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randomdragonfires · 2 months

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If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 2

Chapter 2 | Make Me Feel Alive

SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.

Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY; Slow burn, I think.

WORD COUNT | 3k

Text Divider by @saradika

As she gradually stirred from unconsciousness, each blink felt like a laborious effort, coaxing her weary mind back to reality. The darkness of the cave enveloped her like a thick cloak, its cool embrace seeping into her bones as she gradually became aware of her surroundings.

With a soft groan, she shifted her weight, the coarse texture of the cave floor biting into her skin. Every movement sent tendrils of discomfort coursing through her body, a reminder of what she’d done. The scent of damp earth and ancient stone hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint echo of her own ragged, tired breaths.

Summoning her strength, she pushed herself upright, muscles protesting against the effort. A shiver raced down her spine as she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking solace in her sadness.

Her gaze swept across the dimly lit cavern, taking in every possible indicator of human habitation. A tattered sheet lay crumpled at her feet - it had been wrapped around her, she’d felt it. She put it back around her, the threadbare fabric offering little protection against the chill that permeated the air. Her torn shift didn’t help as she closed her eyes, shielding herself against the small sliver of sunlight that let itself inside. The soft murmur of the nearby river provided a constant backdrop, its soothing rhythm echoing through the cavernous space.

Memories come back to her in spades, moments suspended in time. Every instance she can bring herself to remember is painted in hues of sapphire blue.

Aemond.

She’d thought him dead in war, but he was alive. And despite her valiant effort, so was she.

She dragged herself out of the cave, each step a battle against exhaustion. The sunlight outside was blinding at first, but she welcomed its warmth after the cold darkness of the cave. Stepping outside, she found herself engulfed by the dense foliage of the jungle. Towering trees loomed overhead, their branches reaching out like fingers towards the sky. The earthy scent of damp soil mingled with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, creating a heady aroma that enveloped her senses. As her weary eyes caught sight of the river's glimmering surface through the dense forest, a surge of relief washed over her.

Reaching the river, she slumped down at the bank, letting her legs dangle into the chilly water. It felt refreshing against her skin, washing away the grime and sweat of her ordeal. Looking into the river, she saw her reflection staring back at her, her lip swollen and bleeding, dried blood streaking her forehead and cheek. With a grimace, she dipped her hands into the water, using it to clean the cuts and bruises on her face. It stung, but she gritted her teeth and soldiered through it, determined to rid herself of any signs of weakness.

When she finished, she allowed herself to drink, pause and simply exist in the comfort of nature’s embrace. The sounds of the forest surrounded her in all its quiet glory. As she sat there, trying to gather her thoughts, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she scanned the surroundings, searching for any sign of danger. But all she could hear was the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees and the soft babbling of the river. Despite her unease, she forced herself to relax, leaning back against the bank and closing her eyes.

When she opened them back, she looked into the water once more. Only this time, hers was not the only face she saw.

Despite her tiredness, she could not help the rise he evokes in her, right from the pits of her heart. His arrogant smirk was a clear image in the water, and she ran a hand through the river - fingers meeting the reflection of his eye, ripples breaking the watery portrait of him.

His voice was calm yet menacing; predatory yet productive. His face was as unreadable as stone, and she gulped. He had always been hard for her to decipher, but she remembered a time when he’d let her see, let her in.

“You’re awake, mandianna.”

Her future home was too cold for her liking.

She stood clueless and yearning for answers in the quiet of the Godswood, where the ancient Heart Tree stood tall and watchful. The cold of the North gnawed at her bones, a constant reminder of the distance between the warmth of her homeland and the icy lands of Winterfell she now found herself in. But amidst her unease, there was a curiosity that drew her to the sacred tree, its red leaves whispering mystic secrets that she was intrigued by.

As she sat beneath its branches, she couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the familiarity of her family and the comfort of her own chambers. She felt like an outsider, here in the Godswood where a Lady of Winterfell would be expected to feel at home.

She wondered if this will ever feel like home. Given the war being waged, she wondered if she’ll even make it that far.

Luke did not. Sweet, mischievous Luke had died, and she has only now managed to learn to hold her tears.

Aemond loves her. She refused to believe that he’d do such a thing.

But he did. He did, he did, he did. And Luke…

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine his playful smirk. He’d taunt her into being a little less than perfect and join in the fun that the boys would get into. It would make her so happy…

Why did he do it?

Her Gods gave her no answer, only leaving her with tears, a heavy heart and the foreign comfort of the Heart Tree. She hoped the Old Gods may provide her answers. Lost in her thoughts, she was startled by the sound of footsteps approaching. Looking up, she saw Cregan Stark, her betrothed, standing before her. His presence was unexpected, and she felt a surge of nervousness at the thought of speaking with him - she’d never spoken to him alone after Jace left her here.

"I can leave if you wish." Cregan offered, his tone gentle yet tinged with a hint of sadness. "No, please… Stay," she replied, her voice soft but determined. Despite her reservations, she couldn't bring herself to chase him away. He was the Lord of this land, and soon to be her husband. It wouldn't do to alienate him, it was highly improper.

It was also improper to imagine a man with spun-silver hair and a sapphire eye when he killed her brother…

Cregan settled himself on a nearby stone bench, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "You seem troubled, Princess," he observed, his words carrying a weight, a certain authority that she couldn't ignore. His eyes held the weight of the world - unlike Aemond’s, whose functional eye held an arrogance that he alone knew how to wear well.

“There’s only so long you can go without being worried and helpless while members of your family die in war, my lord.” His voice gentle yet firm, Cregan said, "Aye, war brings uncertainties and fears we'd rather not confront. That much is true."

She looked up at him, grateful for his understanding, a sense of familiarity growing over her. "But it's not just the war," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m… so far away from everything I've ever known. My family, my home... it’s distant. Foreign.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “Cold."

When she looked, it was obvious to her what was different about Cregan and him. His eyes were unabashedly kind, calm and true whereas Aemond’s gaze lit a fire in her heart that fazed her to no end. "You're anything but helpless, Princess," he said firmly. "Our match will bring strength and stability to both our houses, and it will bear fruit to bolster the success of your mother, the rightful queen.”

She sighs, his words doing enough to quell her for the time being. “I’m sorry, my lord-”

“No need to apologize." he said gently. "Your burdens are heavy, and it's only natural to get lost in them from time to time."

She felt a warmth tingling in her chest at his words followed by guilt gnawing at her bones. Wasn't she betraying Aemond by finding solace in another's presence? But then, her thoughts turned to her brother, Luke, and the pain of his loss washed over her anew.

Aemond had killed him, torn him away from her and her family. How could she explain her possibly misguided loyalty to a man who had brought her such pain? She would not wait for a man who was out for her mother's blood, her brother's blood - and in consequence, her own.

Cregan Stark gave her the most sincere smile she’d seen in a long time.

She smiled back. It was easy and simple, nothing like he ever was. All that she needed in a time like this.

Yes, she could love him.

“You’re awake, mandianna.”

She wanted to get up and run. She wanted to make him pay for bringing her this far. She wanted to do much and more, but she couldn’t even bring herself to lift a finger - the fall and the subsequent recovery had taken her for all that she was.

He doesn’t move an inch, staying unforgiving as his eye bore into her own in her watery reflection. He’s not wearing the black leather jerkin she’d seen him wearing when he’d brought her here - right now, he was in a tattered white shirt and the same trousers from before. She noticed the leathers hanging off a branch nearby, presumably left to air out.

Far from being the royal prince he used to be, but some habits never changed.

The right course of action would be to try to escape again, but she knew how fruitless it would be to do so. She was unarmed, tired and hurt. Even at full strength, she would be no match for the dangers that he, or the forest held. She needed rest to try; she needed to recuperate.

But how long can she afford to stay? She didn’t know what his plan was, and she most certainly didn’t want to put a foot wrong. If Aemond had managed to stay alive and plan this far, it was not without support - she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he was doing any of this on his own.

But who? Who would support him in a time after war when her brother comfortably sat the throne? When the Warden of the North had been steadfastly dedicated to ensuring his safety?

Before she could think any further, her head started to spin and she let it fall into her hands as she waited for the pain to subside. He finally moved from where he stood, sat beside her and opened his hand to reveal bits of what looked like wood.

“Willow bark, for the pain. It helps.”

She looked at it with all the doubt she could muster up in her weak state, but remembered her lessons well enough. Maesters often encouraged chewing willow bark for pain relief - this much she knew.

She took a piece and popped it into her mouth, the feeling of it being rather unpleasant, tough and gritty to bite. It was too strong for her, and she wished that she could have it in a tea instead - but her head cleared quickly and she forgot the bitter taste.

With both their feet in the water, she let herself calm down as she plotted her next steps. “How long?”

“Four days.” That explained why she felt too tired. Prolonged days-long rest always had a knack of making people want more, especially in the case of injuries.

She kept chewing the bark, some of it getting stuck in her teeth. The uncomfortableness of it made her wince, and she looked up at the hill behind them - the very one that she chose to fall off of. With a damning sense of defeat, she realized that the fall couldn’t have been too steep - given how deep the waters of the river were, it was very likely that she never threw herself in deep enough to cause any damage apart from unconsciousness.

How stupid had she been in her bid to escape him? How little had she considered?

“It was brave of you to try, niece. Didn’t think you were bold enough to die for a cause, no matter how unfruitful your attempt was.” Arrogance, something else that hadn’t ever changed.

"Bravery, or perhaps foolishness," she murmured, the bitterness of defeat and willowbark still lingering in her voice and breath. "Either way, it seems I am destined to linger in this world a while longer."

Aemond regarded her with a mixture of scrutiny and something else that she couldn't quite decipher. "Destiny has a peculiar way of dictating our paths, doesn't it? The fires…" he stopped himself before he could say more, his tone tinged with a hint of resignation as he diverted from the subject. "Yet here we are, both still clinging to life despite a war and your best efforts to the contrary."

She had nothing to say to him and his tired words, where he gave her everything yet nothing at the same time. He sensed her worn out silence too, eventually standing up and giving her his hand. She looked up at him, his expressions held black and giving her absolutely nothing to think about. She was afraid, but somehow, she knew that if he wanted to hurt her, it wouldn’t be anytime soon. It would give her enough time to keep trying, no matter how many times it took.

“Come.”

She took his hand and walked along with as much strength as she could, slow steps that he was only happy to let her take. When her hold became weak, he took to holding her wrist tight as he guided them. She closed her eyes for just a moment, remembering against her will how he used to lead her through passageways in the Red Keep, spending many a night with her that she would never forget.

The smell of food cooking filled her nostrils as she kept walking forward, and her hurt, recovering body called for it like nothing else. She opened her eyes and quickly clocked that they had come behind the cave that she’d slept in, the riverbank faintly visible from where she stood.

Aemond turned around, letting go of her grasp as he held her by the jaw, lifting her head up to meet his eye. He looked at her properly, almost as though he wanted to memorize every inch of her before he let her go. He put the back of her hand gently onto her forehead, checking for a fever.

What does he want from her? If he wanted to kill Cregan and Aegon by drawing them out, what would he do to her?

“You need to eat.”

A wooden ladle sat in a pot of boiling soup, made to hang over a bunch of wooden logs. He poured some into leaves that were fashioned into makeshift bowls, some of the soup dripping from the holes in the cups. She drank, and almost immediately, the warmth of the soup made her skin tingle from how good it made her feel to eat again. The soup was watery and bland, but she found no reason to complain.

The jungle air hung heavy with humidity, the distant calls of unseen creatures echoing through the dense foliage. As she sat on a fallen log beside the makeshift fire, the flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the rugged terrain. The river nearby murmured softly, a soothing backdrop to the otherwise tense atmosphere.

Aemond busied himself with sharpening his shortsword, the rhythmic scraping of the whetstone against the blade filling the air. His movements were precise, methodical, a stark contrast to the chaos that seemed to surround them. She watched him in silence, her thoughts drifting to a time long past, when their lives were simpler, before the weight of duty and destiny had pulled them apart.

The aroma of the soup still lingered, comforting and familiar. She glanced down at the empty leaf bowl in her hands, a small pang of gratitude stirring within her. Despite the circumstances that had brought them here, Aemond had provided her with sustenance, a gesture that spoke volumes amidst the uncertainty of their situation.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, breaking the silence that had settled between them. Her words hung in the air for a moment before dissipating into the night.

Aemond nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes never leaving the blade in his hands. There was a weariness in his expression, a heaviness that mirrored her own. They were both soldiers in a war they had not chosen, bound by duty and obligation to forces beyond their control - and the effect will forever linger.

“He’ll come for me, kēpus. Cregan will come.”

“When he comes, mandianna, I’ll be ready.”

There are many questions she wants to ask him, so many things that she wishes to speak about - but she is too tired and she does not have the strength to fight him, not tonight.

As darkness began to descend upon the jungle, she rose from her perch beside the fire, the weariness of the day and the sting of her injuries weighing heavily upon her. With a final glance at Aemond, she made her way back to the cave, the cool darkness enveloping her like a familiar cloak.

As she settled into her makeshift bed, exhaustion pulling at her limbs, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift into sleep. In her dreams, she saw visions of snow-capped mountains and towering stone walls, a distant memory of Winterfell, her home during the war - where she’d spend the rest of her days if he ever managed to find her.

And so she slept, the whetstone's scraping sounds against the shortsword echoing through the forest. In her sleep-addled state, the last thing she sees is him looking at her as stone meets steel. A small voice whispered in the recesses of her mind, reminding her that escape was not yet out of reach.

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Next Chapter

A/N: This was a bit of a slow, storybuilding chapter. Point is to establish that she's alive lmao. A lot will be happening soon, so yeah! Apologies for the slow filler chapter, and thanks for reading!

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sixofcrowdaydreams · 2 months

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Six of Crows Russian Edition

Today I found this gorgeous gem at the bookstore!

So a few years ago I moved overseas to live in a Russian speaking country. I am not in Russia, for the record. The national language here is not Russian, but it is commonly spoken in my city.

Today at the bookstore I looked for a copy of Crooked Kingdom for the cast of Shadow and Bone to sign this May when I go to A Storm of Shadows and Crows convention in Paris. I don't own a copy of SOC or KC in English and there's no chance of finding one where I live. The next best option was getting a book in the local language and calling it a souvenir of my time abroad. To my delight I found this lovely Russian edition of Six of Crows!

More stunning artwork below.

There were multiple versions of the books to choose from. The original art and the Netflix artwork were available too. The most impressive part was finding copies of the original covers WITHOUT the Netflix sticker. (Haha, suck it Netflix.) To the right, not pictured were King of Scars and Rule of Wolves.

I've never seen this cover variation before. It was an exciting find!

The Russian version I bought is illustrated by (I assume Russian?) artist Eva Eller.

I didn't see a copy of Crooked Kingdom with illustrations by the same artist at this bookstore, but it must exist. Mine was the last copy of SOC with the Russian artwork. Maybe it was sold out?

Google Translate titles the book Six of Ravens, lol. But that's just a translation error because a little google-foo showed that ворона (pronounced vorona) means crow. Interestingly, while typing the title, I learned that вор (pronounced vor) means thief. Interesting how similar the words crow and thief are in Russian. Checks out.

Above is the art printed on the side of the pages. Love how it still includes the side of the pages colored, just like the original books.

The hardcover underneath the jacket is a crow. It's not the same as pictured on the original CK cover, but it is similar. Love the messy, broken, bent feathers, yet the crow is still able to fly. Metaphor for our six characters? Absolutely!

The book was wrapped in cellophane so I didn't realize there was even more art inside! Here is the inner cover. IT'S BEAUTIFUL! The back is the same. It captures the foggy haze of Ketterdam so well.

The flaps of the book jacket are images from the inner cover. But there's a cracked texture over them that gives it a gorgeous grittiness.

The candle is the left side of the inner book jacket. Sorry the image isn't flat, I didn't want to damage the jacket by straightening it out.

The right side of the book jacket shows all the Crows!

Let's appreciate how Matthias looks snow pale and serious. Inej is taller than Nina -- she must be standing on a step stool. No clue why both of their eyes are closed, especially when Nina is the one pointing to the paper. They are lovely. Kaz has on his scheming face. Jesper is as handsome as every version of him should be. And Wylan looks bored AF because A.) he's already memorized the map he drew or B.) he can't read whatever document Kaz has in front of them. Wait, no, Wylan is making heart eyes at Jesper. All of the above can be true.

Inside is a small illustration at the beginning of each chapter, which changes with each section.

You can also see the Crow's names written in Cyrillic. Inej, Kaz, Nina, and Matthias translate easily. Jesper uses the д (letter D) and ж (pronounced like zhe) letter combination that makes his name sound like Zhesper since there is no J in Cyrillic. It's worth pointing out (again) that Wylan's name does not translate perfectly. There is no W in the Cyrillic alphabet. (As someone who also has a W in their name, I sympathize with Wylan here.) I'm no expert in Russian, but I'm pretty sure -- with the help of google translate -- that Wylan is pronounced as Oo-ai-len. Poor boy can't catch a break.

Each of the five section of the book use different chapter art. They all do an excellent job capturing the atmosphere.

The paper is so thin that you can easily see the printing on the opposite side. Not ideal for an edition that's otherwise this lovely. Oh well.

Given that Ravka is fantasy Russia, it's not a surprise to find the Grisha Verse books in Russian.

I am so excited to bring this book to Paris for the cast to sign!

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone

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ravenshavenn · 10 months

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Why I think Snape is autistic

(as someone with autism and who also has other family members and friends on the spectrum)

(I don't want to generalise these are purely my observations and I hope I worded everything correctly, this is just my lil hyper-fixation dump meant for fun an not to be taken too seriously)

Firstly, Severus is always seen in his trademark long, dark robes which could be a way to cope with sensitivity to certain textures as he has clearly found something that works for him and he knows he likes, so why should he have to wear anything else?

He also keeps his hair long which could also be another sensory comfort for him as tying it up can keep it very far away from his face which short hair doesn't provide quite as well (from personal experience) or leaving it loose can create a nice feeling on a persons face or neck that some people with autism find comforting

Obviously Snape's favourite things are the dark arts and potions and he shows a deep knowledge of these subjects throughout the books and movies alike therefore these could be seen as special interests considering the amount of time and energy Severus puts into them

He's also shown to have a vast collection of various potion ingredients in jars and knows straight away that something is missing when Harry takes the Gillyweed

Severus also stims in potentially unnoticeable ways such as constantly fiddling with his hands, having his hands behind his back to clasp them together and picking apart leaves as a child

Social gatherings are clearly something that Severus finds difficult as he's not often seen at any besides supposedly mandatory events such as the Yule ball which could be because he finds them overstimulating from the noise, crowds, smells, lights, etc

Another potentially overstimulating thing for Severus could be light as he spends his time in the dungeons which aren't well lit and in other scenes where there is bright lights he immediately shuts them off such as when he takes over Lupin's defence against the dark arts lesson and also again in the prisoner of Azkaban a portrait asks him to put out his luminous spell and he complies as he walks away meaning he's just walking in the dark?! (Which is a total vibe tbh)

He's always been depicted as "strange", "wierd" or "lonely" as from his childhood Lily is his only friend and the vast majority of other characters seem to find him off putting and can't actually specify why they don't like him "the fact that he exists" but he's not shown to make much effort to expand his social circle so it seems as though he's either content with the situation or has given up on it

There is a lac of understanding shown for other peoples emotions throughout the books and movies alike for example the perceived "rudeness" towards students could definitely be a result of depression or something else but it could also be that he doesn't fully understand the impact that he has on them

Severus also experiences the "flat effect" which is when someone displays little to no facial expression, this is a trait that can be seen in autism, this is emphasised in the movies in particular but Severus in the books is also said to not show much emotion unless he's feeling incredibly extreme emotions "Don't call me a coward" for example is one of his infamous more emotional scenes but for the majority of the time his expressions aren't depicted in great detail or he simply isn't displaying any

Along with this he also has a fairly monotone voice, besides when he's extremely upset which again is a trait displayed by those on the autism spectrum

He doesn't seem to understand social rules particularly well for example he's unsure of how to communicate to Lily that she's a witch and accidentally ends up scaring her, not fully grasping that 11 year olds can't do everything he can regarding potions and becoming easily frustrated by them

Severus also clearly has a very strong sense of justice that he's willing to do almost anything to ensure is carried out such as spying for as long as he did which was definitely partly motivated by Lily but also (or I like to think) his intense black and white vision of right and wrong which Voldemort crossed when Severus fully understood everything that the death eaters stood for when they began hunting down Lily

#autistic snape #severus snape #pro snape #snape #snape fandom #pro severus snape #professor severus snape #professor snape #snape community #snape au #snape content #severus snape headcanon #snape headcanon #snape defense #snape love #snapedom #young snape #severus

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steviewashere · 2 months

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Sugar Lips

Rating: Teen and Up CW: None Apply! Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has an Oral Fixation, Suckers as Both a Plot Point and a Character, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington's Mouth, Spit Kink, (I'm Like 99% Sure That's Half of What This Is), Eddie Munson is a Cringe Fail, Eddie Munson is Good at Flirting (Sort of), First Kiss, Innuendos, Steve Harrington is a Tease, Neurodivergent Eddie Munson (Implied), Neurodivergent Steve Harrington (Implied)

🍭—————🍭

Steve has this little thing he does and Eddie isn’t sure he realizes what it is. Or that he’s doing it. Or that it’s driving him absolutely insane.

Now, Eddie’s no stranger to fidgeting. That is definitely something he engages in as constantly as possible. He often shifts the guitar pick on his necklace. And he absentmindedly picks the threads on his jeans or he’ll plunge his finger back and forth in the button holes of his vest. Sometimes, he’ll use his index finger to trace the zipper teeth on the sleeves of his leather jacket. He’s just a texture guy, likes being able to feel things constantly. Shift them around. Give his fingers something to do in a moment of much needed distraction.

It’s just how his brain works. And he’s ninety-nine percent sure that Steve’s brain works similarly.

He puts things in his mouth. Yup. That’s what Steve does. That’s his thing. Sometimes it’s just his fingers. Nibbling away at his fingernails or tearing at hangnails, which can’t ever feel good. If he gets sauce on his fingers, he licks it off instead of using a napkin. (That one in particular has made Eddie flee to the bathroom several times. Can you blame a guy?)

The thing that’s going to kill Eddie, though, is this stupid cotton candy flavored Dum-Dum sucker Steve packed with his lunch. He’d come in to find a movie for him and Wayne to watch later that night, wanted to invite Steve over and that’s when he saw it. The sucker.

It began normally. “Hey, Stevie!” He had greeted. The door chimed above him. And Steve gave him a half-hearted wave from behind the counter. He was sitting on a metal stool, back towards the door, face down at the counter, sketching out things on the inventory list. A wobbling stack of—what appeared to be—horror tapes beside him. Fresh from delivery, most likely. Eddie paid no mind. Waltzed towards the westerns, standing idle in front of the movies momentarily as his eyes took in the sheer amount of Chuck Norris films, and found one he hoped Wayne hadn’t seen before. (Which, now that he thinks about it, is highly unlikely. He wouldn’t be surprised if Wayne went to him one day to say he was gay for Chuck Norris. He’s like an absent husband at the Munson’s.)

He rang the little service bell to get Steve’s help checking out. And nearly buckled at the knees. Steve’s lips were spit slick and lightly stained pink. It popped from out of his mouth, his lips a perfect ‘O’ shape. And his tongue was also a delicious bright pink. Eddie was so distracted by the whole display, he didn’t even realize that Steve was actually speaking. That his spit was more interesting than whatever bullshit Family Video regime he was mumbling.

“Huh?” Eddie dumbly said while blinking back to existence.

Steve chuckled. “I asked if that was all you needed today, Eds.”

I could think of something else, Eddie thought, still staring at Steve’s mouth. He shook his head, curls whipping about, hopefully covering the embarrassing flush on his cheeks. “No—I—This—Wayne wanted to kiss—I mean watch—“ Eddie stopped himself with a heaving sigh. “Yeah, this is all I need.”

He swallowed down the rest of what he wanted to say. Tried to cover for himself. But he was weak in the knees once more. The sucker went back into Steve’s mouth, lolling over his teeth, clinking. His tongue was probably doing gymnastics trying to savor the flavor of that stupid thing. Probably suckling around it. Mouth pooling with spit. Eddie forced himself to lean against the counter, palms spread and flat against the surface, head dipped down so that he couldn’t see his demise anymore. But that still didn’t stop his mind from wandering. Thinking about what Steve’s mouth probably tastes like, sugar sweet and oddly fruity. Didn’t stop the sudden flashes of make out sessions they could be having, hiding behind the ‘Adults Only’ curtain, pinned up against—

“Dude!” Steve suddenly shouted. And Eddie found his eyes back on Steve’s face, dipping low to his lips. That sucker was still in his mouth. And he was right, there’s so much spit. He wishes that was his tongue in—“Eddie, are you alright, man? Why do you keep looking at me like that?” He sounded nervous. Even a little…embarrassed.

Fuck, that’s not how he wants Steve to feel around him. He scolds himself mentally, again. Stop being a perv, he tells himself. But his musings are futile.

He sighed once more. “I’m fine,” he muttered, “tired, that’s all.” Gave his best smile, but completely shattered once more when Steve pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. A thin string of saliva connecting it to his lips. His tongue darting out to break it. He couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop himself from yearning. Couldn’t help the way he leaned further over the counter, completely in Steve’s warm orbit, nearly nose to nose.

Steve nervously giggled, but he didn’t step away. In fact, he licked his lips, darted his eyes, and for some odd reason…his cheeks grew bright pink. “I—Eds, you’re really—“

“Why are you so pretty?” Bursted from Eddie. He groaned. “It’s really not fair. And you’re single? What the fuck is wrong with people?”

“Eddie, what are you—“

“You fucking lick a stupid sucker and now I’m losing my mind. What the hell,” Eddie murmured. “Like I just wanna—“ He quickly looked over his shoulder, the parking lot desolate through the windows, the aisles completely clean, and turned his gaze back at Steve. His hands jumped up from on the counter, grabbed the lapels of Steve’s stupidly cute pink polo, and pulled him in. “I’m gonna kiss you,” he whispered, “and you can kill me later for it.”

As Steve began to nod, Eddie surged forward. It wasn’t a pretty kiss. And it wasn’t a neat one, either. Steve’s lips were moist, sticky with sugar, and stupidly soft. He slipped his tongue out, licking between his lips, tasting cotton candy. And was slightly shocked when Steve let him in. Letting him taste inside his mouth. Trace his teeth, connect their spit, share that sucker.

When he pulled back, popping off of Steve’s bottom lip, he immediately dropped his hands. Horrible realization dawned on him. His eyes widened. Mouth dropping open. Cheeks flushing. “Fuck,” he spat. “I’m sorry, I don’t—That was—You’re my friend, I shouldn’t have done that.”

But as their eyes met, he let himself relax slightly. Steve’s eyes were wide, but glistening. Something soft about them. He was smiling, teeth, spit, pink stains and all. “I have been waiting months for you to do that,” he said simply.

“What,” Eddie could only muster, his voice distant with disbelief.

“I have been waiting months for you to do that,” Steve repeated. “You’re not a very subtle looker. But that was—Jesus Christ, I could like taste your yearning.” Eddie began to crumple. This was a bad idea, he briefly thought. Though Steve whispered, flirtatiously and in awe, “That was so fucking hot.”

Eddie hummed. He relaxed completely. Placing his hands back on the lapels of Steve’s shirt. Thumbs rubbing in circles over the fabric. It was scratchy under his fingertips, it felt good. He sighed through his nose. Smirked something teasing. “I was going to invite you over tonight for that movie,” Eddie began, voice low and husky. “But maybe we could leave Wayne to it and…I’ve got some room in my van. Go out to the quarry. Show me what else your mouth can do.”

For how much of a ladies man Steve Harrington supposedly is, he’s too easy to fluster. Going warm and bright red under Eddie’s gaze. Melting positively into the slight hold Eddie still has on him. “Okay,” he murmured, “What time?”

“As soon as your shift is over, come to mine. Bring yourself, this cute little polo, and your pretty mouth. I’ve got plans with you, sugar.”

Kissing Steve Harrington’s sucker sweet mouth is probably Eddie’s new favorite way of fidgeting. And he finds, much much later, that it fulfills needs for the both of them.

🍭—————🍭

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfiction #silly goofy #suckers

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yourfuckingmomdotcom · 10 months

Text

Yandere Butler x Autistic Reader

The autistic girlies, guys, or otherwise deserve yandere content tailored to ourselves, and I’m sick of pretending otherwise /hj.

The general idea is that this takes place in a time before an autism diagnosis even existed, like the Victorian Era, but arguably the DSM III added autism in 1980, so you could be in any of those times and still technically be timewise correct. But also you can just imagine him as a modern dude who doesn’t get what’s up.

Oh also, this is inspired a lot by @kiame-sama . Do I know what a Chrollo is? Nope. Did I love the fic she made? Fuck yea. (Accidentally tagged someone else at first, sorry you didn’t see this!) CW: Non-consentual cuddling, mild drugging, yandere, autistic reader, sensory overload mentions, general violence and murder stuff

🂡 Yandere Butler was brought on by your uncle after your parents unfortunate passing. You had been passed the helm of owning their small but thriving gunsmith operations, as well as the family house and assets. Being unwed and rather young, the butler was sent to manage the things that seriously stressed you out. He, as well as your other associates, assume you are just someone of a delicate constitution, and therefore he’s always fretting over you. Initially he didn’t get it, he did his very emotionally separated duties, but he noticed how much you struggled with specific things, and how you absolutely lit up at the things you love. He found it charming and enthralling, and he could no longer separate his duties and himself. 🂡 Yandere Butler will listen to you ramble for hours over your special interest. Now, how much he understands depends entirely on the content, but he will sit there regardless. As you excitedly go over every detail as best as you can trying to get him to understand what makes you so enthusiastic, he’ll ask leading questions and generally try and find ways to engage deeper in the things you enjoy. It’s the least he could do, since it seems to make you so happy.

🂡 Yandere Butler will overstep professional boundaries as long as you’re unaware of them. He appreciates what he sees as feign innocence and gullibleness that allows him to do things that wouldn’t be possible otherwise. With the low oversight of his position in the house, as well as the authority he holds, he uses this to sneak touches under the guise of fixing something with your garments or your posture. He’ll take what feels like decades to get you dresses in the morning as he slowly glides stockings or woolen socks over your legs, placing the garter so gently atop your thigh. The small ways you allow him to touch you are to him the highlight of his day, especially if you’re really touch adverse.

🂡 Though, Yandere Butler, does understand that your comfort comes first. He finds it somewhat enjoyable to find a middle ground between sensory-safe clothing, as well as clothes deemed acceptable by wider society. He makes sure that your tailor uses the specific fiber and weave to make sure you have an exceptionally predictable texture to fall back on with any garment. He also will find ways to get you the right silhouette while avoiding a lot of structure if that bothers you. If all else fails, he might resort to more homey garments.

🂡 Yandere Butler pays close attention to your nutrition as well, always making sure to get sensory safe foods as well as some you’ve never tried before to widen your horizons just a bit. If the maids and chefs cook something wrong, or in a way you find unpalatable, there will absolutely be hell to pay. Well, moreso just a very loud scolding after you’ve retired to bed for the night, but it still hurts their feelings... He keeps his more unpleasant reprimands for when you’ve fallen asleep because he understands that you feel bad for the workers in your home when he gets like this, so he just does it out of sight. If ever invited to a required formal event, god forbid, he’ll always bring a snack and a handkerchief in case you really didn’t like what was available.

🂡 Yandere Butler also manages your medications, vitamins, and any other substances you take throughout the day. Don’t even consider doing something elicit or uncouth such as smoking or drinking more than a flute of champagne, and if you do something more elicit you’ll probably give him a heart attack. But this unadulterated access to these things lets him do things that are very ungenteel. He requires you take a sleep aid, practically knocks you out, and he takes this time to cuddle you while in your sleep. He knows you’re usually not one for unprompted blunt affection, so he only does so when you’re sleeping. He finds your resting face adorable, and he prefers to hold you in the honeymoon hug position.

🂡 Yandere Butler, who due to your “delicate constitution” is usually helping you through sensory overloads. If you would grant him the honor, he’ll hold you tenderly in his arms as you ease back into comfort, slowly rocking both of you back and forth. Or, if you’re not ok with touching, he’ll prepare your chambers with dim lights, comforting sounds, and your bed all made and smelling of fragrances you find soothing. Despite not knowing the actual root of this behavior, he’s surprisingly accommodating and has gotten your sensory needs down to a science… which is sort of the problem.

🂡 The Yandere Butler figured out that going outside into town caused you mild to a great distress. So he made your life more simple, no more going out frivolously!... You were confused, and when you asked for more information he basically put a ban on any outside activity that wasn’t business or a disaster within the house. You got really sad about that, as you needed to go out and get things frequently for your hobbies. He ignored your short pleas to go out, initially only responding with something along the lines of, “Then go out to the gardens.”, but he knew he couldn’t keep you inside forever.

🂡 So, Yandere Butler scheduled every “unnecessary” outdoor event to be a sensory nightmare. He hates to see you so distressed, but it’s the only way you’ll learn apparently. This is only made worse by the fact he’s essentially made a sensory heaven inside of your manor, so when you go out it’s a lot worse since you’re so used to being catered to that the sensory discomfort becomes full of sensory pain. And you and him both know you can’t make a scene, lest you be ousted from high society and made a mockery of, so you’re hastily rushed back home to be coddled by him once again. It’s a very negative cycle you’ve got yourself caught up in, and it’s extremely difficult to get out of that cycle. Eventually, he hopes you’ll send a maid out to collect whatever you need instead of trying to leave him again, but until that time comes he’ll do this as much as you need until you get the memo.

🂡 Yandere Butler also manages many of your social and business connections. He’ll whisper in your ear how to deal with boring things like business decisions, stocks, and all the choices he doesn’t want you fretting about. But, he also will make sure to restrict any suitors or and non-business social events. He’ll throw out letters for frivolous parties, as he doesn’t want you tainted by others. He also will throw out suitor letters, which can make some interactions at formal business dinners a bit awkward for you when many suitors come up to you to ask about if anything got through, but the butler will whisk you away and explain that the mail must just be slow. 🂡 But one day, while a maid was cleaning the butler's room in the servants quarters, a maid finds the letters thrown out in his personal rubbish bin. She reads through them all rather confused, wondering why these wouldn’t be given directly to the master of the house. She wasn’t one to interfere with others' business, but something ticked her off. But as she’s about to walk off with an engagement letter, the butler walks in with 3 more in hand. There was a panic and a struggle from both of them, as the butler made sure she’d never be able to tell her tale.

🂡 That night, the Yandere Butler burnt the butchered maid, as well as all of the letters he’d previously thrown out to ash in the manors incinerator. He’d make sure not to make such a mistake again…

🂡 The next day, Yandere Butler makes you a special breakfast and brings it to your room. He coos, explaining that a particular maid stole from the wine cellar, and as she dropped and cracked the bottle, the red wine spilt across the floor. After that he let her go from her position, and he needed time to clean the mess himself, apologizing that your schedule was messed with and that you’re confined to the room for the day to protect your garments. Everytime you walk past the servant quarters door, you see a small red stain and remember the taste of red wine.

#tw autistic reader #x autistic reader #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere butler #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #x gn reader #x reader #yandere drabble #yandere imagines

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reaveries · 6 months

Text

▬ risk

"I will save your life. I'll try for you."

pairings: re2 officer!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: while trying to escape the police station in the midst of the infamous raccoon city disaster, rookie police officer leon s. kennedy finds a young woman in need of his help.

content warning: descriptions of violence and gore

word count: 4.4k (estimated 21 minutes reading time)

a/n: this .... has been in my drafts ......... since april. you're finally free........

masterlist archive of our own

Revised for clarity 12/30/2023.

Leon’s gun had always been a mere extension of his arm, a tool to be honed and wielded with precision. The academy, with its spiral target walls and foam-filled mannequins, had served as his training ground, preparing him for the hopefully unnecessary evil of one day having to take a life. This unspoken burden came with the territory—an occupational hazard in the line of duty. But no amount of half-hearted demonstrations and target practices could’ve equipped him for a night like this.

Until tonight, he’d never seen a body fall lifeless due to his own hand. But if he had, he wouldn’t have expected it to stumble from its spot of decay, staggering towards him with a newfound vigor that defied everything he thought he knew about morality and his fragile existence.

Tonight has been a night of unholy firsts, and the air about him suggests it has only just begun.

The pungent metallic scent of arterial spray assaults his senses as he steps out of the shower room. His heart sinks in his chest as he takes in the sight of carnage in the westmost corridor of the police station. Uniformed men and women lie in crumpled heaps against the walls. Their bodies are mangled and torn, some so abhorrently disfigured that they’re scarcely recognizable as humans. The presence of the dead was something he was uncomfortably growing comfortable with, and yet to imagine the animosity it must’ve required to create this scene…

Well, it unsettled him, to say the least. He could’ve known them if things had gone differently.

He steps over their quiet corpses with his pistol in one hand and a flashlight raised in the other. He nudges one with the toe of his boot, aiming for their skull if they so much as twitch. But their bodies remain convincingly still, slain beyond any chance of revitalization. His grip tightens on his gun as he presses forward down the narrow corridor. If this is the result of those infected creatures he’s become acquainted with, they could be lurking ahead, waiting for him.

The rain outside stings as it pelts his cheek, dampening his uniform that’s already slick with sweat. He ignores it.

Ahead should be the S.T.A.R.S. office if the map he found is correct. Hopefully, he can find relevant information about Claire’s brother in there, something to help her find him if he should ever see her again. With a deep breath, he reaches out to turn the knob when a groan suddenly creeps from down the hall. But there’s something different about it.

It sounds alive, pained, and distinctly human.

“Is someone there?” He calls out, his voice echoing down the long hallway. The sound reverberates off the walls and fills the silence, and for a moment, there is nothing but his own breathing.

Then a low growl echoes back at him.

With an annoyed huff, he raises his gun and aims for the corner he anticipates the creature to hobble from behind. But before he can catch a glimpse of it, something moves in the darkness. It's too fast for him to comprehend, a blurring figure scurrying towards him like a feral animal. He watches in horror as it crawls along the ceiling, its movements disturbingly fluid.

As it draws closer, the moonlight catches on to the glistening texture of its skin. A grotesque tentacle-like tongue unfurls from its mouth, swinging through the air like a scythe.

“What… what the fuck?”

He fires two rounds into the fleshy matter of the creature’s head, but it makes no difference. Doesn’t even flinch. The rookie officer prepares to fire another round when the monster flings itself off the ceiling and lunges its body through the air directly toward him.

In a split-second decision, Leon throws himself into the office, his body slamming against the door before he scrambles to his feet and secures it behind him. Outside, the creature is relentless. Its wet, clobbering movements spasm through the walls. With his back pressed against the door, he braces himself as the monster rams into it with a sickening force that rattles the hinges.

It takes all his strength to keep it from buckling under the creature’s assault. The force of each blow makes his arms tremble, and he can feel his grip slipping. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, and his heart thunders in his chest as he fights to hold the door in place.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the onslaught ceased. Leon takes a deep breath, his heart still pounding, and listens for any sign of movement outside.

He waits a second, then slowly pulls himself away from the door.

With his chest heaving, a word comes to mind.

Licker.

He remembers the warning about these beasts scrawled on a note left by a likely deceased officer. His naive self didn’t expect to encounter one so soon.

He takes a moment to survey the room, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The abandoned desks and personal items left behind tell him that S.T.A.R.S. personnel were just as underprepared for a viral outbreak as the rest of the city. The first thing that catches his eye is a trauma kit on the wall. He crosses the room and flips it open, finding it fully stocked. Dressings, hemostatic agents, antiseptic. A sense of relief washes over him. He reaches into his pocket to make room for the essentials, but to his dismay, finds them full of various necessities. There’s no space to carry anything in this damn uniform. With a sigh, the lid is closed and left as it was found.

“Hey!”

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden noise.

“Please tell me you didn’t die,” a disembodied voice says. The end of their sentence tapers off with a shallow breath. With a sharp turn of his head, he tries to place the direction it's coming from. There’s no familiarity in their voice, which is no surprise considering he’d only become acquainted with a few officers during his orientation.

“Where are you?” He calls out, raising his flashlight in search of an answer, hoping for a door or some kind of opening.

“Linen closet. Down the hall.”

Their muffled words become clear as he approaches a far corner of the office, likely sharing a wall with the room they’re in. “Did it get you?” they ask, quieter this time.

Leon takes a deep breath to steady himself before responding. “Almost, but I’m alright,” he assures them. With a glance back to the door, he continues, “Listen, I know how to get past that thing now. Just… stay put. I’ll come to you.”

“Please be careful,” the stranger pleads. Something in their voice rings as desperation, lending to the pit forming in his stomach. It’s more than likely that whoever this is is a victim of the outbreak, clinging to their last shred of humanity before the virus consumes them. The thought of putting down another person, to see the life fade from their eyes—he’d like to avoid it if possible.

With the barrel of his pistol, he cracks open the door and peers into the corridor. It’s just as he left it, but there’s no sign of the monster anywhere. He holds back a sigh of relief as he opens the door further and steps into the hall. The ceiling, where his eyes are permanently trained, is empty. The revolting shape of the licker is nowhere to be found.

He pushes forward, boots ghosting across the floorboards and pistol drawn. His breathing is slow, his muscles tensed. He’s convinced the creature can hear the blood rushing through his veins. When he reaches the end of the corridor, he halts and peeks behind the turn of the hall where the linen closet should sit.

His heart drops.

It’s there.

Of course it’s there. Why should anything be easy for him?

Perched in the corner, its sinewy body is raised on its haunches and pressed wetly against the wall. Rows of jagged teeth have overgrown the confines of its decaying jaw, and long bone-like talons sprout from fleshy hands.

He can't afford to freeze up. One misstep is all it takes, and he’ll be gutted like the rest of them. He reaches for a hook on the holster hanging at his hips, fingers trembling as he fumbles for the cold, smooth canister he's grown familiar with. This might be his only chance.

With one finger, he hooks the pin and yanks it. The sound of it clattering against the tile echoes throughout the hallway just as a cloud of white explodes, engulfing the creature as it lunges toward him. It falls to the floor in an instant, writhing in agony as the grenade pierces the air with a sharp ringing noise.

No time to think. Leon sprints to the door, feeling the hot stench of decay brush past him as he avoids the stunned beast. The door flies open against his weight, and he forces it shut behind him.

He leans against the door, panting heavily as he tries to steady himself.

As he catches his breath, a voice whispers in the darkness.

“You made it.”

His eyes dart to the corner, where a young woman sits leaning against a washing machine. Her uniform is in bad shape, torn at her midsection and stained to the hem. It looks like blood is seeping through, smearing her fingers red as she tries to stanch the bleeding. The sight of the mess has him quickly closing the space between them.

She looks him up and down as he kneels beside her.

“You’re an officer?” She asks with knitted brows. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Leon Kennedy. I just started today,” he answers quickly, the adrenaline causing a noticeable waver in his voice.

She laughs but winces and screws her eyes shut. “And I thought my first day sucked,” she says through her teeth.

“Did that thing do this to you?” He asks, his tone gentle yet urgent, getting straight to the nagging thought in his mind.

She shakes her head, looking down at the wound with a suppressed grimace. “I thought the hallway was clear. And then, out of nowhere, it just…” Her mind seems to wander at the thought. “It came through the window. There was glass flying everywhere. It scratched me pretty good.”

Leon tilts his head to the side, trying to get a good look at the wound. Her uniform makes it difficult to see the full extent of the injury. However, the amount of blood is enough to give him an idea of the severity.

“‘Scratched’ is an understatement,” he says, looking back at her.

A dazed sort of smile finds its way to her face. “I like to be optimistic.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, or maybe precisely because of it, his smile mirrors hers. She’s not infected. Thank God.

“So do I,” he says. “Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? Then we can think about getting out of here.”

She nods and attempts to sit up straighter.

“Can you, um,” he starts to say, gesturing to the hem of her uniform.

“Yeah, I can take it off. I’m not shy.”

A blush creeps up his neck as she nimbly moves to undo the buttons of her uniform. Leon averts his gaze, suddenly transfixed by the desolate corner of the linen room. His fingers pluck idly at the skin around his nails. But from the corner of his eye, he catches her struggle to shrug off the top. It gets caught on her shoulders and refuses to slide down.

“Here, let me,” he offers reluctantly.

The room falls silent, the only sound being the soft rustle of fabric as he coaxes the shirt down her arms. She draws a sharp breath as it grazes over tender bruises and scrapes, and a strange sense of intimacy seeps in, making him feel guilty for having to undress her. As the shirt falls to the ground, revealing her white undershirt, his eyes are drawn to the dark magenta stain blossoming across the fabric.

There, at the center of it all, is a shard of glass, roughly the size of the palm of his hand. Its edges are sharp and erratic, protruding from her lower stomach.

It’s critical, he realizes.

“Sorry if it’s not the prettiest thing to look at,” she says, eyes fixated on the ceiling.

He shakes his head. “It’s not that bad,” he lies, hoping it sounds convincing.

Apparently, it doesn’t, because she looks down for the first time and sees it.

“Jesus Christ!” She exclaims breathlessly. Her hands fly to hover above the shard, afraid to touch it. “You have to take it out,” she says with certainty, clearly unable to bring herself to do it.

His medical training at the academy left much to be desired, but even he was aware of the cardinal rule when it came to injuries such as these. Under the best of circumstances, the object should never be removed, lest the victim hemorrhage and bleed to death. However, he’d wager that they were far from the best of circumstances, and the alternative wasn’t enticing. Leon takes a deep breath, then places one hand on her shoulder and the other on the shard of glass. Their eyes lock, a silent agreement passing between them.

“Stay still,” he instructs, his voice wavering slightly. He hesitates for a moment before pulling it out in one swift motion. He can feel her muscles tense beneath his hand as she reacts to the jagged edges scraping against her insides. A torrent of hushed expletives tumbled from her lips, the pain etched deeply in her features.

“There,” he says softly, immediately deciding not to let her see the piece of glass once he realizes its morbid grandeur.

He can see the relief wash over her face, but it's short-lived as her condition quickly deteriorates. The sudden change startles him. Her eyes have started to glaze over, and her head falls limply to the side. Her words are barely audible, lost in labored breaths.

“Hey,” he says urgently, reaching to cup her cheek. She responds with a groan and closes her eyes. He taps her cheek more desperately. “Hey, stay with me!”

With his other hand, he brings two fingers to the tender spot between her jaw and her neck. Her pulse is rapid but faint. Below, the stain spreads further along the cloth of her undershirt. He quickly lifts the hem, his fingers trembling as they brush against the cold skin of her stomach. Blood gushes from the wound at a frightening rate, dripping onto the floor and pooling.

His heart races as he frantically searches for something to stem the bleeding. It ends up being the closest thing: her discarded uniform. The fabric immediately darkens as he applies pressure.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

The blood seeps through, coating his fingers.

"Come on, stay with me," he pleads.

The blood flow slows a little, but only after having wholly soaked through her uniform. He undoes his vest and shrugs out of his shirt, leaving him in just the long sleeve he wore beneath. He brings the shirt to her waist and ties it tightly to keep the fabric firmly in place. As he secures it, her hand finds his arm. He looks down at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are glassy, and her breathing shallow.

"Don't worry, I've got you," he says, trying to sound confident.

Her fingers tighten around his arm, and she mumbles something. He leans closer, straining to hear her words.

“Don’t let me die here,” she repeats, her voice barely audible. “Please.”

He feels a lump form in his throat. "I won't... I promise."

He leans back against the wall, his eyes never leaving the woman’s face. Breathing heavily, he runs a hand through his hair. Only then does he notice her blood staining his uniform, his hands, and the floor around him. He wipes his hands on his pants, but even in the dim, cold light of the linen room, it’s clear it isn’t going anywhere.

This isn’t going to be enough to stabilize her; even someone with as little medical knowledge as him can see that it would be a miracle if it did.

But despite that, amidst the chaos and the overwhelming odds, he still clung to the tenuous belief that he could save her life. He can do what he couldn’t for the others, who’d been only slightly out of his reach and beyond saving. Saving just one person would mean this all meant something, and that he, though just one person unsure of what he’s up against, could be the catalyst for a transformative ripple, a flicker of defiance in the face of the unknown evils inside this building.

It would mean everything.

He glances at the door, feeling his stomach drop with the knowledge of what he must do. The hemostatic agents, the antiseptic—those are her lifelines. If he doesn’t act now, she will die in this small corner of the police station, and she’ll have him to thank. Acknowledging this fact sets him in motion.

In a swift movement, he picks her up in his arms, careful not to exacerbate her injuries. She stirs uncomfortably for a moment, then settles against him. Blood drips from his shirt at her waist and trickles down his arm before pittering on the tile. It’s neverending.

“Don’t make any noise,” he whispers down at her. Her eyes are screwed shut, but she nods in understanding.

Here goes nothing. He nudges the door open.

Once again, he is greeted with a quiet stillness. The corpses are still lost in a dreamless sleep, and light rain rhythmically blows in through the empty window frames. It could be somewhat comforting if he were ignorant of the foreboding presence lurking in the nearby shadows. With each soft step, he gets further from the haven of the linen room. He passes the expired stun grenade and is approaching the turn of the hall once again when she shifts in his arms. She presses her forehead against his chest, brows furrowed in an effort to stifle her pain. He can’t imagine how it must feel.

He pulls her closer, hoping to offer a modicum of reassurance. We’re almost there.

It can be said with absolute certainty that he has never moved as slowly as he did turning that godforsaken corner. And for that, he’s been blessed with a clear pathway. Somehow, the creature has not made its presence known. A thought nags at him, daring him to consider that he may have underestimated its intelligence. That it will rear its grotesque head any minute, and its mouth will pull in a sadistic grin, enravished with the idea that he could’ve fooled it once again.

But this is not the case. There, in the imperceptible darkness, inches above his head, there is a shift. It’s slight enough that he almost misses it. He doesn’t need to look up to know what it is—to know that it’s there, to know that he’s directly below it.

Somehow, he missed it.

His muscles tense, but there’s nothing left to do but continue forward.

Just a few more steps.

He places one foot cautiously before the other, careful to avoid shattered glass. The air feels thick with apprehension; every breath a calculated risk.

Then there’s a tug on his pants.

A deep, gurgling groan erupts from one of the corpses by his feet, and it pulls itself toward him. On instinct, he brings his boot down to silence it, crushing its skull beneath his heel before it can sink its teeth in. The woman gasps instantly, startled by the sudden jerking movement. Fuck.

Run.

The walls blur, and time seems to slow as he sprints down the hallway. The woman’s cries intermingle with the sound of talons scraping against the floor, padding down the corridor with a ferocity he doesn’t need to see to know.

Before it can reach him, he forces the office door open and kicks it shut behind him. He ignores the sounds of it screeching and thrashing about and hurries over to one of the desks, swiping the clutter to the floor before setting her down on the cool wooden surface. He wastes no time in retrieving the trauma kit and rummaging through it, letting items fall haphazardly to the floor.

The seconds are slipping through his fingers.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says between breaths.

She watches him through furrowed brows, blinking slowly as he quickly removes the blood-soaked uniform from her waist. She says nothing, whether due to sheer incapability or hopeless acceptance.

He doesn’t notice either way.

His hands move quickly. He’s too lost in his efforts to see her watching him. Before the darkness creeps in, her lips form a short, one-word apology that gets lost on its way out, unheard by even her. The whisper of remorse dissipates in the air and fades. Then the world follows suit.

An uncertain amount of time has passed when she begins to stir. The room is blurred beneath the heaviness of her eyelids, but its meager contents slowly reveal themselves: plain wooden desks, some chairs, and personal belongings that confirm she’s in the room she suspects. She’d only been in this office once before when working on an intense, high-profile assignment. Even then, her visit was brief. There’s no reason she should be in here.

She pushes through the clouded haze and props her elbow on the desk to raise herself. Immediately, she’s struck with a burning fire in her abdomen, crumpling her back onto the cold surface. It felt like an electrical fire. Spreading quickly with a force that raised the hair on her skin.

Looking down, she saw the crimson stain on her undershirt, and the memory of the attack came back to her with a visceral shudder. The horrifying creature, the unrelenting pain, and the man who saved her. His name eludes her, the residual memories feeling like a half-forgotten dream. His face, too. Until slowly, the memory begins to sharpen, and she can see his face with full clarity. The young officer had been handsome, with an angular jaw and straight nose that lent him a serious, almost stoic look. Yet there was an undeniable boyishness to him, from the tousled hair falling into his eyes to the way he moved with an easy grace that belied the sharpness of his features. Yes, the stranger had certainly been an easy sight for her weary eyes.

“You’re awake.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the memory began to speak. She realized just then that it wasn’t a memory at all and that he’d emerged from a corner of the room upon hearing her awaken.

“How are you feeling?” He asks when she doesn’t respond. He’s tense, but his nervous expression seems sincere, and a strange sense of trust begins to settle over her.

“Hurts,” she grumbles. Her throat ached too. Everything ached.

His mouth flattened into a thin line, and his brows furrowed in sympathy. “I know, I’m sorry,” he says.

She notices his hands tremble slightly as they reach out to touch her, brushing warily against the exposed skin at her hip. He doesn’t seem to mind the blood staining his fingers or the hair falling into his eyes as he checks the dressing. Once it’s clear it meets his standard of approval, he looks up, and his light eyes finding hers expectantly, searching for signs of discomfort.

Then it comes back to her.

“Leon,” she murmurs absently, testing how it sounds out loud.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "That's me," he says softly.

She studies his face once again, taking in the way his features soften as he smiles, the gentle curve of his lips, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“How long have I been out?” she asks hoarsely.

He pulls the hem of her shirt back down, covering the tender skin once again. “Not long, a few hours maybe.”

She tries to sit up once again, but her body protests with a sharp pain at her side. He places a hand on her upper arm, steadying her.

“Take it easy,” he urges her in a whisper.

With a wave of her hand, she dismisses his concerns and her pain. She pulls herself off the desk and straightens her shirt. “I’m fine,” she assures him. “I feel like shit, but I’m fine.”

“You look better,” he says, observing her closely. “You have more color in your face.”

A faint smile graces her lips. “I think I have you to thank for that. If you hadn’t found me, I would’ve been done for,” she confesses. “I’d already made peace with it by the time you got there.”

He offers a modest shrug. “I’m not sure about that. You seem like you’re made of tougher stuff, deputy.”

His words prompt her to tilt her head, inspecting his face and searching for any remnants of recognition beyond their recent encounter. But apart from that, there's nothing.

“Oh. I ran your badge while you were out,” he admits, his gaze momentarily directed toward the floor.

“Is that so…” She crosses her arms with a touch of amusement in her voice. Her inner resolve slowly finds her once again. “So was all this done to impress your boss on the first day?”

He chuckles quietly, now somewhat sheepish in the presence of his superior, in a world where such distinctions no longer hold much meaning. Oddly enough, his laughter somehow finds its place seamlessly amidst the heavy air surrounding them.

Despite the lurking horrors outside the sanctuary of this room and the even grimmer uncertainties ahead, for a brief moment, none of it matters. She stands there as a testament to his actions, breathing proof that he made a difference. Placing himself in the epicenter of this diseased storm no longer feels like ill-fated martyrdom. Within these walls and in the face of the darkness that looms beyond, they are not simply spectators to a morbid narrative; they are, instead, influential participants. All hope isn't lost.

With a smug smile, he finally lifts his gaze to meet hers.

“Did it work?”

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil 2 remake #re2 #re2 remake #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x you #deftones #deftones inspo

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ghostkennedy · 11 months

Note

I've been loving your writing! It's just -chefs kiss-

I'd love to request or suggest an idea of domLeon punishing his bratty partner by quickly making a huge mess out of her and making her wear it right before they go out to dinner. Leaving her squirming and begging all night.

Dinner and a Show

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

PART TWO

Word count: 1593

Content warnings: smut, sexual content, possessive leon, mean leon, brat reader, degrading, punishment, thigh riding, hair pulling, orgasm denial, sex toy, overstimulation, begging

!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! THIS IS PURELY SEXUAL CONTENT!!!!!!!!

“Maybe if you learned how to fucking listen to me, you wouldn’t need to be punished. When you wanna act like a bratty whore, I’m going to treat you like a bratty whore. Is that clear?” Leon spoke, voice filled with venom. He tightened his grip on the fist full of hair that was tangled in his fingers, yanking your head back, causing you to let out a groan. “Fucking answer me, you ungrateful fucking slut!”

“It’s clear, sir,” you were barely able to get the words out considering you were so out of breath. You were rutting your bare pussy against Leon’s thigh, making an absolute mess on his dress pants. You were supposed to be at cocktail hour for one of Leon’s work events, but he wouldn’t allow your behavior to go unpunished.

Leon was very possessive, there was no other way around it. You were well aware of this, but you could never be put off by it; his possessiveness turned you on so much. You loved the way he treated your body, the way he owned it, the way he destroyed it time and time again. He knew exactly how to touch you. Knew all of the different ways to get you off, ways you hadn’t known existed before you met him.

Needless to say, you weren’t at all surprised at the current predicament you found yourself in. No, you knew Leon just as well as he knew you. You knew all of the little ways to push his buttons and get under his skin. You’d been giving him attitude and sass all night. He couldn’t say or do anything without receiving a snippy comment from you. Of course, he knew what you were doing, wasn’t it obvious? He resisted it hard at first, he didn’t want to be late for his work dinner, but you were fucking relentless.

It wasn’t just your attitude either, you were teasing him as well. Pushing out your chest in perfect view of him, bending over as often as possible, sitting in a towel after your shower with your legs spread, and gently caressing yourself constantly. All he had to do was get through the night and then you’d be home, just the two of you, and then he could really punish you.

But you never gave up. Once the words left your lips, “Is Chris going to be there? I haven’t seen him in oh so very long.” Well, that mixed with the fact you looked Leon right in the eyes as you said it, pulling your lip between your teeth and sliding your hand slowly down your thighs. In the blink of an eye, Leon had you pinned to a wall with his hands wrapped tightly around your throat.

Things only escalated from there. And that’s how you ended up in your current position, desperately grinding your pussy up and down his thigh, soaking his pants with your wetness. The friction, the texture of his pants dragging across your clit over and over was causing you to see stars behind your eyelids. Your pussy felt so hot, all of your nerve endings felt like lightning shocks were coursing through them.

You were getting closer and closer to your orgasm. Every single muscle in your body felt so tight, your body felt like it was collapsing in on itself. You felt like you were shriveling up as the pleasure grew higher. Drool was slipping past your lips, dribbling down your chin. Your eyes kept rolling into the back of your head. Absolutely nothing mattered at that point except your orgasm. Your hips were moving impossibly fast, just a few more seconds and you’d finally be over the edge.

Just as you were about there, Leon grabbed you by the hips and pulled you off of him. “Wait no, Leon please. I need to cum, I can’t, I fucking can’t,” you said your hands clinging to his shirt as you hovered over him.

“Shhh, yes you can. You deserve to be punished for being such a bad girl,” he smoothed his hands over your hair, putting it back into place. You climbed off of him and sat down next to him, reaching your fingers down between your thighs and rubbing your clit harshly.

Leon’s hand rushed out, pulling your fingers away from yourself, pushing you back on the bed. He grabbed your panties and slid them up mid thigh before he suddenly stopped and smirked to himself. “Don’t move,” he instructed you as he walked to the other side of your bedroom. He rummaged through some drawers before grabbing something and heading back over to you.

“You’re going to keep this in your pussy all night. If you misbehave, I’ll turn it on and see if you can control yourself in front of hundreds of people. Wouldn’t want them to catch onto you, huh? See how much of a whore you are?” he said as he pushed the remote control vibrator into your pussy.

You whined, “Leon wait, please don’t do this.” You could feel the toy pressing against every inch of your sensitive, clenching walls. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly as pants fell from your mouth uncontrollably.

Leon tsks down at your quivering form, “You poor thing. Should’ve thought of that before you decided to try me, over and over and over again. But don’t worry baby, m gonna be sure to remind you of your place, over and over again.”

He pulled your panties up your legs until they were back in place. He grabbed your arms, pulling you to your feet and adjusting your dress back over your legs. You looked up at him with pleading eyes as he fiddled with the remote in his hands.

He smirked mischievously at you, “Wonder what this button does.” Before you can question him, the vibrator turns on to a powerful level. Your knees give out beneath as you fall down onto them, unable to control the shaking in your legs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuck,” you yell out as an orgasm crashes through you, throwing your head back in pleasure. You can feel the wetness pouring from your hole, coating your thighs in your release. Your fingers dig into the ground on either side of your body as you continue to tremble.

Leon finally turns it off again and you fight to catch your breath, your legs having lost all feeling, leaving you weak and vulnerable on the floor at his feet. You look up at him through hooded eyelids. His arms are crossed over his chest and the look on his face is nothing short of pissed.

“Alright, let’s go,” he says, pulling you to your feet again and gripping your bicep to lead you out of the bedroom. You’re tripping over yourself trying to keep pace with the furious man.

“I need to get cleaned up, Leon. I can’t leave like this,” you whined, trying to free yourself from his grasp. His grip only tightened as he pushed you back against the wall in the hallway. Your back crashes into the wall harshly, causing you to whimper and shrink beneath him.

He towers over you, breathing heavily into your ear, “Absolutely not. You’re gonna wear the evidence of your disobedience all night. No one else will know, but you will. And I sure as fuck will. Now listen to me for once and go get in the fucking car.” His tone is demanding and leaves no room for discussion.

He backs away from you and gives you a small push, urging you down the hallway. You walk to the entryway of your home, feeling his gaze burning into your back until you finally turn the corner. You look yourself over in the mirror, smoothing your hair out, trying to make yourself look less ravished.

A sudden feeling shoots through your body as your hands fall to the small table in front of you, gripping it so tightly your knuckles go white. The vibrator has been kicked back on at its highest setting and your entire body is overly sensitive, but the tremors rolling through your body are relentless in their attack on your nervous system.

“Problem?” Leon’s voice breaks through the painful pleasurable haze that’s overtaken your mind. You turn to look at him leaning casually against the door frame. He’s holding the remote up as if he’s studying it, taunting you further. You whine at him with tear filled eyes. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle him using this thing in public, you can’t even keep it together within the walls of your own home.

“I–fuck,” you stumble over your words as he continues to change the settings on the toy continuously, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry, Leon please.” He laughs at your pathetic tone. You know you deserve it, you had been toying with him all night. You knew he would make you pay for it, but you weren’t worried about that at the time. Now you’d give anything for him to stop the current torture. Fuck, you thought he’d punish when you got home later, not now.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Leon offers up to you.

“Yes, yes. Anything,” you gasped out through panting breaths.

“If you can come for me two more times before we arrive, I’ll take the toy out. But I’ll still need to punish you when we get home,” he states. No doubt, no hesitation. You’ll take the deal. Hell, the first one already isn’t far away.

~masterlist~

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one-idea · 3 months

Text

Shanks raise ASL part 6

First - Previous - Next

So Ace squares his shoulders and raises his head to meet Shanks’ eyes. And he asks only one question. “What would you do if you found out Gol D. Roger’s had a son?”

The little boy braces himself. He’s ready, or so he thinks. He’s ready for this man to hate him. To tell him that his father was the devil and that his offspring are demons. That Ace shouldn’t exist. Maybe he’d kill Ace right where he stands. Tell Luffy and Sabo that Ace ran away for good and just continue on with life without the burden that is Ace.

What he doesn’t expect is for Shanks to walk towards him silently. The man’s eyes looking intently at his face, studying his features, looking for… something? Ace had no idea what. Did he think he was lying? Was he looking for proof? But then Shanks eyes welled up with tears and he dropped to his knees in front of Ace, throwing his arms around the boy and holding him close.

Ace has never been so confused. He expected to be shun or hit. Instead he was held like he was something precious. One of Shanks’ arms was firmly wrapped around his waist while the other hand was buried into his hair forcing Ace close to the man as he cried into Ace’s hair.

He could feel Shanks’ shaky breath as the man calmed down. “What would I do if I found out that Gol D. Roger’s had a son?” Shanks voice was gentle yet despite that Ace still tensed. He had no idea how Shanks was going to respond. Most adults mocked or hit him by now but Shanks was still holding him so tightly.

Shanks slowly pulled back just enough to look Ace in the eyes as he answers “I’d find him and protect him with my life just as his father protected me.”

“What?” Ace couldn’t understand. What did Shanks mean. Gol D. Rogers had never protected anyone.

Shanks could see the disbelief on the kid’s face. Which made sense. He had to wonder just how much Ace truly knew about his father. “Gol D. Roger’s found me in a treasure chest when I was a baby. He took me in and raised me as his own. I owe him everything.” Shanks said as he look Ace over again. Now that he was looking for it he could see Roger’s silver eyes. The dark hair was the same color as his captain’s, but the wavy texture was all Rouge, as were the constellation of freckles on the young boy’s cheeks.

“No that- you can’t be-” Ace didn’t know what to say. The man Shanks was describing, and the person that Shanks was were not compatible with his understand of who Roger and his crew were. “You can’t be a Roger’s pirate. They were monsters!” He couldn’t make his metal image of Roger and his crew and his memories of Shanks playing with his brothers and protecting them line up in his mind. There was no way this man who was so kind and doting to his brothers could be one of the bloodthirsty Roger pirates. He just couldn’t be.

“Now who told you that?” Shanks’ heart hurt to hear his captain’s son refer to their old family as monsters.

“Everyone. Everyone says that Roger was the devil and I’m his hell spawn.” Ace told him angrily. How did Shanks not get it. Ace was a monster and so was Roger. “I shouldn’t even be alive.”

Shanks pulled him close again, curling around the boy, shielding him from the world as best he could. Who did this? Who told his captain’s son all of these lies? Who told Ace he shouldn’t exist? Shanks was going to rip them apart for this. Ace should have been raised in the Oro Jackson surrounded by a loving crew that would protect him until death took them. But that wasn’t possible. He remembered why his captain handed himself over. Did Ace know about that?

“Your father was one of the greatest men I have ever known.” Ace started to argue but Shanks gently shushed him. “Let me finish. He was brave and kind and brought joy to those around him. And he fell in love with a wonderful woman, Portagas D. Rouge. But he was sick. He knew he didn’t have long. And when he found out your mom was pregnant he made a decision. He turned himself in to the marines.”

Ace’s heart was pounding in his chest. “What, what do you mean. He didn’t turn himself in he was caught by Gramps.” Shanks had to pause and breath through his rage at that one. Garp had been ‘raising’ Ace? That answered a few questions, but not all of them. After all Roger considered Garp a friend, but Shanks had disliked the man since he stood by and ordered Roger’s execution.

“He turned himself in to Garp, but he made him promise two things. One that the marines wouldn’t hunt down the rest of his crew after his executions, and two that you and your mom would be safe.” Shanks held the boy a little tighter. His captain gave up everything, and for what? If Roger’s could see them now would he think his sacrifice worth it?

“But why- how- I don’t understand.” Ace couldn’t wrap his head around what Shanks was telling him. Roger’s had been caught and executed for his crimes. What was this nonsense about noble sacrifices?

Shanks couldn’t blame the kid for not understanding it. He hadn’t understood his captain’s actions for a long time. But now as a captain himself, as someone who has a lover he would burn the world for, and as a freshly minted father of three, because these are HIS boys, he thinks he’s finally starting to get it. He would do anything to keep his crew, Mihawk, and the boys safe. Parting with his own life would be a small price to pay to guarantee their safety. But Shanks also knew the rest of his captain’s story.

“The marines lied kid.” He said with so much bitterness. “They lied to Roger. Promised they wouldn’t hunt down the crew and the people he cared for.” He let out a dark chuckle. “His body wasn’t even cold before they turned on us. Chased the crew all over the sea. Luckily we all disbanded before his execution or they would have got us all in one fell swoop. I was 15 and they chased me like rabid dogs. At the time I knew Rouge, your mom, was pregnant, but I had hoped that information was a secret. Apparently not as they launched a full hunt for you and your mom.” Shanks paused.

He was still furious he hadn’t been able to help Rouge at the time but none of them could have. He wasn’t lying about the marine pursuit being relentless for the first few years after Roger’s execution. It was a miracle that so many of them survived. But the price that he lost contact with his old family. He hadn’t talked to Buggy since Lougetown. He had run into Rayleigh a few years back and had sobbed like a child at seeing his second father again.

“I didn’t hear about the man hunt for the two of you until years later. By then I had to assume you both were dead.” Shanks tightened his arms around the silent boy. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Ace sat there is silence processing the new news. His father had died….for him? That couldn’t be right. Roger was the King of the Pirates he was selfish, he wouldn’t sacrifice so much for them.

“Your mom, do you know what happened to her?” Shanks felt awful asking, he had a feeling he already knew the answer, but he had to know. If Rouge was alive she was coming with them. No if ands or buts about it.

His hope didn’t live long. “She died giving birth to me.” Ace’s voice was hallow. He was still processing all of this news. His mom’s death was a fact. He killed her. The very first sin of his existence.

Shanks sighed and held Ace close. “She loved you so much. I’m sorry you didn’t get to met her.” They sat there in silence for a bit. Just taking in all that they had learned in the past few minutes.

“I don’t understand.” Ace finally said. “Everyone says that Roger was a monster, but the way you talk about him….” Ace just couldn’t wrap his head around everything he had just learned. Shanks thought for a second. He had an idea but Ace wasn’t going to like it.

“Do you think Luffy could ever be a monster?” Ace’s head shot back and he shoved himself a way from Shanks.

“Never! What are you talking about. Luffy is the kindest person I know. He could never be-”

“King of the Pirates?” Shanks finished Ace’s sentence, but not the way Ace would have. The boy was going to say monster, but Shanks’ interjection froze the boy in his tracks. “I believe that Luffy is going to be the next King of the Pirates. And with that, there is going to come a lot of lies from the government. They’re going to tell the world that Luffy is a monster. That he deserves to die. So I’m asking you, will you believe them when they say that about Luffy?” Shanks looked Ace dead in the eyes. Never wavering in his question.

“Never. Luffy just wants to be free.” Ace responds unshakable in his beliefs.

“So did Roger.” Ace froze again. He hated comparing his father to his little brother, but he also finally understood what Shanks was getting at. “Look you don’t have to like your dad, but you should know the truth about him. And the truth was he adore you. Enough to die for you without a second thought.”

Shanks sighed as he stood up. This was good. He’s overjoyed to know who Ace is and that he’s alive, but he’s also full of fury and wants to hunt Garp down, because what was that man thinking? Letting Ace believe all of the government’s propaganda. He’s exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster he’s been on tonight and he can see that Ace is to. But there’s one more thing they need to talk about before he can end this conversation.

“And I would to.” Ace jerks to met Shanks’ eyes. “I would die for you and your brothers in a heart beat. Not because you’re my captain’s son. But because I’ve come to see you as mine. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted all three of you on my crew. You’re my kids. I would fight the world for you, the government and anyone else who tried to hurt you. Because you are Ace and I love you.” Shanks never broke eye contact with the boy. “Not because of who your dad is and not despite of who your dad is, but because of who you are.”

Ace felt tears well up in his eyes as he rushed towards Shanks. The man bending down to scoop the boy up and hold him close as he cried into his shoulder. Someone wanted him. Someone wanted Ace around. Shanks knew who his father was and didn’t hate him. He loved him, he said he did. Has anyone besides Luffy and Sabo ever said that to Ace before.

“I got you. It’s okay. You’re never going to be alone again.” Shanks reassured the boy as he held him close. “One day when you’re ready to set out on your own you’ll have my full support but until that day comes I’ve got you.” Shanks promised as he started to make his way out of the little shack. “Even after that you’ll still have me. I’ll always have your back, until the day I die. If you and your brothers need me I’ll be there. I swear this to you.” Shanks looked up at the moon as he started making his way back Foosha village. Back to Mihawk, Luffy, and Sabo. Back the the Red Force and his crew. And he made one more promise.

‘I’ll keep your boy safe Captain. I’ll raise him as my own, give him all the love you gave me. I won’t fail him. I couldn’t protect you but I’ll protect him with my life. I promise.”

Finally the bonding moment the two of them need.

Next time:

The return of a mountain bandit.

Shanks promise gets put to the test.

#the fact that Ace hates his father but adores Luffy when they share the same dream is one of my Roman Empires.#it needs to be talked about more.#shanks is such a dad #shanks is luffy’s dad okay.#monkey d. luffy #portagas d. ace #revolutionary sabo #shanks #asl brothers #asl trio #mishanks #dracule mihawk #I’ve been going mental over the parallels between Luffy and Roger and hiw Shanks sees them vs Ace and now you get to to.

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fishsticksloser · 1 year

Note

Headcanon request: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTR7cBCTW/

Turtle bois reacting to their s/o being like this about pants, personally I hate having pants on and prefer just over sized shirts to cover me up so may you could incorporate their s/o stealing their shirts and that being the only thing they're wearing

Sorry with is long and kinda all over the place, and remember if you don't want to do it you don't have to <3

Pants?

RotTMNT x gn!reader

Warnings: pantlessness, fluff, aged up

A/N: I have no idea what to call this... I thought about the title "No Mas Pantalones."

Donnie

Donnie doesn't care, he also enjoys being pantless once in a while

He has a specific section of shirts for you

He has issues with textures so the ones he don't particularly like, are free game

He does let you steal his favorite purple hoodie from time to time though

He thinks you look amazing in it, but it's his favorite for a reason so please don't steal it all the time

You have to have pants on in his lab though, there's a lot of dangerous things in there

First time noticing:

You walked into his room, plopping next to him

You were borrowing one of his shirts,

Not one that he hated but he didn't really like it either

He liked having his arms around you or at least touching you while he read

So when he put his hand on your thigh and felt nothing, he was a bit confused

But maybe you were wearing shorts

Eventually you go to grab something on a high shelf and he sees

Well... no pants

He blushes, feeling like he found something he shouldn't have

Leo

He hates pants too!

He only wears them when absolutely necessary and complains

So you not wanting to wear pants is fine by him, he does it too

You have free reign of his shirts as well

Take whatever you like

Leo often leaves his favorite hoodie out where you can see it, hoping you'll steal it

First time noticing:

He'd been pretty comfortable being pantless in front of you for a while

You came into his room, already wearing one of his shirts

Before discarding your pants

He tried not to pay attention

He really did

But he couldn't help watch

He blushed a little

Scooting over so you can lay next to him

Mikey

He doesn't mind

A little nervous about the others seeing you, but that's your choice

He actually really likes wearing clothes

Still he doesn't care as long as you're comfortable

Mikey has a lot of shirts

So take any you like

You can just take them if you want

First time noticing:

He was cooking dinner

Somewhat paying attention when you came in

He noticed you were wearing his hoodie

From what he could tell no pants

But shorts exist

When you reached to grab something in the fridge

He noticed you actually weren't wearing pants

He gasped and asked if you needed any

Raph

Very anxious

Asks if you would put on pants before leaving his room

He wants you to be comfortable, but his brothers and dad live here too

He absolutely loves when you steal his shirts

But you do practically swim in them

Still all of his shirts are free game

First time noticing:

You were in the kitchen grabbing a snack

You weren't wearing one of his shirts so he figured you were wearing shorts

That was until you reached up to grab something

And he didn't see pants... or shorts

Raph grabbed the back of your shirt

Pulling it down, hiding your body with his own

"What if someone other than me saw that?"

He was very grumpy afterwards

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bakubunny · 7 months

Note

Deku would have bigger collection of toys to use on his love. He would even request things while he is away.

He would die on the spot if his dirty secret comes out. Sexting is one thing but this is different.

Pervent Izuku

as an indie sex toy collector and enthusiast, i strongly agree. he’s a perv and a nerdy one at that.

izuku is the type that would figure out what materials, textures and shapes you like the best and analyze the shit out of what works so he can invest in the next piece he purchases for you. he’s got a separate notebook where he keeps track of what you both own and all measurements (he’s even double checked the measurements himself on each one) so he can compare the size of what he sees online to anything you already own to see if it will be too small, just right, or more of a challenge. he’s keeping track of specific colorings you like for your birthday and ordering custom pours if he has to. he chooses to handle all of the cleaning and maintenance for your combined collection aside from what you use alone because he’s very particular about making sure they’re maintained to his standard.

he spends far too much time thinking about the detailed process of slowly and skillfully stretching out your pretty little holes to take more than he or any other dick could possibly give you. he loves seeing you stretched out and gaping because of his careful work and loves seeing how wrecked and overwhelmed you get taking more than you ever thought possible. and he loves the feeling of fucking you after he’s stretched you out because he was the one who did it, and he loves knowing what he’s done to you.

all that said, i think you’re right. he’d simply cease to exist if anyone ever found out about how enthusiastic he is about sex toys in relation to his partner.

#asks #mini hcs #smut hcs #Midoriya smut #deku smut #aged up characters #bhna smut #x reader #Midoriya x reader #deku x reader #bnha x reader #bakubunny

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wildemaven · 10 months

Text

Sweet Creature: Chapter Nine

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 8k

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Fluff, a kiss of angst, talk of past relationship and break up, pregnancy scare, mopey Poppy, nervousness and anxiety, brief mentions of sobriety, smut, self doubt, public speaking, reader has the nickname Poppy- zero physical description, to dumb dumbs in love

A/N: This is a doozy of a chapter, there was so much to pack in for these two. I can’t believe we’re nearing the end, I had definite moments of sadness as I was wrapping up this chapter but also found so inspiration to help tie up the story for these two! You can listen to Dieter & Poppy’s Playlist Here. Also a big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for constantly listening and helping me through this one, I definitely needed it on this chapter.

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous/ Epilogue

It had taken a few months for Dieter to tangle himself into your life.

Inching his way into your mind, settling deep within your bones and eventually finding shelter in the most sacred of places— your heart.

It took only a matter of a few short days for him to imprint himself into your home, pieces of him lingering in your space, even long after he had left.

But you can’t seem to pull yourself from the confines of your bed, each morning since his departure, you study the hollowed out spot where his worn body claimed as his, still having yet to find the energy to make it or wash the sheets clean of the hours of intensity and conversations ingrained into the plush pillow-top.

Your fingers run over the creases of the pillow, remembering how you would trace the same lines etched across his face in the early mornings, the usual scrunch between his brows smooth and relaxed, the faintest of snores escaping his parted lips— memorizing his angelic dreamy state.

A soft thread catches the path your finger continues to take. A silky strand of hair, no longer a part of him, now woven in through the fibers of your cotton pillowcase— proof he was here and existed in this space with you, with those unruly thick curls tousled with ardency, sweat and sleep— your fingers still managing to work through the wildness.

-Saturday Morning-

“What was your last serious relationship like?” Dieter asks, laying on his side with an arm bent, head propped on his hand, your bed sheet draped over his naked lower half.

His free hand mapping out the plains of your exposed skin, the morning sun filters through your bedroom window, providing a soft muted light as his fingers continue to unearth new details of your body he has yet to see in daylight.

“Oof! Hitting me with the serious stuff first thing in the morning.” The rasp of sleep still coating your throat, your body turned in close towards him with one arm tucked between your pillow and resting head, your free hand mesmerized by the texture of his skin— connecting invisible lines between each freckle painted across his neck and chest.

“Question for a question then. But you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s— just a lot for some people to hear. Kind of just keep it to myself, less questions and ‘how come’ once they find out.”

“Hey, I won’t judge you, for anything you tell me— ever.”

Dieter watches the way your eyes flit about for a few seconds, his hand stopping to rest on your naked hip with a gentle squeeze, a reassuring gesture of sincerity in his words.

“Frankie was my high school sweetheart, we started dating our senior year. We were together— gosh…. 5, almost 6 years.” You let out a sigh, all the memories of your previous relationship flooding back to you, having been locked away for so long.

“After high school, when we realized things were getting serious, we decided to figure out what we wanted moving forward. We were on the same page with everything for the most part, no real deal breakers. We would get married after college, buy a house— a seemingly cookie cutter life together.”

“I’m not following— sounds like the perfect life to me.” Confusion settles across his forehead, brows drawn together as he studies your face.

“Except, I couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted— kids.” You notice the way his face drops when you say it, knowing his first thought is exactly what everyone else usually assumes when you tell them.

“I guess I should rephrase that— I didn’t want, don’t want kids. It was something we established too, both on board with living a childless life. We agreed we would be the best Aunt and Uncle for our friend’s kids.”

Dieter nods at your admission, the hand on your hip starting to leave feather-like strokes the length of your side, goosebumps scattering across your warm skin.

“It wasn’t until we were well into our relationship that things changed. We had a bit of a pregnancy scare, we were both very careful too, so it was a bit of a shock when it happened. I was angry with myself— how could I let it happen? What did I do wrong? All the things running through my head the minute I saw those pink lines, wondering how we were going to afford a baby on our combined income, all while trying to get through finishing college— I spiraled pretty hard for a good week. But, through some routine testing, we discovered it was a false-positive— I was so fucking relieved!”

Your fingers still over the hollow of his neck, taking a deep breath, not really sure how Dieter is taking everything you’re saying.

“In the midst of my inner turmoil over the thought of being pregnant, I hadn’t really checked in with Frankie to see where his head was at, I had just assumed he was riding the same boat as me.”

“He changed his mind?” He asks.

“Yeah— or it was what he had always wanted, he just didn’t realize it until that week, when it was almost a possibility.”

“So you broke up?”

“We stayed together for another year afterwards, thinking we could work through it. But I couldn’t keep that from him, it would have eaten me alive being the reason he wasn’t 100% happy. We decided it was best if we split.” You can’t help the smile that starts to develop, Dieter’s receptive demeanor made this whole moment feel a little less heavier than you thought it would be.

“I ended up running into Frankie a few years ago. We caught up and I learned he ended up joining the army, Special Forces I think, met his wife while saving her from some bar creep, always the chivalrous one— and they have two little girls. I like to think we both ended up where we were supposed to be.”

There’s a prick of something that ricochets across his chest— the pairing of unaltered reverence and adoration. You just want the best for others, and it shows even in how not that long ago how you went to battle for Diem out of pure love, wanting the best for her and Wren— he respects you so much now looking back on it.

Dieter leans over and places a few soft kisses to your lips, the last one lingering a little longer before pulling away to rest his forehead on yours.

“Thank you, for sharing that with me.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Of course. My question now— What about you? Do you want kids?” You ask.

Dieter gently pushes you to your back, settling himself between your legs, peering down at you with a soft smile.

“I’ll only ever be Uncle Dude— never had the desire to be a dad.”

His head dips down to your still bare chest, the few kitten-like licks before he takes your nipple into his mouth, scorching and persistent, causing your back to arch up into him, eyes fluttering closed and mouth wide as you emit a breathless whine.

A few intense sucking motions before he gives your breast an experimental bite, his eyes observing the way your body writhes at the juxtaposition of sensations before releasing it with a pop, blowing a stream of cold air across your wet skin and watching the way your nipple instantly tightens.

He crawls up your body, one arm resting next to your head as the other snakes down between your bodies taking hold of his now hardened cock, a few quick strokes before he’s notching the head at your now dripping entrance.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like partaking in the act.” His words punctuated by him fully sheathing himself into your cunt.

“Oh fuck! Dieter—“ Your laugh quickly exchanged for a heady moan.

Your bodies meld together in a heated indulgence. The slippery grip of dewy skin as your bodies work in a synergistic fashion, calculated snapping of hips take you both to a climactic level of bliss.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

The vibration of your phone against your nightstand draws you back from the reliving of your weekend with Dieter, interrupting the playlist streaming through the phone speaker.

You grab your phone to check who the message is from…

Mom ❤️: Hey Sweetheart! Let me know when you’re heading over. Going to sit by the pool for a bit until then. This place is beautiful, I might not ever leave! Talk to you soon!

The music promptly picks back up again with its uptempo beat, you connect your phone to your speakers in the living room, the words floating brightly in the background as you will yourself out of bed.

In route to a much needed cup of coffee, you pull on the fuzzy warm jacket that seems to have established itself as an essential element in your daily life, dropping your phone in its cavernous pocket before bringing the fleecy fabric to your face for a brief moment. It’s a cognitive experience, the inhalation of the still drenched in his signature Dieter-musk, making your insides gooey and flustered.

‘Ooh, I lose control, can't seem to get enough, uh-huh

When I wake from dreaming, tell me is it really love?’

You chuckle into your cup as you take that first sip, the words a flawless depiction, and complete coincidence of every morning this week.

A quick text back to your mom to fill her in on the day’s plans.

Poppy: Hi Mom! Had a bit of a slow morning, but I’m up and moving now! Going to shower and get ready. I thought we could go to this new sandwich shop that just opened. I've been wanting to try it. I’ll text you when I’m on my way to the hotel. Love you

Your mom had gotten in late last night, still having not seen her yet. Diem was so kind to put her up in the Capri for the weekend, your mom insisting she didn’t want to intrude and give you space.

It was her first time visiting since you had moved, but not her first time to Ojai. She had visited on numerous occasions in her travels before having you, it was usually a brief stop for a few hours to grab a quick bite and then off to her next stop.

As a child, you would spend hours browsing through her endless collection of photo albums, dreaming up your own stories about visiting her favorite places— grainy Kodak Portra 160 was her film of choice, the color grading and light leaks adding to the cinematized scenes. There was something alluring about Ojai, always spending a little extra time with those images, it had become your ‘one day I am going to move there’ place. So, when you had started actually considering moving, your mind instantly went to Ojai— it was a no-brainer this was the place you were meant to set your roots in.

A slow sip of the ambered liquid trickles down your throat, its atomic structure hitting every nerve as it slowly expands in your veins, giving you the ample amount of energy to keep you from crawling right back in bed.

A thrumming piano tune dances across the room, instantaneously reliving the moment you coerced Dieter to add it to your growing playlist, selfishly you hope the familiar high falsetto voice evokes the same memory for Dieter as it does for you when he shuffles through the songs.

Just a small town girl

Livin' in a lonely world

She took the midnight train going anywhere

Just a city boy

Born and raised in South Detroit

He took the midnight train going anywhere

-Sunday Afternoon-

“Add. The. Song. Dieter!” A purely joking dramatic version of yourself pleads with him, you sense the song isn’t a front-runner for Dieter, but you’re enjoying the banter it’s causing.

The popular chorus continues roaring through the living room where you’ve both been camped out for the last hour, switching off listening to music on bith your record player and Dieter’s Spotify account.

It felt silly when you suggested you both should create a compilation of songs that you could listen to and think of the other person— complete cheeseball move. It was reminiscent of junior high when you would download songs off shady sites and then burn the perfect cd mix for your crush, labeling it— I really like you but I’m not good with words, so here’s some songs instead— the cover art hand drawn sharpie doodles and emo quotes that could bring a 15 year old girl in love to tears. Being it was modern times, Dieter opted for a playlist of top favorite songs between the two of you, dubbing it ‘Dieter’s & Poppy’s Mix Tape.’

He wants to engrain this scene in his mind forever, your naked form cloaked in his beloved brown jacket, dancing around your living room, belting the lyrics in the most out of tune way.

“Streetlights, people!— Dieter, please! You said our favorite songs— this would be a favorite of mine! Add the damn song!!”

“This— This is your favorite song? It’s like the most overplayed karaoke song in the history of music” His cocked eyebrow as he holds his phone with the Spotify app open in his lap, finding it hard to hold off his growing smirk and not surprised in the least that it’s a top pick for you.

“I’ll have you know, I am the reigning Karaoke Queen, west of the Mississippi River— you're in the presence of royalty, Babe. Don't stop believin' Hold on to that feelin'!” Grabbing another slice of cold pizza from the half eaten box on the coffee table, you continue twirling about on your tippy toes, maintaining your off-key singing between bites.

“Something tells me your full of shit. Fine— It’s added. But I’m adding ‘You Need to Calm Down’ for tax.”

“I need to do what?” Your twirling ceases, the bottom of his jacket swaying about as you watch the way he stares down at his phone, fingers pecking at the screen.

“No— it’s a song. According to Wren, “it’s a Taylor Swift masterpiece!’” His air quotes and deadpan expression almost take you out.

“Never would have pegged you as a Swiftie, but I love it.”

“Well, it’s all she wants to listen to on the drive to school. I can’t help it if i know every word to almost every song.”

The next song plays through, Dieter continues to watch you from his spot on the couch, loving the carefree manner in which you move, your infectious smile on display as you sing along to a song you definitely do not know a single word to, eyes closed and arms stretched out letting the chorus fully envelop your mind— this whole moment solidifying his love for you.

He brings his phone up and snaps a few pictures, each image progressively blurrier as he tries to capture you dancing, his last attempt is more or less successful, the timing just right and the result an accurate depiction of how he wants look back on this time together— a flash of your beaming smile that causes your eyes to crinkle at the edges and your audacious desire to be completely yourself in front of him is a picture worth taking.

“Are you taking a picture of me?” Breathless and smiling.

“Guilty. I need something to remember this day while I’m away.”

“Okay, but take a better one then.”

Grabbing his sunglasses off the table to situate them on your face, your bare leg crossed over and kicked out to the side in an ameture Radio City Rockette fashion, middle fingers erect while your hands cover your now exposed breasts, a one-sided nose scrunch and curled lip with some semblance of a smile, all while the remaining slice of your pizza dangles from your mouth.

“Beautiful, just like the other ones.” His chest vibrates at the sight of you, he pats his thighs motioning for you to come over to where he’s seated. “Alright Karaoke Queen, get your sexy little Believin’ ass over here!”

Tossing your crust back into the pizza box, you skip-hop over to him, your knees sinking into the cushions of the couch as you straddle his boxer clad lap. His hands sliding under where his Jacket is splayed open, his warm touch glides over your thighs.

“Let me see— the others, please.” You ask timidly, not sure what ‘others’ entails, pulling his sunglasses off and tossing them to the side.

His thumb swipes and presses across his phone screen, then hands you an open folder of images, tiny intimate squares fill the screen. You click on the most recent ones of you here in your home, laughing at how ridiculous you think you look, glancing up to see Dieter’s head tilted to the side and his gaze fixed on you. Refocusing on his phone, you start swiping, so many images of times you had spent together, except you're the main focus of each photo, very much unaware of your photo being taken.

There was the afternoon spent baking cupcakes for no reason other than they sounded delicious. Flour covering the surface of the counter, while you and Wren laugh at something completely unrelated to the making of said cupcakes— equal amounts of flour coating both your hands and faces.

There’s the backyard dinner Diem had invited you over for. You were seated across from where Dieter and Diem were sitting, listening intently to something she was saying. The sun warm against your back as it had started its descent, your elbow propped on the table and chin resting on your hand, your attention focused on every aspect of the conversation.

The first evening Dieter and Wren had attended your art class together, a few of you talking about something art related and then a couple of you actually painting and drawing— your face naturally lighting up at you sharing art with others.

Each swipe revealed another image, so many of you smiling while looking off at whatever had your attention, full body laughs shared with someone out of frame, deep in thought or absorbed into something you were reading or looking at on your phone.

Seeing your life candidly curated in a digital collection of photos has so many emotions whirling through your mind, love being the most prominent one.

Your breath hitches when you scroll to the last image in the folder.

You're at the front of your classroom, a stack of papers tucked against your chest as your smile beams out to your class. You note your outfit isn’t your usual uniform, you're wearing your favorite band tee, jeans and sneakers— it’s the morning you were late and Dieter stepped in to help you out, bringing a sense of ease to your disarray of a morning.

“I think that was one of the moments I knew.” Dieter’s smoky voice cuts into the air, pointing at the image you’ve been studying a little longer than the others.

“Knew what?” Looking up from the phone to see his chestnut eyes twinkling with adoration, his hands gently rubbing against your hips.

“Knew that I needed you in my life, however that was.”

“There were others?”

“Your art class was another.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, the start of the next song picking up its pace.

“Do you ever imagine what it would be like if we would have met each other sooner than we did?” Something you’ve thought about at times, wishing you had more time with him, maybe if you had met sooner. Your fingers trace along the ridge of his collarbone as you wait for his answer.

“No— you would have definitely deserved better than who I was back then. You would have hated the thought of being in the same room as me.”

He wouldn’t have been anything close to who he is now, grateful you were never fully subjected to the asshole he used to be.

Your hand settles on his bare chest, right where his heart is beating fiercely.

“I deserve you now though. And I definitely want to be in every room you walk into.”

‘Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face, and I

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you’

Your lips meet his in an unhurried embrace, Dieter pulling your lower body closer to his, his fingers digging into the meat of your backside when your hips start to gradually begin to grind against him, his cock hardening with each brush of your wet cunt.

His hands create their own intimate paths over your body, one traveling up the length of your spine, the other moving to the underside of your breast, cupping the supple weight of it in his palm. A swipe of his thumb over your sensitive nipple has you gasping into his mouth, the catalyst for your silent plea for more— and he hears it loud and clear.

His hands. His mouth. His cock— all working in perfect, articulate motions. Until you’re succumbing to the culmination of purposeful exertion and precise execution.

The last 48 hours were spent with Dieter's departure looming in the background of your minds, not allowing yourselves to stew on the impending heartache that was to come the moment you said your goodbyes.

Between the hours of relaxed conversations and alleviating desirous needs, you both managed to get through the weekend with a strong sense of optimism about the future. A shared commitment to each other, with endless promises of check-ins whenever possible and working out a plan to see each other once Dieter had his schedule set, it was enough to keep the sadness at bay— it gave you something to look forward to.

The afternoon slowly began to bleed into your final evening together, tangled limbs and intimate memories treated with exactness, fueling hushed whispers of ‘I love yous’ embedding themselves into every single part of your soul.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You hadn’t been expecting anyone, the rapid knock on your front door was a complete surprise.

After confirming your name with the sweet delivery lady, she hands off the beautiful dried floral arrangement, mentioning a card was tucked into the center, wishing you a great rest of your day before driving away.

You had never seen anything like it before, an incredible assortment of dried flowers, stems and oversized leaves arranged meticulously in a ceramic vase.

Placing the flowers on the kitchen counter, you pull the small card from it, reading the small written note:

Poppy, I’m so proud of you! You’re so talented and I can’t wait to hear how tonight goes. Love you, Dieter

You smile at his thoughtfulness, missing him so much and needing to hear his voice desperately.

Pulling your phone from the coat pocket, you dial his number and hope there’s a chance you catch him at a good time.

“Hello.” There’s warmth in the way his voice cracks through the phone.

“Hi. I just got the flowers— they’re absolutely beautiful, Dieter. Thank you!”

“I can’t take full credit. Nessa, my assistant, said you might like them, something about them lasting forever. Anyways, she set up the order while I was in a meeting.”

“Well, I’ll have to thank her at some point then.” There’s some static carrying through the line as you continue your conversation.

“How are you feeling about today?”

“Good. Just finally pulled myself out of bed. Going to get dressed, then have lunch with my mom before I get ready for tonight. I miss you, Dieter.”

There’s a brief moment where it sounds like the call cuts out, looking at the screen you see it’s still counting up the call minutes, still connected.

“I— you too. ‘Ant wait— it goes….”

“Dieter?…Hello? Babe, your phone keeps cutting out.”

*Call Dropped*

The connection was lost, conversation cut short, staring at a now black phone screen.

Poppy💐: Your service must be shitty or something, couldn’t hear most of what you were saying. Call me when you can. Love you 💜

You attach a photo of the flowers along with your message. Knowing if he was in a bad service area, you wouldn’t be getting an immediate response, so you take that as your cue to get yourself ready.

Poppy: Getting dressed! Should be leaving here in 20 minutes. See you in a bit mom! 😘

Your mom’s presence was exactly what you needed today. Seeing her sitting across from you now makes you feel less overwhelmed by the fact that your boyfriend isn’t here and you’re hours away from sharing this passion project of yours, something so intimate and personal, with a room full of art loving strangers.

But even in her presence, you still find your mind wandering— Dieter being the central character of your deviating thoughts— even things outside your home, the smallest of details, reminding you of him in some way.

Bart’s across the street, a favorite spot for both of you, especially after the talk you both shared coming to an understanding and moving forward together with a new perspective on each other.

Someone walking by, where your mom and you are sitting together on the restaurant patio, was carrying a merchant bag from a store you had bought Dieter’s birthday present. There was a gold colored velvet button up shirt cover in a large geometric print that you had seen while out shopping with Diem one weekend, she had made the offhand comment that it was totally something Dieter would wear and when you had found out a few days later that Dieter’s birthday was the following weekend, you immediately went back to buy it for him.

You had also thrown in a pair of tiny Frozen charms, Elsa for Wren and Olaf for Dieter, for the Crocs you had seen him wear around Diem’s house on movie nights, in the chance he hated the shirt you knew he was a sucker for kitschy gifts— by the way he wears the shirt regularly, it’s fair to assume he likes it.

You even think of him in the most laughable ways too, like when a car similar to his drives by the restaurant, you of course immediately think of him— you find yourself to be a lost cause at this point.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart, I’m sure Dieter would love to be here if he could. Aside from him leaving, how was the rest of the week after he left?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked how’s your week been? We haven’t talked much since last week.”

“Oh my gosh, Mom! I’m so sorry— I’m literally the worst person to be around right now, I’m sure. I’ve been so in my head lately, I can’t even think straight.” You cover your face as you apologize for being lackluster company to her, realizing you’ve spent most of lunch off in La-La-Land.

“My week was good though. With summer break starting last week, I spent most of this wrapping up last minute grading and finishing up paperwork. Monday and Tuesday I went to clean up my classroom, just mainly clearing out old projects and lesson plans from the past year. Which then left me the rest of the week to get my canvases prepared and hung up over at Reverie, where the art opening is tonight.”

“Sounds like it’s kept your mind off of Dieter not being able to be there tonight.” She gives you a sympathetic look, and it makes you feel so appreciative that she flew out to be here for you.

“If I’m being honest, it really hasn’t. I just selfishly keep wishing he didn’t have leave so I could have more time with him. And then I hate myself for even thinking that, because I’m so happy and proud of him— he deserves this, I just miss him so much. We’ve tried to talk and FaceTime when we can, but his schedule right now has been busy, so I just sit and wait for him to call most evenings. God, I sound ridiculous!” A slight crack to your voice as you’re overcome with emotion, it’s sadness and happiness all wrapped up in a perfect little box sitting in your chest, lifting your chin up as you fight back the tears that threaten to break.

“Oh, honey.” She passes you a few clean napkins, noticing the few tears that managed to escape. “Maybe give him a call in a bit, I’m sure hearing his voice will help you feel better.”

“Yeah, I’ll give him a call when I get home. Thanks mom. I’m so glad you’re here! Let’s talk about something else, bring the mood back up. How’s retirement going?” Changing the subject to hopefully suppress your mopey demeanor, dabbing your wet cheeks lightly.

“Oh, it’s great! I’ve actually been thinking about doing some traveling now that I have all this time.”

“I love that for you mom. You should go, see the world— you deserve it.”

She shared about the places she had already started planning to visit— in and around Canada, parts of Europe, then several areas of South America. You greedily wished she didn’t want to go, feeling a steady wave of emotions rock through you at the thought of her being gone for so long. But, you know how much traveling means to her, it’s pure joy watching the way she can’t stop smiling as she shows you landmark places she’ll be visiting— a true testament to chase after the things you love.

Doubt.

Fear.

Trepidation.

A war of anxieties. Ruthless, belligerent intruders, battling for control and power. Your mind slowly forfeits, white flag in waiting, ready to surrender yourself to the helm of your own enemies.

Even with the excitement surrounding tonight, you hadn’t really mastered the art of calming intrusive thoughts and apprehension once they began to build their way into your consciousness.

There’s the brief moment where you consider getting back into your car and driving home— rid yourself of the stress and anxiety that is overcoming you at the thought of being the center of attention tonight— albeit your art the main focus, but with that will come talking about yourself and it has you ready to bail.

But, you had put so much time and effort into this collection, executing and curating an intimate journey of discovery in the form of detailed lines and brush strokes that make up a whole series of paintings you are incredibly proud of.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Dieter comes to mind, the words he shared with you before he left:

“You were made for this, it’s who you are and it’s what you know— don’t let you be the reason you stop chasing what you deserve. I believe in everything you do, you should too.”

His words wash over you, each one forging a path for you to conquer your reluctance to seek out something that you have always dreamed of doing.

You pull out your phone to shoot Dieter a quick text before heading into the gallery.

Poppy💐: Hi! I miss you and wish you were here ❤. Hope you had a great day. I’ll have Diem take pictures to send you later. Call me when you can. Love you xo

Remembering back to when Dieter had shared something he does when his anxiety starts to surface, deciding to take a minute to borrow his technique to help ground your thoughts.

You see the vibrant lights from the front windows of Reverie Studio, the way the moon is peeking out from behind the building making its way through the sky, the streak of lights from headlights of passing cars, blurred bodies of people milling around the streets unbothered by you rooted in the center of the sidewalk, the time stamped over an image of you and Dieter as the lock screen on your phone.

You feel the weight of your phone leaving your hand as you drop it in your purse, the flowy dress that you picked out with Diem a few weeks ago specifically for this evening, a folded piece of paper with notes for the small speech you were going to give, a good luck charm in the form of Dieter’s 1 year chip clutched tightly into your hand.

You hear the muted chatter of the early birds spilling from the open door of the gallery, the mingling musical instruments in the local park showering concert goers with an original melodic song, an indistinguishable mix of hello’s and goodbye’s wrapped around gossip filled phone conversations.

You smell the sweet-vanilla-waffle confections of the little ice cream shop that stays open late during the summer, a hint of a smokey musk dusting the air reminding you of the woody spicy that’s so distinctly Dieter.

You taste the delicate flavors of a savory future, one that has a palatable balance of sweetness and verve— something so delectable that you don’t think you’ll be able to stop reveling in its richness.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Your immediate thought is it’s Dieter, pulling out your phone to see it’s instead Diem.

Diem: Are you going to stand out there all night?? Get your ass in here!

She’s standing in the window with Wren on her hip, both of them waving at you.

Feeling a somewhat renewed sense of confidence, you wait for a break in the passing cars and jog across the street to join the crowd already forming inside.

You’re completely taken aback once you’re through the front door, not by the overwhelming number of people who showed up to view your work, but by how the room is filled with a plethora of vases overflowing with poppies.

The edges of the room, table tops, display pedestals all covered in a sea of pinks, oranges and pale yellow flowers.

“So glad you could show up!” Diem and Wren wrap you in a joint hug, a warm greeting with a touch of her special sarcasm.

“Where did all these flowers come from? They weren’t here yesterday when I stopped in to do some final touches.”

“A certain someone might have wanted to surprise you with something special.”

There’s an immediate pang in your chest, his thoughtfulness and his way of showing support by filling the studio space with your favorite flowers, you have to actively fight off the urge to cry tears of happiness.

You snap a few photos, focusing on the ones that sit below where your canvases are hung on the fabricated display walls.

You can’t contain the smile plastered across your face, seeing your work being admired by those in attendance, getting a chance to catch up with friends and fellow artists and having your mom close by listening to her talk up your talent with complete strangers— all still while wishing Dieter were here bask in the excitement with you.

“If I could have everyone’s attention please.” The owners ask, the room’s noise quickly reduced to a curbed level. “We thank everyone for coming to show their support for this wonderful event. We’ll have her share more about it with you and then we’d like to say a few words afterwards.”

Applause breaches the silence as you’re beckoned to the center of the room, your paper of scribbled notes in one hand and Dieter’s chip in the other, making your way to the front of the mass of people.

You introduce yourself as you take in all the faces, some familiar and some new, Diem and your mom in a side embrace with Wren to the front of them, each person enthralled and eager to hear you share more about you and the art behind you.

“Art has always been a part of me, in so many different ways. Growing up I would tear apart my mom’s magazines to make collages of pretty pictures, sorry mom.” Glancing down at your paper as a wave of soft laughter filters around, it elicits a surge of excitement and sureness blooms somewhere deep in your soul, deciding to for-go reading anything you had written and just share from the heart.

“And then I got my first sketchbook, that thing never left my side. Always with me at school, trips to the grocery store and even on days when my mom worked late, I’d sit in the corner of her classroom and just draw— creating little scenes from memory. I filled the pages rather quickly too, pages were barely hanging on with the amount of wear and tear I had put it through. Before I knew it, I had amassed a collection of sketchbooks and canvases over the years. Art has always been a part of who I am and I think it always will be.”

Everyone seemed so fascinated by everything you’re sharing. Explaining the story behind your collection— starting as a literal dream and slowly becoming a now etched on canvas reality.

Even the collaborative piece with Dieter is hung among the others, you went the extra step to add his name onto the little artist placard:

Artists: Dieter & Poppy

Title: ‘Sweet Creature’

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas

$: (Not For Sale)

“Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to be here tonight, I appreciate it so very much, I’ll be around the rest of the evening to chat more or answer any questions. And thank you to Reviere Studio, you’ve become like a second home to me. I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to share my love for the arts with the many who attended my classes in this very space, but also to be the last art showing truly means so much to me. I will miss you all.”

Another round of applause and cheers fill the open space. You feel like it went pretty well for how nervous you were earlier in the evening, not really sure why you were doubting yourself to begin with.

The crowd slowly starts to disperse as you start to weave to where Diem, your mom and Wren are standing, getting stopped for hugs and hellos from former class attendees, congratulatory remarks for complete strangers too— you’re even shocked when Betty and Marilyn stop to share their well wishes with you.

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart, it’s all so amazing!” Your mom wraps you in praises and a tight hug.

“Thank you mom, I’m so happy you could be here!”

“I’m happy to be here too!” Wren’s excitement is barely containable as she bounces off the floor.

“I’m so happy you’re here too Wren!” You tell her as you bend down to give her a hug as well.

Standing back to your full height, you turn to Diem and just wrap your arms around her shoulders and hold her close, she returns the same energy.

“Thank you so much for everything, you are literally the best friend I could have ever asked for. I love you so much Diem!”

“God dammit, Poppy! I didn’t wear any waterproof mascara because I wasn’t planning on crying tonight! I love you too!” She pulls away and starts fanning her face, drying up the tears that had started to fill her eyes.

“Excuse me! We have a quick, exciting announcement to make before the evening continues with drinks and appetizers.” The sweet owner Susi’s voice boomed out to the guests.

Dieter doesn’t like lying, not in general at least and especially not to you— open and honest is how he continues to move forward with his life.

But this doesn’t feel like a lie, in a sense. A secret. A surprise.

Taking this role meant sacrificing his time away and that terrified him, especially being his first project to jump back into.

After a call with his agent on the drive back to LA Monday morning and a check in with his sponsor, Dieter requested a meeting with the movie’s higher ups.

That meeting didn’t happen until a few days later, but when he found out filming would be held in and around LA, Dieter learned his request for weekends to travel back to Ojai was successful.

That gave him less than 24 hours to get flowers ordered to be delivered to the gallery, let Diem in on his plan to ensure everything was in motion, all while you had no idea what was happening.

Dieter settles in the back of the crowd, tucked out of sight, finding it difficult to keep his eyes off you as you stand up there.

Watching you share about your life and how art has always been a big part of it, the two of you so similar in many ways makes him feel a deeper connection to you.

He recognizes the paper you’ve started crumpled into your hand, worn and creased from the repetitive folding and unfolding, scarred by the cross-hatching over abandoned words or shelved sentences, bullet points of importance to add substance to your speech. He likes the version you who was pacing around her living room Sunday morning, paper in one hand and pen in the other, reciting each line with a fluctuating ambivalent tone, stopping intermittently at the coffee table to rework a line or add something he had suggested. But he loves this version of you standing before him right now, no hesitation in your words, speaking with certainty and feeling— you were more than prepared.

The way you wear your confidence stirs something inside of him— trying his best to keep a low profile, because all he wants to do is scoop you up and kiss you breathless, to tell you over and over, how perfect and amazing he thinks you are.

He notices the light catching something you’re intently smoothing your fingers over, tracing repeatedly over every word— It’s not going to be easy, but it’s going to be worth it— engraved on his 1 year chip, a habit he’s welcomed into his daily routine. You had refused to take it from him when he offered it, not wanting him to be without it longer than necessary, but he had vowed to take it back the moment you were reunited. Placing it in your palm, hinting at the streak of luck it had brought him over the past year, ensuring that it would do the same for you— but he knew you wouldn’t need any.

He wants more of this— more time with you. To feel immersed back into this normal paced life and experience the joys that you feel regularly.

He has to shuffle himself around a bit when the crowd starts to move about, still trying to not be seen, watching you celebrate post speech with your mom, Diem and Wren— eagerly wanting to do the same.

The gallery owner’s announcement signals the beginning of something exciting.

He just hopes you’re as ecstatic about what’s about to be revealed as he is.

Susi takes a moment for everyone to quiet down and focus their attention on her before continuing her speech.

“Earlier this year, we had made the difficult decision to close our doors— deciding it was time to seek out a new chapter with new adventures and close this chapter on Reverie Studio.”

You’re sandwiched between Diem and your mom, hands intertwined as your head rests on Diem’s shoulder, somber as Susi’s heartfelt words about the studio’s closing.

“But we have some exciting news to share with you all. The gallery and studio are now under new ownership and will continue to stay open. It will be under a new name, but will still retain what Reverie had previously been known for— classes, art openings, studio space. And while we’re sad to hand it over, we’re excited to see it continue to serve the community.”

The delighted commotion pours out into the streets, catching the attention of passersby’s curiosity.

“So, we welcome you to the new home of Les Coquelicots Studio. The new owner is somewhere here in the audience too.” Heads begin to turn, seeking out where this mysterious owner is, when Susi points towards the back of the room and waves. “Ah, there he is. Please be sure to make him feel welcome and thank him before you leave. Thank you all again for coming and have a wonderful rest of the night.”

Music begins to brim over the conversations that start to pick up, guests dispersing to fill their small plates with finger foods and refilling of drinks, ambling about observing your artwork and surrounding art pieces.

But you're too focused on the fact that you had no idea that the space wasn’t closing, as you continue turning about scanning the room for the new owner.

Everything stills.

No sound.

No horde of people.

Just him.

Dieter Bravo.

All Dieter-like too, leaning against the back wall, hands secure in his pockets, the slightest tick of his jaw punctuating his dimple.

Your brain is actively working to re-hardwire your body to function properly, but you’re motionless. Speechless.

He’s here, propelling himself forward and making his way to you, even as he stands before you, it doesn’t feel real.

“Surprise.” His voice nearly takes you out, it hasn’t been that long since you had last spoken, but you’ve missed its gravely tone so much.

“What are you doing here? I thought— I don’t know what I thought because I can’t think straight at the moment. How are you here?” Dizzy with total surprise and confusion.

He leans in, laughing at your flustered smile, hands slinking their way to your face, his touch charged with fervor as his thumbs sweep over the apples of your cheeks.

“Came to see my girl.” He smiles softly, his words a breath away from where you want him most.

You close the distance between you, his lips fitting perfectly against yours, unbothered by the room full of people around you. You knew you would never get that same feeling or experience like with your first kiss, but this is second best and you welcome it fully.

Before the kiss has a chance to turn into something more than what is appropriate for the setting, you pull away, resting your forehead on his, breathless and happy.

“It’s you isn’t it— You bought this place?” The answer is clear as you look into his warm eyes.

“I did.”

“Les Coquelicots? Monet’s painting?”

“Poppies.”

This is it. Your forever. With him. Always.

“I know how much this place means to you, think of it as a thank you— for giving me a chance, for believing in me.”

“You didn’t have to buy me an art gallery as a thank you, dinner would have been fine.” Your fingers catching the rampant tears streaming down your cheeks, emitting a breathy laugh.

“We can go to dinner after this then.” His words mumbled in a kiss against your forehead.

“You still didn’t answer my question— How are you here? What about your movie?”

“When I found out we would be shooting locally in LA, I told them I had one request— that I was able to go home every weekend if I wasn’t needed on set.”

“But your home is already there?”

“I’m selling my home in West Hollywood— my realtor is getting it ready to be listed next week, hopefully moved out by the end of the month. So I can move home.”

It goes without saying that you know what he means, but you want to hear him say it out loud.

“Do you mean here? You’ll be moving here?”

He nods his head in response.

“What if this place gets too boring for a big movie star like yourself?” Biting your lip with a hint of a smile.

“Poppy— wherever I go, you bring me home.”

The kiss is short, but full of a warmth you crave when he’s in your presence, your arms linking around his neck as he pulls flush against, white knuckle grip on your hips— the two you lost in each other as the work around you carries on.

“Hmm— so, you’re gonna move in with Diem permanently?”

“Nah, I’ll find some place eventually.” He winks, no real rush to move in together, but he sees it as an option at some point in the future.

“Well, if you’re over living with your sister, I have a comfortable couch with your name all over it.” You snort at your offer.

“Poppy, I’m not sleeping on your fucking couch.”

“Suit yourself then.” You mirror his wink before pulling him in for another string of small pecks.

“I love you, Dieter.”

“I love you too, Poppy”

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