#lackadaisy x you

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A/n: I love this webtoon so much, I'm so excited for this series to come out.

Mordecai never in his life ever thought this would happen to him. That he would be a father? That someone would even want to be with him, yet here you, pregnant with his child, sleeping your worries away.

He was doing his best to adjusting to this life style, he did not live the most normal life. He could handle protecting you, you weren't stupid, you didn't go into places where you didn't belong. But lids...kids were messy, god forbid his child got taken because someone was trying to get to him.

Mordecai had his doubts when you first told him of course. He wasn't good around women, hell he was still trying to wrap his mind around how he landed you, how you even fell for him. He was scared, terrified even. What if he wasn't a good father, what if he screwed up?

And yet watching you sleeping, he can't help but feel a mix of pride, happiness. He loved you, he could do this. Sliding off his glasses he laid in the bed next to you. His tail wrapping around your waist to hold you close.

Shifting your body, you turned so your face was pressed into his chest. "When did you get home?"

"Just now, go back to sleep. You need your rest."

Scoffing, you opened one of your eyes grinning for a moment. "I'll be fine...It's cute seeing you worry over something so small." You teased.

Sighing, he pressed his nose into your neck keeping you close. "Please, get some sleep."

"Fine, fine"Still smiling you pressed a small kiss to his cheek then nuzzled further into his chest. "You know Mordecai. You have nothing to sorry about, I know you'll be a wonderful father, you're already a wonderful husband."

A small snort escaped his lips though he could not help but smile holding you. "I believe you."

How could he not? You meant everything to him and so will this child.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Lackadaisy Enrichment

[sun-wukong-kinnie-2]

They are the couple ever okay

[blogplutopools]

LUCABY KISS RAHH!!! heya everyone! i'm back with another tracy imitation piece >:D

i really think i outdid myself with this one, considering this is the first time i've ever attempted to color like tracy. i also love the way i drew rocky <3

[aghostnamedcalamity]

For you, 4U :3 I’m pretty sure this guy is….not technically alive. Or something. And stuck in the Lackadaisy timeline. And possibly being hunted by a supernatural entity for past wrongs.

Your guess is as good as mine.

Luc Rossi belongs to the awesome @tohot4u

[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!”

[lordofdestructionm]

It's just them being competitive again

Not thinking about the fact that these antisocial people are canonically comfortable getting this close to each other

[rudnitskaia]

Mau: Pizza for a kiss is only on Fridays! Rocky: Tsk, that's a pity...

If you've heard someone's inappropriately loud happy scream, that was me. My husband just gifted me a commission with RoMaunce from one of my favorite artists. 🥹

Just look at them, LOOK AT THEM! ✨😭✨

The amazing artist who did this masterpiece is @erikaerai (also here are the links to her VK blog and her Telegram channel) ✨💖✨

[mediocrevideopodcast]

Hello :3 Could you do either headcannons or oneshot for sleeping with Mordecai Heller?? No smut, just like literally sharing a bed lol. Love your writing!!

Thank you so much!! I ended up combining this with a few other requests on some cuddling headcanons, so do let me know if you'd like any follow-ups to this! I like to imagine he's got a whole unbreakable routine.

Pairing: Mordecai Heller/Reader

How do you cuddle with Mordecai Heller? Simple. You don’t.

Well, that isn’t entirely true. But it’s what you tell everyone — he has a reputation to uphold, after all. And it’s much easier than defining what “cuddling” means for the two of you.

Like with many aspects of your relationship with Mordecai, cuddling came little by little. He’s not keen on touch, even in the best of scenarios. Most days, being touched just feels like a million concentrated pinpricks. It’s almost painful sometimes, the way unwanted hands sear into his skin and imprint themselves on his nerves. Not to mention all the germs people have. Eugh.

You knew he was touch averse long before you ever started dating — you’ve seen the way he leans away from others when they go in for hugs, or the way he grimaces during pat-downs on jobs. It’s such an intrinsic part of him that you never expected it to change, and you’re okay with that.

But sometimes, he surprises you.

There’s little gestures that he does (after a considerable amount of self-talk, not that he’d ever tell you that) that truly make your heart melt.

Working up to sleeping in the same bed was an adventure all on its own. It’s quite the milestone of trust for him, with a weight that’s just a stone’s throw away from an outright proposal. This man has spent most of his life in the center of danger’s crosshairs, so to trust you enough to let down his walls… well, you get the idea.

He always falls asleep after you do. He sleeps on his side, facing the door, with a foot of space between you — no more, no less. He counts your breaths as you drift into sleep, and memorizes the way your body heat seeps through into his own. He commits your very presence to memory, and it quickly becomes difficult— no, impossible — to sleep when you’re not by his side. He likes to say it’s because his routine is broken, but you both know that’s a lie.

His fur is soft — that’s the first thing you think to yourself when Mordecai brushes his tail against your own one night. You hold your breath, waiting for him to pull back, like it was some sort of mistake… but he doesn’t. There’s no hiss, no flinch or startle… just peace. Calm. Your lips pull back in a soft smile as you bask in the moment, enjoying every second that you’re connected. You dare not say anything, afraid that if you did he’d overthink the moment, or shrink back from the intensity of his emotions. But he never pulls away, not until the sun is shining through your curtains and begging the two of you to rise.

From then on, that too becomes part of your shared routine.

And little by little, it grows.

It starts as a brush… and then intertwining. Then he does it while you read together in bed… and then on the couch.

When it’s you, touch can be… pleasant. It’s an unusual feeling, foreign, but not a bad one.

Little incidences like that slowly become more and more frequent. More openly devout in their meaning, their intensity. He never thought he’d feel this safe with anyone ever again, and it’s almost scary how deep his love runs for you.

Some days are better than others, of course. It’s never your fault, never. Sometimes he truly just cannot handle the sensation of it all. You like to joke with him a little when he puts his hands up as a ward.

Can’t have you getting too soft on me, you jest, I know, I’m addictive.

And of course he sputters, because he is not getting soft (yet another lie) but at the end of the day, he knows you won’t push him. He trusts you.

But you can always count on that last step of your routine. Every night at 10:30pm his tail wraps around yours, like clockwork. Stress melts into weightless peace in an instant, with the world as little more than a memory outside of the walls of your shared apartment. Some lovers parade their joy around in the streets under the light of day, thriving in the attention that their unity provides. But you and Mordecai belong to the night, wrapped up in quiet, intimate eternity. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

[ang3l-fac33]

hello!

my name is angel! <3 i’m really nervous to be doing this because i’m new to all this but i’m giving it a shot anyway! so i apologize for any bad grammar, punctuation, etc. please be patient with me! <3

some things about me/ basic info:

-my name is angel

-i am 18!

-i am aroace

-i have an obsession with lackadaisy :3

what fandoms i’ll write for:

-hazbin hotel

-lackadaisy

(these are the only ones i’m willing to do for now since these are the two that have the strongest hold on me rn ^w^ but i might add more in the future!)

what characters i’ll write for:

-anyone in the hazbin series except for valentino. fuck that guy

-anyone in lackadaisy!

what i will do:

-fluff

- x readers

- suggestive things (maybe)

-oneshots

- angst (warning im not good at writing angst since all the stuff ive written before is mostly fluff!)

what i won’t do:

- smut (i can’t write smut)

- anything weird or illegal

- character x oc’s

other notes:

it might take me some time to finish any requests sent due to me getting burnt out easily! that and as i said before i’m very nervous which kind of effects my writing and how good my fic’s may be. hopefully in the future i’ll learn to be more confident.

—

well i think that’s it for now guys! if you have any other questions or think there’s something i’m missing don’t be afraid to message me! :D bye bye!

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

Hello!

I would like to request a Rocky x reader (romantic) oneshot. A fluffy one with a bit of spice would be nice ;) I don't really have a specific plot in mind, but maybe something on the topic of affection? Whatever the story, i'm sure it will be amazing ❤

Thank u, and have a nice day/night!

Hello, Anon!! Thank you for dropping by!! Your request just so happened to align with an idea I've had, and... I got a bit carried away, I suppose. This is well over three thousand words.

Hope you'll find as much entertainment in reading as I did in writing, anyhow!! (I missed crafting dialogue for this silly cat, even if it's equal parts shameless purple prose fun and an absolute pain in the neck.)

“Absolutely not.”

The pose of cheerful enthusiasm he presented the idea with didn’t falter, although his grin seemed to by a sliver.

“Aww, why?”

“It’s not gonna work.”

“We can’t know that until we try!”

You’d come down before opening hour, when many of the lights framing the red-curtained stage and finely carved pillars hadn’t been ignited yet in order to lessen electricity bills, leaving the grandiose speakeasy hall to ruminate in a mellow, warm late afternoon dusk. Leaning against one of the pool tables webbed with gilded patterns on the sides, you glanced him up and down in half-lidded skepticism. It was brief, yet defeating.

“I say this with all the love in my heart,” you prefaced the ruthless confession with a teasing smile, “but you don’t look like you could lift a cornstalk.”

“And you have a point! But consider this,” he countered, gesturing passionately with his hands as if materializing a vision of success before the both of you, and that’s when you recognized this conversation was about to shimmy beyond the bounds of reality. “What wonders can be achieved through the power of love? It can avail you to weather a sea of infernal blazes, crumble ancient mounts to their innermost cores, compel the course of celestial bodies–”

“But it can’t give you muscles.”

The conjurations of poetic fancies promptly shattered, and he gave you a disheartened look.

“Oh, come on, dearest,” he pleaded, all gleaming blue eyes and droopy ears. “Have you no faith in your one and only chevalier?”

“Concerning any other situation… a hard maybe. Depends if anything flammable’s involved.”

You put a finger to your chin in lighthearted contemplation.

“But this… well, I trust you in pulling this off without either of us getting hurt about as far as I could throw you with one hand.”

“I don’t weigh much,” he perked up assuringly. “You could toss me a good few feet, I reckon.”

“So then we should try this the other way around.”

A glint of curiosity hinted he may not have been entirely opposed. Nonetheless, you could tell he wouldn’t let himself be so easily shot down in his steadfast ambitions, about which you happened to be right.

“Your suggestions are appreciated,” he placated upon your prompt sigh of disappointment, “but in the name of chivalry I must persist with my vision. Because I am certain that there is a way, as there is a will, to achieve it.”

He pondered aloud whilst leant against the pool table opposite to yours, tail swishing figure eights in the air as if stirring up the brainworks.

“Just let me think about it…”

A bit to the left, two of the local employment were spectating from their usual spots by the bar. Zib, who had draped himself half-across the counter while Viktor was cleaning it around him, regarded the scene from under his hat with a caustic glance. The smoke simmering from the cigarette he was languidly tasting occasionally wafted your way.

“Looks like chivalry’s not dead yet after all,” he grumbled, the corners of his lips teasing amusement, “but he’s about to be.”

The burly slovak continued with his somewhat menial task in dutiful disinterest, intimidating all unsightly dirt spots off the wooden surface with an effortless glare.

“Idiot vill break own spine vid effort,” he stated matter-of-factly, then after a thoughtful pause, shrugged. “Saves me the trouble.”

“Oh, such searing pessimism!”

Rocky turned to theatrically retort, rejoining your circles from the far reaches of whatever realms his mind had been venturing.

“Well I regret to inform you, gentlemen,” he gave an easygoing little smirk, “that the only sort of spectacle you’ll be getting today is the glorious display of romance’s incandescent triumph.”

“You should heed your sweetheart’s advice, kid,” Zib warned over his glassful of a somewhat suspicious golden beverage. “Artists like you and I just weren’t built for these kinds of strenuous feats. You’ll get a hernia and then the boss lady will be down one questionable bootlegger.”

“Pff… Nonsense talk!”

He waved off the notion as if swatting away a bug, and you pinched your brow in exasperation.

“Waste not such paltry concerns on me, my friend! You see, it might not leave that impression at first glance…” he flexed a bit to show off his bicep then stared at it with a blank expression once it failed to strengthen his argument, “nor perhaps second… but these spindly sinews are rife with untapped potential! Why, you think the Atlas of mythology had trained in advance to support the whole world on his shoulders? And yet, it still goes ‘round smoothly to this day. Which is to say that, hopefully helped by Fortuna’s favor, the release of a comparable innate strength shall aid me in this fated task of carrying mine.”

Despite his conspicuous lack of visible musculature he gave a grin of such radiant certainty it could’ve powered the rest of the lights. Zib blinked slowly, unimpressed in his fermentative, cigarette-stink skepticism. Viktor kept cleaning.

“Albeit I suppose there’s more point in a show rather than tell.”

Rocky stretched his arms in a somewhat comically overstated manner.

“So the old-fashionated way it is!” He then took up a stance and spread them in anticipation. “Come hither, my darling love, let’s prove those naysayers wrong! Leap into the arms of your favorite bard!”

“I still don’t condone this idea.”

You crossed your arms, resolution as hard as the wood digging into your lower back. Unstoppable force smiling baffledly at the inmovable object.

“You don’t?”

“Not really.”

He pouted. Oh, how you couldn’t stand it when those gorgeous sapphires looked at you so coyly despondent. And of course, he was aware.

“You mean you won’t even give it a chance?” he implored, tail gingerly lowering. “Not even if I’ll sooner have my organs be crushed into a fine sludge than let one hair on your head bend the wrong way?”

“Especially not then.”

Patiently, you stood, the twitch of your ears and your own tail’s gentle whipping behind your legs and brushing up to the smooth block of wood being your only movement. You watched him deflate in a slowly progressing manner not unlike that of a balloon animal leaking from a small opening; you could even imagine the characteristic sound to go with.

You tried not to laugh.

“Not even if,” he attempted once more, “it could be a most passionful pageantry of courteousness?”

“More like foolishness.”

Irritated by his snark for a change, you tilted your head in Zib’s direction. When he earned both of your attention by extension the resident nicotine eater, chin resting on the heel of his palm, flicked a huge ear and leisurely presented his back to you as though he’d never cared.

“Just picture it for a second!” Rocky suggested, snapping back to the conversation and taking your hand in his to help transmit the mental imagery through skin-to-skin contact. “A most consummate culmination of chivalrous custom!”

“Certainly,” you rolled your eyes yet didn’t resist when he snuck up close to grab a hold of your waist with an almost imperceptible delicacy.

“I’d gather you in my arms,” he narrated, “a most beauteous royal rose, pooling in your eyes the glimmers of a star-speckled galaxy, a divine black ether brimming with a variegated, dazzling cavalcade of celestial hues… oh, what fair nobility of ephemeral grace, molded in the realms above from the finest marble and ambrosia by lilium-scented, angelic hands…”

His face was close to yours, and your gazes intertwined; you could be quite sure he was just describing what he saw. You averted your eyes, slightly flustered.

“You sure know your words,” you nipped without any real teeth to it.

“I try,” he acknowledged cheerfully, nonetheless keeping proximate. “And me, no more than a humbled troubadour, a mere mortal permitted by Providence to embrace salvation itself,” you made an inarticulate noise of incredulity, “gentle tethering of your mass serving to remind that this resplendent scene is no meager illusion, a cruel trick of the light, but bona fide reality…”

You squirmed half-heartedly away in your chagrin, yet each bit of distance you created between the two of you he kept closing just as effortlessly, drinking in your expressions.

“In rapt entrancement we’d behold each other’s countenance,” you could feel his words on your whiskers, “honey-glaze lusters dancing across our lips in nectareal beckoning, your arms entangling my nape with fervor as you pull me under to merge our souls by way of osculation in the heart of the Earth–”

“Enough rhapsodizing,” you entreated with a wide, mildly embarrassed smile you couldn’t fight, “you poetaster.”

“Now, don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

You exhaled in a burst, gripping the wooden brim you were leant on. Tail curling and uncurling in thought.

“It sounds fine,” you emphatically minced, “but I don’t require it. You know you can just talk sweet to me like that or give me a kiss when I’m still on my feet and you’ll just as easily sweep me off them.”

“But there’s no harm in experimenting, right?”

“That’s… a very dubious statement.”

“Well, if it does work, it shall surely be memorable.”

Across the way, over ornate red carpet and leather seats, Viktor had since taken to polishing glasses while Zib ever-industriously continued to metabolize the establishment’s embalming fluid reserves in spite of the hour.

“…And if it doesn’t,” Rocky proposed the possibility with great hesitation, “as far as I can recall, bone fractures actually heal a lot quicker than you’d expect.”

With the band backstage, that’d be only two direct witnesses to your loss of dignity.

“You’re not about to let this go until I oblige,” you observed with a heavy heart and patted his arm, “so go ahead. I’ll give you a chance to enter history records as the world’s first cooked pasta-based organism to princess carry a whole person.”

You adjusted yourself in front of him at a roughly ninety-degree angle and put your arm around his shoulders. Enthusiasm flawlessly rekindled he took swift hold of your back in return, biting his lip in anticipation like a giddy kid.

“But if you sprain a muscle, I’m not bringing you the ice,” you stated firmly to his face.

“You can’t sprain what’s scarcely there,” he beamed back like it was of any reassurance.

“Well, alright.”

That obnoxious smoke hit your nose again. Beneath the golden glow of red lampshades, Zib had unexpectedly honored your ambitions by sitting marginally more erect, pushing up the brim of his hat to ensure his sight wasn’t failing him.

“Wouldn’t you look at that,” he grunted, pointy eyebrows raised. “They’re doing it for real.”

Viktor stopped in his surprisingly gentle handiwork and fixed a sharp, singular eye on the pair of you. When your clumsy preparations and nervous fidgeting painted a confirmatory enough picture, he set the glass and rag down with a thud, leisurely slapping two huge paws on the clean oak counter to lean on it.

“Dis vill be amusing.”

You gulped at the audience, blooming in your chest a severe doubt. You squeezed Rocky’s shoulder and felt the pointed conjunction of bones digging into your palm without any real effort.

“Whenever you’re ready…”

He smiled at you with those sweet blue eyes that drew your attention like a magnet, adamant on dissolving your worries within themselves. It almost convinced you that what you were about to do wasn’t both ridiculously asinine and physically unsafe… albeit still rather mild by the standards of dating Rocky Rickaby.

You looked at one of the curling, wrought iron chandeliers and sucked in a resolute breath.

“…Here goes nothing.”

In clenched-fist concentration, you jumped and threw your legs in the air for him to catch. He grabbed after them in wide-eyed startlement and as the momentum flung you at him, you prayed.

There was a grunting noise. Something in-between the squeak of a strangled rubber chicken and the aghast chuff of a scuffed, abused bagpipe as every last square inch of air is violently crushed out of it; you’d heard naught of such a combination before yet were instantly able to identify it. Arms clasped tight around his neck you hung on for dear life whilst he gripped your side and thighs in a no less firm desperation, fingers unintendedly clawing into tense flesh. He stood taut as a bowstring, you could feel as much beneath the clothes, though unfortunately nowhere near as straight and with every slight tremble and corrective squirm you feared yourselves tipping over in his direction and giving the carpeted limestone a sore greeting.

Time collapsed to a halt under the weight of anticipation. Cautious in your breaths, wide-eyed and blatantly uncomforted by his palpable quaking, you watched as his rigid expression of concentration strained on a half-hearted grin for your sake to mask what very much still was mortal terror hatching from amongst the shards of hubris.

And then… nothing.

You blinked a few times. Other than your own heartbeat, and what amounted to the whimpers of a heavy wooden chair being dragged across the floor that you soon confirmed to be coming from him instead, all sounds of impending doom receded. You took a deep inhale of the stagnant cave air and held it in bewilderment, knees squished close to one another.

Well, you’d be damned.

Flush to his torso and clutching the cheap fabric of his shirt, you stared on, trying to comprehend the situation. As was he, evidently, with how amidst his tight-lipped yet valiant bearing of the ramifications his eyes darted around the room as if disaster was running unusually late. No gears turn at such a pace however, for when at last the ice in your tendons began to melt in contemplation of asking whether he could move enough to put you down safely or if you should just jump for it, he exerted a small huff of accomplishment and it changed something, because you began to dip rapidly forward. Some indiscernible profanity escaped your mouth.

At least he gallantly broke your fall… and a rib as well, by the sound of it.

The ground was about as soft as you’d imagined when it kissed your limbs and left you with your hands splayed on velvety carpet. You caught glimpse of your audience and, lo and behold, Viktor for a brief second appeared to possess something of a smile behind the bar. Of schadenfreude, naturally. Nonetheless the witnessing of such an evanescent miracle left you nothing short of humbled.

“Well, that surprised nobody,” Zib sneered, a whiff of smoke leaving his nostrils. “We’ll hold him a tasteful funeral.”

“He’s not dead,” you indignantly countered, blowing tousled locks of hair out of your face, then turned to your knight in shoddy armor just to be sure. “You’re not dead, right?”

With that, you recognized that the reason your posterior ached less than the rest of you was his organs still being smushed under it, so you hastily clambered off. Sweetly enough, he hadn’t mentioned, though it may have just been that he’d yet to recover from getting the wind knocked out of him enough to form a sentence.

“Never felt more alive,” he wheezed in affirmation, clutching his torso. “I’ve come to sense fibers of my physique I didn’t know existed.”

“No wonder. Did you dislocate something?”

Crouched over your boyfriend on all fours, you scrutinized him whilst your tail lashed back and forth in acute concern regarding his lack of attempts to get up despite having him practically caged under you. Considering his talent for looking pathetic while curled up on the floor, you couldn’t be blamed.

“Well, all of my bones are still inside,” he tilted his head without raising it to look over himself. “That’s their designated place, I believe.”

“You’re such a twit.”

Bright blue eyes flicked up at you innocently, arms clasped together in a protective self-embrace. Your features softened with a sigh.

“I heard a crack,” you explained, gaze lingering over his ribcage. “I thought I’d hurt you.”

“Oh, that was just my pride,” he dismissed jovially. “Nothing worth the bewailment. Poor thing wasn’t about to survive the winter anyhow.”

That restless, puffy tail of yours came to a tentative pause upon his knees, drawn only halfway up to accomodate your presence as he squirmed lightly in his restricted position. Though the barely lit murk of underground, his grin still shined as disarming as any other.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Whether he meant that remark as a pacification or a challenge, you preferred not to dispute. You let go of the tension in your shoulders however, easing off to settle down next to him and allow him some space to do the same.

“Well, this was just stupid,” you concluded, listlessly examining your bruised appendages. “I have no idea what drove you to something so pointless.”

He carefully rolled up off the ground then simply sat there, blinking at you in a way that betrayed neither any particular discomfort nor the absence of it. You observed him in ponderance. Due to the lack of any concrete signals from upstairs you decided you’d just have to assume the best.

“Unless,” you teased with a squint of suspicion, minding your volume, “you just wanted me on top of you that bad.”

Now that definitely reached the headquarters. When it did, he responded with one of those downright sinful grins that made the notion of punching him in the face sound vastly appealing.

“It wasn’t according to my plan, per se,” he gestured in a sly manner, “but it’s certainly not a development you’ll catch me complaining about.”

“You cad.”

You regarded him with a scolding glare you didn’t really mean but perhaps should’ve. He stood or, well, sat his ground, and it didn’t take a medium to guess anymore what newfound visions might’ve been stirring on behind that striped forehead of his; you only hoped he wouldn’t start waxing poetics about it.

“Could’ve just asked me nicely,” you murmured with a smirk.

You noted the proximity all of a sudden; his nose couldn’t have been two inches away from touching yours. He peered down at you in awareness, chuckling.

“Ah, but the overture's half the merriment.”

“This place has marvelous acoustics, by the way,” Zib spoke out of nowhere and made every bone in your body flinch, “so you might wanna consider taking this somewhere else before our sparse patronage arrives–”

“Oh, shut it, Zibowsky.”

You snapped at him, ears pinned, feeling rather deserving of some soap in your mouth. Rocky got over the interruption with a more careless ease and disregarded the air of awkwardness he helped create in favor of lighting up in triumph.

“But our labour for love wasn’t in vain, after all!” he exclaimed over your shoulder. “We all saw it, right? My romantically inspired exhibition of unprecedented prowress? I must’ve held on for a good minute there!”

“How long did it last, by the way?” you inquired, watching as Viktor continued cleaning glasses. “I was too busy panicking to count.”

“Two seconds.”

Your face stretched in astonishment. Zib took out a lighter.

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, really,” he reiterated, igniting another cigarette with a series of clicks while the previous butt laid crumpled beside him on the counter, “two seconds. I was just about to congratulate you.”

You stared on at the sprawling carpet, befuddled, yet the intricate patterns held no explanation for this anomaly. Time does simply happen to slow to a crawl when you’re fearing for your life, as it turned out. Rocky slumped in dejection.

“Ah well,” he lamented, bushy brows descending. “It would appear that my hopes to beguile you with a debonair display could not come true after all.”

His tail gingerly curled around him, saddened to an equal degree. You pouted along in playful endearment.

“You’re so silly,” you ascertained. “I don’t mind that you’re a weakling.”

You took his hand balled up on the ground, enveloping it with your own. He watched in slight trepidation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you locked eyes amidst the magnificent cavern of bygone extravagance; the ‘heart of the Earth’, as he’d put it. Decked in hues of crimson and gold and marinating in a mystiqueful twilight, a regrettably vacant wonder of architectural design honoring the arts décoratifs, all the dazzling sights of the establishment couldn't have hoped to draw you away from the one instrictic extension of it you delighted in looking at the most.

“And I wouldn’t trade you in for the brawniest of gallants,” you pressed a tingling kiss on his cheek, “my noodle-limbed prince.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Mordecai Heller, explaining something: Any questions?

Reader: *Raises hand*

Mordecai Heller: You know you don't...yes?

Reader: I love you

Mordecai Heller:....That's not a question.

Reader: Oh...okay.

Mordecai Heller: *Quietly, but still audible* I love you too.

[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.

[a-libra-writes]

I goofed this post alfksakfk (iykyk) so! Back to it. This is very fun to think of! also ignore my romeo + juliet indulgences

So, Asa's always been a fairly indulgent and lenient father. He hadn't minded your going off on dates, as long as you were home at a reasonable hour. Yes, you're an adult, but getting your own place was still out of the question unless you were staying at the dorms at college. He never had to worry about you, either. The boys were always the same; college boys, sons of the rich acquaintances in your family's circle, some newcomers at the country clubs. Always the same types.

He never thought his princess would even think of getting involved with gangsters and bootleggers. Asa kept that part of his life very separate from his family. Even if you knew, your mother hadn't a clue. She wasn't the one who'd go along with Asa to the Maribel Hotel for years. Initially you loved it because it meant going to a fun, exciting place with your father, and getting fawned over by the staff. Then it meant getting to see the Marigold Room.

"Listen," your father began gruffly. "I know what you girls get up to nowadays, but - if you're going to be dancing, best do it here. Stay with your friends and no funny business, understand?"

Always too permissive, not that you had a habit of raucous drinking and partying. Getting access to the Marigold Room made you something of a hot commodity at school now, and it led to something else: a cold, club-shaped metal pin being dropped in your palm.

That's how you met him. This too-skinny, too-smiley, too-chatty violinist who played at the Lackadaisy club. You nearly made him forget about the next performance.

You sought him out the next few visits, but it was just easier to meet outside the club. That was like going to the next step with Rocky. He wasn't just some guy you flirted with for a night, you actually wanted to take him on dates. You knew lots of places to take him, and there was just something so .. so cute about how earnest and endearing and affectionate he was. There was no stuck-up airs or obsession with this family or that or thinly veiled condescension. He wasn't dating you because that's what was expected. And while you had plenty of swanky cafes to take him, he had all sorts of places you'd never seen on the "other" side of town.

(There's so many stars once you drive a few miles outside of the city. You two fell asleep naming them and just talking... then woke up hours later in full panic. You snuck back into the dorms at the crack of dawn, covered in mosquito bites and beyond giddy.)

Uptown girl with downtrodden city boy cliche? Yes, absolutely. Neither of you cared.

News that Atlas May was shot frightened you. You'd heard it before reading it in the papers - well, overheard your father's shock as he talked to someone on the phone. Your first thought was some kind of police raid on the speakeasy, and if Rocky was hurt. Asa didn't want you going to the clubs after that, even the Marigold room. He seemed spooked. That was fine - you were seeing Rocky more in the daytime hours, anyway.

Right, your father still didn't know about him ... at least he was too distracted with work to notice your happy mood and the pep in your step lately. Your mother certainly did, and she was harder to avoid. She was so sure it was some college boy. "What's his name, sweetie, we can invite his family for dinner. Oh! Maybe have a lovely afternoon boating. Or brunch at the club, with the Robinsons? What do you think?" Honestly, you'd rather throw yourself from a window.

You'd heard about the troubles Rocky was having at the Lackadaisy, and a few times you asked why he just doesn't perform at the Marigold Room. Okay, you were half just saying that because you wanted to see him more, risky as it'd be. The other half is you were a little worried about some of the things he was getting up to. You noticed the scratches and dents in his car, and his own bruises and messy clothes.

(He'd never wear the clothes you bought him during these little bootlegging adventures, though. He didn't want to mess up the things you so lovingly picked out. They were also the only nice ones he had.)

On that topic, it's really fun to dress Rocky up. You aren't trying to be patronizing or act like he's a charity case, but - he just looks so nice cleaned up, and look, you can't take him to a nice cafe when he both looks and smells like he rolled in dirt (and ... syrup?). So, sure, you bought a shirt here and tie there and maybe a jacket and well obviously he needs pants to match that and it really means nothing that they just happen to fit so well, you definitely weren't measuring him when he was asleep or anything. Rocky isn't bothered by it at all, he loves the gifts and attention. And it kind of does something to him when you smooth out the creases and make sure the tie is straight and hook your arm around his and walk down the street, totally happy and proud of him, not embarrassed in the slightest.

You know he wouldn't fight it if you kept him some kind of dirty secret forever. It'd hurt him so much, of course, but Rocky would let you do it. You knew he'd just smile and pretend it was fine, like he does when you mention your parents keep trying to set you up with this hotshot lawyer's son. You see the flickers of disappointment and hurt when you joke about how your parents would kill you if they knew where you were right now, then he tries to cover it up.

Rocky deserves better, you know. And this really isn't a fun little fling anymore, is it? It's getting serious. He has so much love he's nearly bursting from it and you really, really don't want that to be ruined.

God, what are you going to tell your parents? "It's fine, he's only been a bootlegger for almost a year, before that he was a perfectly honest dirt-poor fiddler! We're disgustingly in love already and he's better than all those snob-nosed spineless trustfund bozos you keep setting me up with!" Yeah that'll go over Thanksgiving dinner just great.

As if fate's sense of humor couldn't get any better, it's Mordecai who finds out first. That shadowy, really unsettling (and actually kind of dorky ...?) gunman your father keeps around. Mordecai is good at remembering faces. When Asa introduced you two, he knew he remembered your's. He saw you once or twice at the Lackadaisy, though he hadn't known who you were at the time. You stood out because you were actually chatty with that ridiculous violinist, where most were exasperated with him.

Mordecai recalls that, and Asa idly complaining about his daughter always ditching the dates her mother set up for her, when he spots you and Rocky out and about. Broad daylight, not trying to hide, but certainly not where the more affluent friends and family of Asa's would go. You were even dressed down and weren't wearing any jewelry.

Yeah, he's not getting in the middle of this. Even as things heat up between the Marigold Gang and Lackadaisy.

Note, Rocky is very aware of who your family is. You never hid it back when you met him, and as far as he's concerned, you're the picture of innocence and can't be blamed for anything your father or the gang do. He's trying to be cute when he calls you 'princess' or 'my lady' and it is cute, but... you also feel kind of guilty. Reciting plays and poetry is fun and games until he brings up Romeo and Juliet again. It used to be romantic, but now it just claws at something in you. "Rocky, come on, you remember how that ends, right?"

(Oh, and there's a matter of keeping this all hush-hush from the Lackadaisy crew, who already know Rocky has a sweetheart because he can't shut up about you, but they don't know who you are exactly. It's best Mitzi or Viktor doesn't catch sight of you, because they'll spot the family resemblance right away..)

And then there's your father finding out. It had to happen eventually, especially with Lackadaisy getting in on the Marigold's suppliers. He makes it clear to Mordecai that if some accident were to happen to "that boy", then you're young, and you'd get over it. This is just some late teenage rebellion, he tells himself. A fling you'll forget all about once the excitement wears off and your school work picks up. Mordecai isn't so sure about that.

He actually tried to warn you about it, but the thing is ... Mordecai is Mordecai. He's staring intently and of course he cornered you as you were leaving the hotel at night and he's deadpan as he says, "I'd begin reconsidering your choice of paramours; there isn't any way that this will end well for him."

"Mordecai Heller, are you threatening me?"

"What? No?" He's startled by the tone of your voice. Did you just pull a knife on him? From your purse? "Put that down - I'm giving you practical advice."

"Oh. .... Maybe next time, don't do it in a creepy alley?"

It's like ice water drops on you when your father brings it up. He just lets out a heavy sigh, the most perfect cliche noise that says he's not mad, just disappointed. Right away you know he thinks this little dalliance has only been around for a few months, if that. "Really, pumpkin? What about that lawyer's son we told you about, he's not half bad looking. Or that rowing team captain, you remember him? He really took a shine to you. Look, I know a guy with a cousin whose son is--"

You get the whole lecture: You're too good of a girl to run around with unwashed gangsters and besides, what about your studies? Think about what your mother would say. Do you really want her finding out? Or the country club, or god forbid, her little society ladies? He'd be sleeping on the couch and you'd be in a nunnery. Some scrawny hoodlum isn't worth all that trouble, is he?

Asa doesn't raise his voice and actually get angry until you defend Rocky, until you actually say his name. He actually slams his fist on the desk, making the candy jars and his name plaque rattle. The conversation is done, so you leave. And of course you go straight to Rocky and don't come home on Sunday for the usual family brunch, or the next one. Your father makes excuses for you. It's little consolation, because you know exactly what the gangsters he employs are capable of. And you don't think for a minute they'll spare Rocky. Why couldn't he have just taken the job at the Marigold Room ...

Onto pleasanter things. One of the greatest nights in your life (so far) was the massive city charity gala that the Maribel Hotel hosted every year. It stopped being fun for you years ago, but this time you had a date. You told Rocky to leave it all to you. Yes, your dad was attending, but he was always off schmoozing with his associates. Besides - this year's theme was a masquerade, no gangsters would be there, it's crowded, and you had Rocky dressed to the nines. No one would notice! It'd be great. This was a little secret you'd been hiding for a month, you just knew he'd love all the music and the ridiculous fancy foods and you just wanted to share something magical with someone you loved. Because you were very, very sure you loved him.

And Rocky looked so handsome you just couldn't keep away from him, and you two danced and laughed at the prissy food and absurd people like you'd imagined. Anyway, it was cut short when you were nearly spotted by Mordecai - who looked wonderfully out of place without a mask and dressed like a funeral director, but you'd laugh about it later. You grabbed Rocky's hand and just ran, and bolting up the backrooms and stairwells of the hotel you knew so well.

Maybe you should have been deflated. A silly, childish desire for a fairytale evening came crashing down thanks to reality, even if you knew Mordecai wouldn't shoot Rocky dead. But it was hard to feel too disappointed when you both were still giddy and laughing, gleefully stealing 'hidden' champagne from the general manager's office and climbing your way up the rickety fire escape - even with your heels and his suit you spent way too much money on - and spending the rest of the evening making out and giggling and watching the city from high above.

[lackingdaisies]

mitzi made him go to a real doctor

unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately?) that doctor was lars

[bleedinqdove]

Rocky Rickaby Smut Alphabet

A/n: Haven’t wrote smut in like a while so sorry if this is a bit rusty 😭😭 again, apologize if my writing sounds a bit awkward. This is just mainly to get some practice in :p

And also this is 18+ content so minors DNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Makes sure to check if you’re fine but after that good luck trying to get out of bed with him cuddling you. Just because he’s asleep doesn’t make his grip any less weak. A serial cuddlebug.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself he probably likes his hands the best. They allow him to play his violin so skillfully, and hold your own hands…and he also likes how they allow him to pleasure you too.

His favorite part of you would probably be your face. He loves seeing all your expressions, and reactions to things. He could admire your eyes all day if you let him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Likes to finish inside, only if you’re okay with it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Likes stealing your more intimate articles of clothing and saving them for later.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

When he first met you I think he wouldn’t be too experienced, but he’s a very quick and eager learner! Just show him what you like and he’ll master it in no time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position that allows him to be real close to you and give him a good grip. He’s all about that skin to skin contact…or more like fur to fur.

Another honorable mention though is that he loves it when you sit on his face. Every time you squirm against his grip and cry out in pleasure just reinforces the fact that he’s doing a good job in pleasing you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I don’t think he’s totally goofy, but definitely not super serious either. I think he’s more lighthearted as this is a moment for the both of you to enjoy together. Just the two of you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well seeing as he’s an anthropomorphic cat…it doesn’t really matter.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

When you two do have the time to properly spend time together he likes to be as romantic as he can, extravagant poems and all.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t do it as often as you think he would. Only when he’s really stressed or is unable to see you for a set of time.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink. Please just call him a good boy and tell him he’s doing a good job :(

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Either in your bedroom (Since he lives in a car but he wouldn’t mind doing it there too.) or if you’re doing quickies he not one to shy away from risky spots.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you’re angry or passionate about something. Loves seeing that fiery spark in you.

Also if you’re in heat or he’s in a rut that gets him going pretty good.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Open to trying new things, but wouldn’t want to do anything too extreme that hurt you badly.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves both giving and receiving.

As stated before he loves having you sit on his face. Have him hold you in place or grind against his tongue, he doesn’t care as long as you get your pleasure.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Starts of slow but it doesn’t last long. Grips onto you so hard that it leaves marks when he’s pounding into you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn’t mind quickies, in fact with his busy schedule it’s probably the next best thing until he has enough time to actually do the real deal.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Definitely. When he’s particularly jealous he enjoys semi public sex, the fact that someone could possibly walk in on you two fills him with adrenaline. Sometimes he finds himself hoping someone DOES walk in.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Has a ton of energy so could definitely go a good amount of rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Wouldn’t particularly care unless you wanted to try them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Depends on his mood, if he’s feeling jealous he would be pretty unfair. However most of the time he just wants to give you what you want.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Rocky is VERY vocal and not shy about it either.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You two have been caught by Freckle once.

No amount of apologies and gifts can make him forget what he’s seen.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Not big but not small either, just the right size.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Is down to go whenever you’re down to, but it does get higher when he’s in a rut or notices you’re in heat.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After making sure you’re fine he crashes pretty quickly.