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porcelainseashore · 10 months ago

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To Neighbors and New Beginnings

Pairing: Retired! Older! Leon Kennedy x Neighbor! Fem! Reader

Summary: Leon’s getting on in years and finally retired. But that doesn’t mean he’s slowing down in terms of enjoying life. When you moved in next door, little did you realize what you had bargained for.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Post-Resident Evil: Death Island, age gap (Leon in his 60s, Reader in her 30s), strangers to lovers, swearing, bad humor, teasing, flirting, awkward tension, slow burn, romance, fluff, suggestive themes, mild smut.

Authors' Note: Inspired by this older Leon Kennedy pic, we started with a drabble that of course turned into a full length one-shot about our favorite agent, who’s aged like fine wine. This is a writing collab between AliBelleRosetta / @alibellerosetta and me, which we did for fun!

AO3 Link

There comes a time when an agent needs to retire, and Leon was no exception. When he started pushing mid-60s, there wasn’t much else he could do, save for having his brains picked for knowledge on B.O.W. behavior and countertactics. Even that was slowly dwindling as new virus strains and procedures developed. It reached a point where an agreement was made for him to be called in on a consulting basis, but for the most part of his retirement life, he was free to do as he pleased, within limits.

After all the horrors he had witnessed, he was more than happy to opt for the simple life. He finally had enough time on his hands to care for a pet. So, he pounced at the opportunity and got himself a retired police dog, settling down together with him in a quiet, suburban neighborhood, in the middle of nowhere, doing fuck all. At least for the moment. Until you came along. You sweet, young thing, you.

You were half his age, but all is fair in love and war when both of you were consenting adults. You’d recently moved in next door to him, after the previous owners had decided to sell off their house in favor of acquiring a smaller, more manageable place. What was a young lady like yourself doing here? he often wondered. You were an enigma, just like he was to you.

It began with him going about his daily routine of yawning and stretching his weary limbs, as he trudged out sluggishly, in nothing more than a pair of shorts and flip-flops, to get the morning paper from his mailbox, dog trailing behind. Slamming the lid shut after he had fished the paper out of the box and flicked it open, he spotted you from the corner of his eye, just as his dog lifted his leg to mark his territory on the stand.

You were standing by your kitchen window, biting the bottom of your lip, oblivious to the tap left running, as you peered at him intently. It seemed as if you were even unaware that he had caught you staring, since you made no attempt to cover it up. He smirked to himself before nonchalantly heading back to his house. It gave him a boost of confidence knowing that he still remained spry as ever. So what if his hair, once golden blonde and a source of pride, was now a sea of white? So what if he sported a couple of wrinkles and liver spots? He sure as hell hadn’t lost his touch yet.

A couple of days later, when the weather was good, he pulled up a deckchair on the front lawn, in direct line of sight of your bedroom window. The sound of your hair dryer turning on tipped him off that you were in. He proceeded to sunbathe on the chair topless, his newspaper in hand, without a care in the world. His dog made his rounds along the lawn, frolicking in the grass, as various passers-by greeted Leon cordially.

“Mr. Kennedy.”

He nodded at them politely.

A moment later, he heard the shutters of a window opening. He didn’t even have to turn in your direction to know that you were leaning out, pretending to take in the glow of the noon sun as you traced the outline of his muscles with your eyes. He flipped a page and chuckled. Oh, what was he going to do with you?

Well, the grass was getting taller and more unruly. That wouldn’t do. It was time for him to whip out the big guns. He picked a Sunday afternoon, when people were usually lazy and lounged around at home. Gripping the mower’s handle with one hand, he pulled the starter cord a couple of times, until the engine revved to life.

Its loud, whirring sound caused you to poke your head out of your window. He caught your gaze then, giving you a cocky wink. A scarlet blush spread across your cheeks as you waved back at him, trying to appear friendly. Shaking his head with a grin, he got to work, methodically pushing the mower across the lush, green expanse of his front lawn. The crisp scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, as the sun’s rays beat down mercilessly. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead and pooled at his neck. It was time for a short break.

Peeling his drenched, white t-shirt over his head, he used it to wipe the sweat away, dabbing at his chest and underarms, before slinging it over his shoulder. Your eyes were fixed on the scene before you, as you rested your chin in the cradle of your hands, staring dreamily at him again from the window. He flexed his upper body slightly, just enough to give you a teaser of what was to come. That snapped you out of your reverie, as you cleared your throat and busied yourself with something in the kitchen. He couldn’t see what it was from where he was standing.

Soon, he saw you walking over with an icy cold drink in your hand. You stuck it out in front of him like a peace offering.

“Lemonade?” You seemed uncertain and shy.

“Sure.” He nodded and smiled, accepting it graciously.

A tingle ran through your veins where his fingers brushed against yours when he took the glass from you. His piercing blue eyes held your gaze as he gulped down the refreshment, though the last bits of it spilled from his mouth down to his chest.

“Oops.” He shrugged unapologetically. “Can’t let it go to waste, can I?”

Dragging his finger along the wet parts of his chest, he gathered what remained of the liquid and placed it into his mouth, licking and sucking on it like it was the most delicious thing in the world.

“Mmm,” he murmured softly. “Tastes good.”

The crow’s feet etching the corners of his eyes crinkled warmly, as he watched you sputter and cough in response.

“Excuse me.” A crimson wave had washed over your face, as you pat your chest furiously. “Choked on my saliva.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

He eyed you again intensely, motioning to your other hand. “What’ve you got there?”

“Oh, uh, sunblock?” You pointed at the reddened skin on his back. “I thought you might-”

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he interrupted, presenting his back towards you, as he waited patiently for you to make a move.

Sweetheart? You swallowed thickly, trying to figure out if you had misheard what he said. Shakily, you squeezed out a creamy, white blob of sunscreen into your palms, rubbing them together before slathering it over his back gingerly.

You gasped in surprise, as you felt the toned muscles of his back beneath your hands. This was way better in-person. He must work out a lot, you thought. A lot more than someone of his age.

However, it didn’t take long for you to notice the multitude of scars scattered across his back. As you caressed the raised bumps and faded indents, you wondered what kind of life he had led back in the day. Was he a military man? A war veteran? Or maybe he just got into a lot of fights?

Apparently, you must have a magic touch, because Leon started to treat it as if you were giving him a full-body massage.

“Yeah,” he grunted, as you ran your hands over his taut shoulders. “Right there…”

Your task was to simply ensure he didn't get any more sunburned than he already was, but the poor man was so tight all over, you felt sorry for him. So, you got a little carried away and pressed hard against a particularly stubborn knot in his lower back.

He tilted his head back involuntarily and let out a loud, pornographic moan.

“Mr. Kennedy?” you squeaked, concerned if you went too far.

“Please, just call me Leon.” He flashed a boyish smile that revealed a glimpse into how he might have appeared in his younger days. “Don’t worry, you’re doing great, sweetheart.”

You hummed in response, his praise getting the better of you and causing a pool of arousal to form between your legs. All at once, you’d forgotten where to place your hands, what to say, and what exactly were you doing, flirting with your older neighbor so shamelessly out in the open?

A cold shower was definitely on the agenda after this. If DILFs existed, what would you call even older men who were this fuckable again? GILFs? You shuddered, feeling dirty for all the obscene thoughts swimming through your mind.

“Um, well, I guess that’s done!” you chirped out rather overenthusiastically, as you pulled away from him.

There was a slight pout on his face, though he was quick to mask it with a courteous smile. “Shame,” he commented lightheartedly. “Was enjoying it.”

A little too much, you snickered internally, as you made your way back to your house

━━━━━━━━━━━

As he stood staring out of his living room window, he pondered his next move. Despite your previous hasty retreat, you had taken to discreetly watching him work with not just a small amount of eagerness, and he was more than happy to oblige your ogling. After all, who wouldn't want a beautiful woman staring after them?

You were a curious one in his eyes, a blend of boldness as you approached him and shyness the moment you got your anticipated reward. It was a fun game he was more than happy to play with you.

Today wasn't going to be any different.

Once again, the sun hung high with not a cloud in sight, perfect to work outside on some much needed errands, but with your notable attention on him lately, the to-do list had taken quite a hit. His ideas were wearing thin, but one thought stuck out, especially with how keen you seemed to be watching him work the lawnmower. Maybe something on a larger scale would be within your interests.

With a smirk and a listen out for the quiet clangs coming from your kitchen to let him know you were home, he dropped the empty coffee cup down in his sink and headed over to snatch up his long neglected key to get on with the job at hand. The sturdy garage door opened with a series of loud clanks, the inside admittedly dusty with neglect. There in the middle stood his pride and joy. The motorcycle was an older model, but also the only one to withstand his youthful recklessness.

It’s long overdue for a tune up, he thought, grasping the handlebars as he pushed the bike out of the garage. He let it come to a rest slightly out on the driveway as he decided to give it a check over and wash it down, sneakily just in the eyeline of your window but not enough for you to see much. The bike itself admittedly didn’t get ridden as much as it should, but if he guessed right, maybe it would someday soon.

You had heard the noise of his garage door open only for curiosity to get the better of you, cracking open the window to try to get a peek of what your neighbor was up to now. It was like something had come over you, and every time he made an appearance, you couldn’t help but watch after him. You saw he was there outside briefly before heading back into his house and returning moments later with a bucket full of soapy water.

When he glanced at your kitchen upon his return, he chuckled to himself as he dropped the bucket down, sloshing some of the water across his drive. Apparently his idea had already started to work a treat, having grabbed your attention. He inserted the key into the ignition and turned it, as the motorcycle roared to life, the battery still able to kick in despite its disuse. The sound of the engine was distinct, much different from the mower previously, and he knew it was sure to pique your interest even further with what a curious thing you were. The shuffling from your kitchen as the window cracked open a little more was enough to tell him that he once again had your attention. Without a care in the world other than checking his bike and giving you a show, he dropped down on one knee, ignoring the tightening feeling in his joints. His knees weren't what they used to be after too many B.O.W. fights.

From your hung back viewpoint, you couldn’t see much, but the noise from outside drew your focus fiercely and you couldn't help but try to get a better look. No matter how much you stood on your tiptoes and reached close to the window, he was just about covered from your spot where you could only make out his unfortunately clothed back, hiding his mysterious antics for once. The way he was acting was odd, as usually he was more open with his activities. You tried to tell yourself that you should walk away and leave him to it, but it was like a desperate urge that needed to be quenched.

While his dog ran off into the yard to chase a wandering squirrel, he moved on to checking the bike over, not one to half-ass his task even if there were other motives. A quick examination of the moving parts and pivot points for signs of wear and tear came back fine, as well as inspecting for any leakage that disuse could have caused. The job was a lot messier than he remembered, with the oil gathering around the edges of the chassis coating his hands and part of his top.

The sudden barking of his dog nearby alerted him to a presence on the property, a smirk creeping up knowingly that your interest had once again gotten the better of you. You just stood there next to him staring him down, checking out his arm muscles that were left uncovered by the loose gray tank he wore, the words of your friends running through your mind as they egged you on to get closer to him. He had been working hard, and you noticed with a flush that some of the oil had smudged up his forearms and along his taught biceps.

He was tempted to chuckle at just how predictable you were becoming, knowing before he turned to look your way that you would be gazing over him with that distinct look in your eyes. It was no surprise to him at all that he was correct, finding you standing there with your shadow cast over him, and your arms wrapped around yourself, transfixed. He was seriously wondering if you didn’t know you were staring at him that way, or if you just didn’t care to hide it.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you found your eyes suddenly catching his, quickly darting away from his bright blue ones and to the motorcycle he was working on. “Oh wow, didn't know you had a bike.”

“This old girl? Been with me for years,” he said as his large hand patted the hard seat in front of him. He then used the seat as a brace to stand up, stretching out the stiff muscles that had begun to seize up from his crouched position while also putting his body on full display for your eyes.

You couldn’t help yourself as you watched him riveted, taking in the way he flexed and moved as you felt a blush flash across your cheeks again. You had to cough to clear your throat as you tore your eyes away from him. “Haven't seen you ride it.”

“Not much of a chance to lately.”

You bit your cheek at the thought of him on it, and of you wrapped around his firm back while he rode it. No matter what, your mind kept going back to him, reliving the sensation of his skin under your hands when you had put lotion on his body, desperate to touch-

“I need to wash.”

“What?” you yelped, startled out of your wandering thoughts which snapped to his oil-covered arms and hands, eyeing them up and instantly imagining them instead coated in lather and foam as water streaked down them. You wouldn't have minded being the one to wash that oil off of his skin if it meant running your hands all over him again, a thought you were coming to accept was fueled by nothing but pure lust.

“The bike. It's filthy,” he clarified with an amused chuckle, leaving you feeling hot, embarrassed and completely disappointed. Of course he meant the bike, you scolded yourself, suddenly flushing more with humiliation than arousal.

Unexpectedly, he moved to bend down right in front of you, the tank he was wearing gaping open enough with the movement for you to look down the front of it and at his solid chest partially hidden underneath. “Oh,” you sighed out as you bit your tongue hard in an effort not to say more, his head becoming dangerously close to your crotch, and if he just shifted over a little more…

His rough hand reached into the bucket next to you to grab the sponge floating on top, his eyes moving to catch yours as he shot you a downright dangerous smirk. As he stood back up straight, he rang the sponge out to remove the excess water, the soapy suds flying everywhere around the pair of you. You noticed that the foam coated his tank and turned it translucent in the sun as it clung tightly to his body and left trails of droplets over his uncovered skin. All you could do was swallow hard and drag your eyes off of him, a task that was more monumental than you thought it would be.

With a casualness about him, he set the sponge down on the seat of the bike suddenly, asking you, “Wanna go for a ride sometime?”

You were caught by surprise, mind instantly faltering at the evocative question. There was no way he meant anything other than a ride on his motorcycle, right? you thought. After all, he was just a friendly older man, not some hormone riddled teen chatting up the first woman he laid eyes on. It was you that had the dirty mind. “I, um, maybe? I don't have much experience with them,” you said, answering his question as best you could ramble out.

His eyebrow quirked at your answer, his voice deepening slightly as he replied, “Hmm, never thought that would be the case. I don't mind teaching you a few things, sweetheart.”

You just laughed off his words, thinking the suggestiveness was still all on you. “I've never even been on a bike.”

“Who said I was talking about my bike?”

Your breath instantly hitched at the implication, your eyes darting between his mirth filled ones only to drift lower and catch onto his lips. They looked soft, warm, highlighted on each side by deepened laughter lines that you never would’ve thought could look so good on a man. But as they say, when men get older they age like fine wine. If that was the case, he would be a Cabernet Sauvignon aged to perfection. And you were parched.

It didn’t surprise you at all that when you found yourself shifting closer to him, you chose to embrace it, craving to feel the lips of the man you had spent too much time lately thinking about, only to become emboldened as he seemed to move in too. Your lips were mere inches apart, the heat of desire desperately running through you at the anticipated touch.

All that came crashing down the moment his dog streaked past you chasing that damn squirrel, sending the bucket of water flying and splashing water across you both, cooling down your racing pulse and burning libido. Alarmed, you quickly backed away from him, down his drive, as the implications of what you almost did crashed down upon you. All you could do was mutter some kind of excuse and beat a hasty retreat, wondering how you would ever be able to look your neighbor in the eye the next time you saw him.

━━━━━━━━━━━

As Leon watched the scene unfold in front of him, there wasn’t much else he could do. You were a slippery one, like a mouse that had been spooked and scurried off. The one that got away. He placed his hands on his hips, arms akimbo as he clucked his tongue and sighed. Rein it in, Kennedy. What were you thinking?

He really should find better things to do than to chase a pretty little thing like you. You probably had a bunch of younger men waiting in line, he noted self-deprecatingly.

Suddenly, he heard a buzzing sound and a light flickered on the ground at his feet. Your phone. It must have slipped out of your pocket in your rush to get away. Picking it up, his eyes darted towards the message notification on the screen that piqued his curiosity. It seemed to come from a group chat entitled ‘All The Single Ladies’.

‘Raaarrr, is that the literal definition of a silver fox or what?’

Silver fox? Did they mean what he was thinking? He began to second-guess himself.

The next notification popped up only seconds after, filled with thirsty-looking emojis followed by another text.

‘Damn gurl, your neighbor is hot af! You better tap that or I will!’

More strings of notifications chimed in, as the phone vibrated constantly.

‘GILF alert!’

‘I wanna blow him so hard he’ll…’

At that, he put the phone down and stopped reading, already having figured out your spiel and not wanting to intrude any further into your privacy. A wry smile formed across his face. Not only had you been speaking with your friends about him, you’d even sent them a sneaky picture you’d snapped of him to gawk at.

A sense of pride swelled in his chest as he was back in the game again. Guess he’d better clean up and use the perfect excuse of returning your phone back to you to have a chat.

Meanwhile at your place, you’d managed to calm your nerves with a cold shower and a pot of floral tea. That was so stupid! you screamed at yourself internally, not daring to look in the direction of the window any longer.

Before you had a chance to ponder upon your recent actions any longer, your stomach growled audibly. Glancing up at the clock, you were astonished to find that the hours had just sped by unnoticed. It was already time to start cooking dinner. You had a whole chicken and potatoes to roast, as well as the vegetables, herb butter and sauce to prepare.

Your friends were supposed to have joined you today for the meal, but unfortunately unforeseen circumstances had kept them preoccupied, and your dinner gathering had been delayed to another weekend. Still, you were determined not to let that get in the way of your enjoyment, so you decided to go ahead with the same meal plan anyway.

If only today’s events had gone differently with a certain neighbor of yours. You sighed dejectedly and pressed a palm against your face. Though that sparked off a reminder that you hadn’t checked your phone for any messages for a while. Where was it?

You scrambled around, digging through your pockets and your purse to find the device, but came back empty-handed. A blinding panic began to set in. Oh god no. You didn’t leave it at Leon’s by accident, did you?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Just then, the doorbell rang, startling you and causing you to jump to your feet. You sprinted towards the door, swinging it open, only to come face-to-face with the man who had been causing you all this trouble so far.

“H-hello…?” you stammered out a greeting, slowly wedging yourself behind the door, using it like a makeshift barrier between you and Leon.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He dangled your phone in front of him, grinning playfully. “Forgot something?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks!” You reached out, grabbing it quickly as you rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly.

A horrifying thought swept through your mind. Did he know? You searched his facial expression closely for any indication that he might have seen something on your phone that he shouldn’t have, but there was nothing. He looked as cool and collected as ever.

Maybe you were overthinking things. “I was just about to make dinner actually,” you mentioned in passing.

He looked at you expectantly and whatever willpower you had left in that instant vanished into thin air. You caved in.

“Would you like to join me?” The words spilled out of your mouth before you could process them.

"Thought you'd never ask," he replied huskily as he stepped into the corridor you led him through.

“So what’re we cooking tonight, chef?” He peered around the kitchen, checking out the equipment and utensils, trying to get acquainted with the place.

You guffawed. “Erm, you’re a guest.”

“So?” He folded his arms. “I’m not the type who lets a lady do all the work.”

Aware that he wasn’t going to budge on the matter, you raised your hands in mock exasperation. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re not the first to say it.” He shrugged, sliding past you towards where the aprons were hanging. You gasped when you felt his calloused hands momentarily on your waist. Was he doing this on purpose?

Pulling yourself together, you started to brief him on the Sunday Roast Chicken recipe, passed down through generations in your family from a battered, old notebook. He responded to each instruction with a “Yes, ma’am,” and followed them to a T. You had to give him brownie points for his eagerness to please.

“No, Leon,” you scolded gently. “That doesn’t go there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Could you stop calling me ma’am?” You laughed. “Makes me feel old.”

“You’re one to talk.” He winked at you while placing the baking tray on the correct level. “Are you this bossy in the bedroom?”

You nearly spat out the water you’d been sipping on. “Uh, I-I don’t know?” Clearly, you wanted to bury yourself in a hole right there and then.

“Guess the proof is in the pudding,” he mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear every single word.

“Wine?” Your shrill voice cut through the air like a knife, as you tried to change the subject, shoving the bottle directly into his chest.

“Oof.” It stunned him that he felt winded by the accidental blow. He gripped the bottle as you eyed him apologetically. “Easy there, girl.”

“Sorry, my bad.”

You brought over two empty glasses while he helped to pour out the wine, your fingers grazing against his wrist as he handed you a filled up one back. A part of you wanted to prolong the caress, but you held back, unsure of where you stood with him. You could feel the weight of his burning gaze locked onto yours as he toasted to “neighbors and new beginnings” before drinking from his glass.

You almost missed your cue, taking an extra beat to raise your own glass to your lips as you dragged your eyes from his. The wine on your tongue tasted like the sweetest you had ever sipped. Maybe it’s the company? you questioned as you watched him drop his glass down on the counter behind him. You clutched your own tightly, feeling the atmosphere constricting as he refused to look away.

The only thing you could hear was the tick of the kitchen timer and the beat of your pulse in your ears as the silence stretched between you both. Besides the smoldering of his eyes under his snowy bangs, he gave you nothing, so with desperation, you racked your brain for something, anything, to keep the tense undercurrent at bay.

With a moment of clarity, it hit you as you dropped your own glass down and glanced over towards the far side of your kitchen. The single table sat there, usually a crowded affair when your friends were over but plenty big for just two. If nothing else, setting the table would keep you busy and your mind from wandering.

With a plan of action in place to set the table, you went to shift from your spot only to be met with another obstacle. Of all the places he had to be standing in your kitchen, it was just typical he was in front of the cutlery drawer. Still, even if you had to get close to him, it was meant to be a friendly dinner after all. The almost kiss was probably just in your mind and you had been overanalyzing too much. All he had done that night since was bring over your phone like a good Samaritan and help you cook dinner like a friend.

You walked over to him, noticing that despite your approach he didn't move at all, seeming very content to have you come into his close proximity. You caught his eyes as they drifted downwards, and all of a sudden you realized the mistake you were making. Being this near to him was setting off the blush you tried keeping down, and you were sure he was going to notice.

“May I?” you asked as you stopped in front of him, a hand pointing at the drawer behind him.

“Whatever you need,” he murmured, while not even moving a step away.

You blinked up at him, trying hard not to imagine what else he could possibly mean with those words. “The drawer. I keep the cutlery in there.”

Despite your explanation, he still didn’t shift, instead just staying where he was and watching you curiously. He had to wonder what you were up to, getting so close to him with that cute flush on your face, stammering out any old excuse. You didn’t need one at all, in his opinion.

“Oh.”

That one syllable sent a shiver down your spine. It was a mistake, a really, really bad one you decided right then and there. Just being so near to him, feeling the heat of his breath was making the ache to touch him that much more potent. You wanted to feel those lips.

You backed off from him in a hurry, fighting the flush that you felt flooding your skin as you bumped into the oven, clanging the pan you had on top that had been left out to help you prepare the dinner. You found your excuse to keep him at bay, still needing to finish preparing a few final bits of the meal.

“Help set the table?” you quickly asked him with your voice a tad too high. “Plates are up there.”

You hoped it worked, sending him a good distance away from you in the kitchen to arrange the table while you got your overheated body under control.

“There’s that bossy thing again,” you heard him mutter as he opened the cabinet you had pointed to and reached up to grab a couple of plates, though his words sounded strangely disappointed to your surprise.

You tried not to look over, but in the end it was in vain. You were blessed by the sight of his shirt ridden up, once again showing off his ridiculous physique and making you feel like melting all over again.

Tonight’s dinner was going to be a long one.

━━━━━━━━━━━

In spite of the earlier faux pas, you were thankful that having dinner with Leon passed by without any further embarrassments. He proved to be quite a decent conversationalist when he wanted to be, and you found yourself relaxing into the laughter and various points of discussion you both shared. You were enjoying yourself so much that you hadn’t realized how fast time had flown, and it was suddenly nearing midnight. Suffice to say, you were feeling rather disappointed that he would need to leave so soon.

“Good food, good wine, good company…” He stood up, helping you to clear the dishes from the table. “What more could a man like myself ask for?”

You beamed at him, letting your guard down for once. He was being such a gentleman that you couldn’t help but open your mouth and blabber out the next statement before thinking. “Could I get you anything else? Dessert, or-”

You caught yourself, pausing abruptly as your stomach sank. Why did everything you say sound like an innuendo?

He placed the dishes down where they were and made his way slowly and assuredly towards you. For some reason, you were frozen on the spot, unable to scamper off and hide within your own home without looking like an absolute fool in front of the man you had been secretly crushing on this whole time.

“You know, I can see the gears turning.” It was as if his voice dropped an octave lower. “Right here.” He tapped his fingers lightly against the side of your head, giving you a slanted smile.

“Now that you say it,” he continued languidly. “Dessert would be nice.”

He curled his hand, so that his knuckles brushed along your cheek towards your jawline, as you shivered from his touch.

“Whatever you need,” you echoed his previous sentiments softly, as you lost yourself in his deep blue eyes, now ablaze with a fierce hunger. All you could do was stare into them, watching as they drew ever closer. Then you caught it, the moment they left yours to drop down lower. Your lips parted as you inhaled sharply, your heart pounding as you felt the ghost of his breath.

You thought that he would pull away at any second, that it was just another misunderstanding. That was until you felt the first light brush against your lips. Your mind went blank, struggling to keep up until it hit that he was kissing you. All those prior moments with him flashed across your mind, and none of them had been innocent after all.

His hand slid to rest against your cheek, pulling your face closer to his as his lips caressed your own, coaxing you to reciprocate as you finally gave in to the yearning that had constricted you for so long. His lips were softer than you thought they would be, but warm as you returned the kiss with an indulgent sigh.

You felt him smile against your mouth, as you trailed your hands along his arms towards his shoulders, pressing your body against his in an effort to deepen the kiss. He grew bolder, licking across the slight parting of your lips, as if seeking permission to continue. Whimpering in pleasure, you allowed him to move his tongue to meet yours, drawing in his taste again and again.

As you started to gently grind into him, he broke away for air, pressing his forehead against yours, panting heavily against your swollen mouth. “Delicious,” he breathed, before clamping his lips at the side of your neck, sucking and nibbling at a particularly sensitive spot.

Tugging the collar of his shirt tightly, you rasped, “How about a second helping?”

The next thing you knew, you were lying on your bed, slick with sweat while Leon rocked his hips against yours. You savored the fullness of him in you, grasping onto his ass as your nails dug into his skin, leaving angry, red marks in the process. “More,” you whined, in a tone that came off unintentionally on the side of demanding rather than pleading.

He gave you just what you asked for, with sweet nothings coming from his lips along with comments about knowing you were going to be bossy. Testing the waters brought you both much further than expected, but neither of you could complain.

The rest of the night went by in a dreamlike haze. At some point, you rode him on top, his large, chafed hands groping your breasts, as you tilted your head back and cried out until your voice was hoarse. At another, you leaned your back flush against his chest as he thrust into you from behind, groaning incoherently into your neck.

You took things in your own stride, resting when needed and going again when it was comfortable to do so. Even though he had set the pace slower than you were used to, it was no less intense. In fact, everything felt deeper and more passionate, like you were melting into one.

Every release he brought you was an ascension that sent you beyond, flooding you with a euphoria that made you desperate for him. It left you addicted, your body craving more and more of his touch each time until nothing but the feel of his skin and the shifting of the sheets could be comprehended.

The final time was intense, filled with a feeling of pure bliss that you knew you would be dreaming about for days as you clung to him in desperate abandon. His name fell from your lips in a gasp, and in turn he muttered yours.

Splayed across his damp chest, you traced the lines of his freckled, weathered skin, as he stroked your hair contentedly. “Best dessert I’ve had in a while,” he grunted, intertwining his fingers with yours and bringing your knuckles to meet his lips. “Michelin star worthy.”

You swatted his hand playfully, giggling at his quip. It spurred you on to tease him back. “So, will I get an actual ride next time?”

He chuckled heartily, though he didn’t miss a beat. Age was never an issue, he still had his wits about him. “’Course, sweetheart.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “If you tell me what a GILF is.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fluff #older!leon #older leon kennedy #resident evil #fic: to neighbors and new beginnings #writing collab #porcelainscribbles

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lila-lou · 3 months ago

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✨Taking her in - Pt. 4✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 5034

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

A week had passed since that tense night at the bar, and things between you and Dean had remained strained and awkward. The silence between you two had grown heavier, more charged, and it seemed like both of you were tiptoeing around each other, afraid to confront what was really going on. Dean had become more withdrawn, and though Sam hadn’t said anything, you could tell he’d noticed the shift in the dynamic as well.

You spent most of the week trying to sort through your emotions, grappling with the hurt and confusion Dean’s actions had caused, while also questioning your own feelings. Part of you wanted to confront him, to ask him what the hell was going on, but another part of you was terrified of what the answer might be.

So, when Jake called and asked you out, you hesitated.

You’d never really had much experience with guys—your life was complicated enough as it was, and with your lingering feelings for Dean, you’d never felt the need to complicate things further.

But your 18th birthday was approaching, and you knew it was time to make a change. You couldn’t keep living in limbo, pining after someone who seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length. Jake was a nice guy, uncomplicated, and maybe spending time with him would help you move on, help you forget about the tension that had been eating away at you.

So, you agreed to go out with Jake.

He suggested going to the movies, and you thought it sounded perfect—casual, low-pressure, a chance to just be a normal teenager for once. But as the evening approached, nerves began to creep in. You hadn’t been on a date before, and you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. Still, you were determined to give it a shot.

You chose a pretty summer dress, one that ended mid-thigh and made you feel confident and feminine. It was a light, flowy fabric that swished around your legs when you moved, a soft pastel color that complimented your complexion. You decided to leave your hair down, slightly curling the ends for a bit of extra polish, and applied a little makeup—just enough to enhance your features without feeling overdone.

As you took a final look in the mirror, a mix of excitement and anxiety fluttered in your stomach. This was new territory for you, and part of you wondered if you were really ready for it. But you knew you couldn’t keep waiting around for something that might never happen. It was time to take a step forward.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of your room and made your way to the library, where you knew Sam and Dean were likely holed up. As you approached, you heard the familiar sound of Castiel’s voice, which meant he was there as well.

Sam was the first to notice you. He looked up from the book he was reading, his eyes widening slightly as he took in your appearance. “Wow, (Y/N), you look great”, he said, smiling warmly.

Dean, who had been sitting across the table from Sam, glanced up as well. The moment his eyes landed on you, something unreadable flashed across his face—surprise, confusion, and maybe something darker, something he quickly tried to hide behind a neutral expression.

Castiel, ever the curious observer, tilted his head slightly. “You look different, (Y/N). Is there a special occasion?”.

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady as you addressed the three of them. “I, uh, have a date. Jake asked me out, and we’re meeting at the cinema”. You hesitated for a moment before adding, “I was wondering if one of you could give me a ride? I’d rather not have him pick me up… here, you know?”.

Sam, always the supportive big brother type, immediately nodded. “Of course, I can drive you. No problem at all”.

But before Sam could stand up, Dean cleared his throat, his voice a little tighter than usual. “I’ll take her”, he said, his eyes fixed on you as he spoke. “I’m not doing anything right now anyway”.

The offer caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. There was a part of you that wanted to refuse, to avoid any more awkwardness between the two of you, but another part—the part that still cared deeply for him—couldn’t bring itself to say no.

“Okay, thanks”, you replied softly, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. Dean nodded once, his expression unreadable, and stood up from the table, grabbing his jacket.

Sam exchanged a glance with Castiel, who merely observed the exchange with his usual calm demeanor. Sam seemed to pick up on the tension, but he didn’t say anything, instead giving you a reassuring smile. “Have fun tonight, (Y/N). You deserve it”.

Dean led the way out of the library, and you followed him, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. The walk to the Impala was quiet, neither of you saying a word, but the air between you crackled with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

When you finally reached the car, Dean opened the passenger door for you, something he hadn’t done in a while. You thanked him quietly and slid into the seat, your hands nervously smoothing down the fabric of your dress as he got into the driver’s seat.

The drive was just as tense as the walk had been, the silence thick with everything you weren’t saying. You could feel Dean glancing at you every now and then, but you kept your eyes on the road, trying to steady your breathing and calm the nerves that were twisting your stomach into knots.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dean broke the silence. “So, this Jake guy… what’s he like?”.

His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite ignore. You hesitated before answering, unsure of how much to say. “He’s nice”, you replied simply, not wanting to give away too much. “We only talked a little bit at the bar, but he seems like a good guy”.

Dean kept his eyes on the road, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. The silence between you grew heavier, the tension almost unbearable. He was quiet for a long while, clearly struggling with something. You could see the muscles in his jaw working as he fought to find the right words, his usual confidence replaced by an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice sounding strained as he spoke. “So, uh… are you planning on doing… anything tonight?”. The question came out awkwardly, almost as if he didn’t want to say it but felt compelled to.

You glanced at him, your brows furrowing in confusion at the question. “What do you mean, ‘anything’?”, you asked, your tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Dean hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the heat rising in his face, and before he could talk himself out of it, he fumbled with the door pocket of the Impala, his hand diving inside and emerging with three small foil packages. Without meeting your gaze, he handed them to you, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

You stared at the condoms in your hand, your own face flushing with embarrassment as the reality of what he was suggesting hit you. Neither of you spoke for a moment, both of you too flustered to find the right words.

Dean cleared his throat again, trying to break the tension. “I just… I wanted you to be prepared. You know, in case…”. His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. He fumbled with his words, feeling completely out of his depth. This wasn’t a conversation he ever thought he’d have with you, and the awkwardness of it was almost too much to bear. “Uh, sometimes… guys don’t always have them with them, you know?”, he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You stared down at the condoms in your hand, turning them over curiously. This was the first time you’d ever held one, and the reality of what they represented was starting to sink in. The embarrassment you felt was almost overwhelming, but underneath it was a deeper uncertainty—was this really what was expected on a first date?

“Is that… is that what guys expect on the first date?”, you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt shy and a little vulnerable, unsure of what the answer might be. You had no real experience in these matters, and the thought of Jake—or anyone—expecting something you weren’t ready for made your heart race with anxiety.

Dean risked a quick glance at you, and for the first time, he really noticed how you were handling the condoms—how you were fumbling with the packages, your fingers tracing the edges with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. It was then that it hit him: you might not have much, if any, experience with this. The realization made him pause, his own awkwardness momentarily forgotten as concern took over.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. How could he ask you about something so personal without making it even more awkward? He cleared his throat again, trying to find the right words. “Uh… (Y/N), have you… I mean, have you ever… done anything like this before?”.

His voice was soft now, careful, as if he was afraid of hurting you with the question. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking, but he knew he had to find out—if only to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t walking into something you weren’t ready for.

You felt your cheeks flush even deeper at his question, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you kept your eyes on the packages in your hand, your fingers still nervously tracing the edges. “No”, you admitted quietly, the word barely audible. “I… I haven’t”.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Dean wasn’t sure what to say, how to respond to that. Part of him felt protective, wanting to make sure that you weren’t pressured into anything, while another part of him was grappling with the realization that you were even more innocent than he’d thought.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, his mind racing. He had always known you were younger, that you hadn’t had the same life experiences as him, but hearing you say it out loud made it feel more real, more immediate. It also made him painfully aware of how much he didn’t want you to get hurt.

Dean tried to focus on the road, but his mind kept wandering back to what you’d just confessed. The thought of you being so inexperienced, of being a virgin, stirred something deep inside him, something that he knew he shouldn’t be feeling. It wasn’t just the protective instinct that had always driven him to look out for you—it was something more primal, something that made his heart beat faster.

He couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting to places they shouldn’t. He wondered what it would be like to be your first, to be the one to guide you through something so intimate. The idea of how you might feel crossed his mind before he could push it away, and it made his chest tighten with both desire and guilt. This wasn’t right; he shouldn’t be thinking about you this way. You were young, innocent, and completely unaware of the effect you were having on him.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. He knew he needed to get a grip, to focus on being the supportive friend you needed right now, not someone who was entertaining thoughts that crossed a line he couldn’t afford to cross.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for”, Dean finally said, his voice a little rougher than he intended. He kept his eyes on the road, afraid that if he looked at you, you might see the turmoil in his gaze. “You’re in control here, okay? No one gets to pressure you into anything”.

His words were sincere, and he meant every one of them. But there was still that nagging voice in the back of his mind, the one that kept whispering about what it would be like if things were different—if he were the one you were going out with tonight.

You nodded, slipping the condoms into your handbag, even though the entire situation made you feel more uncertain than ever. The weight of the conversation hung in the air, making the silence between you and Dean feel thick and uncomfortable. You could sense the tension radiating off him, and it only made your own nerves worse.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the hum of the Impala’s engine as it rumbled along the road. Your mind was spinning with questions and doubts, but one kept coming to the forefront, one that you felt too embarrassed to voice but couldn’t ignore.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Dean?”, you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean glanced at you, his heart skipping a beat at the way you said his name, so hesitant, so unsure. “Yeah?”, he replied, trying to keep his voice steady, though his nerves were starting to fray.

You hesitated, your fingers fiddling with the strap of your handbag as you struggled to find the right words. You’d never been more nervous in your life, and the thought of asking Dean what you were about to ask made your stomach churn with anxiety. But you needed to know. You needed someone you trusted to help you understand what you might be walking into tonight.

“What should I… I mean, if things get serious tonight, what should I do?”, you asked, stumbling over your words. You felt your face flush with embarrassment, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve never… I don’t know what to expect, or how to… you know, handle it”.

Dean’s mind reeling as he processed your question. Out of all the conversations he’d imagined having with you, this was not one of them. He felt a wave of panic rise up inside him, but he pushed it down, trying to stay calm for your sake.

“You’re asking for… the talk?”, Dean asked, his voice a bit higher than usual, betraying his own nerves.

You nodded, still not meeting his gaze. “Yeah… I guess I am”.

Dean felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him. He was completely out of his depth here, and the idea of having this conversation with you—of all people—was overwhelming. But he also knew that you were coming to him because you trusted him, because you didn’t have anyone else to ask, and that made it impossible for him to refuse.

Dean wished you had asked Sam for this talk instead. Sam was the one who always had the right words, the one who could handle these kinds of conversations without getting flustered. Dean wasn’t exactly known for his way with words, especially when it came to something as delicate as this. But here you were, trusting him to guide you through something that was clearly making you nervous, and he couldn’t let you down.

He took a deep breath, trying to push through his own discomfort. “Okay, um, let’s see…”, he began, fumbling for a starting point. “So, what do you, uh… what do you already know about… you know, sex and all that?”. His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and he inwardly cursed himself for being so awkward.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you tried to figure out how to explain. “I mean, I know the basics… like, I know how it’s supposed to work, technically”, you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve never actually… done anything. And I’ve seen some stuff online, but not a whole video. Just snippets here and there. It’s all kind of… overwhelming”.

Dean could feel his discomfort mounting with every word you spoke, and the tension in the car was almost palpable. He tried to focus on being the calm, supportive presence you needed, but his body was betraying him in the worst possible way. The more you talked about your inexperience, about how overwhelming it all felt, the more his mind started to wander to places it definitely shouldn’t.

He shifted in his seat, hoping you wouldn’t notice the growing problem he was having. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and it only made the situation more difficult to handle. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not now, not with you. But the combination of your vulnerability, your trust in him, and the way you were looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes was pushing him to the brink.

“Yeah, uh… that makes sense”, Dean mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady and hoping you wouldn’t pick up on the strain in his tone. “It’s normal to feel overwhelmed, especially when it’s all new. But you don’t have to rush into anything, okay? You should only do what you’re comfortable with”.

He could feel the heat rising in his face, and he silently cursed himself for letting his thoughts get the better of him. This was the last thing he wanted to be dealing with right now—his body reacting in a way that was completely inappropriate, given the circumstances. He was supposed to be your protector, your confidant, not some creep who couldn’t keep his thoughts straight.

You seemed to relax a little at his words, nodding as you absorbed what he was saying. “I just… I don’t want to mess up, you know? I don’t want to do something wrong”.

Dean swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on your concerns rather than the increasingly uncomfortable situation in his jeans.

He wanted to be there for you, to offer the support and guidance you needed, but his own feelings and physical reaction were clouding his judgment. He knew it was wrong to let his mind wander to the thought of being your first, especially when you were so vulnerable and looking to him for reassurance.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head and refocus. “Look”, he said, his voice steadier now, though still strained. “What’s most important is that you do what feels right for you. If you’re not sure, or if something doesn’t feel right, don’t be afraid to say no. You have every right to change your mind or to ask for more time”.

You nodded, clearly absorbing his words. “I guess I’m just really nervous about it all”, you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “It’s so much to think about, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone”.

Dean felt a pang of guilt. You shouldn’t have to worry about disappointing anyone. You should be focusing on your own comfort and readiness. He tried to keep his mind on supporting you, pushing away the more inappropriate thoughts that had been creeping in. “You’re not going to disappoint anyone”, he said firmly.

You sighed heavily, your eyes filled with anxiety. “But what if I can’t even get those stupid things on and ruin the moment?”, you asked, your frustration evident as you shook your bag with the packages inside.

Dean’s heart clenched as he heard the worry in your voice. He hated that you were feeling so much pressure about something that should be your choice, your moment, not something dictated by anyone else’s expectations. But more than that, he hated how his mind kept slipping into dangerous territory, thinking about what it would be like if he were the one to guide you through it, to be your first.

Dean swallowed hard, doing his best to stay focused on giving you the support you needed. He couldn’t let his thoughts stray, not when you were relying on him. “Listen”, he started, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “First of all, there’s no such thing as ruining the moment. It’s not about doing everything perfectly—it’s about being comfortable and enjoying the experience. And if something doesn’t go right, it’s not the end of the world”.

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “As for, uh, putting it on… it’s really not as complicated as it seems. It might feel awkward at first, but that’s normal. You can always practice if it makes you feel more confident. But honestly, any guy worth your time is going to be patient and help you through it. It’s not just on you to figure it all out”.

You hid your face in your hands, embarrassed and overwhelmed by the conversation. “Why are you so confident about all this?”, you mumbled, your voice muffled by your hands. “You’re always with another girl, like it’s no big deal. How do you handle it without being nervous or awkward?”.

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your words. It was a sound that held a mix of amusement and something deeper—maybe a little sadness at the reality of his life and the way you saw him. “It’s not as easy as it looks, kid”, he said, trying to keep his tone light, though there was a hint of weariness in his voice. “I’ve had a lot more practice, and I’ve been around long enough to learn how to hide the nerves”.

He glanced over at you, noticing how small and unsure you looked in that moment. You were just seventeen, on the verge of becoming an adult, and here you were, asking him questions that reminded him just how different your lives were. While you were still figuring things out, still full of innocence and uncertainty, he was already pushing 38, with more scars—both physical and emotional—than he cared to count.

Dean sighed, his smile fading slightly as he tried to offer you some reassurance. “It’s normal to feel nervous, especially the first time. Hell, everyone does. But that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you or that you’re not ready. It just means you’re human”.

Dean sighed deeply, the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him. This conversation was pushing him to confront feelings he had been trying to ignore for a long time. He knew he had to keep it together, to give you the advice you needed without letting his personal feelings cloud his judgment. But it was getting harder and harder to separate the two.

“It’s better to just get to know the guy first”, Dean mumbled, his voice softer, more introspective. “You don’t have to rush into anything, especially not when it’s your first time. That’s something that should be… special. It should be with someone you know, someone you trust completely”.

He paused, glancing at you again, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and something deeper that he couldn’t quite put into words. “The first time… it’s not just about the physical stuff. It’s about feeling safe, feeling like you’re with someone who cares about you, who respects you. And if you’re not sure about that, then it’s okay to wait. You’ve got time”.

Dean could feel the truth of his words resonating in his own heart. The idea of you being with someone who didn’t value you the way you deserved made something twist painfully inside him. He wanted to protect you from that, to make sure that your first experience was with someone who saw you for who you truly were—someone who cherished you.

He swallowed hard, trying to push back the emotions that were threatening to surface. This wasn’t about him. It was about you and making sure you were okay, making sure you knew that you didn’t have to rush into anything just because you felt like it was expected.

“Just… take your time, okay?”, Dean continued, his voice almost pleading. “You deserve to feel safe, and you deserve to be with someone who makes you feel that way. Don’t do it just because you think you have to, or because you’re worried about what he might think. Do it when you’re ready, with someone who’s worth it”.

You pressed your thighs together, a subtle movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean. The way your legs looked—so smooth, so perfect—only made it harder for him to stay focused on the conversation. He had to fight the urge to let his eyes linger, to let his thoughts wander.

“Thank you”, you mumbled, your voice soft and sincere. There was a vulnerability in your words, a quiet gratitude that made something in Dean’s chest tighten. You were trusting him with something incredibly personal, and the weight of that trust was not lost on him.

Dean forced a small smile, though inside, he was anything but calm. “You don’t have to thank me”, he said gently. “Just… take care of yourself, okay? You’re important, and you deserve to be with someone who sees that”.

The moment hung between you, filled with all the things left unsaid. Dean knew he should be relieved that you’d taken his advice to heart, but part of him was still grappling with the conflicting emotions that had surfaced during this conversation.

As you sat there, still processing everything he’d said, Dean’s eyes inadvertently drifted back to your legs, to the way you were sitting so close to him. It was a struggle to pull his thoughts back to where they should be, to remind himself that you were off-limits, that he couldn’t cross that line no matter how much his emotions tried to push him in that direction.

But for now, he would push those feelings down, bury them deep where they wouldn’t interfere with what mattered most—keeping you safe and making sure you were okay.

“Ready to go in?”, Dean asked after a moment, his voice steady but still tinged with the remnants of everything he was trying to hold back.

You hadn’t even realized that Dean had already parked in front of the cinema. You were so caught up in your thoughts, in the intensity of the conversation you’d just had, that it took a moment for you to gather yourself. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, as if trying to convince yourself that you were ready for this, that you could handle whatever the night might bring.

But before you got out of the car, you turned to Dean, your eyes wide and uncertain. “Do I… do I look okay?”, you asked, your voice soft as you gestured to yourself, seeking reassurance. “I mean, does this dress look alright? Is my hair okay?”.

Dean’s mouth went dry at the question. You were asking him if you looked okay, but the truth was, you looked more than okay. You looked stunning, beautiful in a way that made it hard for him to breathe. The dress hugged your figure in all the right places, and the way your hair framed your face only added to the effect. It was a struggle to keep his thoughts in check, to focus on being the supportive friend when all he could think about was how gorgeous you looked.

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “You look… perfect”, he finally managed, his voice a little rougher than he intended. “Seriously, you look amazing. Jake’s a lucky guy”.

Your eyes lit up at his words, a small, grateful smile spreading across your face. “Thanks, Dean”, you said, clearly relieved. His words seemed to give you the boost of confidence you needed, and you took another deep breath, ready to face the evening ahead.

Dean forced a smile in return, though inside, he was wrestling with emotions he didn’t fully understand. He didn’t want to let you go, didn’t want to see you walk into that cinema with someone else, but he knew he had to. You deserved to have fun, to experience life, even if it meant watching from the sidelines.

“Alright”, Dean said, trying to keep his tone light as he unlocked the car doors. “Go knock ‘em dead, kiddo. And remember, if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away”.

You nodded, giving him one last smile before you opened the door and stepped out of the car. Dean watched as you walked towards the entrance of the cinema, his heart heavy.

As you disappeared inside, Dean let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. He knew tonight would be tough, but he had to keep it together—for you and for himself. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, just staring at the cinema, before finally starting the car and driving away, his mind still spinning with everything that had just happened.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 5

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#jensen ackles #dean and sam #dean and cas #sam and dean #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #taking her in

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girlfriendstan · 4 months ago

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Hii, so I was thinking about enemies to lovers with gyuvin, where you just don't like each other and are always bickering. But one time it turns a bit sexual because he said you wouldn't be able to take him. So you decide to prove him wrong, but it backfires because you can't handle him and he just makes fun of you (a lot of dirtytalk). Thank you, I really liked your gyuvin fics so far! They are really good!

you expect a lot of things when you end up at kim gyuvin’s house for a school project: a huge headache, at least 3 arguments on how to execute a project, and zero work done.

what you don’t expect, though? his tongue running through your folds, and your mind running away from the mere possibility that deep down, a sick part of you is enjoying being at his disposal.

“told you you couldn’t take this,” he briefly lifts his head away from the center of your thighs to show off a grin you wish you could wipe off. you wince at the sight of his lips coated in your juices and crucify yourself for being even a bit aroused by someone you consider an utter bastard.

“i haven’t come yet. don’t get ahead of yourself,” you manage to retort, deliberately avoiding eye contact. after all, you’re a hater, not a liar, and it would be a lie to say that his mid-oral sex visuals don’t make you feel things.

as soon as you finish that sentence, he buries his impossibly tiny head into your core with a new sense of hunger. you thank your lucky stars that he had the decency to keep your call on mute, because the sounds he makes while eating your pussy feel intentional, but you still can’t help but feel like you’re both at the risk of being found out.

if you hate the mere thought of that, gyuvin seems to love it as he goes down harder on you. refusing to make any more sounds and give him that satisfaction, you react in the form of tugging at his hair instead whenever he hits the right spots.

gyuvin lets his index finger graze your clit, while his nose is all but buried in your folds. “why can’t you run your mouth now, huh?” he taunts you again, putting a halt to his devouring. you think you’re free, that you put up a good fight that you’ve won since he did all that and still didn’t get an orgasm out of you, but he pulls out his throbbing hard-on from the grey sweatpants you’ve always been wanting off, and you wish you could melt into his bed and disappear.

“why the long face, babe? you said you could take anything i’d give you,” gyuvin says, stroking experimentally at his cock, signaling what you should be anticipating next. “aren’t you obsessed with winning against me? you can’t exactly do that when you’re scared,” a significantly obnoxious thrust into his hand “of this.”

when gyuvin’s balls deep inside you, all you can do is throw an arm to cover your face and act like you’re not having the best sex of your life. every thrust is harder than the last one, and he’s just so, so big there’s no inch inside you that doesn’t feel his length and girth. save for a couple of accidental moans he’s definitely taking note of, you stay quiet as he fucks you. you act like it’s a form of refusal to his cockiness, when all you do is comply and take what he gives you almost pathetically.

“you win,” gyuvin says as he places his cock in your mouth just in time for him to come inside it. “i didn’t know you could be such a good girl, though, just taking anything i’d give you like a pliant slut.” more drops of cum find their way on your lips. “there’s always more i can make you take, though.” gyuvin’s hands all over you feel like a dangerous sign, and you can feel him start to prop you up in the spirit of simply taking more from him, but at least you don’t need to put up a fight anymore.

#gyuvin smut #kim gyuvin smut #zb1 hard hours #zb1 smut #zerobaseone hard hours #zerobaseone smut #gyuvin hard hours #gyuvin x reader #kim gyuvin x reader

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genderqueerpositivity · 1 year ago

Text

After Mississippi banned his hormone shots, an 8-hour journey

Katie had done all she could to prepare for this trip. She’d asked a relative to pick up her two younger boys from school. She’d researched how to change a tire, and she’d spent hours on Google Maps, searching for the closest Walgreens in Alabama. She’d finally found a destination in Thomasville, a rural town nearly 200 miles from their suburban Mississippi home, but much remained unclear. Would they make it by noon for Ray’s telehealth appointment? Would the pharmacy give him testosterone?

Katie looked at her boy, a thin 17-year-old with wavy hair and an easy grin, and she asked herself the question that had begun to matter least: Was she breaking the law?

Two months earlier, Mississippi had banned transgender young people, like Ray, from accessing hormones or other gender-transition treatments. By mid-spring, nearly half the country had passed similar bills, according to the Movement Advancement Project, and now, 1 in 3 trans children lives in a state with a ban. Conservative lawmakers said they’d pushed the bills to protect young people, but Katie felt like they’d done the opposite. Testosterone had allowed her son to embody himself for the first time. Ray was present, happy. The ban would take that happiness away.

Across the country, families were doing everything they could to protect their trans children. Some uprooted their lives in red states for the promise of protections in blue ones. Others filed lawsuits. Katie couldn’t afford to move, and she needed a solution faster than the courts could offer, so she’d settled on a cheaper, quicker plan: She’d take a day off from her nursing job, and she and Ray would travel out of state for his medical care.

No one should have to go to these lengths just to access what is essentially basic life-saving heath care.

Also, major shout out to QMed and Dr. Lowell and the Southern Trans Youth Emergency Project for the work that they are doing to help trans youth and adults in red states access gender affirming care.

#trans #trans healthcare bans #trans healthcare #gender affirming hormone therapy #gender affirming healthcare #gaht #transgender #trans rights #trans rights are human rights #protect trans lives #protect trans youth

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vodika-vibes · 2 months ago

Note

May I request, from the gentle care prompts, "it's going to sting, but we have to clean this' for either Gregor, Boss, or Jango, with fem!reader and on the fluffier sideof hurt /comfort please?

Maybe Reader fell from a ledge, or slide down a treet root/mudslide/ice slide and hurt themselves in some way?

@eternal-transcience

I'll Protect You

Summary: As the youngest daughter of the King and Queen of Xilea, a planet in the Mid Rim, you expected that your life would be easy. Unless something disastrous happens, you’ll never have to worry about politics or governing. All you have to do is be pretty and delicate and go where your parents tell you. But, when your sister orchestrates a coup and kills your parents and older brother you have no choice but to flee for your life with the aid of Boss, a Commando from the GAR.

Pairing: Pre- Clone Commando Boss x F!Reader

Word Count: 1755

Warnings: Reader is having the world's worst bad week, reader is described as being a foot shorter than boss, and has hair that can be tucked behind her ear

Prompt: "It's going to sting, but we have to clean this."

A/N: So, I'm not so sure this is as fluffy as you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You’re filthy.

Mud cakes the bottom of your gown, as well as the delicate slipper you had been wearing when the coup began. The long sleeves have been torn due to surprisingly sharp branches as well as briars. Your hair, which had once been your most striking feature, has been roughly chopped to shoulder length, and all of the fine jewelry you normally wore has been pawned for credits at the insistence of the man who’s keeping you safe.

You’re trying not to complain.

He saved your life, you owe him more than you’ll ever be able to pay back.

But you’re tired. You’re tired and cold and hungry, and your entire family is dead—

A hiccoughing sob escapes your lips without your permission, and, ahead of you, Boss stops and glances at you over his shoulder. His helmet makes him seem emotionless, and you just know that you’re being a burden on him.

He wouldn’t have to run at all if it wasn’t for you.

You try to stop your crying before it gets worse, but you fail as another sob rips from your lips.

Boss releases a heavy sigh, and for a moment you hate yourself for making his life so difficult. For a moment, just a moment, you wonder if it would be better if you died with the rest of your family.

A surprisingly gentle hand smooths over your head, lightly plucking something from your hair, and then moves to your shoulder. You look up at Boss, his form wavy from the tears clouding your vision, and you watch as he pulls his helmet off with one hand.

His expression isn’t stern or angry. He doesn’t even look frustrated.

He looks sympathetic.

“How about we take a short break, Princess?” Boss offers, his voice low and soothing. He’s talking to you like how you used to talk to your dogs when they got spooked.

At the thought of your dogs, a fresh wave of tears overtakes you. You couldn’t bring them with you when you ran, your handmaid swore that she would tend to them as she helped you escape, but right now it’s just one more thing that your sister took from you.

“Sh-shouldn’t we keep moving?” You ask, your voice is wavering and thick with tears.

Boss gently wipes a tear from your cheek, “I think we can risk a short break. You’ve had a long couple of days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” He lightly taps your chin so you’re looking him in the eye, “Honestly, I expected you to fall apart before now. Shock is a hell of a thing.” He scans you for a moment, and then huffs out a heavy breath, “We should get you into something different too.”

You wipe your eyes with what remains of the sleeve of your gown, “Something different?”

Boss lightly plucks the heavy velvet of your gown, “This is going to slow you down, and it’s a tripping hazard.”

“You said we had to avoid settlements,” You remind him, your voice slowly stopping its waver.

“I did, and we are.” He runs his eyes over you for a moment, a frown crossing his face, “I have a spare set of blacks, they’ll be too big on you though.”

Boss stands almost a full foot taller than you. His shirt will be like a dress on you.

He sighs and rubs his hand over his head, “There’s no way around it, I suppose. You wouldn’t happen to be wearing shorts or trousers under your gown, would you?”

You blink at him, “I am.”

He blinks right back at you, “What?”

“The gowns are heavy and hot, and my thighs would chafe when I was a little girl, so I wear, um, legging shorts under my gowns.”

“Legging…shorts?”

“Shorts made of legging material?” You try to clarify.

“Whatever, do they cover you properly?”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.”

“Good enough for me.” He digs around his pack for a moment and tosses a shirt at you, “Step behind a tree and put this on. Leave the dress on the ground.”

“Okay.” You do as he asks, ducking behind a nearby tree and carefully stripping off your heavy gown, as well as your slip, before tugging his shirt over your head.

It feels wrong to leave the gown in the forest. But you also know that he’s right. It’ll just slow you down.

However, as the heavy material falls to the ground, you can’t help but feel like it’s a death toll to what your life used to be.

“Princess?”

“...I’m never going to be able to go back, am I?”

Boss is silent for a moment, “You might.” He’s a terrible liar. “The Republic will do something.” He continues.

“The Republic is already at war.” You say quietly as you step out from around the tree, “They don’t have the resources to help.”

Boss is staring at you, he looks surprised.

“What? Am I wearing it wrong?” You ask, anxiously.

“You’re fine,” He walks over and carefully fastens the neck, making the collar sit over your mouth, “You just look like a totally different woman now.”

You look down at your outfit, and even you have to admit that he’s right. The pretty, delicate princess that you were when he first arrived on Xilea died in the Royal Palace with your parents and brother. All that remains is a scared, anxious woman with no future to speak of.

“Well,” You try to swallow your terror for the future, “What do you think of this one?” Boss didn’t like you when he first met you, he thought you were silly and vapid and vain.

And he was right. You were all of those things.

But you no longer have the choice to be silly, or vapid, or vain. Not if you want to live.

He chuckles and lightly tucks a messily cropped lock of hair behind your ear, “Well, I like her a little more than I did the Princess.”

“That’s something, I guess.”

Boss lightly wipes some dirt off your cheek, “I’m going to keep you safe, I swear it.”

You stare at him for a moment, and then you slowly nod, “Okay.” He keeps his hand on your cheek for a moment, his dark eyes scanning your face for…something, and then he pulls his hand away.

“That’s enough rest, I think. You’re not upset anymore, and you’re not wearing that death trap.” He offers you his hand, “Keep up, Princess.”

“Oh! Um…right! Okay!” You take his hand and allow him to tug you deeper into the forest.

Later, when the moon is high in the sky, and the forest is dark and alive with the sounds of night, you realize that it’s only a matter of time before something happens that will force the both of you to slow down.

And, almost as if you jinxed yourself, as soon as you have that thought your foot hooks under a tree root, and you fall to the ground, landing with a painful hiss.

Boss stops immediately, and kneels next to you.

“Are you hurt?”

You sit up and carefully untangle your foot from under the root. Your ankle twinges painfully, though it doesn’t seem broken. But then again, you’ve never broken a bone in your life, so what would you know?

You also have a massive piece of glass jammed under your knee.

It should hurt, but strangely, it doesn’t.

“Um…”

“Oh boy,” Boss hands you his flashlight and pulls a small first aid kit out from somewhere. He carefully pulls the glass out of your leg, the sensation makes you hiss in pain and forces tears to your eyes.

“Is it bad?” You ask, your voice shaky again.

“It’s pretty deep,” Boss admits, “Between this and your ankle, you’re probably not going to be walking much for a while.”

“Oh.” Your hands are starting to shake, “You should—”

“I’ll carry you, it’s fine.”

You blink at him, “You’re not going to leave me behind?”

“Of course not,” He scoffs as if the idea is laughable, “Anyway, this is going to sting, but I have to clean it.”

“O-oh, alright.”

You whimper as he cleans the injury, and then wraps it with a bandage. Now that the glass isn’t in your leg, it hurts. It hurts a lot. “You’re doing great, Princess.”

“No, I’m not.” You sniffle.

“Hey,” His hand presses against your cheek and you realize, with a start, that he’s removed his gloves. “For someone who’s never had to live a hard day in her life, you’re doing amazing.”

His hand is calloused and rough, but it’s also impossibly warm. And you feel safe for the first time since your parents died. You stare at him, your lips parted.

Boss shoots you an odd look, “What?”

Slowly you press your hands over his hand, “You’re warm.”

“I guess you’re not really dressed for the chill of night,” Boss admits.

You shake your head, that’s not what you mean, but you also can’t explain what you actually mean. You don’t have the right words for it.

His free hand presses against your face as well, “Do you think you can continue for a little more?” He asks, “Just a little further, Princess. My ship isn’t far from here.”

You release a quiet sigh, “If you think we should.”

“I do,” He stands and carefully helps you to your feet. You’re barely able to put any weight on your foot at all, and your knee throbs painfully as you put weight on it.

But it soon becomes a non-issue as he scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing. He adjusts you so that you’re a little more comfortable in his arms, and then he starts walking again.

You stare up at him, and you suddenly realize that you want to stay with him. No matter where he might go, or what he might do, you want to stay by his side.

Boss is safe. He’s security.

You want to stay with him, to keep feeling safe and secure for as long as you can.

And, for the first time in your life, you know that you can make that kind of choice. There’s no one around to say, “Princess do this” or “Princess he’s not a good match”.

You no longer have to be pretty and delicate. You can just be you.

Maybe, if you’re lucky, and if you ask nicely, maybe Boss will help you learn who you actually are.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

@heidnspeak

@wax-birds

@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

@maniacalbooper

#star wars #tcw #clone commando boss x reader #boss x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 1 month ago

Text

Fortuna Major Chapter 5

Summary: Steve Rogers came home from World War II shell shocked and overwhelmed by the place he once called home. After losing his mother he and his injured best friend Bucky decide to find a quieter, slower way of life to heal from the war. They head out west until they hit Fortuna, California, and get jobs in the lumber industry. Steve comes across a local lodging for miners and lumber workers, and falls head over heels for the female owner who takes no man’s shit.

Warnings: mentions of war; injuries, loss of limb; PTSD; talk of suicide; cat calling; sexual harassment; attempted sexual assault; eventual smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Steve never could seem to find the right words or the right time to talk to Y/N. Thanksgiving was coming up and she was working with the local women’s baking chapter in Fortuna to create a community dinner for the workers in the lodge as well as others who were more transient in the area who didn’t have families to go home to. Steve also found himself with more responsibilities at work, being made foreman of the mill, which he wasn’t expecting but was grateful for the pay raise, though it meant he was the first one there and the last one out every day. He’d extended his and Bucky’s stay at the lodge through the end of the year, still saving up for the possibility of an apartment or home in the area. On Thanksgiving day he was up and dressed nicely with all the other men in the lodge, cramming around the one television in the main dining space that had been set up to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. They were all showered and cleaned up more than he’d seen in the entire time he and Bucky had arrived, and it was a nice change of pace compared to the sweaty, dirty, dusty, and usually smelly way he’d known them all for so long.

The women’s baking chapter and Y/N were all in the kitchen area, buzzing around cooking and baking things for dinner. Bucky had been shooed out of the kitchen when he tried to go help, looking slightly dejected. A few hours later one of the ladies came out announcing dinner was served. The men all filed toward the dining area where the tables had been pushed together and decorated with nice cutlery and china, and were laden with plates upon plates of food. The turkey was already cut and plated to each setting, and dishes of potatoes of different varieties, creamed peas, jellos, casseroles, and rolls were littered along the tables. Each place setting had a bottle of beer and a glass of cider. The women were all waiting at one end of the tables while the men started filling the other. As everyone took a seat the president of the baking chapter stood at the end of the table with the other women.

“Thank you for having us for your Thanksgiving dinner this year,” she spoke loudly to gain everyone’s attention. “We know some of you aren’t able to make it home to your families for a proper Thanksgiving feast, so we thought we would bring it to you. I would like to thank our host, Miss Y/L/N…” she gestured to the other end of the table but Y/N was not sitting there. She looked around and chuckled as she looked back at the kitchen. “Oh, excuse me,” she said and pranced back to the kitchen, speaking in hushed tones and then pulling someone by the arm. Y/N came out and the men gasped. She was dressed in a crimson red, velvet, long sleeved dress that hugged her curves up top and flowed out from her waist, stopping mid-calf in length. She wore a pair of black heels on her feet and her hair was done in a pin-waved style. She wore more makeup than she ever had before, her lips painted a red that matched her dress. Steve felt like the wind had been knocked out of him as he stared at her. “As I was saying,” the chapter president continued, “I would like to thank our host, Miss Y/L/N, for working so hard with us today. Do you have anything you’d like to add?” she asked Y/N, who looked like she wanted to disappear.

Y/N gave her a tight smile then shrugged. “Happy Thanksgiving, and uh…dig in!”

Everyone clapped as the president finally released Y/N and she headed towards the other end of the table. The men all paid her compliments and some whistled teasingly at her, making her narrow her eyes at them as she passed. She walked to the other end of the table where Steve sat on one side with Bucky next to him. “You look great, Y/N,” Bucky spoke up as she approached.

“Thanks Buck,” she said quietly, giving him a half smile.

Steve stood quickly and pulled out her chair for her, making her look at him in surprise. “Oh, thank you, Steve,” she chuckled and sat down.

“You’re welcome,” he said, sitting back down next to her. “And you look beautiful.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Y’all are just being nice to me because I’m all done up,” she huffed.

“Well, you always look beautiful,” Steve added, shaking his head. “But this red dress is…” he looked her up and down, his smile spreading wide.

Y/N’s eyebrows raised at him. “Aren’t you a charmer?” she teased.

Steve leaned forward slightly. “Just for you, babydoll,” he murmured. Y/N’s eyes widened and she quickly looked away, trying to hide her smile. Bucky snickered next to him, trying to hide his face.

The dinner was eaten in record time, and as the men finished their beers and ciders then helped to clear the tables of all the dishes, the baking chapter went back to the kitchen and got out the pies and other desserts. Y/N helped dish out pie to everyone on her end of the table. “Pecan, apple, or strawberry rhubarb, Buck?” she asked, pointing the knife in her hand at each pie.

“Good old apple for me,” Bucky replied, and she quickly cut him a slice and served it.

“How about you, Steve?” she asked.

“I’ll have the same, please,” Steve answered, having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face as she leaned between him and Bucky, her cleavage showing more from her dress.

Y/N nodded and got him some pie, her chest brushing against his shoulder as she leaned over him. When she moved some of her hair shifted away from her neck and Steve could see what she had been hiding behind those turtlenecks: a scar in the shape of a bite mark. His brow furrowed and he nearly gasped when he saw it, trying to smooth out his features when she started to pull away. He thought the night that Brock attacked her that the bite mark looked pretty gnarly, but he hadn’t realized he had broken skin enough for it to scar over like that. His jaw tightened as he gave her a tight smile and thanked her for the pie. She gave him a wary eye, seeing that something was wrong, but kept on moving around the table to serve everybody.

After all the dishes were washed, the food eaten or put away for later, the baking chapter leaving and everyone heading to their respective rooms for the night, Steve slipped out of his room after Bucky fell asleep from eating too much. He quietly walked down the long hall until he reached Y/N’s door. He took a deep breath and then knocked firmly. He heard some shuffling and then Y/N opened the door. “Oh! Hi Steve,” she smiled. “What can I do for you?”

She was still in the red dress and lipstick, though she had taken off her heels and started undoing her hair. Steve tried not to get distracted and inhaled deeply. “Could I come in?” he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up again but she nodded. “Sure, yes, come in,” she said, opening the door wider and gesturing for him to walk in. He thanked her and stepped in, taking a quick look around the room before turning to face her as she closed the door. She leaned against it as she looked at him. “So…what’s going on?”

Steve swallowed harshly. “Uh, I wanted to thank you for dinner tonight. You and the other ladies did a fine job,” he said.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, a smirk forming on her lips. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Is that all?”

“No,” Steve shook his head. He paused and they stared at each other for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Tell you what?” Y/N’s head tilted.

“About the scar,” he sighed, his head tilting with her.

Y/N stiffened and her hand instinctively went to her hair to cover that part of her neck. “It’s nothing, Steve,” she said quietly, looking down.

“It’s not nothing,” Steve said, taking a step toward her.

“It’s fine,” she laughed it off. “It just didn’t heal as well as I’d hoped. But I’m fine–”

Steve closed the gap between them and caged her against the door with his arms, making her gasp and flatten herself against it as much as possible. “We could have taken you to the doctor, the hospital, tried to treat it ourselves, anything–”

“Why do you care?” Y/N asked angrily. “It’s just an ugly scar.”

“Because,” Steve said, his own frustration starting to leak through.

“Because why?” she asked, more quietly, her eyes blazing as she stared up at him.

Steve’s gaze flicked across her face, then down her neck to where the scar started to show between her neck and shoulder. His hand moved from the door to her shoulder, his fingers moving her hair away and tracing the scar lightly, making her shiver. He realized just how close to her face he was, but couldn’t find it in himself to be a gentleman and pull away. Instead he leaned forward, watching her face for any signs of fear or hesitation. She was just watching him curiously as he moved his face down to her neck, then slowly placed a soft kiss on the scar. Y/N inhaled shakily. “Because it means I couldn’t protect you,” he whispered next to her ear.

Y/N huffed a breath. “It wasn’t your job to protect me,” she replied. “No one could have predicted this.”

“I know,” he nodded, his body starting to lean against hers, his fingers now moving from her hair to her dress, thumbing the material and causing it to start to fall off her shoulder. He leaned down and kissed the curve of her shoulder. “But I still regret not killing him for hurting you.”

Y/N’s hands suddenly reached up and gripped his shirt near his stomach. “What are you doing, Steve?” she asked, her voice coming out airy and desperate.

He leaned his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her perfume as his fingers pulled the sleeve of her dress down more. “God, I don’t know,” he groaned.

“What do you want?” she whispered, leaning her face against his head, making them cheek to cheek.

Steve had never done anything like this before. Bucky had always been the one with all the luck when it came to women, and he’d watched him charm the literal panties off of them before. Growing so much so late in his life made it so that even though he was considered handsome now, he didn’t know how to charm women, let alone kiss or make love to one. But all he wanted at that moment was just that. To hug her, hold her, kiss her…fuck her. All he wanted was…

“You,” Steve said, pulling away to look into her eyes. “I want you.” Y/N whimpered as she gazed up at him, then grabbed his face to pull him down and kiss him. Steve froze for a moment, shocked at what happened, but quickly melted against her and kissed her back fervently. He didn’t know if he was doing it right, but followed her lead as she pushed against him. Y/N backed him up to her bed, only breaking the kiss to make him sit on it before she climbed on top of him and straddled his lap, cupping his face to kiss him again. Steve didn’t know what to do with his hands, but once he settled them on her large thighs he couldn’t help himself from feeling all of her, kneading the plushy, squishy skin along her legs to her hips, pushing her dress up her legs further until it gathered in a clump around her waist.

“Fuck, Steve,” Y/N mumbled against his lips. She took his hands on her hips then pushed them down to her ass, where he moaned as he felt it in his hands, unable to fit all of one cheek in them. She started to roll her hips against his hips, and his hips jerked against her involuntarily.

“God, babydoll,” Steve whimpered as she moved her kisses away from his mouth and down to his throat where she kissed, licked and sucked everywhere she could reach. “You feel so good…” Y/N hummed against his neck as her fingers scratched the back of his neck and into his hair. “I meant what I said earlier,” he breathed. “You’re always pretty, but this dress is something else.”

Y/N giggled as she pulled away to look at him. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” she asked.

Steve looked embarrassed and shook his head. “No,” he mumbled.

“That’s okay, honey,” Y/N smiled, kissing the tip of his nose. “Besides, we should slow down. As much as I’d love to have you, I haven’t done this in a while and I don’t have any protection right now,” she said.

Steve sighed heavily and hung his head to rest it on her shoulder, making her laugh again. “This feeling is…infuriating,” he grumbled, his hips shifting under her in discomfort.

Y/N hummed again. “Well, how about I teach you something, and we’ll take care of each other?” she said, her hands lifting his face to look at her.

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Y/N cocked an eyebrow at him, a sly smile spreading across her face.

***

A while later Steve walked into his room to find Bucky just coming out of the bathroom. Bucky took one look at him and doubled over laughing. “Have a good time, punk?” he asked.

Steve’s face and neck, and other areas unseen, were covered in red kiss marks as well as bruising, his hair a mess and his clothes askew. He fought a smile as he pushed Bucky and headed towards the bathroom. “Yeah,” he said bashfully.

Bucky kept laughing, trying to cover his mouth so as not to wake anybody. “You look well and satisfied,” he teased as Steve shut the bathroom door on him.

“Fuck off!” he called through the door, sending Bucky into another fit of giggles. He looked at himself in the mirror and couldn’t help but smirk at himself. He did look satisfied, satiated even, and he reveled in how Y/N had marked him up, knowing he’d see those bruises for days to come, reminding him of one of the best nights of his life. He hoped for more in the future.

@slayerofthevampire

#marvel #smut #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #series fanfic #chapter 5

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megumiivs · 2 years ago

Text

“man of your dreams”

toji fushiguo x fem! reader. cw: 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗼 cause he’s a warning of his own, mentions pregnancy, angst, hurt no comfort ish??

toji fushiguro claimed to be the “man of your dreams.” but would the so-called man of your dreams disappear without a trace after draining your savings account? would he leave despite the baby growing in your tummy?

it had seemed like a miracle a week before, when the pregnancy test showed two pink lines. toji was elated and his eyes seemed to shine even brighter than before. his hand had often traveled to your tummy as if it could feel the little bundle of joy already. you were excited to enter this next stage of your life: becoming a mother. the best part was that you would share it with toji, the man of your dreams.

but now you were left all alone to wither in self pity.

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫…

“mommy! mommy look!” your five year old son, takara, shouts from the playground. he’s standing at the top of the slide ready to go down. once he catches your eye, he grins devilishly before sliding down the slide and bounding over towards you.

“woah woah slow down,” you laugh, catching him in your arms and spinning him around. he giggles loudly in response.

these past few years without toji were absolute hell. he wasn’t there for takara’s birth nor did he ever reach out to contact you. you typically had to work two jobs in order to make ends meet. despite the tight money situation, you were determined to give your son the best life you could offer. he was a bright boy who had your beautiful hair and toji’s green eyes. he was undoubtedly your treasure.

“i love you mommy.” takara says. he looks up at you and smiles. “but mommy, i have a question.”

“what is it sweetheart?”

“where’s my daddy? everybody in my class has one. why don’t i have one? does he not love me?”

the questions caught you off guard. of course you knew that the question would come up eventually but you had secretly hoped that he would ask when he was older. a lump formed in your throat.

forcing yourself to stay calm you said, “your daddy, um well he….” you trailed off. out of the corner of your eye, you spotted someone very very familiar. mid length straight black hair with a tall muscular build? there was no way, was there? it was him. it was toji.

but why was he with another woman? and why was he holding the hand of another child, one with the same dark hair and the same green eyes?

hehehe the end!!! hope u enjoyed this short lil’ drabble abt toji. i came up with this while doing my skincare and could not go to bed without writing it down. if you liked this, make sure to reblog or follow me. it really helps a lot. thanks love <3 see u next time :)

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ot7stan4life · 4 months ago

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Renegade Runaway

Sua (Dreamcatcher) x Female Reader

(1 part - completed ✅)

Word Count: 3700

Summary: In one last effort to save humanity, you travel back in time on a mission to stop the woman they call the “Renegade Runaway” from committing a cold blooded murder that sets the world on a course for destruction. Yet, you could’ve never expected to find an angel in that devil’s dress.

Warnings: mentions of violence, abuse, death, and war, positive ending

A/N: gotta give the title its credit-

"All this man has done is lie and cheat and kill,” the harsh words left the woman's lips like venom, poisoning the man beneath her black boot with guilt. Raising her pistol, she positioned the barrel of the gun between his eyes.

Standing there over him, triumphant-looking with her pink hair flowing in the rough wind, she could have easily been mistaken for an angel cast down from the Heavens. Only the red satin dress and burning hatred in her eyes revealed the hidden evil beneath those imaginary wings and glowing halo.

That’s how I’d envisioned my final encounter with the one they called the 'Renegade Runaway' before the world changed forever. Except, that moment didn’t quite go the way I’d planned…

My eventual journey there was long and tedious, starting all the way back to the day I was born. The world was war-torn, the planet exhausted and dying. The human race was on the brink of extinction. One final hope remained in the potential of time travel, one that I quickly decided to dedicate my life to. Though the final mission to prevent the end of times promised nothing for certain—not even a return trip home—I volunteered to see it through without hesitation knowing that my future was not guaranteed had I conceded to the Earth's fate.

The task was simple enough: prevent one murder that had been committed over three-hundred years ago. After centuries of research, it had been determined that this very moment was the one that catalyzed the butterfly effect that would eventually lead to the end of times. Researchers hoped that changing the outcome could potentially prolong the survival of mankind. It was our only promising solution, so we had to try. And my one single chance to test that theory started the first day I met the Renegade.

—

Waking from a deep, dark slumber, I found myself laid out across the grainy desert ground, head resting against the roots of an old tree with a dusty brown cowboy hat placed over my face to shield my pale skin from the ruthless sun rays cast down from above. The dirt and sand crunched under my boots when I finally stood upright and the hot wind whipped through my mid-length hair. Though I had studied this very town in this exact time period, suddenly being stripped from my own time and placed here, I was rather disoriented.

I was always told it never quite felt real. At least not at first.

A nearby whinnying brought my attention to a horse that stood at the ready beside me, anchored to a tree by the lead attached to its harness. It was a beast of an animal, standing a few feet taller than me, showing off its muscular body while shifting its weight from leg to leg. Though I had never seen one in person, I knew them well. The creatures often came up in categories such as farming, transportation, and warfare in my research of the Wild West.

Gathering the lead in my hands, the animal hesitantly let me take my place on its back and followed my commands when I spurred it on towards civilization. It took a moment to get used to riding, but once I felt more comfortable, I coaxed it into a gallop. Dust kicked up with every thud of the horse's hooves, blowing across the never-ending desert floor that blurred with waves of heat in the distance, obscuring the horizon line. The air stung my eyes and tasted like salt, leaving my throat dry and body parched. Even in the short journey to the local square, beads of sweat had accumulated on my forehead from the harsh climate—one that closely resembled the state of the entire planet back in my time.

As I neared the town, square-shaped buildings made of wood faded by the sun eventually came into view, accompanied by the bustle of western folk crossing the empty stretch between shops ahead of me. Just like the history book said, everyone here had a role to play. It was a community that, in a lot of ways, relied upon the efforts of every single individual to thrive. New faces were unusual and those that were born here almost always stayed here. Maybe it wasn't everyone's idea of paradise, but it was the only thing they knew, so they couldn't possibly picture something greater. There was this sense of acceptance, or rather, resignation. Most people gave into it, but a select few stood in resistance. In particular, women who desired more than being at a man's side with no power their whole lives rejected the traditional ways of the Wild West.

I could feel that sense of indignation the moment I stepped foot here. There was a storm brewing in this small western town. A storm started by one they called the Renegade Runaway. One that would catalyze a ripple effect of pain and suffering throughout the coming centuries. But that's why I was here now: to change that seemingly predetermined fate.

Riding up to the local saloon, I got off my horse and tied its lead to a nearby fence.

"Sheriff." My greeting was aimed towards a pale woman with short black hair flowing from underneath her cowboy hat as I stepped onto the wooden porch in front of the local saloon. The sand left boot prints behind me like chalk coating the brown walkway.

The woman I acknowledged was standing just a few feet away, leaning against the front of the building, one leg propped up on the wall behind her as her dusty brown eyes gazed over the desert horizon like a hawk. She wore dark cowboy boots over tan pants held up by a belt with a badge on her left hip and a holster housing a white and golden revolver on her right.

At my greeting, she cast her gaze towards me and used her leather gloved hand to tip the edge of her hat down in recognition. "Howdy." Her lips turned up in a closed smile making her high cheek bones prominent.

I noticed the tight lines framing her smile and the way her cheeks almost indented because of how well defined her face was. There was no doubt in my mind that she was in good shape and, if I weren't here strictly for business, I might've inquired just where she got such perfect genes from or how exactly she managed to acquire her position—being a woman and all.

I was looking for someone specific and as much as I would've loved to ask—I glanced down at her badge—Sheriff Kim for help, this wasn't exactly a matter that I needed local law enforcement to be involved in. In fact, having the Sheriff on my tracks was the very last thing I needed.

So, I ventured inside the saloon without another word to the woman and walked straight to the bar. The one person I figured I could count on to find information in a small old western town was the one who got to hear all the latest news and gossip thanks to her occupation: the bartender.

"What can I getcha?" She said in a low, cool, calm tone when I took a seat on one of the stools. Her voice matched her appearance and—as I would soon find out—her personality. She had on an oversized white shirt with a denim vest and denim jeans. I couldn't see below her waist, but I assumed she was wearing cowboy boots since that's all anyone wore around here. Her long grey hair was twisted up into a single bun on the back of her head with the black ends that looked burnt from a fire sticking out the top and two small strands of her bangs free to hang on either side of her face. She looked intelligent and friendly, but not too friendly. Although, I got the feeling she was trustworthy just from the aura she gave off.

"Just pop, but make it look like a drink." I wasn't one to drink often, but certainly not while on a job.

She didn't hesitate with my request and started pouring it just out of sight of the other guests, making me wonder if many people asked the same.

Folks often did illegal business in saloons, so if you were caught here without a drink someone might assume the same of you. Proud cowboys didn't tend to take a liking to bandits or crooks and, I'd imagine, neither did the Sheriff.

That in mind, I grabbed the glass as soon as the bartender was finished pouring and took a sip before looking around the place discreetly.

It was just before sundown and the bar was starting to fill up with people coming in after finishing their shifts. The usual working men occupied the place, though there seemed a lack of prostitutes lurking for a typical western saloon. It appeared as though the women here held more positions of power than most other cities during this time period–no doubt due to the woman I came to find.

Though, I didn't spot anything that seemed helpful to my case, so I looked back to the thin woman behind the bar. She was already looking back at me, like she knew I wanted to ask her something. I'm sure she was used to strangers coming in here and questioning her, but somehow I got the sense that she didn't seem to mind it.

"You wouldn't happen to know of a gal named Bora, would you?" I asked after taking another sip, assuming these people knew the Renegade by her real name.

Still, I found it hard to gauge the bartender's reaction; she didn't seem to give away her emotions all that easily, an almost disinterested expression permanently etched across her face. Maybe that came with the job, or maybe that really was just a part of her personality. Nonetheless it didn't help me get a sense of who Bora was to these people—or at least to her.

"Bora?" She seemed to ponder, her hands momentarily stopping their job of cleaning a glass while her brain was at work. "I know several Bora's,” she concluded, continuing on with her task as if she had never stopped.

I found it odd that she didn't say more. It made me wonder if she didn't want me to know the answer or if she simply didn't care enough to tell me.

"The Bora I'm looking for is... shall we say... in some trouble,” I added, hoping she would catch on.

Much to my surprise, the bartender cracked a half smile and let out a small chuckle.

"Trouble, huh?" Her head raised and her eyes shifted to the far side of the room. "You must be looking for the Renegade."

I followed her gaze and spotted a woman with light pink hair sitting at a table in the far corner of the room. Looking at her now, I wondered how I missed her before. She seemed to take up the entire room and appear invisible all at the same time. Finally being in her presence was something else entirely; her aura was captivating with a hint of underlying mystery and danger.

Without saying anything further to the bartender, I stood up and began walking over to where the woman was, completely forgetting my drink on the bar top. I thought I heard an amused 'good luck' from the bartender, but I was already so preoccupied with this mysterious woman that I very well could have imagined it.

From what I knew about Bora, she was the definition of trouble. Mumblings of the townsfolk would tell me that she was an outlaw, a rebel, a deserter, 'a devil in an angel's dress.' I knew better than to fully believe such rumors. However, she was dangerous, and because of that, I knew I couldn't count on getting the answers I needed out of her the old-fashioned way. If I wanted anything from her, I'd have to play the game her way.

"You don't by chance happen to be the one they call the Renegade, do you Miss?" I offered gently, hoping I didn't appear to pose a threat. Any wrong decision and I could lose my one chance at salvation for good.

Although, she didn't spare me a glance, grunting out a cold response,

"What do you want?"

I allowed my eyes to take in her appearance, or at least what I could see of it with her back turned to me. I suppose I didn't expect the over-dramatic townsfolk's descriptions of her to be so literal, but, to my surprise, she was wearing a red satin dress. Similar to the Sheriff, she had a holster around her waist that held a silver and wooden pistol. The weapon was all too familiar to me and now I was sure I had the right woman.

"It's less about what I want and more about what you want,” I replied, trying a different approach.

She still didn't look at me, but she turned her head slightly, giving me a view of her side profile.

Maybe the only thing that shocked me more than her attire was her appearance. The single sharp feature on her face was her pointed nose. Other than that, her appearance looked rather soft. All the drawings I had seen of her painted her as a fierce woman with hard features and a striking gaze. Seeing her now, had I not witnessed the outcome of her future actions, I might've questioned how such a small, innocent looking woman was worthy of titles such as 'demon' or 'devil.'

"I don't want anything from you,” she said in a low tone. She didn't necessarily sound rude, but more like she was trying to intimidate me so that I would stop my ploy and leave her alone.

"I could offer some help,” I suggested, taking the seat across from her without permission. No one else in this old bar even dared look at the pink-haired girl, let alone sit near her. But she was no threat to me.

"I don't need your help,” she was quick to respond, still hardly paying me any mind as she took a sip of her whiskey. The honey colored alcohol resembled the thick rays of sunlight shining in through the titled slats in the wooden blinds. The dust made up of sand and smoke seemed to be permanently suspended in the air, making the rays look like bars of pure sunlight that you could just reach out and grab.

"Alright, then I can offer you information," I reworded, fully aware she was a woman who did her own dirty work but still valued any opportunity she could get to have the upper hand against her enemies.

There was a long pause and, after weighing my words, she finally took the chance to look me over.

She cocked an eyebrow, apparently unimpressed. "You aren't from around here, are you?" She told more than asked.

It was obvious she already knew the answer to her own question simply based on how I carried myself, but I had a feeling she was also implying that not many people around here tried to talk to her. They knew better than to bother her.

"You aren't either... or so I've heard," I tried to show her that I wasn't one to scare easily.

"Well then surely you've also heard that I work alone." She sat up straight and raised her glass to her lips before meeting my eyes.

The words almost felt rehearsed, like she had a method to keeping people out.

One side of her lips tilted upwards as she glanced over my features. "And not even a pretty face'll change that." She tilted her head back to take the final swig of whiskey, then slammed the glass down on the table before giving me a wink and getting up to walk out.

Only the image of her receding shadow was visible as she pushed through the saloon doors.

—

In the coming months, the renegade kept her word... for the most part. She was stubborn—which I had quickly gathered after my first encounter with her—and too independent for her own good. She wasn't necessarily reckless, but her solo endeavors often proved far too ambitious. Whether that be pursuing criminals or cowboys or men that just seemed to have too much money and power, she was constantly jumping into situations too dangerous for one woman to handle alone. That's where I came in. She didn't give trust away easily—claiming hers had to be earned—so I gained it by proving my loyalty to her, always coming to her aid when she found herself in trouble.

It took a while for me to get close to her and even longer to finally get her to open up to me. Once she believed my intentions were pure, she slowly unveiled the secrets of the mysterious 'Renegade Runaway,' allowing me to peel back the layers of her heart and eventually get a glimpse at what was inside. Unlike the fables, she was no devil or any other divine being for that matter. It became clear through her vengeful motives that she was purely and entirely human. She was hurting and broken from a painful past—one she would rather forget, yet the same one that drove her actions. In her lifetime she had witnessed the women she loved—friends, sisters, and even her own mother—get cheated, tortured, and murdered by all the powerful men surrounding them.

In her eyes, those that ruled the world were not worthy of it, because all they did was ruin it. She felt it was her duty to strip them of their privileges and bring them suffering as they had done to so many others. As noble an effort it seemed, history tells us that nothing good ever comes from vengeance. Still, she was blinded by the inescapable shadow of loss following her, clung to her figure as a constant reminder, a constant trigger that sent her over the edge.

That's why we found ourselves here now: Bora standing over a man she and I both knew all too well, pistol to his temple with memories of her mother's mangled body underneath his own boot playing on repeat in her mind while I helplessly watched a few steps away. The air grew cold and thick in the abandoned town square we now occupied as the very climax of my mission approached. This was the one murder I had trained my whole life to prevent.

"He doesn't deserve to live,” she seethed in anger. "He murdered my mother and countless other innocents." Her grip on the gun tightened with every word that left her mouth, turning her knuckles white.

"Perhaps you're right,” my voice cut through the brewing storm looming overhead, loud enough to not get lost in the violent gusts of air whipping around our bodies and through the gaps between the buildings surrounding us.

The townsfolk had all run for shelter, frightened either by the imminent threat of catastrophic weather or the violent coup that was now in progress, led by the renegade standing a few feet in front of me.

"But killing him will only make things worse in the long run." I took a tentative step forward, hoping the relationship we had formed over the past month—though still rather unsteady—would be enough to convince her to trust my words.

A flash of lightning struck the horizon, painting the gray sky blue before a boom of thunder punctuated its disappearance.

"How could you possibly know that?" she shouted, now growing impatient.

The wooden and silver weapon shook in her hands, her finger tempting the trigger. Even she didn't understand why she hadn't pulled it yet. It was her master plan, after all. Finally putting an end to all the suffering this man had caused to countless women and their families, including her own. It felt like her only purpose in life. Her destiny. Like it was already written in the stars. So why couldn't she go through with it? And why would she listen to me: a stranger she had met only a month ago? One that seemed to be from another world completely. The kind of person she never thought she'd find herself so attached to. Yet, there she was.

And though she couldn't possibly understand what I meant when I told her I've seen what comes of her actions, she somehow believes. When I said that this one decision will determine the fate of the world, she somehow knows. Because, deep down, she can feel that it has happened before. This exact moment had already played out in some distant reality. One that she had already experienced and would never experience all in the same life. One that always ended in disaster.

But, not this time.

This time, she looks deep into my eyes and finds a sort of empathy and honesty that she has never experienced before. In me, she finds someone who understands the pain and loss she has felt. Beyond that, she finds someone who manages to live with it. To forgive and move on. Someone who stopped trying to end violence with more violence. Someone who has found a better way.

Someone who cares for her.

And it shows her that her life doesn't need to be a constant cycle of death and revenge. That there is hope for a peaceful resolve. And maybe even room for love, not hatred.

The sky cries down in relief as Bora's gun falls with the raindrops, softening the hard dirt ground beneath our feet as they soak into the dying earth. Like the fresh water nourishing the desert floor, the renegade's decision to spare the man gives room for new life to grow and, one day, eventually, to flourish.

Now that a new string has been woven into the fabric of reality, the future is uncertain. This new life might seem daunting to most, but not me. All it promises are new possibilities for a world without hatred, without violence, and without suffering. A world where love and peace are not merely fantasies, but the promised reality.

And it all starts with me and her.

—

A/N: This is an older imagine that I’ve had written, but I hope to start writing new stuff again soon. Also, sorry for not replying to some of the requests/comments you’ve sent me in my inbox. I promise I see them and I will respond to them soon. I just didn’t want to say “I’m working on this” and then take way too long to actually write an update for you.

**This imagine was transferred over from my Wattpad acc OT5Stan4Life**

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blurredcolour · 1 year ago

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You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part One

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

The 101st Airborne's jump into Normandy is filled with unexpected surprises for all parties involved.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Weapons, Death, Blood, Gore, Injuries, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Shout out to my bilingual friend who double checked my French lines for me. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 4809

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

Paris – December 10, 1944

The sea of humanity in Gare du Nord was overwhelming as Dick Winters stepped off the train from Mourmelon-le-Grand. Though it was mid-morning on a Sunday, it seemed like everyone was on the move. His height had him standing head and shoulders above most of the crowd as he made his way down the platform toward the exit, nearly bumping into a woman dressed in an olive drab uniform.

“Sorry –” He reflexively apologized in English before correcting it to the local French, though his pronunciation left a lot to be desired. “Excusez-moi.”

You turned back to him, eyes widening with recognition as they flicked over his face. “A captain now.” You smiled as your gaze eventually settled onto the two bars shining on the garrison cap of his Class-A uniform.

“A Canadian now.” He replied as his own eyes settled on the patch embroidered on your shoulder. The hip length jacket, A-line skirt, and peaked cap of the uniform suited you. “Or were you always, Charlotte?” The hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his green eyes met yours.

He did not miss your visible swallow before you recovered with an even warmer smile than before. “I’m sorry you’ve got me confused with my good friend Charlotte Roussel. She’s told me all about you.” You offered your gloved hand to shake as you introduced yourself properly, though he wondered if it was just another cover identity.

Taking your hand in his, he shook it firmly with a bemused expression playing on his face. “Dick Winters. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Captain. If you are in need of a place to stay, I happen to have a recently vacated room in my apartment I would be happy to loan to you, free of charge. The hotels in Paris would love nothing more than to liberate you of your American dollars.”

Dick eyed you curiously, still as full of questions as the last time he had seen you in early June, yet you continued to obfuscate. “I wouldn’t want to impose…” He replied in the time-honored tradition of the polite refusal that preceded acceptance.

“Not at all. Besides, Charlotte would not forgive me if I did not repay you for saving her life.” You insisted with a nod, and he swallowed, noticing the way you now wore your hair to carefully cover your forehead beneath your uniform cap.

“If I remember it correctly, she saved mine first.”

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

Normandy – June 6, 1944

After the rattling and jostling of the plane as it flew through clouds and flak, the drop onto French soil had felt peaceful in comparison. Granted of course, there was the constant awareness that enemy fire could find him on his way to the ground, but by some miracle he made it in one piece. The same could not be said of his leg bag.

After linking up with Hall from Able company, the pair had set off into the woods with only one M1 Garand between them. Dick had done his best to remain calm and reassuring despite how poorly the night seemed to be unfolding already. Small touches of humor appeared to calm the young man’s nerves but they both remained hyper vigilant to all sounds around them. Roughly ten minutes from their rendezvous they heard a noise to their right and Dick signalled for them both to halt and get low, but before Hall could level his weapon, they were face-to-face with the muzzle of German K-98 rifle.

Preparing to lunge at the soldier’s legs, Dick was brought up short when a figure in dark clothing jumped onto the man’s back, clamping a gloved hand over his mouth before burying a knife into the side of his neck. The unexpected weight thankfully pulled the weapon toward the sky before the soldier squeezed off a few rounds in the struggle, but the brutally efficient downward stroke of their blade had the soldier quickly collapsing to the ground, neutralized. Left standing was a woman clad in what first looked like a skirt but was in fact very wide-legged slacks and a wool sweater with a cap over her hair and a scarf covering her neck and face up to her eyes.

“Parlez-vous Francais?” You asked in an elevated whisper as you crouched down to wipe the blade of your knife clean on a corner of the dead man’s uniform jacket.

Dick and Hall both shook their heads in silence, dumbfounded.

“Welcome to France.” You smiled a little as you pulled down your scarf to reveal the rest of your face.

Dick was struck by many things in that moment, first and foremost being how beautiful you were, which he quickly compartmentalized as he’d been well trained to do. The second was the lack of a French accent, of any accent to your English. You almost sounded American and yet…

The stirring of brush to the left had them tensing once more before a young man of no more than sixteen, tall but obviously underfed and in clothes that had fit him several inches ago, emerged to pick up the German rifle from the forest floor. The function returned to Dick’s brain all at once and he looked back to you quickly.

“Resistance?”

You nodded in confirmation, glancing between the pair of them before turning to the young man. “Emile, donne le fusil au lieutenant.”

“Mais Charlotte…” He protested, gesturing at the older rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Maitenant, Ils auront une nuit pire que la notre.” You replied in a firm tone that brooked no argument and he handed it over to Dick who thanked him with a nod.

Hall immediately began to dig through the fallen soldier’s pockets to find him some more ammo.

“You’re a lot further inland than we were expecting you.” Your comment brought Dick’s attention back to you and he did his best not to let his annoyance at the situation show.

“Any idea where we’ve ended up?” He asked as he took what Hall was able to scrounge with a nod of thanks, tucking it into the pocket of his ODs.

“Half a kilometre outside St. Mere Eglise. You have a map?” You asked with a tilt of your head, and he hesitated a moment, knowing that while he did, it was covered in confidential material. He watched as a knowing smirk stretched your lips. “I have one without your top-secret information, one moment.”

You raised up on your knees to tuck your knife into the sheath at your hip before reaching up the back of your sweater, the motion inadvertently pulling the fabric higher to reveal the skin of your midriff. He quickly averted his eyes to the tree canopy above, wondering when the training on attractive female Resistance fighters was supposed to have been delivered.

The sound of rustling paper had him glancing carefully toward the ground and he relaxed to see you unfolding a map across the leaves and pine needles that carpeted the forest floor. The four of you gathered around as you took out a lighter, using the weak light from the flame to point out your rough position.

“Easiest way to the coast is the railroad tracks – keep off the roads. There is a squad of about ten Nazis with two officers on a horse-drawn wagon. They are making their way to their favourite spot here.” You tapped the map further into the woods.

“Favorite spot?” He prompted quietly.

“To make members of the Resistance disappear.” You replied grimly, glancing at the simple watch on your wrist. “We set explosives here,” you tapped a spot along the rail line further inland, “to detonate about now. That should help you find your way?” You looked up to him just as the explosion sounded in the distance, a column of orange lighting the sky.

“Bravo, Charlotte. À l’heure juste.” Emile beamed at you, and you nodded in reply with a grin of satisfaction.

“Merci. Any questions, gentlemen?” You asked turning back to the two Americans.

“None. Thank you, Charlotte. Be careful out here.” Dick replied earnestly, hoping you were not headed to the German’s so-called favorite spot, but he held his suspicions.

“Same to you.” You nodded firmly folding up the map as he tapped Hall on the shoulder and the pair began to make their way towards the rail line.

You had been right, the explosion made an excellent beacon. The situation continued to improve when he reconnected with Lipton, Guarnere, Malarkey, Wynn, Toye, and two boys from the 82nd. When he heard the whinny of a horse, he realized you had also given him an accurate warning about the group of Germans. While Dick presumed it was usually preferable for Resistance to avoid confrontation, with the numbers he had gathered, he preferred to eliminate the threat and arranged an ambush. Mercifully Guarnere’s premature action did not result in the failure of their attack and the men went about cleaning up the mess while Dick took a moment to reprimand him.

They were about to depart down the road when a rustling in the trees caught the hot-headed Sergeant’s ear. “Flash!” He barked out the password challenge in his brash Philly accent, sending everyone’s eyes towards the edge of the road where you stood, flanked by Emile and two other men Dick didn’t recognize.

“Thunder.” He rapidly replied on your behalf. “Don’t shoot, they’re Resistance.” He elaborated, coming to stand beside Guarnere.

“Merci, Lieutenant.” You exhaled. Your reply was muffled behind your scarf, but the relief was still audible.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a dame!” Guarnere hissed, pouring his excess adrenaline into his outburst.

Your barely smothered laugh reached Dick’s ears, making him swallow reflexively as the group watched you make your way to the back of the wagon. One of the older men, his clothes gone baggy under German occupation, carrying a weapon from the last war, grasped a corner of the tarp laying across some hidden cargo. Together you pulled it back to reveal the bodies of two more of your comrades.

“Merde.” Emile choked out and turned to take out his frustrations by kicking one of the fallen Germans at his feet.

Dick could not help the frown as he walked to the back of the wagon, his eyes falling on the form of a young boy no older than twelve.

“Goddamn he’s just a kid…” Malarkey uttered in dismay.

“They’ve got women and kids fighting out here for fuck’s sake.” Toye growled, slamming his helmet onto his head as he wrenched his eyes away from the scene, moving to take watch to the head of the wagon, obviously impatient to get moving.

“I’m sorry it’s not the outcome you were hoping for.” He looked to your eyes, wishing that scarf wasn’t hiding your face.

“But not unexpected.” You muttered back, straightening your sweater before leaning forward over the boy’s body.

“What will you do?” Dick asked as you grasped the boy’s lifeless arm and slung his torso across your shoulders, hugging his legs close to your body beneath your other arm.

“The only thing we can do - take him home to his mother, so she can bury him.” You replied as the fourth man with you, mid-forties with a build not unlike Randleman’s though still wasted away some, stepped forward to gather the remains of the twenty-something still on the wagon. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Good luck.” You met his eyes briefly, revealing your own glistening with unshed tears, before disappearing through the trees the way you had come.

The next twenty hours passed in a blur – finally reaching the assembly point, destroying the 105mm guns at Brécourt, losing Hall. Would that he could return the boy to his mother as you had been able to do with your fallen. As Dick watched Nixon open the can of food he’d been struggling with, he sighed deeply.

“Met a Resistance fighter in the woods after I landed – she spoke perfect English, Nix. No trace of any accent, at all. The men were all looking to her for direction.”

Nixon raised his eyes to meet his meaningfully. “No shit…” He blinked and handed him the successfully opened food. “Sounds to me like you met a genuine SOE agent assigned to ‘set Europe ablaze.’” His tone was dripping with envy. “Division wasn’t entirely convinced by Churchill’s boasts. She must be one tough broad.”

“She seemed pretty proficient, Lew.” Dick replied with poorly concealed admiration, eyeing the contents of the can reluctantly.

“We ought to send Churchill a thank you card, then.” He smirked knowingly.

Dick let out a half-hearted laugh before his face fell serious once more. He looked to his boots before confessing to the loss of Hall, which Nixon tried to make up for by reassuring him the map he’d retrieved would be useful. Surrendering the food with the excuse of lack of appetite, Dick wandered off lost in thought.

Honestly never expecting to lay eyes upon you again, he was stunned to see you in a hamlet somewhere between Culoville and Vierville the next day. It was no more than a tiny cluster of buildings on both sides of the road, too small to earn a name on the map. The road was clogged with refugees, fleeing the conflict, slowing the progress of the armored division they were meant to be traveling with.

Dick had diverted Easy across a nearby field behind the hedgerow, bringing them to a halt to plan their final approach, his officers naturally gathering around him.

“Christ there’s civilians everywhere.” Welsh hissed under his breath as they peered through the foliage.

“So, who’s going to knock on the door?” Compton grinned, his bulk barely concealed by the late spring greenery.

Dick paused, squinting through his binoculars as he watched you carefully set your wagon, filled with suitcases and other belongings like any other refugee, beneath the window of a café. Your gaze was fixed on the boulangerie across the lane, seeming of a mind to purchase some food for your travels. His eyes followed as you wended your way through the dwindling stream of people, clad in a spring jacket with a worn brown dress beneath, a pair of dusty boots on your feet. You stood out to no one but him.

“Dick?” Nixon prompted in a hushed whisper.

“Hold. The Resistance is here. Which means we most likely have Germans lurking nearby.”

“Resistance?” Nixon’s eyes widened as he fumbled with his jacket to retrieve his own binoculars. “You mean she’s here?!” He whirled to face the road, his movements made less than graceful by his excitement, and Dick barely contained his amused grin as you had already vanished inside the bakery.

His amusement did not last long, unfortunately, as a red-faced German solider came charging out of the café.

“Bingo.” Nixon breathed quietly.

Dick’s lips pressed into a grimace as the man re-emerged shortly thereafter dragging you by a fistful of your hair, shouting and pointing at your wagon. Any remaining civilians on the road quickly scattered into the other buildings or the fields beyond.

“He’s upset about the wagon.”

“You don’t say, Nixon” Compton replied sarcastically, a furrow forming between his brows.

Your voice carried to them, the pleading tone laced with fear making Dick tighten his grip on his binoculars. He could tell you were speaking a mixture of French and German, but not much more than that. “Lew?”

“Please in German…Please in French. I was just getting food. I’m sorry in German. I’m trying to get away from the Americans in French. The death in German. Please.”

Dick could hear the men shifting restlessly around him and lifted his head. “Tell them to hold, not yet. That café has got to be full of Germans. Plan on snipers in the fourth and fifth buildings as well.” He described the assault plan for each of the squads as your pleas continued to ring out parried by barked commands from the increasingly perturbed soldier. “But wait for my signal.” He nodded firmly to dismiss them, and they hurried off to their respective platoons.

Dick wanted to trust that you had the situation in hand, but this surely could not be unfolding according to your plan. He raised his binoculars once more to see you desperately plant your hands on the soldier’s chest, several men drawing a collective breath. Dick narrowed his eyes as your gaze shifted to the left, toward the face of your watch glinting in the afternoon sunlight. He tensed noting your proximity to that wagon, convinced now more than ever that it was filled with explosives.

The sharp ‘smack’ of the German’s glove impacting your cheek had your head snapping to the side in a way that had Dick seeing red.

“I’m going to kill him myself.” Nixon hissed under his breath, but Dick didn’t have time to respond as, surging forward, you slammed your forehead into the soldier’s nose, a bloom of red flooding down his face and yours.

He held his breath as you seemed to stumble back, a bit dazed as a commotion sounded from within the café, but he was able to exhale as you regained your feet and used your ankle to sweep the man’s jackboots right out from beneath him. Dick glanced to the wagon once more with apprehension as you yourself dove to the ground before grabbing the back of the dazed soldier’s coat and hauled his body over yours. He had barely shifted his gaze to the collection of five Germans in the doorway when the wagon exploded violently.

“Right on time…” He muttered to himself, tucking his binoculars away and preparing to advance.

Nixon turned to stare at him, speechless.

“Don’t.” He replied warningly, still unsure if you had survived the blast, giving the debris a moment to settle before he gave the signal, heading straight up the road to you.

Much to everyone’s annoyance, the telltale sound of Shermans approached from further up the road – just in time to get all the glory without really having to do any of the work. As planned, the men peeled off to clear each of the buildings as Dick rolled the dead German off your body. He watched with bated breath as Roe appeared at his side to check your pulse, nodding up to him.

“She’s alive, sir.”

The road was filled with broken glass from the explosion, and fearing for the bare skin of your legs, Dick had Roe help carry you into the bakery as Malarkey reported it clear, the medic sliding his arms beneath your shoulders. Dick did his best to ignore how soft the backs of your knees felt against his fingertips as he managed your legs. They laid you down on the floor in the back room amongst abandoned baking supplies and he swallowed as your eyes fluttered open.

“Charlotte, you’re alright, Doc’s just going to look you over, ok?”

You furrowed your brows and glanced down at Roe as he undid your coat, looking you over for injuries aside from the obvious scrapes as Dick quickly pressed a bandage to the split in your forehead from where you had broken the German’s nose.

“You’re in good hands, I need to go back out there alright?”

You sighed heavily and he looked to your eyes quickly.

“I’m sure you’re speaking in that fucking wonderful American accent of yours, Lieutenant but I cannot hear a fucking thing. I’m sorry.” You spoke, seemingly unaware that your voice was obnoxiously loud.

Dick grimaced at your language as Roe barely contained his scoff of laughter before Dick nodded to you to show that he understood. Eyes pinning yours, he pointed at you firmly before forcefully pointing at the floor.

“Stay here. Understood.” You replied with a nod, a loud groan quickly overtaking your voice.

Dick hesitated a moment, but Roe was already looking over your face and into your eyes. There was really nothing for him to do here and his men needed him outside. Securing his helmet on his head, he dashed back out into the afternoon sunshine. Aside from one sniper’s nest three buildings down the road, which was easily managed with the help of the armored division, the hamlet was secured with only one minor incident involving Muck and some broken glass.

At Nixon’s urging, which Dick allowed to play out much longer than was needed to convince him, he ordered two stretcher bearers to accompany him back to the bakery to fetch you. He was encouraged to find you sitting with your back propped up against the wall, looking more alert with your knife grasped with one hand, though you had not seemed to have had the wherewithal to unsheathe it. He crouched down in front of you carefully, sliding his helmet from his head.

“I’m just going to take that from you, there Charlotte.” He wasn’t sure why he was speaking, fully aware that you could not hear him, but your grip loosened on the weapon as he reached for it.

“Alright.” You murmured softly in response and his eyes snapped to yours.

“You can hear again?” He asked as he tucked the knife into the pocket of his ODs.

You began to nod before halting the movement abruptly. “Mostly…”

“Good. That’s good.” He smiled briefly. “Do you have any other weapons on you?”

“No.” You replied after a thoughtful pause and patting of your coat pockets.

He nodded before standing, addressing the men lingering in the doorway. “Take her to the aid station, Lieutenant Nixon and I will be there as soon as we can.”

They responded with a chorus of ‘yes sirs!’ before he stepped back out to deliver orders for the company to take a rest while they awaited their next set of instructions. It was not long before they were told to proceed to Vierville where Colonel Sink had set up the battalion command post. It was also, conveniently, where the aid station was located. Once the men were situated for the night, Dick and Nixon quickly made their way to hotel that had been taken over as a medical facility.

They had barely walked in the door, the copper tang of blood just meeting their noses, before the battalion surgeon was calling out to him.

“Winters! Why in the hell did you send me a civilian?!”

“Strategic intelligence asset, sir.” Nixon replied smoothly, stepping in front of Dick to take the heat. “Where might we find her?”

“In one of the back offices. She cannot stay here. She needs to go a hospital whenever you’re done…whatever you’re doing.” He narrowed his eyes skeptically, hands on his hips as made his way over to them between the rows of cots set up in the lobby.

“She going to be alright, sir?” Dick asked, tone carefully neutral.

“Concussion, lacerations, bruising, three stitches to the forehead, hearing gradually returning. Overall malnourishment like all the French civilians. She’ll be fine after a week or two.” He muttered. “In a civilian hospital.”

“Yes sir.” Nixon replied quickly with a grin, grabbing Dick’s arm and pulling him towards the aforementioned office.

For all his bluster, the pair were amused to find the surgeon had set you up in a rather nice space, a blanket draped over your legs and a mug of hot coffee in your hands. Though judging by the grimace you made after taking a sip, it wasn’t to your taste. Your hair pins must have fallen out during the struggle and subsequent transport as the style you’d been wearing that afternoon was lost, and a few swathes of gauze now encircled your head to hold a bandage in place over your stitches.

He knocked on the door frame quietly and you looked up, smiling at little, your eyes shifting to look at Nixon.

“Charlotte, this is Lieutenant Nixon.” Dick introduced his friend who quickly stepped forward to offer his hand.

“Lewis, please.” You took it carefully, shaking it in return.

“Charlotte Roussel.” You replied.

“Would it be alright if we asked you some questions?” Dick tilted his head, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.” You almost nodded again but caught yourself more quickly this time.

Dick stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and perching on the edge of the desk as Nixon took the only chair. He tried not to grin as you sipped the coffee and grimaced once more, obviously failing to conceal his reaction as you apologized.

“It’s very bitter, but very appreciated.”

“I won’t tell the surgeon.” He nodded with a conspiratorial look.

“So, Dick tells me you’re with the Resistance?” Nixon spoke after a moment of watching your exchange.

Your eyes slid over to Dick, and he tensed, briefly concerned you might be upset with him, before you looked back to Nixon. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Any information you might be able to share with us would be of great assistance.” Nixon nodded encouragingly.

“Well, all of my documents were quite recently destroyed but I’d be happy to share what I remember with you. Do you have a map?” Your question echoed one of the first you’d asked him and pulled a small smile from Dick’s lips.

He watched quietly as Nixon produced as clean map of the area and you easily provided all the information you had on which German troops were stationed where, between wincing sips of the hot drink cupped between your hands. The intelligence officer thrust out his palm about halfway through and Dick patted down his ODs until he produced a pencil for his friend, passing it to him so he might jot down the volume of information you were able to impart.

“And what about yourself, Miss Roussel?” Nixon looked up to you once he’d acquired all your knowledge of military use.

“Me?” You blinked innocently.

“Tell us about yourself.” Nixon nodded encouragingly, leaning back in his chair.

Dick noted the way your fingers tightened slightly on the mug, and he realized it bore the logo of the requisitioned hotel, but otherwise your demeanor remained calm and collected. “I was born just outside Paris in 1920. My aunt and uncle have a farm near St. Mere Eglise. They have no children of their own and when my Uncle Phillipe was killed during the invasion my Aunt Sophie asked if I could come help her. There is more to eat out here than Paris anyway, where you can grow it.”

“Why do you speak such good English?” Dick asked, unable to help himself.

Your eyes turned to meet his curiously. “I was a university student before the war, I had an excellent teacher from America. Ms. Jones. She was able to go home before the Nazis arrived.”

There was a touch of envy there, and though Dick was convinced you were selling them a very good story, the desire for ‘home’ struck him as true. He watched as you leaned back against the wall wearily, your eyelids growing heavier.

“You’ve never been to England?” Nixon prodded.

“No, Lieutenant Nixon. I’ve never left France.”

“Your experience with explosives? Who taught you that?”

“Antoine. He fought in the last war, he was a sapper. He was there after you took out the Germans who had captured our comrades.” You looked to Dick who nodded in reply, recalling the elderly man who easily could have fit that description.

He heard his friend sigh a little in frustration as you seemed to have a perfectly reasonable answer for everything – answers that were not what he was wanting to hear. A sharp knock on the door drew the attention of the group and Dick raised his head.

“Enter.”

A runner from Colonel Sink popped his head in the door and Dick sighed internally knowing they had run out of time. “Lieutenants, Colonel Sink has requested the pair of you at battalion CP immediately.”

“Right, thank you Sergeant. We’re on our way.” He looked to Nixon who sighed audibly in defeat before the pair looked to you.

You were barely keeping your eyes open, the mug in your hand tilting precariously. Dick carefully took it from your hold and set it on the desk.

“Thank you very much for your assistance, Miss Roussel. Do take care.” He stood, wishing there was something better to say, but there was too much to do. The landing had barely taken place and was by no means a sure success yet. The best thing he could do for you was to get out there and liberate France entirely.

“I’ll see to it that you’re transferred to a hospital as soon as we can.” Nixon added.

“You’re welcome, Lieutenants. And thank you.” You replied, Dick swallowing as he could feel your gaze following him out of the room.

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

Read Part Two

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers

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twstfanblog · 6 months ago

Text

Kingscholar "Triplets"

**Jabari Kingscholar-Bucchi**

Age: 18 (April 29)

School: Junior at NRC. Member of the Mountain Lover's climb

Height: 6'3"

Hair: Curly Blonde with dark brown roots

Eyes: One dark brown eye and one mid-blue eye

Likes: Helping Ruggie make meals in the orphanage, collecting rocks, reading, flying on his broom, listening to different types of music, sunny days

Dislikes: Swimming, vegetables, Language Arts, being bullied, people who speak too fast

Pets?: No pets, Leona says the younger children in their group home are pets enough.

Fav Food: Potjiekos (Eats around the vegetables much to Ruggie's displeasure)

Who's their Best Friend?: Malathew Draconia-Crewel

Dating/Crush?: Malathew Draconia-Crewel (Neither seems...to realize they are just straight-up dating)

Eldest of the Kingscholar 'Triplets', Jabari is a very timid hyena beastman and has a hard time understanding and communicating due to past brain damage.

Born to a poor village that wasn't reached by newly titled Duke Leona's reform methods, his parents attempted to drown him to have one less mouth to feed. Saved by his two friends Sadiki and Akili, they ran away from their village and lived in the Sunset Savana wilds for two years before they were found and brought to Leona and Ruggie's foster home/orphanage.

The 'triplets' lie was found out when they panicked at Jabari getting his acceptance letter to NRC, thinking it was an effort to separate them.

Though he is very clever if given time and a clear understanding of the problem, due to his decreased speech ability he was bullied heavily during his first few months at NRC. He became friends with Malathew hiding from his bullies in the library and Malathew enjoyed talking to him and even starts to tutor him as a personal challenge (The bullying stops since no one wants to fuck with the Draconia-Crewel kids. Leona is not happy hearing Jabari talk about his new best friend during winter break but holds his tongue.)

Loves being helpful to his friends and siblings. Is Ruggie’s main kitchen helper when he is home for breaks

Unique Magic: Undiscovered and lowkey forgets that he can have a unique magic. Very unbothered and simply living his life.

**Sadiki Kingscholar-Bucchi**

Age: 17 (February 5)

School: Sophmore at NRC. Member of the discontinued Girls Spelldrive team and unofficial Savanaclaw Housewarden

Height: 5'2"

Hair: Shoulder-length dark brown hair with blonde roots, normally styled in a fauxhawk

Eyes: Light blue eyes

Likes: Leadership roles, fruits, rock candy, kickboxing, stunt work, debating, politics

Dislikes: Being questioned, following other's lead, gardening, long novels, Leona

Pets?: No pets, Leona says the younger children in their group home are pets enough.

Fav Food: Plantain Fufu

Who's their Best Friend?: Malgona Draconia-Crewel

Dating/Crush?: Hera Diamond-Shroud (It took a whole fucking year for Hera to realize she was flirting with her)

Protective feral bitch. Is the reason the Girls Spelldrive team was no longer allowed to compete; jumped off and broke her broom across another girl's face in her first game when she kept mocking Sadiki's status as adopted by the 'unwanted Savana Prince'.

Born between the affair of a maid and Sunset Savana nobility. Her mother was thrown out once she was born clearly a hyena beastman like her mother and a girl. Her mother blames this decrease in lifestyle on Sadiki without ever telling her the full story, a fact Sadiki still doesn't know since she runs away with her friends to protect Jabari.

Uses her influence to run Savanaclaw with an iron fist. Enjoys being in charge and a menace (since she can't at home. Leona and Ruggie would beat her ass for bossing around her younger 'siblings')

Acts as a strange mirror to Leona in that she clearly shows the skills to be a great leader yet she constantly uses it for her own selfish gains. This causes them to butt heads often at home and for Leona to claim that Sadiki is his least favorite child. Leona still secretly mentors her to have a hand in running his dukedom in the future. He is the only one aware that Sadiki is the love child of a Sunset Savana noble.

Borderline disaster lesbian.

Unique Magic: Call of the Mockingjay. Plays heavily into her natural leadership skills; the spell grants her the ability to convince others onto her side effectively giving her access to minute-men armies. Sadiki isn't fully aware she's already discovered her unique magic and just chalks it up to her being very persuasive.

**Akili Kingscholar-Bucchi**

Age: 17 (December 23)

School: Sophmore at NRC. Member of the Spelldrive team and unwilling Savanaclaw Vice.

Height: 5'8"

Hair: Dirty blonde with a dark brown undercut.

Eyes: Pale hazel

Likes: Spelldrive, gardening, dancing, getting his allowance, having a back-up plan

Dislikes: Snow, when things go wrong, Sadiki being stubborn, getting sick, spicy food (still eats it), when the girls team helps the main spell drive team practice for games

Pets?: No pets, Leona says the younger children in their group home are pets enough.

Fav Food: Beef Suya

Who's their Best Friend: JJ Viper-Crewel and Mozenrath al Asim

Dating/Crush?: Not dating nor crushing. Bi-curious.

'Leona's favorite', the least 'troublesome' out of his siblings. Hyena beastman who states he's just trying to survive and that's why he's had such an easy-going school life.

Takes the life lessons he's learned from both Leona and Ruggie very seriously and is most open about being grateful the two pulled him and his siblings out of the wilds. He's also the one who accidentally calls to attention Leona and Ruggie actually have no idea if the 'triplets' are telling them the truth when they first stay in the foster manor.

Of the 'triplets' his background is nearly completely unknown since he doesn't talk about it and Sadiki and Jabari honestly have no true information on what his homelife was like before they ran away.

The voice of reason of the Kingscholar triplets. The one who has Plan B when Sadiki's Plan A fails.

He and Malcent are civil but annoyed that everyone thinks they are best friends just because their siblings are best friends. Acts as the 'moral brain cell' of his trio of friends.

Unique Magic: Undiscovered and starting to look into how to start manifesting it.

**Azizi/Khari Kingscholar-Bucchi**

Age: 5 (August 1)

Height: 3'5"

Hair: Dark brown wavy with blonde tips

Eyes: Pale teal

Likes: Spelldrive, meat, coloring, napping with his papa, going on adventures with cousin Cheka, scavenger hunts, sweet melon

Dislikes: Naptime, the loud bugs (Cicadas), bell pepper, scary movies, people being mean to his siblings

Pets?: No pets, tries so hard to bring in random animals to hide in the house

Fav Food: Doro Wat

Who's their Best Friend: Two slightly older noble children that Cheka introduced him to (Timon and Pumba Twists)

Cheka recolor, 'Mama's boy', cuddle bug. Leona and Ruggie call him different names and he'll decide later on which he prefers to be referred by. Very bubbly and loving lion beastman child who sees all of the foster children Leona and Ruggie take in as his full siblings.

Surprise baby. Leona has one of those bodies that don't show as pregnant and didn't have any pregnancy symptoms past an uptick in his meat cravings. Since Leona wasn't aware he was pregnant he didn't change his lifestyle and continued to drink during the pregnancy. By the grace of the gods, Azizi/Khari was completely unaffected and was born healthy. (Ruggie is completely unaware of this baby's birth until Leona returns with Azizi/Khari from a work trip)

Loves doing 'paperwork' with Leona in his office (He is just coloring/doing his writing assignments and calling it important documents). Ruggie and Leona are trying to remind him he's 5 and not about to inherit Leona's dukedom right that second. He still does his homework in Leona's office and they hold 'council' about their respective progress.

Unique Magic: Undiscovered and only now showing the ability to perform magic.

Now to look at the Leech Fry

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #leona x ruggie #twst fankid #fankids

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rumbelleshowdown · 5 months ago

Text

Author: apple jacks

Group: Final

Prompts: Baby milestones. Panic, expect, ambition, compact. Treasure.

French’s Bed and Breakfast

Belle was dozing on the couch, her head tipping over the book open in her lap.

It was easier to wait downstairs when someone was late for check-in; living on the third floor of the Victorian afforded her and Gideon the most privacy and neither one of them minded the stairs. They creaked something fierce, though, and she never wanted to chance waking the other guests.

Not that there were others right now to wake; they had reached the dead-zone of mid January, when the holidays were over and travel ceased. Coastal Maine didn’t have anything to recommend itself for a yearly tourist season, and Storybrooke, tucked away from any major city, was no exception.

They’d make do in the dead months of winter. They always had, her and Gideon.

This recent booking would help; a last minute reservation wasn’t the difference between life and death, but it would help keep the heat running.

Belle stirred as she heard the sound of footsteps on her porch, her hand reaching more out of instinct than thought for her bookmark. The following knock was sharp and impatient.

Opening the door, she was greeted by a man with not quite shoulder length hair in a long black coat, a single duffle bag slug around his shoulder. One of his hands was occupied by a gold topped cane. He had dark brown eyes and a long face that might have been handsome had it not been downturned in a truly impressive scowl.

“Are you going to stand there staring at me all night?” he snapped.

“Welcome to French’s Bed and Breakfast.” Belle pulled on a serene smile that would put Florence Nightingale to shame as she stepped aside to let him in.

"Save your pleasantries," the man said, the tap of his cane muffled by the rug as he made his way through the doorway.

Belle spared a glance outside—the shape of a dark car she didn’t recognize was parked at the end of her driveway, barely visible from the light of the house. At least he had parked in the right spot.

“Would you like help with your other bags?”

His scowl deepened as he surveyed the entranceway. “What I would like is to be pointed to my room.”

Belle suppressed a sigh and closed the door.

“Of course, sir,” she said in a mollifying tone. She side-stepped him to get to the table that acted as her front desk. Opening her laptop, she asked, “Can I have your name?”

“Gold.” It was said as if he’d thrown a plate on the floor.

Yup, there he was, an S. Gold, her guest for the next two weeks. Lucky her.

“Okay, we’ve put you into the Garden Room—”

“Ground floor.” It wasn’t quite a snarl, but Belle didn’t appreciate his curling lip.

“I’m sorry?”

“I requested a room on the ground floor.”

Which is exactly what the Garden Room was; she’d seen the request when the booking website had made the reservation, and she was accommodating it.

She held out the room key, customer-service smile plastered over her face despite her tired annoyance. “And so it is. I’m afraid it’s too late for a full tour—”

“I wouldn’t be so late if you had better signage—”

“But if you follow me through here, I’ll show you to your room, and then we can both call it a night,” she finished. She breezed past, knowing he followed thanks to the soft tap of his cane. “Breakfast is served from seven to ten, join us or don’t.”

He entered his room, not acknowledging a word she said. Without even a look, he firmly shut the door in her face.

The bed and breakfast had seen worse guests, even if she couldn’t name any of them right then. At least he’d paid upfront.

The next day dawned bright and cold. Belle had some time before she had to get breakfast started, so she lay in bed enjoying the sunset as it peeked through her curtains. It was her favorite time of day, especially so because of the soft notes of the piano that rose to greet her.

Gideon liked to practice before he left for school; her son also liked to practice when he arrived home from school. Honestly, if he’d been able to play the piano in his sleep he’d have found the way to. It was a good thing his room was three floors away, or he really would be playing every moment he could. As such, the piano was currently set against the south wall of the study. Which was directly next to the Garden Room. Where she had put up Mr. Gold.

Oh no.

Belle was out of bed, pulling on her robe and half-way down the hallway before she realized it. Gideon knew the rules about quiet hours, but he likely hadn’t thought to check the registration book––and who could blame him, the booking only came in the day before—their last guest left the seventh, nearly two weeks ago—she didn’t care if Gold was a guest, if he so much as looked at Gideon cross-eyed, she’d—

But as Belle’s feet hit the ground floor, she heard something surprising.

”—don’t need to worry about the black keys yet,” she heard Gideon say. “Now, can you find the C again?”

”Here, isn’t it?”

Belle recognized the voice of Mr. Gold, but it was less sharp than it had been the night before.

“Yes, that’s right. So where are the F and G?”

Belle poked her head around the corner. Gideon was sitting at the bench, which was expected. Beside him was Mr. Gold, which was not.

“These two, yes? Next to each other.” His hand was pointed to the keyboard.

“That’s right.” Gideon positioned a finger over each key. “Play these together six times,” he said, going slow. “And then you move your left finger over, down to the E, and play both keys six more times.”

Gold nodded as Gideon kept playing, a present student.

“And then you’ll move both fingers to the D and B, like this. There’s a skip down to A and then B after four beats on the right finger, but then it’s to C for both, and then you move up the scale until you’re back to F and G, then you do it all again.”

“You make it look easy.” Gold’s voice was quiet, and Belle suspected Gideon couldn't hear the amusement.

”It is easy; it’s a song for babies.” Gideon took his hands away. “Here, you try it.”

Gold didn’t hesitate to replace her son’s fingers on the piano; he matched Gideon’s pace and carefully tapped the piano keys exactly how he’d been shown.

”Like that?”

”Yes, exactly. And that’s the first part.”

”You mean there’s more?”

”If you want to learn piano, you have to learn Chopsticks. Let’s do it again, it’s important to practice.”

”Good morning,” Belle said.

Gideon startled, fingers hitting the keys askew.

”Mom,” he said brightly, turning towards her and quickly removing his hands from the keys. “Morning.”

She raised her eyebrow, and his smile turned sheepish.

”He was already awake,” he mumbled.

Belle shot a glance to Mr. Gold, who didn’t look like he’d be lodging a noise complaint. His poker face was much better than her son’s, though.

”I’m going to get started on breakfast. Gideon, have you eaten?”

”Yeah, I had some cereal.” His eyes darted back to the piano, anxious to resume his impromptu lesson.

Belle looked towards her guest, catching his stare before he quickly looked away.

”How do you take your eggs?” she asked him.

He blinked, the question taking a few seconds to register in his head. ”However you make them is fine.”

Belle went to the kitchen, and the sound of carefully pressed keys followed. They had made it through the entirety of Chopsticks twice as she was reaching for the juice glasses. Then Gideon was calling out a goodbye, followed by the sound of the door.

She waited for Gold to appear at the table, but instead the piano music picked back up, and it was not the simple children’s song. Frowning, Belle turned back to the study.

She didn’t know what song he was playing; it was mellow and calm and somber and good for a gray winter morning. It was also definitely not on the sheet music that Gideon had left open on the music rack.

”A beginner, huh?”

Mr. Gold did not startle, nor did he stop playing. “Your son is a skilled teacher,” he said, voice carrying over the notes.

Just who was this man? Showing up out of nowhere in his fine suits, reserving a room for two weeks with only a small bag. One moment he was a snapping dragon and the next happy to humor an excited child. Belle wondered what other facets he was hiding.

”How long has he been playing?”

His question broke her out of her scrutiny, and she realized she’d been staring rather rudely at his profile.

“He turned nine in November, so about that long.”

“A passionate lad.”

Her sound of agreement was covered by the ending notes. They hung in the air, even as Mr. Gold turned to face her. It seemed he wasn’t sure what to do when his hands weren’t occupied, and he looked at her, lost.

For this, she at least had the answer.

“Breakfast is in the kitchen. You want some coffee?”

Gold carefully stood from the bench, his cane in hand as he trailed after her.

”Please.”

She got him seated in front of her morning spread; eggs and bacon, a stack of toast and a bowl of fresh fruit, served family style, albeit paired down considerably.

”Anything else?” she asked as she set down his coffee.

“Aren’t you eating?” He gestured to the seat across him and the lack of a second place setting.

“I usually eat after guests.”

”Please don’t wait on my account.”

“You don’t mind the company?”

“No,” he was quick to assure her. “Not at all.”

Belle got herself a plate and a fork, sitting across from Mr. Gold at the table.

“What brings you to Storybrooke?” Belle asked, scooping some scrambled eggs onto her plate.

“Visiting family.”

“Distant relatives?” At his nonplussed look, she said, “I don’t know of any other Scottish people around here.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I haven’t stepped foot in Scotland in decades. My son is quite American, unfortunately. I’m sure you relate.”

“Not all bad, these American kids,” Belle said, more amused than she was willing to admit. Not everyone clocked her own Australian accent, it having mellowed and flattened in all her years spent stateside.

“You’re visiting your son, then?” At his nod, she asked, “Special occasion?”

His crooked smirk immediately transformed to a wide smile, the happiness uncontainable on his sharp face.

“I’m a grandfather,” he said with pride. “My son and his wife had a baby, and I’m here to meet him.”

”A baby! Oh that’s wonderful.” She went through a mental list of everyone she knew who’d had one recently: it was very short. She could really only think of Ashley and Shawn, but Shawn’s father was very much already in town and very much not Scottish.

“Who’s your son?” Belle asked.

”Neal Cassidy,” he said with quiet reference. “His wife is—”

”Emma! Right! They’re quite new to town themselves—“ she cut herself off, realizing. “Henry is almost two, isn’t he? And you’re only meeting him now?”

It was as effective as having the door slammed in her face. Gold’s face shuttered, and just like that the man who’d checked in last night was sitting across from her. It was the first time she’d seen him all morning.

“Yes, well,” he said, starting to push out his chair. His breakfast was only half eaten.

”Wait.” Belle’s hand grabbed his, and the contact shocked him enough that he stopped his escape. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Gold focused on their hands on the table, and she could feel the effort it took him to unclench.

“Neal and I have had our differences,” he said quietly. “He’s my treasure, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I ruined it. Completely.”

Belle squeezed his hand. She could only imagine what sort of rift had opened up between him and his son. If she were ever to become estranged from Gideon, that’d be it. She’d be nothing but dust.

”I may have missed some of Henry’s early milestones, but I’m here now.”

”You are,” Belle agreed, giving his hand another squeeze. “Neal invited you himself, didn’t he?” If he hadn’t, it was going to create problems that were way above Belle’s ability to solve.

“Aye, he did.”

”Well, there you go then.” With a nod, she pulled her hand back, picking up her coffee mug.

Gold stared at his hand, now alone on the table. “I don’t understand.”

”Family can be complicated, but it’s never too late to mend things. Neal wants you here, and wants you in Henry’s life. He wouldn’t have invited you otherwise.”

Gold moved the remains of his breakfast listlessly around his plate. He sighed, the weight of his past mistakes evident in the lines of his face. Belle watched him with curiosity, wondering about the stories he carried within him. She knew all too well the wounds that could fester over time if left unattended.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said finally.

“I know it’s not,” Belle assured him. “But it’s never too late to try to make things right.” She offered him a smile over her mug. “The first step is always the hardest. Always.”

“Here’s to an easier second step then,” Gold said, letting the smallest of smiles show on his face. Belle was right; he was handsome when he wasn’t scowling.

”Here’s to you enjoying your time in Storybrooke.”

#rumbelle showdown #round four entry #author: apple jacks

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