give me a spare key?”

You tensed up, looking away with a pout and a small nod. “it was supposed to be a surprise.” Was all you could grumble. “Valentine’s Day was coming up…now I have to get a new gift along with it.”

He laughed, and you remembered how much you loved hearing it. for a moment, you were worried that Rocky would be the ever so impulsive cat he is and bolt away from you, never to be seen again. “ there will be no need for such a thing my beloved.” you felt like butterflies were in your stomach, and a lightning of giddy embarrassment was coursing through your veins. 

“The key is the best thing I could’ve ever wished for.” His eyes quickly brightened up, yet he said nothing and only kept his smile, fondly looking at the poem once more.

“what’s in your mind now my love?”

You could see his bashful look at that question, but he only shrugged and got up to make some tea. Thankfully though, he did respond to you at some point.

“Nothing, just thinkin’.” Well, at least he wasn’t thinking of any sad self-guilt-tripping ideas. That was all you wanted at the moment. And you were certain that whatever it was, it was enough to make him happy, and that’s good enough for you.

Later in the oh-so-beloved and ever-so-glorified Valentine’s Day, Rocky made you both matching keychains.

----

A/N: hey hey hey!! I'M ALIVE!!!! EXAMS HAVE ENDED AND MY SANITY IS BACK YEAH YEAH AHAHA. I've been writing this thing for a while, at first it was supposed to be a mix of two dear anons' requests, but it just slowly and surely went farther away from what the requests were and has just become it's own thing. oh well, I hope you guys still liked it!!! requests are still open btw! though I can't guarantee I'll get to them asap, since I'm planning on focusing more on my main fics in the summer.

[jellyfiishatr]

Hi I heard you do Lackadaisy stuff and I'm obsessed with Rocky. Just a quick idea but how about a a near death experience (aka an average Tuesday for Rocky) confession? It can be hilarious or angsty, whichever you prefer!

a/n : I feel like near death experiences are the ONLY way rocky confesses to anything; be it that he ate your sandwich the other day, or may have accidentally lost your favorite item (also the "boss" character is made up)

☆☆☆

content : angst/fluff , romance , confession

content warning : Use of a weapon , fight scenes

" Reader! " rocky shouted as he saw you from above

" Rocky! " you screamed in horror as you ran down to where he was tied up

" Ah! My savior, you truly are a Saint reader my love! " he hummed with a stupid grin on his face.

You hit him lightly in the shoulder, concern written all over your face.

" what were you tied up for this time? "

Noticing the worried look in your eyes, he gave up the humorous front and confessed what he had done.

" good God rocky, I wonder how you've managed to live this long sometimes " you sigh, untying the rope and letting him loose.

He chuckled,

" me too sometimes.. Actually! There was this one time I was almost beste- "

Cut off, he was a little bummed out he couldn't tell you the rest of the story, hiding behind cargo.

" oh no, not this time! Everytime you get away! " a gruff voice said in an exasperated tone.

Looking for a chance to get away, you get picked up and tossed infront of the "boss" by one of his lackeys.

" Who's this? Who's sitting infront of me right now, " he questioned, studying you.

With the fire staring to be lit under you, you pull out your weapon and lunge at him. Beating him to the ground with everything you've got, taking out anyone else who tried to get to you.

Now, exhausted and all bloodied, rocky runs to be at your side and checks if you're alright,

" Reader! " he screamed, " are you hurt- ofcourse you are, what kind of question is that! "

Rambling on, you warn him before finally dozing off to watch out behind him.

" huh? " giving you a questioning look, he turns around and narrowly dodges the boss's tough punch.

" that was a close one! You should watch where you're going! " he joked lightly.

Growling, the boss grabs rocky before he gets away and knocks the sly smirk he had on his face.

Before he gets thrown around for the 10th time this week again, he screams out your name hoping you'll hear him. Interested in what he has to say as his last words, the boss let's him go on.

" Reader! I really hope you can hear me! "

looking over to your weak figure blinking slowly you groan.

" I need you to know that you're what kept me going! In moments like these- " he coughs.

" I remember I have you by my side! "

The boss laughed, " okay I've had enough of this sappy sh*t, it's time for you to go now "

You get back on your feet and pounce on the boss; screeching in pain, the both of you fall to the ground with him bleeding out from the neck.

You scream at the top of your lungs in pain from having fought even after getting beat down.

" reader.. " he whispered, as if talking any louder than that would break you.

You sat there breathing hard, lungs feeling like they're going to explode from breathing so hard. Many thoughts going through your head, giving you a great migraine.

Falling on your side, rocky slides quickly under to catch you before you hurt yourself anymore.

" reader " repeating your name as he caresses your face, he sighs and lightly gives you a kiss on the head as to not wake you up.

" my savior.. "

☆☆☆

I hope this is alright! Enjoy ♡

[fun-k-board]

Hey are reqeust still opened if not sorry to bother you but if they are

can you do a child rocky x child reader? (The reader has a younger sister in this) fluff to angst to fluff

It's basically how rocky met reader and their sister as kids and then one day reader and their sister have to move (you can decide why if you want) and rocky gets sad by this but they meet again as adults working together at lackadaisy

(Hope this isn't too much)

Pronouns used : None

Note(s) :

Of course! I'm not too sure what you wanted the sister to do when they're older, or just narrative wise? I didn't have any ideas, my bad.

Rocky was never a calm person, mind and body always running faster than anybody could keep up with, especially in his youth. While his aunt was a ferice and true Christian woman, someone who practically haunted his dreams, at least she didn't have a gun. It was times like this, where he, his cousin and miss pepper where behind a van being shot at, he missed the older times. Even if they were boring and filled with church.

Although, that wasn't because he missed her per say, it was more for two young siblings he met when he was younger himself. They were his best friends and most trusted companions, besides Freckle of course, and had met in his opinion, the best of circumstances.

Not at church, not doing something nice for either of them, instead, Rocky had shoved pancakes on either of his arms, creating sleeves of some kind. Syrup covered him and he was a complete mess. He was running away from a shouting auntie and managed to get lost, at a house away from his own in a forest. It wasn't well kept at all.

There he found two kids the same age as him, they didn't look like locals, strange clothes for this weather and they didn't seem to be playing, just standing out their house. When they both noticed him, the younger of the two quietly laughed and pointed not so discreetly at the pancakes lining his arms.

"He looks silly!" She whispered, staring at him like he was some strange creature and pulling on the older ones clothes.

"Hello! It's nice to meet you!" The eldest, you, outstretched a hand, he noted both of your ways of saying words was weird, but also not. Like you two were pretending to have an accent. Rocky grinned. It was clear you're all going to best friends from that moment, because he thought so. He thrust his hand forward and shook your own aggressively.

"Name's Rocky! Your name my-" He paused, then cartoonishly put his hands on his hips "-dearest neighbour?"

"My name is (F/N), This is-" You, jumping in shock as your younger sister yanked on your fur to push herself in front of you.

"(S/N)!" She happily grinned, giggling and absent minded. Tail swishing happily as she looked up at the older boy, he could swear she reminded him of himself in some way.

Every few days you'd all meet up, he even brought Freckle on some days, but as the days passed, and even months flew by, he began to notice how different you both seemed from the first meeting. (S/N) seemed more quiet as they met more, unable to run and laugh as she once could, and you were more protective, less adventurous and too busy helping your sister walk to speak to Rocky.

Until one day you both stopped coming all together.

He waited an hour each day for a month just to see you two again, Freckle stayed even after that, but even then you still wouldn't come back. They both banged on the door, yelling for you, yet the inside was always still, even less taken care of than before. You had both left. And he denied it for so long, but he realised as he grew why. Rocky at first believed you to have left because you both hated him, you both lost interest in your friendship and simply didn't want to be around him anymore.

But he noticed the signs, he knew the truth, (S/N) was sick, deathly so, she couldn't breathe and instead sat down on most days, even you seemed more sickly. Yet both of you were determined to at least see him and his cousin.

He tried to convince himself you just left for a doctor, but no doctor takes that long, he knew you both most likely died from some illness you weren't used to. With how you both spoke, you weren't from here, and you couldn't resist disease here. It weighed on him, how he didn't confront you about it, to at least confirm his suspicions.

And now, in gunfire and feeling his consciousness drain, it all felt fuzzy, familiar, warm. He wanted to go back and see you both again, one of the highlights of his youth, but also one of the most horrifying parts.

Rocky's eyes snapped open, he was shoved onto a couch like a sack of dirt, the force knocking some air from him and causing spurts of coughs and croaky mumbles of confusion. His vision was blurred and he felt like he drank an entire bottle of alcohol, but he could make a shape from all the chaos. It was speaking, and sounded angry, he noticed what he assumed to be Viktor leaving and slamming the door behind him, that's when the shape drew closer.

It held his hand, it was fuzzy... He noticed the accent, it was familiar. Then came the hug, you're warm. He wanted to reach out and hug you back, but not only did it hurt to breathe, he guessed he understood how you felt back then, but he realised you were wrapping something around him, not hugging him.

Black dots crowded his vision, and the next thing he knew he felt fabric on his chest different from his shirt, itchy and medical. Rocky grimaced and gripped the sofa cushion uncomfortably digging into his side, wanting it all to be over, he loved the job, just not this part. He felt himself fade away once again.

It took so much from you to not force him awake, but you waited, you had waited before for years, what was a few more hours? Your thoughts raced and you felt like sobbing, your sister had begun helping other injured within the Lackadaisy staff before she left for the night, believing he wouldn't wake until morning, yet it still didn't persuade you to leave his side.

Not even after the night ended and you had wasted precious time, you could've helped others with your sister, but all you could think of was him. Was he the same? You didn't know, and a part of you wanted to leave and never see him again, he could hate you for leaving, you never explained why, and he couldn't understand so young. Rocky was your friend, and you hope he still is.

The light began pouring into the room, your tired and aching eyes didn't notice the twitching, your sleepy head not processing the pained grunts from your patient, until he whispered your name.

Your ears perked up, suddenly more alert than they'd ever been in your life, your eyes widened and pulse quickened. He shifted from his position on the couch, before his back was laid flat, now he was turned slightly to look at you, luckily off his injured side.

"Rocky?..." You questioned quietly, smiling brightly and gently moving a hand forward to his coat, peeking underneath to see the blood seeping through had dried, you whispered for him to sit up slowly if he could. Coughing, he did so, wincing in pain and scratching a cushion that rubbed against the injury.

You began wrapping the new bandages around his side, leaning in close to do so, he took the opportunity and hugged you tightly, you almost thought he was planning to remove your spine with the force he pressed against you.

"I missed you too! Please let go-"

[multi-fandom-imagine]

【𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝖺𝗇 | 𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗈 whimper】

↳ Rocky Rickababy ✦ Husk ✦ Lucifer Morningstar ✦ Sedgewick Sable ✦ Vox ✦ Dorian Zibowski ✦ Gale Waterdeep Sokka ✦ Leon s. Kennedy ✦ Cloud Strife

[speakeasyaoi]

Rocky Rickaby x GN!Reader

> Requested by @d144-catzie | A bit shorter and messier than I'd like it to be, schoolwork got in the way :P

PROMPT: Rocky is in a close friendship with the reader that looks more like a couple at first, and has the beginning buds of a romantic relationship.

Rocky has a tendency to be extremely clingy and attached from the minute he meets you, especially so if he finds himself attracted and crushing on you. He ends up finding every excuse he can to spend some quality time with you, be it skipping out on work at his own expense and following you around at your heels like a stray pup, or dragging you along by your scruff on his chaotic escapades- He's constantly craving your presence, and he'll scrape together any opportunity he can to get it.

Rocky just adores both giving and recieving physical affection, and it's fit to make him burst with excitement nearly every time without fail. He tends to avoid things like chaste kisses and handholding in fear of seeming too forward, but he's more than open to ruffling your hair, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, patting your back or walking by your side with your elbows interlocked. Maybe he sneaks a hand on your waist or your hip as you're walking together, or hugs you for just a little longer than what might be considered platonic, but nothing too drastic. When he hugs you, he totally does the thing where he sways you side to side or lifts you up and spins you around.

He tries to talk you into getting some kind of matching article of clothing with him; matching neckties with your initials on them, matching bracelets he can wear under his sleeve or lapel pins he can wear alongside his Lackadaisy pin, he really isn't picky. Though, doesn't have the money to afford to buy you something of the quality he thinks you deserve, so it's probably going to be handmade. ...Or stolen. One of the two.

It's a fun pastime of his to tell you long, over-exagerrated stories of his life- including anything during his youth, adolescence, his time spent travelling around the states in search of work, and earlier years spent working for Lackadaisy with Zib's band. His storytelling skills are nothing short of grand and over-the-top, and he'd be ecstatic to ramble on to you over a shared platter of pancakes or a brisk walk through St. Louis if you'll let him. Fair warning, you're not going to be able to shut him up.

It's often he'll invite you over to Lackadaisy to watch him play his violin, and if not there, he just takes you to a nice, secluded area where he can show you without interruption. Most of what he plays is upbeat, spritely instrumentals or brief little tunes, but every once in a while he'll work up the confidence to sing you a ballad with vague lyrics that seem to apply to you a bit too well.

Similarly to how he calls Calvin Freckle, Ivy Miss Pepper, and Mitzi Miss M, he can't help but come up with a fun, sweet little nickname to call you, mainly serving to take the place of the more romantic terms of endearment he wishes he could call you without coming on too strong. But for now, what he's chosen works.

There's a 100% chance that Rocky's going to try and sweet-talk his way into staying with you in your home instead of continuing to live in his car. He'll beg and whine and plead and hug you tight once you finally give in, agreeing to crash on the living room couch. Though, if you aren't careful enough, he's probably going to end up sleeping in your bed one way or another. Oh well!

If you're able and willing, Rocky takes to teaching you how to play the violin. In all honesty, he makes a pretty shitty teacher, but he tries his damn hardest to help you with the very basics at the least. He also can't help but use it as an opportunity to be close with you, laying his hands over yours as he guides you into playing the right notes and holding the violin in the right position, peppering words of praise an encouragement all throughout.

Other notes: I struggled to keep this one not overly romantic, but still close and fluffy enough to stick to the prompt, this should be fine. I'm also probably going to keep to a range of 8-15 bulletpoints moving forward to speed up the time it takes to get to each post and keep me from burning myself out lol

[bleedinqdove]

May i req a Rocky Rickaby x fem or gn reader whose relationship is like Jessica and Roger Rabbit? Or Morticia and Gomez Addams? Everybody’s stunned as to how Rocky, the fucking CRAZY MAN OF THE CENTURY, managed to bag the only cat whose looks are beyond his level. And their personalities are like the textbook definition of opposites attract. Reader doesn’t care though, they’ll still be devoted and loving to Rocky ‘till the day they die.

(Bonus points if the reader is an artist like him, and is also touch starved as him)

You can do this req later or delete it if u wanna, no pressure! I really love your writing ❤️❤️

Rocky x fem reader with a relationship like Jessica and Roger Rabbit

A/n: Sorry this took so long! Was busier than expected ;-;, but anyways this was a really fun request to do as well! You guys send such great requests.

SFW but a bit suggestive towards the end.

-Anon you are absolutely on to something here let me say.

-Compared to Rocky’s more chaotic personality, you are more elegant and poised, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less passionate. You both share that fiery desire for one another even if you two couldn’t be any more different at first glance.

-You’re mainly known around the block for your fashion and self expression, not being afraid to experiment and be bold with your styles. So no doubt that’s how you first caught Rocky’s eyes.

- And Rocky quickly caught yours with the beautiful way he played the violin and his bizarre yet impenitent personality.

-What can I say, tormented artists that were made for eachother.

-You have Rocky wrapped around your finger, and he’s hopelessesly devoted to you. Any time he’s near you he just can’t help but smile and admire you…sometimes you can even catch his tail wagging-

-Your touch has him over the moon, and even the simplest scratch of the chin causes him to get all giddy with delight.

-He’s your number one supporter and defender. He takes great delight in seeing all the different outfits you make and the clothes you design, and if anyone has a problem with what you’re wearing he’ll make sure to deal with them accordingly.

-He’s very protective of you and has no issue of dealing with tomcats who are a bit too flirty with you. Just walks right up with that sharp-toothed smile of his and barely veiled threats of violence.

Right as the intermission starts Rocky hops off the stage and makes a beeline for you. A soft smile crosses your face as you greet him, beckoning him to sit next to you. However a passing tomcat gives you a suggestive comment and wink before walking away.

Rocky’s immediate reaction is to get up and follow that bastard, but he is stopped by you hooking a finger around his suspenders and pulling him back. You didn’t want him to waste his time talking to some greaseball when he should be talking to you. Plus he couldn’t be getting into fights this early into the night.

“Sit down Rocky.” You say looking him in the eyes.

“Yes Ma’am!”

-Make no mistake you’re just as protective as well. No one gets away with disrespecting your man.

-If someone is talking particularly loud during one of his performances, you shoot them a dirty look that shuts them up real quick.

-And if anyone dares to flirt or insult him in your presence, they’re in for a treat. While not as publicly confrontational as Rocky, you’re just as disturbing, if not more, with your confrontations.

-You wait until they are decently away from the crowd, or alone until you walk up to them with a sickly sweet smile painted on your face. The way your face and tone seem so calm, yet your words are vile and not to mention your eyes piercing right through them.

-Needless to say you consider your job done once they’re scared shitless.

-Rocky sometimes spots you doing this and it makes his heart swell with gratitude and pride. You truly care about him!

-Yeah you two are insane for eachother.

-While you dont mind PDA, Rocky appears to be the more clingy one in public. Which you don’t mind either you enjoy his touch. You even give him the occasional kiss here and there.

-But in private it’s a whole different story.

-It’s hard to tell if you’re stuck in Rocky’s grip or he’s stuck in yours. You find it hard to keep your hands off him!

-Rocky no doubt enjoys all this attention you give him, most days when you two come home after a long night he finds himself covered in lipstick stains from your kisses. His least favorite part of the day is washing it all off, he’d like to wear them proudly.

-You hate when he’s away all night doing bootlegging runs. It’s on lonely nights like those that your touchstarvedness truly shows.

-But Rocky is quick to make up for all that lost time.

You watch as Rocky passes the last of the stolen booze to Freckle, who walks out of the garage leaving you and Rocky alone. At first Rocky did not notice you were there as he closed the trunk. In fact he almost bumped straight into you as he turned to follow Freckle.

“Oh! Well what brought you down here dear?” He asks, his eyes widening in surprise and excitement. Rocky was more confused if anything, you usually never go into the garage. However you knew why you were in here, you didn’t know if you could last another hour without Rocky! You let out a dramatic sigh as you lean against him and he immediately wraps his arms around you.

“I just missed you, that's all honey…though I do have a certain request I’d like to make if you don’t mind…?” You asked as his ears perked up in interest, he seemed even more inclined after you started to play with his tie.

“I know after these little runs you like to stay at the speakeasy a bit longer…but I’m oh so tired and just want to wind down…would you like to come home with me Mr Rickaby?”

Your smirk grew wider as you tugged on his tie bringing his face closer to yours. “You think you can help me relax…?”

Rocky’s tail shot straight up as he looked at you, a wide grin on his face as he nodded his head. It didn’t take a lot of convincing with him.

“Yes Ma’am!”

[a-libra-writes]

If you don’t mind, may I request headcanons for the lackadaisy characters reacting to the reader(GN) saving them by taking a bullet that was going to hit them and almost dies from it?

GN reader, most of these imply the reader and character are in a romantic relationship or at least close. obvs mentions of injury, blood, morphine, hospitals etc and the angst that follows! Our kitties arent doing well :(

♣️Rocky - The fact you took a bullet for him is ... a lot. That takes processing, something Rocky isn't good at. It ends up manifesting as a long, drawn-out anxiety attack that gives him jitters, a little dissociation and mild mania. Eventually the Arbogasts asks Freckle to just get him out of the house and do something with him; they'd call when you woke up. When you're awake, the tabby is making his usual quips and chatter, but his off-kilter mood is obvious to even your morphine-addled mind. Rocky's more disheveled than usual and clearly hasn't slept. His shirt still has blood on it - your blood.

He's is ready to go absolutely feral on the person who did this, channeling all his fear and guilt into a single plan of revenge. He's so full of this manic energy that it's hard for him to keep still, let alone eat or sleep. But first! You're awake! Even if it's clear he's unwell, he's trying to smile and assure you that you'll be back on your feet in no time! So don't you worry, he and Freckle will take care of it. No amount of exhausted arguing will divert him from this.

You're stuck in bed for days, so you don't know exactly what happens. It's up to Freckle to tell you, as he went along with his cousin - but he's tight lipped about it, and fidgety, like always. Once that's dealt with, Rocky's fixating switches to fussing over you. And his heart is in the right place, but ... he's exhausted, all that lack of sleep and emotional turmoil catching up. Eventually he just passes out on the bed and you let him curl up at your side for a while. Rocky's excellent company (and a questionable nurse) in the following weeks. He has plenty of stories, music and chatter to keep you occupied.

♣️Freckle - He is, uh, not coping with this well. At all. He jumps to action to shoot whoever did this... Several times, and keeps shooting long after they're dead. He doesn't stop until his cousin calls out to him. Freckle is in something of a daze on the way to the back-alley doctor - wow, people have a lot of blood in their body, but now it's all over you - and doesn't start throwing up until the bullet gets pulled out of you.

He's sent out of the makeshift operating room because even Rocky can tell he won't cope with it. How could he? Isn't this his fault? Maybe if he reacted sooner, it wouldn't have happened. The poor guy is sleepless for days and consumed with too much guilt to visit until he's all but dragged in your sickroom by Ivy. Freckle fidgets often and struggles to look into your eyes - it goes a long way to just reassure him and promise you aren't angry. He shot the bastard who did it, after all.

He visits most days, bringing soup (his mother seems to think you have a terrible flu?) and slowly, slowly talking more and relaxing. He has a better bedside manner than he thinks; Freckle's a fairly quiet companion and has a good idea of what you need. Changing your bandages makes him feel pretty awful, but he's a good help. If you decide to continue bootlegging after your recovery, he's extra jumpy and protective of you.

♣️Ivy - Ohhh nonononono no, this is not happening. She's grabbing your shoulders and yanking you toward her, ignoring the blood getting all over her. She's a mess and doesn't even think of the danger you're both in; the bullets and gunfire keeps on all around while she holds onto you and tries to pull you to safety. Small as she is, with pure determination and adrenaline, she makes it.

You don't remember much after that, but the girl's right in your face as you slowly come to. Ivy looks a complete mess; having been crying for the the last hour, and before that watching intently while a bullet was yanked out of you. At least she washed the blood off her arms, but the clothes she was wearing are utterly ruined. Ivy alternates between chattering apologies and quiet fidgeting, even if you're too loopy to respond properly.

Eventually she has some strings pulled to get you to a nice hospital, with no one asking questions. This whole situation alters her for the worse; she gets more frequent nightmares and struggles to focus in school. Nearly every day she comes by you bring you snacks and magazines and nice flowers for your room; sometimes seeming a little frantic, like she was trying to make up for something.

♣️Mitzi - She is furious. Someone told her when you woke up, and you hear her swishing dress and clacking heels rushing down the hall. Her eyes are red, her make up is ruined and she practically shakes you. Even though you're still full of morphine, she demands you promise to never, EVER do that again. Zib has to remind her that a) you're still drugged out of your mind and b) the bandages are getting bloody.

While she'd want you in a proper hospital, they'd ask too many questions. You stay in the apartment above the cafe. She's too squeamish (and guilty) to help change your bandages, but she does bring you food, some records to listen to, an extra pillow, and so on. It's obvious Mitzi struggles to talk casually, as if nothing happened. When you're sleeping, she'll sit at your bedside. If it seems like the wound - or maybe a dream? - is bothering you, she gently pets your hair until you settle.

♣️Viktor - He's only in shock for a few seconds before instinct and absolute fury takes over. The perpetrator is not alive for long, but their last moments are painful. Not that you're around to see it - you've longed passed out from bloodloss. The only thing keeping Viktor from totally rampaging is the awareness that you're in a critical condition.

His old soldier training takes over; he's able to push emotions aside and get you to Elsa, the only one he trusts with this situation. While you're being operated on, he's still stewing. If whoever is responsible still has friends or a leader around, well, that won't be the case for long. Mordecai considers stopping the big Slovak to make him see reason ... but just ends up helping him instead. 'Keeping him out of trouble', the shadowy man claims, but really he's just as angry.

Once you're awake and coherent, it takes Viktor a while to sit in with you. He's disheveled and tired, and has trouble meeting your eyes. His bedside manner is ... basically nonexistent, but earlier Elsa walked him through the basics of what foods are best and how the bandages need to be fixed. After this, he's adamant about not wanting you on jobs any more, even if you're recovering well. The fact you took the bullet for him is even worse, in his mind. He could've taken it; you should have let him take it.

♣️Zib - Nope, he's not okay. Definitely not coping well with this situation. It's bad enough he got involved in one gunfight, now a second and this happens? He wants to get the hell out of this speakeasy. Anyone can see how jittery he is. Zib alternates between smoking too much and avoiding your sickbed, or drinking too much and sleeping by your side. When it's two am and he's resting beside you and listening to your labored breathing, he really wishes he was shot instead.

He thinks he's pretty shit at caring for anyone, but he's actually not bad, especially when he's half-sober. Helping with the bandages gets him feeling queasy and guilty, but getting food and keeping you company isn't so bad. Now and then, he asks if you still want to hang around this place - what do you think about leaving, with him and the band? If you're a triggerman for Lackadaisy, why don't you reconsider? Is it really worth it? And so on.

Expect a lot of late-night discussions when he's restless and can't keep his mind wandering. What if you had died, what if you get sick like this, what if you just left with him? Where would you all go? More than once you've fallen asleep in the middle of his talking, but he doesn't mind.

♣️Atlas - Everything is spinning, but you can feel his arms around you. You don't realize how much blood has soaked through his suit. And for the first time, you hear him shout - his voice resonates through his chest as you rest against it.

Eventually you wake up in a hospital bed, though the blanket is something from home and there's flowers all over the windowsill - wait, is that a radio? The nurses don't say much, but you're also not in a state to talk. You aren't sure if it's been one day or many, but finally he visits. He looks more tired than you've seen him, and far more solemn. He puts his hand on your's and explains you'll be leaving the hospital soon and recovering in his manor, along with a live-in nurse. This is quite a shock if you two aren't married, but if you are, it's nice to go home again. The guest room is already set up with what you need.

You don't hear whatever came of that triggerman, though the Lackadaisy staff whisper about Viktor and Mordecai being away for some time. Atlas doesn't want you about the cafe or speakeasy anymore, or out on your own in general. It'll take time for you to recover, but even longer for his paranoia and agitation to lessen. He seems the same to his business associates and employees, but those who know him better ...

🏵Serafine - She only pauses for a moment, then jumps to action. Serafine doesn't have to say anything to Nico, he's already picking you up while she mows down whoever shot you. Outwardly she's calm, inwardly she's furious. At the gunman, at herself, at you. Well, they keep a doctor on call for this reason. Serafine holds you very carefully in the car ride to the hotel, alternating between talking about revenge and reassuring you that you'll be just fine. No need to fret.

Everything's fuzzy after that. Serafine isn't there when you awaken, but you're in her bed. If you're a girl, you're probably in her nightie, too (when did your clothes get changed?). There's warm food on the nightstand, enough morphine to take out an elephant and a little vase of flowers. It's like any other morning when you wake up in her bed, well. Except the drugs and the hole in your chest.

Eventually she comes back, with more food and a disturbingly calm demeanor. Whoever that gunner was, well, they're dealt with, and so is their boss. Isn't that good news, cher(ie)? You just rest up and you'll be back on your feet. The stitches are neat and the bandages aren't too tight - understandable, considering how much she was threatening the doctor. Nico tells you all about it later.

🏵Nico - He uh, probably manhandles you more than he should as he gets you into the car. He wants to retaliate - to bash in the gunman's head rather than put a bullet in it - but Nico knows a bad shot when he sees it. He grits his teeth and keeps you in his arms while Serafine floors it, not caring how much blood gets on his clothes or white coat.

As much as he wants to sit in on the operation, it makes him restless. So he settles for pacing in and out of the room, often reminding the doctor how unfortunate it'll be for him if something goes wrong. He's quietly boiling in the perpatrator, too; by the time you're bandaged and tucked in bed, he and his sister already have a plan of retaliation. While you're still doped up and asleep, he gives you a kiss on the brow and disappears to get the job done.

Once you come to, there's flowers on the nightstand and a maid coming in with room service. You stay in the Savoy's suite during your recovery; Nico only sleeps on the couch because he moves a lot in his sleep and doesn't want to disturb you (he still naps right by your side). He's not careful enough to help with changing bandages, but he's excellent company when you're bored. Nico only laughs when you bring up the gunman. Old news, he's taken care of it. He'll even share the grisly details.

🏵Mordecai - He doesn't react to the blood immediately. His mind tells him to clear the area first - but. That's a lot of blood. He's acutely aware the bullet was meant for him. The logical side starts to short-circuit once you're in the backseat of the car, bleeding all over the coat he wrapped around you. He knows how to put pressure on a wound, and he thinks he's staying calm, but he snaps viciously at Niko to stop screwing around and drive faster.

He bothers the doctor so much while they work - hovering, observing, commenting - he gets pulled out of the room. Whoever shot you is going to be dealt with, and whoever ordered the hit. Mordecai just wants to make sure you'll survive the next few hours, as that'll determine how he deals with them.

The first few days he's agitated and not sleeping well. Mordecai alternates between fussing and fixating on your wound, and bothering the hell out of whoever's looking after you. He really doesn't settle until the gunman is well and dead, and you're more coherent and talking. Expect lots of lecturing about how stupid it was for you to get in the way, how you need to fix the bandage this way or that, and have you been eating? When Mordecai's away, the Savoys like to come in and cackle about what he did to the gunman. They were also apparently given instructions by him not to bother you, which they gleefully ignore.

🏔Wick - He's completely frozen in place, stuck by distress and panic. It occurs to him to shout for help not when more bullets fly by, but when you start coughing up blood. He has enough wherewithal to get you to the hospital - somehow driving without crashing into anything - but once you're taken away, he just crumples. He's utterly distraught.

Once his mental faculties have recovered just enough to let him stand, he paces. And paces. The receptionist in the waiting room manages to get him to make a phone call; he tries to inform Lacy to just take the day off tomorrow, but the events of the evening all come spilling out. If you both were innocent bystanders in the incident, that's one thing, but if you were involved in some criminal business and that's what put Wick in the line of fire ... well, Lacy has some choice words for her hopelessly infatuated boss.

Once you're stable and resting, he finally allows himself to breathe. The receptionist all but shoves him home because he looks like a mess and he's frightening other patients. By the time you can accept visitors he's (somewhat) rested and bringing you flowers. There's still an awkwardness, so ... at some point, talking about everything is gonna have to happen. But Wick wants you to rest first, and he needs to figure out his own thoughts, without the whiskey.

[mediocrevideopodcast]

Kissing: Rocky Rickaby

Pairing: Roark "Rocky" Rickaby/Reader (GN)

Content Warnings: Very vague comic spoilers if you squint,

Kissing rocky is like jumping into a cold pool on a hot day. Shocking for the first few seconds, yet everything you could ever want in that moment. 

Quick and spontaneous, Rocky tends to keep you on your toes. Part of him likes seeing your wide-eyes and lovestruck smile when he catches you off guard, but the other part of him just wants to be as close as he can to you as often as he can. He'd kiss you all day if you'd let him, and believe him, he's tried. 

His favorite place to kiss you is, well, realistically anywhere you'll let him. But he's rather soft for kissing the back of your hand. It's the romanticism of it all. 

His favorite place to be kissed, though? Well, that's also anywhere. He just likes your attention. But when you kiss him on the lips, he just melts. You'd have to be blind to miss the hearts in his eyes, nevermind the way he beams afterwards. He likes the intimacy of it -- although, he's also partial to temple kisses... and there's a spot just below his jawline that absolutely shuts his brain off.

Contrary to what most might think, though, his first kiss with you was… hesitant. Afraid of driving you away, of being too much, he let you take the lead. Soft and tender, it's a moment that he'll remember for the rest of his life. And you'll always remember his starstruck gaze as you pulled away, pupils dilated. The way his breath shook, the way he chased after you when you parted. You still get these kisses sometimes, away from prying eyes.  

On a happier note: Often tastes like maple syrup. The sweetness matches well with his playful nature. Sometimes he'll squish your cheeks just to see you pout before kissing you. Sometimes he'll nibble at you a little. If he had even an ounce of strength he'd try dipping you into a kiss, but, well… spaghetti arms. It's a curse.

His hands never stay still either, especially when you get to properly kiss him. His hands always seem to roam, eager to be close, to explore, to hold. It's overwhelming, in the best way possible. The outside world just melts away, leaving only the two of you behind.  

[the-marigold-reception]

can you do general relationship hcs for Rocky?

He’s not clingy at the start of the relationship

He doesn’t want to scare you off

He’s well aware that he can be too much sometimes

So he tries to suppress himself slightly

But the sooner you spot that and tell him that you like the hyperness and the clingyness because they’re what make him him?

He’s so happy with you

Everyone at the lackadaisy lounge knows about you just from rocky proclaiming various rambles and poetry about you

He of course brings you down to the lounge and introduces you to everyone

(You’re confused how everyone seems to know everything about you)

Wick is slightly relived that Rocky’s found you because hopefully you’ll distract rocky enough for wick to have an uninterrupted conversation with Mitzi

Mitzi is happy he’s found you because he’s become a lot more cautious on bootleg runs

Ivy teases him, but she’s awestruck at your relationship with each other

Freckle sees the good influence you’ve had on rocky, and he sees how you accept him for him

Once you find out he’s living in his car?

He’ll be embarrassed but relived that you don’t care he’s poorer than dirt

(You’re ever so slowly moving his various belongings into your house)

You ask if he wants to stay with you at your house

He’s reluctant because he’s… well him! Why would you want him to move in?

You convince him and he stands outside your door reluctant to knock

He’s gripping his violin case shaking with nerves

He knocks and the door opens revealing you with a wide smile, the warmth pouring out of the house to embrace him

He takes a few steps inside, noting that there’s a coat hook for him, space on the shoe rack, his horrendous cactus placed lovingly among the various flowers in your house

And he breaks down, collapsing into your arms as he holds you close- thanking you over and over for loving and accepting him

You stay there for a while before he pulls himself up and you eat dinner together, rocky still sniffing a bit

He almost breaks again when he sees you placed a framed photo of you and him next to the various photos of your family

And as he curls up with you in bed he swears he doesn’t care about all of that- he knows that his home is wherever you are now

Did I get carried away? Yes. Was I listening to Angel by Sarah McLachlan? Yes. Was I inspired to write some comfort? Yes!!!!!

I hope you liked this!

[an-otterly-adorable-being]

Hello!

I was wondering if you can do a headcanon on any lackadaisy cat and how they would react to a hairless cat reader.

Thank you!

I did a handful of characters (romance, sorry if you wanted platonic) for this, so I suppose a bit more quantity over quality this time. Ideally, it's still relatively ok. If there's one that I miss and people want them, I'd be happy to do a part 2. Hope y'all enjoy!

Various(Lackadaisy) x HairlessCat!Reader

(Note:this has one of my personal headcanons that, similar to Stardew Valley players, Ivy just collects people, learns everything about them and moves on.)

Mordecai Heller

• Mordecai is a very analytical tomcat, and you being without fur is certainly... analyzed.

• You're just a regular at the Marigold who stands out to him for your appearance, and definitely no other reason.

• It's not because of the way the lighting makes your bared skin look heavenly, nor is it because of how easily he can see the way you blush around him.

• Yeah, he's in denial about it, that's for sure, but a gentle nudge in the right way and boom, he melts like butter on a hot pan for you.

• In private, of course. He has a reputation to maintain.

• Though, he definitely doesn't mind silently adoring you from across the Marigold.

• And if anyone so much as maliciously looks at you because you're different, well, Mordecai is very good at hiding both his feelings and the nondescript adult sized bags he "takes care of."

Rocky Rickaby

• Imagine if you will, being a god/goddess. People throw themselves at your feet, and want nothing more than to sing your praises until the end of days.

• That's how Rocky sees you.

• To Rocky, seeing you is like Romeo seeing Juliet. There isn't a better phrase to describe it than utter adoration.

• Unlike Mordecai though, Rocky's love for you is no secret.

• In fact, if you let him, he will go on for hours about how beautiful you are, building shrines to you with rhymes and prose, as well as painting you as heaven-sent bliss with the saccharine notes of his sweet symphonies.

• Yeah, there's no better way to put it, he's smitten.

• He also really likes the way it feels when you hug.

Ivy Pepper

• Ivy has a tendency to "collect" people.

• It's something she isn't super aware of, but it definitely affects your first couple of interactions.

• Ivy is totally entranced by you, and while at the beginning it's mostly just because of your lack of fur, it begins to become more and more about you as a person.

• She gets ahead of herself. A lot. And you definitely need to ground her sometimes.

• Yet despite it all Ivy genuinely adores, in a way that's not her finding interesting people, getting to know them, and then just moving on.

• It's not luck, by the way. Ivy genuinely loves you that much, because you are just that amazing.

Calvin "Freckle" McMurray

• On a more comedic note, Freckle is the one to make sure that all your needs are accounted for, even if it means being a bit overprepared.

• It's not that he's wilfully ignorant or dumb, he just needs a gentle reminder every once in awhile.

• The sunscreen and extra layers when it's cold out is very sweet of him though.

• Freckle's similar to Rocky in that he absolutely adores you, treating you like an angel sent from above, even if that is a bit sacrilegious.

• Unlike Rocky, he's not overtly affectionate, aside from packing things you may need because, well, no fur.

• Instead Freckle hangs off your every word, silently appreciating you. Just being in your company is just... amazing to him.

• Also, since he's usually worried about you being cold, you get the perfect excuse for cuddles too ;3.

[pomegranate-pen]

If requests are open, could i ask for a part 2 fro that one Rocky x reader you did? I just read it and I am AOUYWVDOUWGD I love it.

It ended with him essentially taking himself out of y/n's life right? just disappearing and ghosting them? What if, and hear me out: reader did a little snooping and finds a way into the speakeasy- maybe they know Wick or someone else who agrees to help them out, and they just. go. OFF on Rocky(affectionately. Like they're angry but they're more hurt than anything and they don't care what he does, they just want him to come back because they love him and they miss him and they just hate worrying whether or not he's alive and okay because they don't see him anymore.)

Hope that's enough to get something going, and if requests aren't open, you can totally ignore this! I just love some good hurt/comfort with a dash of good communication. Have a wonderful day/night and thank you so much!

A/N: oh my god?!! so many people wanted a part two to this!! I'm so glad you guys loved it that much!!!!! GAHHHH THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR KIND WORDS!!! one warning though!!! I have written this way before a few asks, so I might not have exceeded everyone's requests here, and I unfortunately do not have the time to completely rewrite this- since finals month have just begun-

Part two of the rocky rickaby angst!

warnings: these are obvious, mentions of alcohol and whatnot. this is pure fluff btw

It has been two months. two, dreadful, heartwrenching, and painful months.

‘Have you gone mad?’ is the question that always echoes in your mind. Especially when no one seems to even speak of the name Rocky Rickaby around you.

The café feels empty without him around. Ivy and Freckle keep acting like nothing is wrong, but their acting is so horrible under your intense gaze, it was like a group of people who accidentally found themselves in improv class instead of their intended one. 

And f you have to hear Ivy say ‘Rocky? Who's that?” and Freckle shaking his head saying his cousin is in the circus, you will scream.

 It was like Rocky truly has died. That night he peacefully passed away and now it is what you feared would happen. There are no more poems, no more chaos, no more silliness of the cat you have grown to love. It’s just quiet, so dreadfully quiet you feel like you’re stuck in a café themed asylum. You miss him and his horrible syrup-filled teas. The ones whose bitterness is completely overtaken by the sugary sweetness so powerful it leaves you craving water.

And as you lay on your bed, with the same drops of rain clanking through your window just like the certain night, you feel yourself getting mad. You’re enraged by his actions. Since when does he decide what you will do with your life? Since when did he want to be the good guy? Who said this is the decision best for you?

With gritted teeth and a lack of sleep, you frantically twist and turn and start running the gears in your brain. You kept thinking, stuck with ideas of what to do to get his attention. Though your half-sleepy mind was making up a very half-assed plan, you were so desperate at this point, you couldn’t handle not seeing him anymore. You couldn’t handle worrying for him through the sidelines no longer. You will get to see him tomorrow, whether he likes it or not.

----

“I’m not allowed to speak a word.”

Frustrating. That is the word you’d use for this situation. Horribly frustrating. Who knew that Freckle Mcmurray could be this stubborn? Perhaps since it was a request from the one closest to him, he follows through with his loyalty till the bitter end.

You’d admire this quality of his if it wasn’t a huge block to you.

“oh come on Freckle, I’m just curious!” Freckle tried to do minimal tasks around the café to throw you off. For a moment he was cleaning the already spotless tables, in another, he was sweeping the dustless floors. “ don’t you think you owe me one after I helped you guys that night?”

Suddenly, he stops sweeping and looks at the ground with silent guilt. his hand having a strong grip on the broom. “ If I paid more attention Rocky wouldn’t have gotten shot in the first place.” His ears lowered a bit and his brow furrowed. His tail slightly shifted from place to place behind him as he started sweeping again.

Oh. it seems like the situation is a bit more complicated than you thought. “Freckle…” you put a hand on his shoulder, making him stop and look at you after avoiding your gaze for a long time. “ it wasn’t your fault— I’m sure Rocky was being…well…” you huffed. “Rocky. You know? No one expected you to know he’ll get shot.”

His ears lowered even more and he looks away. Shit. You made it worse. Now a bit of guilt seeped into you. “ that’s not what happened.” He mumbled, palms holding the broom at different angles and not even cleaning anymore. “ I was the one who was about to get shot. He blocked for me.”

“oh…”

He sighs and leans the broom on the table next to you. he sits down with a look of stress mixed within his guilty eyes now. “if-if it wasn’t for my clumsiness we wouldn’t have been forced to come to you for help!” his hands were now grabbing his head in distress as his tail wagged frivolously more than before.

“Woah woah— calm down, Freckle.” You place your hands on his shoulders, leaning down to meet his level and stopping him from almost ripping his eyebrows off. “ don’t freak yourself out so much. No one is to blame for this situation.”

His eyes squint at you and you cough. “ook— maybe there is— but it’s way too complicated to be just one person’s fault, don’t you think?”

He’s silent for a bit, but his breathing calms down and his eyebrows aren’t as furrowed as before. “I-I guess you’re right.” He sighs. He then went into silence- one where judging from his face, was one of constant conflict. That is until he finally sighs and grumbles out a ‘fine’ as he digs through his pockets and brings out a pretty pin, with a shape of a club on it. He brings you closer as he whispers in your ear.

“did you get all that?” he finally leans back and you get up. you nod your head, the information running in your head on repeat. “good.” He gives out a breath of relief, yet his shoulders tense up again in worry. “d-don’t do anything brash! I promised Rocky you’d stay out of trouble.”

Yet here he is helping you jump into one. You couldn’t help but give a giddy grin. After giving him a playful punch on the shoulder and profusely thanking him, you walk out of the café with a worried Freckle looking back.

-----

Dim, red lights bore the entire cave, pillars clean as a whistle overtaking some of the view and tables as far as the eye could see, yet, emptier than the café is, which is saying a lot considering how quiet that place could get.

Honestly, you didn’t expect to find this place so easily with no trouble. You expected to go over some guards or whatnot for inspection before being let in- but then again—you never were one to associate yourself with danger, you’re quite the newcomer to such things.

You only hoped that your attire was the right one for such a situation, and that you don’t leave this place getting chased by some hitman of sorts. Of which, you don’t think they have, unless you count the trio and the very scary-looking bartender. You swear you saw him glaring at you at some point. Still, you sat down a few seats away from his station and ordered a drink to not seem fishy.

you look around, no sign of Rocky, which now that you think of it, there is a huge chance Freckle told on you and Rocky stayed away. Dammnit! You should’ve expected this— as you try to drink your sorrows away, one sip of the illicit beverage has had the ends of your hair stand in horror. bitter, tasteless, and pure garbage. Oh god— is this what Rocky has been risking his life for?!

“Well well well, do my eyes deceive me, or do we really have a new customer here?” before you could mull over your new discovery, a sly, lazy voice grabs your attention. You turn around and the very first thing you sense is the high smell of his smoke. It invaded your lungs for a moment- and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose a bit and cough.

“oh, sorry. Forgot not many people can't handle the smell.” He takes out the cigarette from his mouth and sits right next to you, burning down the roll on the counter. He leans on the counter, his shoulders holding his weight. “you new here?”

“whose asking?”

He laughs. “ the leader of the jazz band up there if you’re that scared.”

“the band?” you perked up. “ wait- uh- “You look back at the stage a few feet away from you, yet you see no violin. Perhaps he took it with him like he always does? “…do you perhaps have a violinist playing for you there?”

Zib now perks up a bit as well, giving you a confused glare as he answered. “yeah…but he’s got some new business he does here too.” He takes your glass and drinks it before you could rebuttal. And to your surprise, he doesn’t gag when he drinks it.

“I could’ve had a cold, you know.”

“I didn’t see you sniffling nor sneezin’.”

“what if I had meningitis or mumps that you’ll get now?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been through worse.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. Best to just ignore his actions for now. “ so…this violinist-is he uh-“Oh god you probably sound suspicious now. You’re seriously way too out of your comfort zone here. “ is he perhaps the same guy who's a waiter up in the café?”

Silence takes over the space, and you're left with an awkward piano playing in the background as the stranger stares you up and down. You freeze for a moment, hoping to whatever celestial being that truly rules this world to let you live another day. Yet, the messy-looking man suddenly starts snickering, then full-blown cackling and at some point- coughing due to his weak lungs- yet still bravely laughing through it. safe to say you're embarrassed as you can ever be.

“you- hahah- you’re the-cough-lil’ cute nurse he keeps talking about?!”

“he— he thinks I’m cute?”

“No wonder you talked about mumps- err- whatever that is.” His laugh dies down and he looks at you with a look of horror and small amusement. “and you actually like him back? He wasn’t lying?”

“he talks about me?”

 “it’s Rocky. Of course he’s talking about you, every day to be precise.” He fiddles with his pocket and takes out another cigarette. You squint at him before he mumbles out a ‘relax, it’s a weaker one’ before lighting it up. “though…he’s been awfully quiet these few days.” He glances back at you. “I’m guessing that involves you coming here?”

You look away from him. “I guess you could say that.” You tap the counter, now remembering Rocky’s face that night- tired and bruised up, a face that makes your heart ache. “ will he be coming back? or is he avoiding me again?”

“I’ll be honest with you newbie,” he lets out a puff of smoke. “he’s in the backstage avoiding you. his cousin warned him.”

“I knew it!” you grumbled as he continued.

“ now usually, I’d advise you to stay away from the kid. But…” he shrugs. “I’ll admit that with your presence in his life, he suddenly got a bit more excited than usual- normally this would be a bad thing- but it does boost his performances on stage.” He then started to mumble a bit. “…although on bootlegging he’ll always be a lost cause…he still tries his best.”

“ but how do I get to him? won’t he run off?”

And with that, the cat gives a sly smirk. Okay…not the most trustworthy look, you thought. He beckons with his hand for you to come closer, and just like with Freckle, he whispers to you a strategy you didn’t expect.

---

A backstage, though more so a greenroom than anything else- since it doesn’t even lead to the stage- the band likes to call it a backstage since they hang out here when there’s nothing to do in the front. However, over the years, it has also become a place for extra storage, for things such as empty barrels and whatnot. And now, it is a hideout for Rocky, who surprisingly, isn’t hiding from an assassin or another angry farmer out to get him- rather a worried nurse whom he likes too much.

“…you sure you don’t want to talk to them?” his cousin, Calvin Mcmurray- though he likes to call Freckle, a habit that has been spread to everyone much to his cousin’s dismay- is staying with him for the time being. Since he doesn’t have much to do anyway, not unless Rocky comes up with a new unneeded task. “they've probably gone through a lot of trouble to get here.”

Rocky, to Freckle’s surprise, is silent. Shifting around and thinking of a solution. “I made the right choice,” he spoke to himself. Now staring at his shoulder which was once shot at. “ they couldn’t have handled this anyway.”  

“…are you okay?” Calvin was confused and no matter what he asks, for weeks Rocky hasn’t told him what happened that fateful night. “ you know if you don’t see them they'll just force you to, right?” he reasoned. “ they're not one to easily give up.”

“there you go questioning my logic again,” Rocky sighs and holds his finger up in a scolding manner. “ what did I say? The plan is simple.” He smiles, then gives a sheepish expression. “ avoid Y/n at all costs until they finally gives up, gets so mad at me that they avoid me themselves all together! Then boom! They're safe and sound and I can easily take risks again.”

“…but…they don't easily give up-“

“nonsense Freckle!” Rocky huffs. “what’s the worse they could do? join the lackadaisy?“

A loud bang erupts in the room as a familiar face barges in.

Your eyes light up when you see him again. After two long months, you can finally see the silly cat whose been on your mind for so long. after two months of constantly wondering if his wounds have opened up or not- and praying that he hasn’t gone to the Dr.Quackenbush guy he spoke about- you finally see him. yet, your expression is frustrated.

“Rickaby,”

Zib whistled. “ last name used, means big trouble buddy.”

You decided to ignore that comment and walk closer to him. Rocky being seated gave you a more domineering look in his perspective, and your determined energy was radiating through the roof. “you can’t avoid me any longer.” You grumble. “especially since it’s not even for your sake- you’re choosing for me. which by the way- is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.” Probably not the most, but you were too mad to think properly. “ if you keep avoiding me like this, then I’ll have no choice but to just get a job here.” you then shrugged. “ from what I’ve seen, they could use a nurse here anyway- or rather anyone who even knows a thing about aid kits.”

“told you they wouldn’t give up,” Freckle squeaked, though he was hiding behind his hat with lowered ears and a scrunched-up face.

Rocky clears his throat as he gets up, grabbing your shoulders and turning you around the other way. “Y/n…an unexepcted pleasure to see you again!” he laughs nervously while looking at the others. “How about we take this conversation somewhere else?”

You cross your arms and pout. “if you don’t run away then sure.”

“don’t worry, we’ll keep guard." Zib spoke as he pats Freckle’s shoulder. You made a note to yourself to thank him later.

“..shall we?” Rocky’s tone has become a bit nervous and sheepish.

With a nod to your head, you speak. “ lead the way.”

----

“alright— now I know there might be some issues when change happens-“

The place he chose, was just a top attic that lead to the surface, where a beaten-up car sat. and to your shock, some dried-up spills of blood on the floor. Rocky sat down on a crate box and motioned you to sit on the other next to him.

“Change? What, am I a kid now?” you sat down. “ what you did was absolutely mindbogglingly-“

“-I did it for your own good.” He cuts you off. “ think of it this way— “ he sits up straight. “your life is normal, it’s peaceful and has a good future ahead of it. though yes someone could argue mundane is boring, you seem to like the mundane from what I've seen- mine though? It isn't like that in the slightest. I work in a ….” He hisses a bit in concentration. “…very dubiously legal place doing odd jobs. You won’t like it.”

“Who said you could make these decisions for me?” you huffed, deciding to now spill your guts before he runs away again. You held his hands, making sure he was looking at you as you spoke, as stressful as it is to have someone stare at you. “ you’re right about one thing. All my life has been normal.” You give his hands an affectionate squeeze. “ but that doesn’t mean I was happy in it. I was sick of normal, of mundane day-in and day-out lifestyle. And then- then I met you.” god, you could feel your cheeks burning up. “you’re fun. Sure you can get too crazy but I like that about you. it’s so easy to talk to you and I just- I just love spending time with you because-..” Your heart was going to beat out of your chest.”… you’re my favorite person.” You huffed out. “I like your presence in my life- you make it worth living. I like how you have this weird obsession with pancakes- I love all the expressions you make while you're debating about something- I like you, idiot.”

Silence took over the room , and you couldn’t help but move your gaze away from embarrassment. Shit— you shouldn’t have said the last part- that was too much- will he ignore you forever now?—

“…so you..wouldn’t mind the injuries?”

You look up at him and shrugged. “ I mean…I’ll certainly get worried, there’s no stopping that. But if you promise to be a little more alert, then I promise I won’t freak out as much. “ you gave him a playful smile.”Just remember to visit me if you get hurt. Not the guy who uses a lot of chloral hydrate.”

“consider it done darling.”

“darling? Really?”

“would you like me to call you ‘Doc’ instead? Or perhaps something more romantic? Sweetheart? Honeydough? Love?—“

“okay Stop-“

“ Why I can go all day!— Sunshine, Honeybun, Lovebug, Hot Stuff—“

“alright alright I get it!” you couldn’t help but give out a giddy laugh. “darling is fine.”

“Anything for you, darling."Rocky gets up and gives a small bow, which the response from you was a small chuckle. “ say,” he gets up. “ how did you meet Zib?”

“Who?”

“the guy you came in with.”

“oh— his name is Zib? Huh, weird name.”

“It’s his nickname, though I’m not sure what his birth name is.”

“was yours always Rocky?”

He grumbles. “you don’t want to know what my actual name was.”

You grinned and tilted your head in curiosity. “oh, don’t be like that! I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“it is.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now spill.”

He stays quiet for a moment, then fiddles with his tie as he answers. “it’s Roark.”

You desperately tried to hide your snort, yet a small bit was let out. Rocky shook his head dramatically. “ridiculous, isn’t it? only my aunt calls me by that name.” he then gives a worried smile. “though usually her tone is always scolding too. So that checks out.”

“no-no- “ you stopped your laugh. “I think it’s a very nice name. but I do like Rocky more.”

“Perhaps you should give me a nickname, darling?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “perhaps I should.”

You stand up as well. Lean to his level and give a small kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll see you later, my favorite bard.”

“That’s the best you could come up with?” yet, when he says that, his grin is bigger than ever, as much giddy as yours is.

“Is this a way to treat your number one fan?" you rolled your eyes. " And anyway, I’m a nurse, not a poet.”

He gives a soft smile, and for once, you realize how much his smile was always full of energy and chaos, yet this one was different. This one felt calm. He gives a peck on your forehead, and you were certain your heartbeat was loud.

“I’m honored to be your favorite bard.”

you give a soft smile back, and for a moment, there was a sincere quiet glance between you two. that is before Rocky broke it. "by the way..." he gives his common grin. "...did you just confess your love to me?

[bloodhoundini]

Idk why but I just have headcanons regarding Lackadaisy characters and how they kiss.

Like Rocky definitely would be add a "mwah!" afterwards, maybe a few soft warm laughs and giggles in between as well.

If you catch him off guard with a kiss first, he'll freeze up in surprise, eyes wide but then immediately melt like butter and have a goofy lovestruck smile on his face, hearts in his eyes, love-drunk, the whole shebang.

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

Horatio also laughs/giggles in between smooches but definitely more soft and flustered, yet warm and sweet nonetheless because love of my life 2: electric boogaloo.

If you catch him by surprise with a kiss, he'll be blushing so furiously and getting all shy, it's so adorable- HES SO ADORABLE. You just can't help but give him even more!

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

hi, the way this blog is formatted and the menu is written is so creative and fitting! i had a great time looking through it

may i request some fem reader w rocky? maybe him playing the violin or reciting poems in a public space to himself and reader is the only one to react (positively) so he immediately is struck in awe. please and thank you :)

Good evening, Anon!! First off, thank you very much for the compliment. Two things you should know, however...

This ended up over three thousand words long somehow. (For the record, it was gonna be a scenario.)

It's the cheesiest meet-cute I've ever written, so I advise you all to brace yourselves, folks-

That being said, enjoy!! <3

When you heard it, everything else quieted.

The thunder of cars bolting down a busy road, metal armor bobbing upon four wheels as they broke past and left smaugful clamor clashing against the monstrum business blocks, softened to but a distant skitter of shiny black bugs ambling self-importantly about. The cacophony of pedestrians, indiscernible faces in square suits and tasteful pastels spewing bits of language into one converging mess, each voice independent yet competing for dominance until they clawed at your eardrums and suffocated your thoughts now felt no graver than the meek rustle of forest foliage when coddled by the summer breeze; a humming chorus to a beautiful solist’s serenade, and when a bycicle trilled inches past normally skittish, city-dweller you it didn’t even occur to step aside as you were far too absorbed in the one delightful sound that made the greys of asphalt’s reign seem greyer and dulled even the most striking women’s daywear to sun-worn cleaning rags in comparison.

It was a melody the color of blue, matching his eyes.

You hadn’t a chance to admire them for long when you spotted him in the crowd. They drifted closed for long stretches of time as their owner’s features suggested a deep, gentle focus on the music, his whole being smoothing into the instrument. There was something bewitching about the violin, you found; seemed even its players could seldom resist its particular pull, fingers dancing across the strings as if possessed by magic. The rosined bow dipped to and fro in a hypnotic sequence that pulsed like the rise and ebb of the tides; sometimes the pace changed, slowed to but a meandering, peaceful ponderance before it flew from the threads of catgut like nimble sparks of lightning, with the ease and comfort of at least a thousand hours of practice.

Must’ve been a classical piece, if not improv; but for that far too complex. Vivaldi? Mozart? You hadn’t heard it before, so you couldn’t confirm, however it proved the enchanting stranger to be both talented and educated. He looked up from his divine craft to initiate eye contact with passersby and, yes, he had the bluest eyes indeed, seated under emphatic brows, and he gave a hopeful smile of such integrity to those undeserving strangers who walked past in indifference as if he’d been an smaug-borne ghost, a trick of the light invisible to all but yourself and when he turned in resignation and his gaze caught upon you, playing still, your breath hitched in your throat.

How long had you been gawking there, frozen on the sidewalk like a dimwit? Oh, no. He must have thought you such a creeper; a notion which you had to rectify, and rectify it quick. Puff your chest out, march up, tell him you liked his playing and leave a dime; you took off at once with this very plan in mind.

In doing so, you forgot you had stood on opposing sides of the road.

Heels clicked across hot concrete in a headlong hurry. You realized that the cars were still coming midway through when his eyes widened in horror and a spontaneous screech of tires replaced that joyous melody. You stumbled back, blinded by car polish and a pair of glaring headlights you profusely apologized to before skittering away from a second car in the right lane when it came to an angry halt likewise. Loud honks scolded you along your path whilst you yelled back sheepish sorries.

Well, talk about making an entrance.

As you reached the paved edge, a hand manifested to help you up on it.

“Are you alright, miss?”

And blue eyes. You felt yourself sink further into the road with the transient wish those cars had hit you after all, nonetheless took the offer and tottered along with the stranger’s help. He held bow and violin in his other hand, by the neck, and you narrowly avoided stepping on their rickety case with a meager amount of coins and a crumpled up bill inside.

Ah, right. He’d been busking, after all.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he reiterated, scanning you, and you realized you’d missed the previous question. “It’s hardly safe to cross this thoroughfare without looking both ways first, you know. You ought to try that next time.”

“I know, I know– I’m sorry. I’m fine.”

You weren’t. Not when this handsome vagabond with the most radiant blue oculars you’d ever seen and enough of a musical gift to put you in a trance kept observing you from such proximity whilst implicitly chiding you for being a tunnel-visioned idiot.

“Well, great news, then!” he grinned. Oh. That’s a lot of teeth, you noted with slightly raising eyebrows. “I doubt I’d have been able to sleep tonight had you met an undue fate under the stampede of these motorized beasts all for just trying to reach me.”

An odd penchant for metaphors, too. When you didn’t respond right away, he withdrew his gesturing hand in contemplation.

“You… were careening specifically my way, yes?”

“Yes!”

You snapped out of your appreciation for his endearingly boyish timbre and thereby commenced a frantic battle with your purse as you attempted to pry something from it.

“Right, I was heading this way– just give me a moment–”

He watched in intrigue as you counted something he couldn’t see under your breath, then produced the intended amount of what he identified to be cash and reached to hand it over to him, near breathless.

“I really loved your playing.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eye yet hardly missed his astonishment when he conceived the sum.

“Miss, that’s ten dollars.”

“Yes,” you affirmed curtly. “What of it?”

“I can’t accept that.”

Hearing which, you did finally face him with a frown.

“You’re a very kind soul,” he asserted in a hurry, smile never faltering, “and I’m thoroughly humbled by your contribution, but I cannot rob a lady of her hard earned pay in good conscience for that frivolous noise–”

“It was beautiful noise,” you interjected with knitted brows, “I really did enjoy it, and you deserve much better audience than the pedestrians of some drab street corner who’ll never bother to pay your music the attention it deserves.”

You pointed curtly toward the flow of people. Some in turn spared you a glance, but then you blended into their scenery again like another pair of shop mannequins.

“So take it from a lady,” you enunciated, all but shoving the money in his chest, “and I sincerely hope you end up in a concert hall someday.”

You exhaled and waited. He stared at your extended hand, then you, then at your hand and back again and gorgeous as you found those gleaming sapphires you couldn’t for the life of you tell what he was thinking. Your arm muscles trembled, and you contemplated whether sparing yourself from the awkwardness of further playing statue might be worth giving up anyway.

Finally, he seized your wrist with both hands. He didn’t seem to notice your startlement as he was busy beaming at you bright enough to put celestial bodies to shame.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh…”

God forsake it, that smile alone was turning your heart into a fluffy, overripe dandelion inside your chest. If he kept up, you feared he might just blow it apart.

But you managed to tell.

“Well, miss…” he began, implementing your surname, and you would’ve bolted on pure instinct had you not taken root at your spot, “your generous praise is, by far and large, the most invaluable gift I could’ve received on this brilliant morning.”

You took a deep inhale, acutely aware of his touch tingling across your skin even though he meant nothing by it… you supposed.

“You have certainly made a lowly troubadour’s day with your gracious approbation,” he patted your knuckles, at the same time gently shoving your offer away. “You see, I could tell from the moment our gazes locked across the street that I would enjoy the pleasure of meeting someone positively extraordinary… right after she ambled through the active traffic. Call it a concise connection of kindred souls, if you will. You, miss, have proved yourself a true appreciator of the arts.”

When those blue eyes were holding yours hostage so intently, you almost did believe he could see into your very soul. You tried to brave it, however.

“Thank y–”

“Which is why this won’t be needed.”

You held the rejected money against your chest, where he had guided it.

“You’ll be better off forfeiting it to charity,” he suggested, “if aiding the honest predicaments of your fellow citizens in need is a cause dear to your heart. Like orphans! Those poor, unmothered things, always caught in the throes of some quintessential lack or other; surely they could put your benevolent funds to good use… that is, in case you are looking to make a charity. If you’re not interested in, erm, providing for the orphans, that’s still quite fine. You just seem to me the sort to care for children. But that doesn’t make it your obligation, of course, to feed the orphans… no one is about to force that duty upon you… in equally sound conscience I suppose you could just as well keep the money…”

He proceeded along his mildly morally concerned tangent, but any of it beyond the lip movements you ceased to process. Some convoluted cliché about personal indulgence over supporting the waifs of the world, you reckoned. In terms of lifting your spirits it achieved a ludicrous heap of nothing, and amidst your silent marinating in this strange and unexpected failure of your strange and unexpected encounter, you continued to clutch the bills to yourself.

You didn’t figure that may have looked like dismay on his end until he trailed off, fidgeting vaguely as he probed your expression. The warmth of his hands on yours still lingered.

“My attempt at a point is,” he resumed at a slower pace, “you’re awful generous, but to tell you the truth, I’m quite comfortably off without the help. I am employed, after all.”

“You are?”

Rude as it sounded to gape the question so, you hadn’t considered that possibility. He was… well, not badly dressed, but his clothes appeared worn and a tad oversized on his comically skinny limbs, granting him a ragamuffin sort of appearance.

Though you still found it quite charming.

“Sure am!” he grinned in earnest, and you’d soon come to accept that his face simply looked that way when he did. “This is only some nifty supplemental income for a craft I spend day and night honing anyway. Really, I play out here to preserve my associates’ peace of mind more than anything. The other day they got so peeved with all the melodic caterwauling my boss had to fetch a broomstick and chase me out into the great wide open after failing to quiet me down.”

A chuckle escaped you at the joke, and it’s like his eyes gleamed brighter.

“What can I say,” he admitted with a theatrical shrug, “a musician’s ichor pulses to the ever-flowing rhythm of higher realms beckoning. That can hardly be helped. When my eager heart doesn’t sing Apollo’s odes from the strings, it reaches for the lyre, however… but they don’t deal in stanzas and limericks on the job market in contemporary times.” He glanced off into the distance wistfully, as if envisioning an ideal future where they did. “Miss M, our aforementioned lady-in-charge, says it’s only since our customers can’t exactly do the Lindy Hop to recitativo verse form.”

“So that means you’re a poet?”

“Indeed!”

You hummed in acknowledgement. He gave his vest a proud little adjustment as part of the performance, not that it served to make him look any more presentable.

“Vivacious vicinal versificator,” he expatiated with a playful half-bow, “humble herald of numinous inspiration, eulogizing the beauties of this peculiar earthly life to the cobblestone and the stars for a passtime. Old Muddy Miss herself has proven to be my most faithful audience… and for lack of substantial competition, in her listening skills she remains unexcelled.”

“Not for long, I should hope.”

That made him pause. Your nerves struck you alert as you rushed to explain.

“That is, well, I would be curious to join said, um, audience… mayhaps… sometime. I mean– you have a fascinating vocabulary, sir, so I can only imagine…”

He listened on with perplexed blue eyes; you mentally smacked yourself for the honorific. No one so refreshingly unrefined as this overeager stray puppy of a man could even remotely qualify for a ‘sir’, and you were happy about that, because had you made so many social blunders with any other stranger in succession you would’ve craved death.

He took his sweet time providing a readable reaction, but when he did he laughed. Not with a mocking edge, as you had feared; the sound tinkled as melodically as his trusty violin.

“Oh, miss, you’re just a bundle of pleasant surprises.”

You came to chuckle along, too, a nervous smile stretching your lips. He took your hand again.

“I’d be delighted to deliver a private recital,” he dipped forward then paused, perhaps contemplating whether a kiss on the back of it would be appropriate, peering up at you in a bluest display of rapt attention that made your heart leap, “if that’s truly the case.”

You averted your eyes. The vague unease as if you’d given your name to a fae in a stroke of recklessness minutes prior melted into the bustle of sluggish, smoke-ridden traffic.

“So where is it that you work?” you switched the topic.

Attuned, he let go of your hand as if it had burned him, adjusting his hat like an excuse.

“Little Daisy Café,” he responded quickly, perpetual cheer intact. “It’s just an ambitious spit from here, actually, a few blocks down that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction from where you’d been headed. “Awful cute little gem of an establishment. Perhaps you’ve been to?”

“No, not that I recall.”

“Well, I can only recommend that you drop by. The pancakes are to die for.”

“And there’s live music?”

You both glanced at the violin, then back at each other. He gave you another grin that you couldn’t help but detect as somewhat complicit.

“Makes your early beverage taste all the sweeter.”

You let your eyes linger on one of the boutique windows in the background; a closed one under construction. The ample light struck it at an angle which obscured the debris-filled darkness and activity inside, flawless glass surface glimmering at front in gorgeous deceit. Its reflective sheen conjured an alluring vision; deep azure sky dotted with fringed, fluffy lamb-clouds.

Suppose you offered it.

“Well, if you won’t let yourself be tipped,” you sighed, putting your money away, “may I treat you to breakfast, at least? A plate of those fabled pancakes, even?”

Childlike delight flashed across his face before the metaphorical reins were pulled back with a frantic grip.

“Why, miss, you’re spoiling me,” he lamented, “but I really shouldn’t–”

“I was heading for the bakery myself,” you continued with a pacifying gesture, “but now with your recommendation in mind, I might as well try a treat from that ‘little gem’ of a café, no? You could show me the way there, and… I suppose I could listen to those stanzas of yours, if you’d be willing to share…”

The words intended to compose the rest of your reasoning kept tumbling from your grasp before you could string them together, and someone in the crowd of pedestrians laughed. A snooty, feminine laugh. He kept watching you and you only, however, engulfing you in that mysterious blue once again.

“…granted that is okay with you, of course.”

He began to smile like the sun itself and dove with startling momentum for the violin case.

“Why, it’d be most uncouth to refuse the benevolent offer of such lovely ladyship,” he concluded while packing away his instrument then slapped the lid over the case once finished, money withstanding, “and I don’t reckon I’ll make two more pennies to rub together this morning, so I’d be more than happy to escort you along.”

He grabbed the handle and sprung up, beaming at you with the energy of a couple additional suns before he got an idea and moved to offer his free arm toward you like the smoothest of gallants. Clearing his throat, to boot.

“Mademoiselle?”

You put a hand to your chest, accentuating the action with a playful once-over.

“Chivalrous,” you chuckled before locking his arm with your own. The two of you would set off this way not unlike lovers, which he stiffened at the realization of.

“Too much?” he questioned.

“No, it’s quite alright.”

The cracks in the sidewalk became very interesting all of a sudden, however. You could feel his skinniness and lack of musculature thus far only guessed through the rolled-sleeved shirt; not that you minded.

Must have not gotten treated to meals often.

“About that poetry,” he piped up a bit quieter than before, “granted you won’t tire of my voice ahead of time…”

“Don’t be silly.”

You gave him a look, then caught yourself.

“Well, alright,” he resigned with an evaluating pout when you turned away, “but, uh… unfortunately, most of my limbs are occupied. And the fervent gesticulation makes up half the performence.”

By that point, you found yourself believing him. You all but burst into laughter at the mental image.

“Maybe you can gesticulate it to me after the fact,” you quipped.

“…Fair enough.”

You reached a street corner together and turned it. From the corner of your eye, a young couple were teasing each other by a flower shop on the opposite side of the road with a posy gift of piquant red tulips, blushing and giggling. You matched the bouncing steps of the stranger you were intertwined with in newfound giddiness.

“Let’s see,” he pondered, scanning the rows of buildings in an absent-minded manner before his eyes lit up. “Right! As fortune would have it, there does happen to be one I’ve been itching to inflict on a willing pair of ears for the past week…”

He made a big show of clearing his throat before he began; you were eager to let the mesmerized flow that had brought you to him in the first place take you along, absorbing the dramatic inflection and animated spirit oozing from his entire complexion as he made the widest gestures he was capable of in his inhibited position nonetheless.

A stranger indeed…

“Wait!”

Before he could proceed with any experimental odes to clay and calicos, you cut him off. He turned to you right away, magic put on hold.

“I never caught your name.”

He glanced around in recollection before those notorious brows sprung up.

“I never passed it,” he exclaimed, bewildered, and wriggled from your hold haphazardly as he scrambled for his hat. “Oh, foolish I! Forgive me this horrendous discourtesy, milady, if you might find it in your heart.”

You simply observed him in amusement.

A zephyr swept along the length of the street, bringing where you stood a nectarine fragrance which, though delicate, transcended the heavy smoke and for a delightful moment let you smell nothing but itself. With his hat now off and held politely to his chest, the breeze ruffled his tousled hair as it did yours. His blue eyes shone in the urban grey like diamonds.

“The name is Rocky Rickaby.”

And when he said it, you already knew you wouldn’t tire of that voice anytime soon.