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handwrittenhello · 3 years

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Taste So Sweet

happy birthday @anais-ninja-bitch! here's some geraskefer nonsense with terrible campfire cookery, as requested!

rated G, no warnings, 900 words

“Well, Yennefer? Want s’more?” Jaskier asked, waggling his eyebrows in what he thought was a seductive manner. It made him look constipated more than anything else. Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“If you make that joke one more time, you’ll find tomorrow that your balls will have mysteriously vanished,” she replied, discreetly thumbing marshmallow from the corner of her mouth. The movement was interrupted by Geralt leaning in to kiss her, licking wetly at the marshmallow as he did. It tickled, and she bit his bottom lip in retaliation, tasting the sweetness of chocolate on his tongue.

He withdrew with a slight smile, and handed her another marshmallow, already speared on a stick—the stabbing of the marshmallow was something he excelled at, always his favorite part of roasting them. “Here. Before Jaskier burns them all,” he said, which gained him exactly the offended reaction he was hoping for.

“I could roast them if I so chose,” Jaskier sniped. “They taste better burnt, is all. A little bit of bitter among the sweetness, the perfect complement to the muted notes of graham cracker and the richness of the chocolate—” he waxed, cutting off when Geralt pelted another marshmallow at him.

Yennefer, meanwhile, was on the hunt for the hottest part of the coals—the secret to getting marshmallows a beautiful golden-brown, she knew, lay not in the flames, but in the red-hot embers. She hovered her marshmallow over them until it started to smoke, then quickly withdrew it, rotated it, and began again, searching for the perfect sear.

“It’s not rocket science, Yen,” Geralt said dryly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear that had fallen and was obscuring her vision.

“What would you know about it? You eat them raw,” Yennefer responded disgustedly.

“Like a heathen,” Jaskier agreed, completely missing the irony as someone who liked his burnt. He brought his flaming marshmallow up to his face and blew it out, popping it in his mouth seconds later, wincing at the heat, though he never learned from it. He got up from his seat around the campfire, intent on pilfering the last few from the bag that Geralt carefully guarded.

Just as Yennefer pulled her perfectly-roasted marshmallow from the fire, Jaskier’s boot caught on a rock jutting up from the ground. She saw it as if in slow motion: his arms pinwheeled, and for a moment she thought that he might regain his balance. But he didn’t, falling forwards into the firepit.

Geralt jumped up with supernatural speed, launching himself across the fire circle, one hand extended to push Jaskier back, the other aiming Aard towards the fire. The shockwave blew out the fire just as Geralt caught him, pulling him snug against his chest. Ashes sprayed everywhere, dousing them all in a fine grey powder.

“Alright?” Geralt asked, at the same time as Yennefer hissed, “Idiot.” She hated when he made her worry about him.

“Whoo,” Jaskier laughed shakily. “That was close. Thanks for the rescue,” he said, patting Geralt on the chest a few times, and then turning it into squeezing his pec. Something about Geralt’s chest never failed to mesmerize Jaskier—Geralt often had fun with it, turning Jaskier into a gibbering mess whenever he stepped shirtless out of the shower.

Geralt allowed it for a moment, and then, seeing as Jaskier was fine—only a little startled by the near-accident—dumped him on the ground. Jaskier flopped into the dirt, lying there limply like a sad puppet. Out of pity, Yennefer went to throw another marshmallow at him—only to see that the bag of marshmallows had ended up in the fire during the commotion, and was now a slightly-smoking mess of melted plastic and marshmallow among the ashes.

“The marshmallows,” Jaskier said mournfully. “Rest in peace. Your sacrifice won’t be forgotten.” His gaze then zeroed in on the last marshmallow standing—Yennefer’s, which had somehow miraculously survived unscathed so far. “Yen,” he began.

“No.”

“Yeeennnn,” Jaskier whined.

“No.”

“But—”

Yennefer quickly took a bite out of it to quell his pleading, but it didn’t have the taste of victory she’d been expecting. It tasted slightly of ash, soured by Jaskier’s wide-as-a-puppy-dog’s eyes. With a sigh, she handed him the other half. He broke out into an ecstatic smile, popped it into his mouth, and then levered himself up to plant a sticky kiss on her lips.

They lost themselves in it, all the while accompanied by the sounds of Geralt cleaning up their wreck of a campsite in the background.

“We ought to help,” Jaskier finally said, breaking the kiss.

“We could,” Yennefer agreed. “Or we could do this,” she offered, and snagged Geralt by the wrist as he passed. She pulled him down on her lap—he always sat so carefully, as if he was afraid to break her with his weight—and yanked him by the hair until she could capture his mouth in a kiss.

“Ohohoho, very nice,” Jaskier complimented.

“Yen,” Geralt complained, shifting in her lap. “What about the—”

“It can wait,” she interrupted. He gave up and sank into the kiss, trading places with Jaskier when he got impatient, and the sun slowly set.

It was getting colder without a fire, and the air smelt of burnt marshmallows and plastic, but the three of them had never tasted so sweet.

(link to ao3 in the notes!)

#geraskefer #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #yennefer #fluff #anais-ninja-bitch

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slimeypuppy · 2 years

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Request for the Kenstewy Agent Au: Kendall gets jealous after seeing Stewy flirts with fellow agent Josh Aaronson at a party (you can change the setting if you want to though)

Kendall is fuming. He has been for most of the night, which is so unlike him that Stewy feels unsettled in the drive back to the hotel they're staying at. It's been a decent evening. They had an event to attend in order to get closer to their target, and their suits are still done up tight as Stewy drives down the dark road, leaving the faux-suburban location of the "house" party and returning to their base camp for this mission. It went well, he thinks. They spoke with everyone they needed to, got more information than they expected, and Stewy ran into an old friend who was more than happy to pass on any gossip he had learned. The two of them trained together before Stewy was good enough to get high profile jobs and team up with the Roy siblings. It occurs to him that he defines his life as being pre-Kendall or post-Kendall.

"Are you gonna talk to me before smoke starts coming out your fucking ears?" he finally asks. "You're really fucking with my good mood. It was a nice night, and we got all the info we needed. There's literally nothing for you to be mad about."

"I'm not mad."

Stewy snorts. "Bullshit. Tell me or I will pull over and make you walk your sorry ass home."

With a dramatic sigh, Kendall leans his head against the window, staring out it mournfully like he's in a music video. He's like that, always picturing himself as the center-stage main character whose feelings are the ultimate driving force in the world. It's as endearing as it is irritating.

"You seemed really friendly with that guy in the green tie," Kendall says. "You were all over him."

Green tie. Green tie... Stewy has to do a mental inventory of who was wearing a green tie tonight, and comes up with Josh. Josh was either wearing green or blue, he can't remember, but he's probably who Kendall's referring to if he's upset about familiarity. Then the absurdity of the statement hits him, and Stewy has to mentally remind himself not to just slam his face against the steering wheel in frustration.

"Is that what this is about? Fucking Josh?"

Kendall shrugs.

"Holy shit, man. Are you jealous?"

He puts on his turn signal and pulls over on the side of the road. Ever cautious, he turns on his hazards before he puts the car in park, giving him the chance to look over at Kendall properly.

"You are, aren't you? Baby, that's pathetic."

"Yeah, well." Kendall has to hear the teasing note of his voice, because he doesn't seem genuinely bothered by the dig. "I'm allowed."

"Oh, you're allowed? Like I'm your fucking dog, or some shit, and I started humping someone else's leg? I'll have you know I didn't even consider it."

Kendall unbuckles his seatbelt and rolls down the window for fresh night air. "It's not like you didn't lose your shit about Rava."

"Okay, well that's- that's different, and you know it, so fuck you."

He moves so suddenly that Stewy's reflexes don't kick in before Kendall has him by the collar of his shirt, his own hand a millisecond too late when it closes around Kendall's wrist. His heart leaps to his throat. It's not because he's scared. He swallows and Kendall's half-lidded eyes follow the motion like it's the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe.

"You were all over him."

"I really wasn't."

"Did you fuck him? Before you and I?"

In truth, he didn't. Stewy isn't stupid enough to make a habit of mixing business and pleasure, except for Kendall, who seems to be the exception to every rule Stewy's ever made in his entire life. Josh isn't ugly, and he'd probably be a good lay, but it's never happened, and he has no interest in it now. He could tell Kendall as much. It's more fun to goad him on.

"It doesn't matter if I did or didn't," Stewy tells him, unable to resist a cocky half-smile. "It matters if I want to do it now."

Kendall makes a frustrated sound. "And uh, do you?"

"I might."

Just as quickly as he grabbed him, Kendall releases him and gets out of the car. Stewy waits a beat before joining him, to see Kendall leaning against the side of the car and staring out along the deserted nighttime horizon. There's nothing but empty fields for miles around them, and no cars to be seen in either direction.

"What the fuck, Ken?"

"Get on your knees," Kendall orders.

Stewy scoffs. "On the fucking side of the road? You wish."

"I'll get your pants dry-cleaned."

He should refuse on principle alone. He doesn't give Kendall head very often, and he certainly doesn't do it on the side of the road in the open air on a whim. Stewy didn't get this far in life by being reckless. But he looks at Kendall, leaning against the side of the car with his arms crossed and his head cocked, and he knows he'd do anything Kendall asked of him. He'll be a bitch about it every time. He'll still do it.

Making his grievances known through mostly indistinct commentary under his breath, Stewy kneels in front of Kendall. The road is harsh beneath his knees, and he's already uncomfortable, but then Kendall's undoing his belt and he's too busy trying to keep all the blood in his body from rushing to his dick to be upset about the position right now.

Once Kendall's got his cock in hand, lazily stroking himself to full hardness, he doesn't have to say a word for Stewy to open his mouth and look up expectantly. He's too into this, he thinks, but there's no backing out. He's never been able to refuse the pleasure and relief of fucking Kendall.

"Listen to me," Kendall says, and Stewy wants to more than anything. "If you need a- a break, or you need to stop, squeeze my thigh. Or just push me away, I know you can."

"Believe me, Ken, if I didn't want to be down here giving you a blowie, I wouldn't be."

"I know."

Before Stewy can respond to that, Kendall buries his free hand in Stewy's hair and uses it to hold him in place as he slowly pushes into his mouth. By now, he knows about how deep he can go without making Stewy gag, so he pauses before that point and holds him there, eyes watering and mouth stretched wide.

"Doesn't fucking matter if you did want to fuck him," Kendall says, finally pulling back enough to let Stewy gasp in some hair before dragging him right back down, a little further this time. "You're- you're mine, aren't you?"

It's hard to argue that with his mouth occupied, which Stewy supposes is the point.

"I know you are. You'd get bored with anyone else. You'd figure them out, take them apart in that weird fucking way you do, and they wouldn't be able to surprise you anymore so you'd just leave them or kill them. But me?" He's moving a little faster now, giving Stewy less time to breathe and making him take Kendall's dick a little deeper on each thrust so that he's fighting the urge to gag on it. "You can't figure me out, can you, baby? You didn't expect me to get you on your knees where anyone can see you, and that excites you and scares the shit out of you."

Kendall shifts his weight to press the toe of his shiny dress shoe against Stewy's inner thigh, mere inches away from giving him any friction or satisfaction worth taking.

"That's probably why you don't let me mark you where anyone could see it. Everyone would know that you let me fuck you up."

If he could speak, Stewy would insult him right about now, but he's right. He's a wildcard in a lot of ways, and it's as thrilling as it is terrifying. He's playing with fire every time he interacts with Kendall, but it's more addictive than any drug.

"I wanna take my time with you," Kendall decides, and yanks Stewy off him, a single line of saliva still connecting his pouting lips to Kendalls' dick. "Someplace with a bed and a fucking- a fucking lock, so we can relax. I wanna remind you-"

"Remind me of what?"

Stewy uses Kendall's moment of distraction to stand up and back, leaving Kendall to tuck himself back into his clothes and rebuckle his belt.

"Remind me that you can't stand the fact that other people know how hot I am? Or remind me that you like to think you're on top for any reason other than I let you?"

Kendall opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it the moment Stewy gets close again, pupils wide and dark in the low light as Stewy rests his forearm across Kendall's throat to keep him pinned in place.

"Don't get cocky on me, baby. I can still kick your ass."

"I'm terrified," Kendall says in a flat, unaffected voice.

They stay like that, both fighting off smiles, until Stewy has the good sense to back off and round the car to the driver's side again. The hotel is only another twenty minutes away.

#kendall roy #stewy hosseini #kenstew #emwrite #agent!au #nsft

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king-finnigan · 4 years

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Play With Fire - part 2

People really seemed to want a sequel to the Geraskier Prison AU drabble I wrote yesterday, and I actually really loved the idea. So I did it, I wrote a sequel. And I will definitely write more cause I’m already loving this.

Title from Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz.

(FYI, if you want to be tagged in the next parts so you get a notification when they come out, let me know! Leave a comment or DM me or send me an ask, or something like that)

***

He stands there, frozen in the middle of his bedroom, hand still ghosting the place where his badge should’ve been. He’s not sure what to do - should he go back to the prison immediately and corner Jaskier, demanding his badge back? Or should he wait until the morning? Who knows what the little shit could do in the meantime, though, but if Geralt returns to the prison now, he’s sure to attract attention from the higher-ups, and he’ll have to explain the situation, certainly costing him his job.

He startles out of his thoughts when his phone rings, and something sinks in the pit of his stomach when he sees that it’s his boss. With trembling hands, he picks up, raising the phone to his ear.

“Mr. Palmer, how can I h-”

“One of the inmates has escaped.” Geralt closes his eyes, silently cursing himself as panic and horror wash over him. His boss continues: “And we know he used your badge to escape, since it’s been used after you left.”

“Sir, I-”

“You have five minutes to explain yourself, Rivia.”

Geralt wipes a hand over his face, swallowing thickly. Of course he can’t just say what happened - that would surely get him arrested. After all, getting into sexual situations with inmates is highly illegal, for good reason - cause shit like this might happen. He blinks, trying to come up with a credible story, when he remembers - hazily - the few minutes before... well...

“He was looking for a pencil. A yellow one, he said. He refused to leave, so I made a compromise that if we found the pencil, he would go to the dining room. He must’ve nicked my badge when we were looking for it.”

It’s quiet for a few moments on the other end of the line, and Geralt feels his heartbeat in his throat, hard and fast.

“Look, sir, I am so sorry,” he continues, when the silence becomes unbearable, “I know I screwed up and I take full responsibility, I-”

“Oh, rest assured, Mr. Rivia,” his boss interrupts him, voice cold, “there will be consequences. Later. For now, get your ass back here. We’ve got a prisoner to catch.”

Mr. Palmer hangs up. Geralt sinks down on his bed, head in his hands, as the weight of the situation hits him. Not only is he certainly going to lose his job, and he probably won’t ever find another one after a screw-up of this magnitude, but now there’s also a murderer on the loose in the outside world, and any casualties that may come from that are his responsibility, his fault.

He curses himself for being so stupid, for being so careless. Not only did he fall for the tricks Jaskier played on him, but he also didn’t notice his badge missing until it was way too late. He sighs again, getting up, getting ready to go back to the prison and face what he’s done.

---

Four days later, the police find a dead man in a bar, stabbed in the neck with a broken beer bottle. The witnesses describe the murderer as a lean, young man, with brown hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a wicked grin.

Sure enough, they find Jaskier’s fingerprints on the neck of the bottle.

---

Two days after that, Geralt is sitting in an armchair, looking out of the window into the black night, lost in his thoughts.

Though the manhunt has been going on for six days now, they still haven’t found a trace of the prisoner - except for the dead body he left behind. No one seems to have seen him, and it’s almost like he just disappeared into thin air.

And it’s all Geralt’s fault, he knows. He’s sure to face some grave consequences the minute they capture Jaskier - if they capture Jaskier.

He frowns, pulled out of his thoughts when his phone rings. The caller ID simply says ‘unknown number’ and he blinks for a second, unsure of who it could be, before he picks up.

“Geralt Rivia,” he says.

“Good evening, sir.” He freezes, hands going numb, face slack, as he recognizes the voice that drawls into his ear.

“You,” he hisses. “Why are you calling me?”

“Oh, my, I thought you would be happy to hear from me.”

Geralt snarls. “Why the hell would I be happy?”

He can practically hear Jaskier shrug, before he hears a sigh on the other end of the phone. “It gets so lonely out here, you know that?” Another sigh. “I can’t stop thinking about the last time we saw each other.”

“When you stole my fucking badge and ruined my life?” He can’t keep the bite out of his voice. Rationally, he knows that if he sweet-talks Jaskier, he might get a hint about the young man’s whereabouts, but he’s too angry to take that into consideration, right now.

Jaskier sighs again, almost wistfully. “No, when you rutted against me like a wild animal. Too bad we were interrupted, I really would’ve liked to see what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been.”

Geralt closes his eyes, grinding his teeth as he tries to push away the memories of that evening, to suppress the slight arousal that stirs in him. He decides to change the subject.

“That man at the bar. Why’d you do it? Did he recognize you?”

Jaskier chuckles, low and deep. “No, he didn’t. As a matter of fact, I could’ve walked out of there and no one would’ve known that I was there that evening.”

“Then why?”

“He and his friends were talking about my wonderful little escape, and he said that the guard who’d let that happen was a moron. I couldn’t let that slide, of course.”

Geralt frowns, as the words start sinking in. “You killed him because he insulted me?”

“Why, yes,” he can practically hear the grin Jaskier must be wearing right now, “I knew you’d understand.”

“I- No, I don’t ‘understand’. You killed someone.”

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier sounds impatient, as if he doesn’t know what the fuss is about, “I killed someone. But I did it for you.”

Geralt sits there, frozen in his armchair, mind racing yet completely standing still at the same time. “Why? Why for me?”

“Because I love you.” Jaskier says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Geralt frowns, wiping a hand over his face.

“No, you don’t. Killing for someone is not love. You barely even know me.”

“Don’t I?” Jaskier laughs again, softly, sincerely, voice like smooth silk against Geralt’s skin. “I know you only drink one cup of coffee in the morning because your stomach can’t handle more. I know you take said coffee with a lot of milk and three sugars, because you don’t like the bitter taste. You don’t like spice, either, you have a sensitive tongue. I know you wish you could get a dog, but the days at the prison are too long, and you don’t have the money. I know you’re senstive about the colour of your hair and eyes. I know your favourite colour is blue. I know you like my eyes because of that. I know you’re attracted to me, at the very least, and maybe you love me as well, but I’m not sure of that just yet-”

“Stop it,” Geralt says, face in one hand, the other trembling as he holds the phone to his ear, elbows on his knees.

Jaskier continues, unbothered. “I know you’d fuck me into next week if you had the chance-”

“Enough!” Geralt barks, taking deep, labored breaths. “Enough,” he says again, voice weak.

“Do you believe me now?” Jaskier asks, voice soft, sincere.

“Yes,” Geralt lies. “I believe you.”

“You’re a terrible liar, love.”

“Please,” Geralt whispers, voice laced with the pain and uncertainty he feels in his chest, “please just surrender. Go to the nearest police station, give yourself up. Please.”

Jaskier chuckles again. “I don’t think I will, love. I’m enjoying the outside world too much, and I just don’t feel like being stuck in a prison for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, love, we both know it is. I’ve killed two people now, soon to be three, and we both know they’re never going to let me out, if I give myself up.”

Geralt frowns, lowering his hand from his eyes. “Wait. Soon to be three?”

Jaskier sighs, almost mournfully. “I have to go now, love. Until soon.”

“Wait!” Geralt shouts, panic building in his stomach. “What do you mean, soon to be three? Jaskier!” The phone clicks, and starts beeping incessantly into Geralt’s ear. Jaskier’s hung up.

He resists the urge to throw his phone across the room, laying it on the table next to him, putting his head in his hands.

Soon to be three. The words echo around his mind. Soon to be three.

---

Well enough, two days later, the cops find the body of Mr. Palmer, Geralt’s boss, sitting on the couch in his own living room, throat cut, eyes open and unseeing, staring ahead.

They find a little note next to the body, Jaskier’s fingerprints all over it. ‘He won’t be bothering you anymore,’ it says. One of the cops asks Geralt if he knows what it means.

Geralt lies and says that he doesn’t.

He later finds out that Mr. Palmer never told anyone that Jaskier used Geralt’s badge to escape. Though, he knows it won’t be long until someone else finds out, knows he’ll get fired and probably arrested at some point, now that there are two people dead because of his inattention.

Someone else will figure out what happened, he knows, and Geralt dreads the day Jaskier finds out who it is.

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #play with fire #prison au #shits getting intense now huh #either way i loved writing this #don't worry there will be smut soon #lots of it #cw blood #cw murder

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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

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Love At First Coffee (Vanya Hargreeves x reader)

Summary: Y/N is a struggling flautist, trying to make ends meet, but when a violinist catches her eyes, life doesn’t seem quite so difficult.

Request: No

TUA Taglist: @neymarlionelmessi7

Beep beep beep. Y/N groaned, stretching out languidly as she patted her bedside table. Her fingers found nothing but the worn wooden surface. Blearily rubbing her eyes, she pushed herself up onto one elbow. The alarm was incessant. Where on earth was that phone?

The bitter smell of coffee filled the kitchen as she poured the boiling water into her chipped mug. A lethargic ache had settled into her bones; the haphazard pile of unopened letters mounting her dread the more she looked at the mess. A quick glance at the plastic clock ticking merrily away warned her she was on the verge of being late if she did not leave now.

Y/N slung the straps of her flute case and tattered leather satchel over her shoulder, her crumpled sheet music clutched in one hand. The lock of her apartment was always such a fiddle and she stuffed the sheet music in her satchel, wincing as it creased even further. She yanked the door shut, leaning backwards to align the lock as she twisted the key.

With a huff, she blew the strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes during her tussle with the door. Her path was a familiar one; down the hallway over the scuffed tiles, where she’d have to wait for the creaky elevator to haul itself up to her, and then out onto the street. Past the rowdy bar that never seemed to shut and the hot dog street vendor to the bus stop, littered with chewing gum and graffiti. Then, depending on whether she had the time to waste on the agonizingly slow journey, it was either onto the grimy bus, nodding to the leering driver, or straight past, a brisk walk of about 20 minutes to the concert hall.

Today was not going in her favor. Y/N sighed as it pulled away from the stop. No need to make a choice now. The walk into the more central and less dodgy area of town was usually quite unpleasant; the streets were still reeling from the nighttime activities. She wrinkled her nose as the putrid scent of rotting garbage filled the air, a dumpster nearby overflowing with ripped trash bags.

Keeping her head down, she hurried through the streets, neatly sidestepping the ‘businessmen’ on their flip phones and the gossiping ladies, one hand always clamping their handbags shut. A rush of balmy air burst through the vent as she passed over it, the warm stench of urine and cooking garbage wafting upwards. Left, then a right, then straight on past two crossroads and lines of honking traffic and foul-mouthed drivers, swearing at the day for daring to begin. Wait for the lights to turn red, cross over and continue down the road until you reach the performers door.

The Icarus Theatre. Y/N would have liked to be one of those performers who gushed on about how their performance center was ‘like a second home’, but that was cheesy and frankly unrealistic. Her dreams of being a world-famous flautist had been crushed the moment she’d received her first lot of bills and realized how naïve she truly was. The joy in performing in an orchestra was short-lived as every day felt like a struggle to scrape together enough money to keep herself out of debt and prove her parents wrong. That was enough to dampen anyone’s spirits.

Every hour she didn’t have a rehearsal, she was booked chockful with students of all ages and genders who turned up with a passion for the flute. Or their parents were forcing them to go. Either way she got paid and hoped that maybe she was imbuing someone with a new appreciation for classical music.

“Morning, Will.”

The principal piccoloist was already sat in his seat, absorbed in conversation with Lucy, one of the second violins. He glanced over and raised a slender hand in acknowledgment. Will was always punctual and smartly attired, wearing crisply ironed shirts and smart blazers, free of lint. Y/N was sharply aware of the contrast between them, her shirt creased and half-untucked and her hair escaping from its bun.

She flipped open the latches on her case; there was a trick to it, you needed to open both at once while opening the lid at the same time. Her prize and joy, her baby lay inside. The first time she had ever saved up enough money to buy herself something worthwhile, she had bought a professional flute. Before then, she’d been using her aunt’s old flute from the 60s, a battered old thing that was lucky to even still be able to play.

The murmur died down as Lorin Toscanini, the conductor, stepped onto the raised podium and raised his baton. Y/N slipped into her seat next to Will, who raised an eyebrow at the creased sheets she deposited onto her stand.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Today we need to fix the timing on the opening sequence. Remember this is iconic and it needs to be perfect. Second violins, I hope you have improved since yesterday.” The nasally tone of Toscanini grated on Y/N’s nerves, especially so early in the morning when she would much rather be in bed.

Y/N raised her flute to her lower lip, watching the baton as it swayed in time with the music. Down, left, right, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. The violins and cellos came in in unison on the downbeat, bows drawing across the string in harmony. The harmonies in perfect time caused shivers to run up and down her spine as the bows swayed mournfully across the vibrating strings in unison.

Okay. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8-

“Stop, stop,” Toscanini cried out, baton smacking against the stand. All instruments were immediately lowered, as a sign of deference. Something about stroking his highly inflated ego. “Someone in the clarinets is playing a B natural instead of a B flat. Now remember, we want to create a sense of tension, so the dynamics start off at piano and then we reach mezzo forte. But this isn’t the most dramatic section; we are building up to that. So, at bar 4 we need an audible diminuendo. Like tiptoeing... From the top!”

There was something so magical about playing in an orchestra when it all slotted into place. You stopped being an individual person and instead became immersed in a group movement of sound and emotion, compelling the listener to be draw in with you. The different melodic lines weave together into one, playing off each other to create a final piece.

It was an almost addictive sensation. The feeling of being swept away and losing sense of oneself in the bigger picture of a whole was something Y/N craved when she wasn’t playing. Music restored a part of herself that she sometimes didn’t realize she was missing. It lifted her away from the mortal world, to a place where the music and the notes were the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s eye fell upon one of the first violins, newly promoted, her brown hair pulled back tightly in a low ponytail. The woman’s brow was furrowed as her fingers danced over the neck of the guitar, swaying gently with the music. Momentarily transfixed, Y/N’s mind turned foggy as she lost count, all thoughts focused on the violinist.

The piece drew to its climax, as if a great beast had climbed to its hind legs and roared. A mounting rush of notes as each musician lost themselves in the crescendo, furiously playing. Cascading melodies toppled over each other, nimble fingers tumbling up scales and bow strokes timed impeccably.

E, G, A!

An audible sigh of satisfaction echoed round the room as the piece ended without any pauses for tinkering; the joy of a composition well played shared throughout all the players.

“Beautiful, just beautiful. I think we’ll call that a day, there. Our next rehearsal is at one on Wednesday, now do not be late.”

Now that the piece had ended, Y/N glanced over to the violinist she had spotted earlier. While Y/N quietly packed her instrument away, the woman prepared to slip out, unnoticed. Should she…?

“Hey,” Y/N flagged down the women, fingertips brushing the cuffs of her dark shirt. “I’m Y/N, I noticed you playing. It was beautiful! You recently got moved up from fourth chair to third, right?”

“Yeah,” the woman seemed flustered by the attention, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “I’m Vanya, it’s nice to meet you.”

Y/N pulled her slipping straps back onto her shoulder as she grinned at Vanya from beneath the curls threatening to fall in her face. “Pretty name. Say, are you busy now? I know an excellent little coffee shop across the road.”

Vanya flushed as she murmured some expression of gratitude. She hesitated, carefully switching her phone on and off again before sliding it back in her pocket when no notifications showed up. “I’m free for a couple of hours. I have to teach lessons from 3 though.”

The coffee shop was quaint and always quiet; since a Starbucks had opened only a few doors down, business had slowly dried up until only a few regulars and those who were opposed to coffee from chain shops came along. Vanya fidgeted with the strap of her violin case, her eyes darting around the shop’s wooden and gold furnishings.

“Hey Marjorie, I’ll have a cappuccino and a chocolate éclair. Vanya, what do you want?”

“Oh, you don’t need to order for me, I can pay for myself.” Vanya’s eyes widened as she protested profusely.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning nonchalantly against the bar, “I asked you to come with me for coffee, there’s no way that I am going to be so rude as to make my guest pay for her order. So?”

“I’ll have a mocha, thanks.”

Y/N soon joined Vanya where she was sitting, tucked away in a booth in the corner.

“One mocha, milady.” God, she sounded like one of those ‘nice guys’ in the Instagram DMs.

“Thanks,” Vanya laughed, and Y/N decided she quite liked hearing that sound and that she was definitely going to try and hear it more often. Especially, she wanted to see the way Vanya’s eyes crinkled as she tried to stifle her giggles and how her hand flew up to try and cover her face.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Y/N propped up her head on one hand as she sipped at her cappuccino, blowing softly on the frothy layer.

“Umm, I don’t know what there is to say, I’m a pretty boring person.”

Y/N could not believe that. There was something so hypnotizingly attractive about Vanya; a quiet sort of pretty that crept up on you when you were least expecting it and stole your breath away. Someone like that could never be boring, every inch of her whispered of a tale to be told.

“Have you got any siblings? Pets?”

Vanya’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly before she smoothed her features out, as if to imply Y/N should know something. “Yeah, I have a sister and 3 brothers.”

“Wow, 3 brothers. That must have been a nightmare!”

“Yeah, I was kind of the black sheep of the family. But I haven’t spoken to them in years; we just ended up drifting,” Vanya’s tone appeared nonchalant, but a nervous hand gave her away as she massaged her neck. “It was my fault basically.”

“No that’s ridiculous. The only real excuse for cutting you off is if you killed someone or put someone in danger, and no offence, you don’t seem particularly capable of either of those things,”-Vanya pulled a face-“in a good way!”

“I don’t know, I feel like I deserved it.”

Y/N tore the éclair in half, messily coating her fingers in chocolate as she pressed her fingertips into the half-melted layer on top. “For you. Because fuck shitty families. Who needs them, am I right?”

Vanya giggled and raised her half in response, touching them together to make a toast. “Amen!”

There was a lull in conversation as attention was redirected to eating the intoxicatingly good pastries.

“What about you?” Vanya mumbled; mouth full. There was a tiny dot of cream on the left corner of her mouth and Y/N stared, transfixed as her tongue darted out to dab it away.

“Oh, me. Well, the whole struggling artist career path was not one my parents had hoped I would go down. In comparison to my banker brother, I’m a bit of a disappointment and they make sure to let me know.”

Christmas this year had been a nightmare. It was full of meaningful looks from her parents as her brother prattled on about his new promotion, or the last exotic trip he went on, or the wonderful restaurants near his place of work on Wall Street. She didn’t know what they expected her to do; just suddenly become a high-profile surgeon?

Vanya placed her hand over Y/N’s, looking earnestly into her eyes. “You’re not a disappointment. Fuck what they think.”

Y/N cracked a half-hearted smile at the sentiment of Vanya’s sentence, although there was a certain strangeness to hearing her say ‘fuck’. A hot sensation prickled the back of her neck as Vanya kept her hand where it was, her gaze never wavering as she seemingly searched for something in Y/N’s eyes.

“Well, now we’ve got the family trauma out the way, what do you like to do for fun?” Y/N said, every muscle relaxing as Vanya moved her hand to pick up her mug. She hadn’t realized how tense she was, nervousness laced into every tendon.

“Well, my life seems to be taken up with violin, but I enjoy writing. And I can cook.” Vanya paused to think about what she was saying. “Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” Y/N laughed, trapping her lower lip between her teeth as she awaited Vanya’s response.

“I’m not about to be out here claiming that I’m world-class standard. However, I do make a mean cottage pie which you will have to try someday.”

Someday. That was promising. Y/N smiled sweetly, nodding fervently. “I’d like that very much.”

Y/N took a sip of her cappuccino, recoiling as the tip of her tongue was scalding by the still piping hot coffee. Vanya took one look at her and grinned.

“You’ve got something there,” she said, tapping the tip of her nose.

“Where?” Y/N rubbed her nose.

“No, wait, up a bit- to the right, no, left, umm-”

“Would you mind just getting it for me?” Y/N interrupted her, and Vanya froze.

“Yeah, uh,” she leant across the table, thumb extended as she brushed the callused pad gently across Y/N’s skin. “There. All gone.”

“Thanks.”

They shared a soft smile.

The walk back to Y/N’s apartment was swelteringly sticky, especially in the noon sun. However, today felt different. Buoyed along on a cloud of joy, she practically skipped over the cracks in the sidewalk and past the piled trash bags. Her mind swooped over the fields of possibilities, whirling thoughts on a tangent of their own. The storm in her mind had cleared to allow a small shaft of sunlight through to shine on the choppy waves below, great dark clouds parting with hope.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Hi Y/N, it’s Vanya.

Y/N could barely contain the gleeful grin as she read the message, pressing her phone to her chest.

Hey Vanya, it was really nice to have coffee with you today. We should do something like that again.

Barely a couple minutes had passed when her phone emitted the telltale ding, alerting her to a new incoming message.

Absolutely. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you promised to try my cottage pie.

Y/N tapped out a quick response, finger hovering over the send button as she reread it.

It’s a date.

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua imagine #vanya hargreeves #vanya #hargreeves #vanya x reader #number 7 #number seven #number 7 x reader #white violin #vanya hargreeves x reader

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delimeful · 5 years

Text

a place we could escape sometime (4)

Day 4: Moon

warnings: treating person like animal, fear, panic, roman’s overactive imagination, arguing

“I’m not sure what to do.” Patton confessed that evening over dinner. “The little guy has been pacing nonstop, trying to scale the bars of the cage… I think something might be stressing him out.”

Logan hummed, gathering a spoonful of soup. “He certainly did seem stressed.”

It had been… off-putting, to say the least, watching something so humanoid display such overwhelming terror at his actions. He’d been planning to gather a few more measurements, but after the tremors that overtook the creature after obtaining only his height and weight, he ended up putting him back in the cage. Patton was right: being around such comparatively huge beings was probably putting undue stress on the tiny person’s heart.

“Maybe it’s something in my room?” Patton suggested. “I suppose it does smell like Kitty in there… oh!”

Logan glanced up, inquisitive. “Yes?”

“He can’t stay in my room, Kitty will never leave him alone!” Patton exclaimed.

Indeed, if he leaned back in his chair slightly, Logan could see Kitty in the hallway, laying mournfully by Patton’s door. The collie had tried to sneak into the room at every opportunity. “I thought Kitty wasn’t dangerous to small animals?”

“Oh, she’s not!” Patton hurried to assure him. “She used to herd chickens, though, before I adopted her, and now whenever she sees a critter that’s around chick-sized, she tries to herd it back to me. It’s cute, but I don’t want to keep the little guy up all night worrying about a predator in the room.”

Logan didn’t point out that going by the tiny’s reactions, they were probably predators to him, both because it was an unsettling thought and because it would undermine his next suggestion.

“In that case, we can simply move the cage over to my room.”

Patton fluttered his hands around. “Wait, I don’t want to just push the problem onto you! What if he keeps you up all night?”

“My break has begun today, Patton. I have no classes for the next week, and as such I won’t be performing sub-optimally if I am kept awake a few extra hours. You, on the other hand, still have work, and Kitty besides that.”

Logan watched patiently as Patton mulled over his words, and then nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure!”

“I am.”

That night, Roman nearly had a heart attack when he returned to Patton’s room to find that the cage was missing. He searched every corner of the room from his vantage point on the dresser, straining to find his friend, but the other borrower had seemingly vanished.

He began to panic. What if they’d sent him to other humans, ones running a lab or a zoo? What if they’d gotten bored of him and just crushed him? What if they’d accidentally let the dog in and Kitty had eaten him? What if the humans had eaten him?

Before he could really work himself into a frothing panic, he heard footsteps from down the hall and was forced to dive behind the nearest picture frame. He peeked his head out and watched as the door swung open, Patton walking in pulling Kitty by the collar. “Heel! Heel, Kitty!”

“If you wanted your dog to listen to you, perhaps you shouldn’t have named her after a cat.” Logan suggested dryly, out of Roman’s sight but audibly nearby. Patton chuckled.

“She’s normally a lot better! I guess the little guy has just got her kind of riled up.” Roman leaned in, listening hard. ‘Little guy’ had to be Virgil, unless they’d spontaneously adopted a kid.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay with him?” Patton asked, hand on his door.

“Don’t worry, Patton. I will be fine, and I doubt that he could even do much to keep me up. He’s very quiet.” Logan responded, and Roman realized that the cage hadn’t vanished, only been moved. He groaned internally. “Sleep well.”

“You too! Sweet dreams!” Patton replied as Roman hurried back to the walls, mentally charting his course to Logan’s room.

These humans were going to drive him crazy!

At least he knew that Virgil had managed to stay silent under duress, he thought as he climbed up a few nails embedded in the wall. Of course he had, Virgil would never imagine breaking the borrower rules like that. Roman shuddered to imagine what had gotten him caught in the first place.

Soon enough, he was at the nearest entrance to Logan’s room, a small hole in the wallpaper at the base of the wall. It opened out onto the floor under the human’s desk, and he watched carefully from the shadowed corner as Logan walked around his room with ground-shaking steps, getting ready to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to jump in and demand the human return his friend, but if he was going to succeed, he had to be more cautious, sneaky. More like Virgil.

He wished he had been the one caught in whatever devious trap the humans had laid. Virgil no doubt would have realized he was missing sooner, gotten him free quicker, and be teasing him about it at home right now. He’d always figured that if one of them had gotten caught, it would be him, since he often forget himself in his boisterousness.

He was uncharacteristically silent now, watching and waiting, straining his ears to hear any sign of Virgil. If the borrower wasn’t actually in this room, he’d be in trouble. There were only so many hours in the night to go searching the house.

By the time he was sure Logan was out cold, moonlight was streaming in through the human’s window, casting the room in a strange light. He quietly ran over to the cord of the desk lamp, tugging on it once before using it as a makeshift rope to climb. He didn’t want to risk his hook making noise on the desk.

He pulled himself up onto the desk with a slight grunt, and quickly got back to his feet in a crouch. His shoulders sagged in relief as he saw the cage, its bars silhouetted against the moon’s glow, and he hurried over to it. “Virge?” He whispered.

A dark shape jolted up as though electrocuted, and flew to grab the bars. “Roman!” Virgil whispered back, voice thick with relief. “Oh thank god.”

“It’s okay, Brad Pitiful, I’m gonna get you out of there.” Roman reassured him, shrugging his satchel off to dig through it. “What’s the situation with the cage? Padlock?”

Virgil paused, expression unreadable in the dark. “Roman, listen. I heard them talking, Logan’s going to put up cameras by tomorrow night. You can’t come back.”

Roman’s hands faltered for a second. “I… I won’t need to.” He said, more confidently than he felt. “We’re gonna get you out tonight.”

“Roman-”

“Is there a padlock?” He interrupted, steely. Virgil sighed.

“No, it’s- the door is up there.” He pointed, and Roman looked to see the wire latch halfway up the cage wall. “But listen, this cage- it creaks. If you try and climb it, you’ll wake the human. The door hinges are rusty. It’ll squeal.”

Roman bit down on his lip, false bravado wavering. “We’ll see about that.”

Quick as lightning, Virgil’s hand shot through the bars and grabbed onto his arm. “No, Roman.”

“Well then what do you suggest I do?” Roman whisper-yelled. The human’s snores faltered slightly, and they both stilled, quiet, until the sound resumed.

Virgil squeezed his arm, and then loosened his grip. “You have to go. Find Dee and stay with him until you can find a new place.”

“What?” Roman hissed. “You’re always talking about how dangerous that guy’s home is! His human owns snakes!”

“Yeah, well that was before, and this is now, okay?!” Virgil sighed, releasing Roman’s arm entirely with a gentle shove. “I’ve been trying to figure a way out all day, Ro. There’s nothing that’s worth risking you getting caught too.”

“So, what, you’re just giving up? I’m not leaving you.” Roman said, and then froze as a sleepy grumble interrupted their conversation. The human stirred, beginning to sit up in bed, and they locked eyes.

“Run.” Virgil said, barely audible, and Roman bolted.

#g/t #giant/tiny #borrowers #sanders sides #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #writing #my writing #ruh roh!#hiddendreamer67 prompts #apwces #a place we could escape sometime

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malachite-isms · 4 years

Text

Your Kiss is on Their List pt4: Blake Belladonna

This was the second time the Malachite Twins had snuck into Beacon, one of the most prestigious Huntsman academies on the planet. Given their positions as high-ranking members of a notorious crime family, one could be forgiven for assuming they were doing so to steal something of value, or commit an act of sabotage to further their dubious enterprise.

However, the motivations of people, human and faunus alike, are infinitely varied. For the Twins in question, it was power, of sorts. The specific mix of emotions a humble enough person displayed when they activated their charm and applied their affection was a pleasure unlike any other. It wasn't the greatest joy in life, but it was more than enough to turn into their passion project of sorts.

The next step in said project was entering into the Beacon library for a moment of peace and reading to tire herself before bed. She used to do this in her own bed, but then the damn dog moved in and took a shine to her. Even in such a esteemed institution of learning, the late night hours tended to cause the library to empty out, giving her a unique opportunity to relax. Let her hair down, if you will.

Like always, she walked to a secluded table in the maze of shelves, took a seat, cracked open her book, and dove back into the story.

After some time, a sudden thud made Blake jump and she swung her head around to the general direction of the sound's source. Even with her hearing, she hadn't heard a footstep, or even the subtle shifting of clothes since she entered the library.

She replaced the bookmark and left her seat to investigate. After rounding a few corners, she spotted the apparent source of the noise; a hefty book in the biology section.

As she approached it, she had to consider why it had fallen. It was laying in the middle of the aisle, suggesting it had not fallen off the shelf. Someone had dropped it. Someone she couldn't detect. Perhaps a closer inspection would shed some insight.

She knelt before the book and inspected the displayed page. It was a biology book, feline faunus specifically. On the right page was a variety of circled and highlighted passages. It seems someone was interested in the little-known pressure points in the ears of feline faunus. At the bottom of the page, overlapping a diagram of a female cat faunus, was a lipstick print.

Blake felt her face heat up as she shot to her feet and speed walked back to her book.

They are here, Blake thought, they're here for me. She wasn't in any danger, she knew on some level. Even so, her body told her she was, the images of her teammates marked by their lipstick flashed in her mind fueling her irrational panic.

Blake rounded the final corner, catching sight of her untouched book. A sigh of relief was repurposed into a gasp when she heard a giggle directly behind her. She stopped and whirled around to find herself face-to-face with a smirking, very pretty, and upside-down face. After only a moment of contemplation on the odd sight, Blake was yanked by her waist high into the air.

As she settled in place in the library rafters, high above the shelves, Blake finally caught sight of her team's affectionate assailants. They fit Ruby and Weiss's descriptions to a T. Twins, one red-clad with a short bob cut, the other white-clad with a simple long straight cut. They were both stunning. She did not recall her teammates mentioning cat suits, though the... unique method of her capture.

They were each hanging in the air, much more gracefully than Blake was, on either side of her, gorgeously painted lips smirking at her.

"We heard you often came here to read," began the red one.

"And we just couldn't stand the thought of you being here all by your lonesome," the white one continued "So we came as quick as we could..."

"To keep you company~" they spoke in unison.

The white-clad twin swung herself toward Blake. She took Blake's cheeks in a hand and slowly swung back to her original position. Before Blake could form a coherent objection, the twin placed a tender kiss on her left temple.

"I must say," the twin said softly ",your eyes are enchanting." She released her speechless prize, letting her swing toward her sister, who caught her by her face.

"They are the eyes of a goddess," the red twin planted a lingering kiss on her right temple ",and we can't help but pay our offerings."

Blake was sent back to the white twin.

"But we also see pain in those eyes," she said before putting a tender kiss on her cheek and sending her sister.

"And we will not be so cruel as to deny you our comfort," another kiss on the other cheek, and she was swung again.

"You deserve to be told just how wonderful you are," a kiss on her jaw.

"And we will do just that," another kiss.

"And give you all the affection..." another kiss.

"...you're due." another kiss.

Blake floated in an incomprehensible canyon, a pendulum powered by the affections of these two odd, beautiful enchantresses. She would often let gravity swing her to and fro when hanging from her weapon's rope, but it was never as dreamlike as this.

Between the euphoria of their kind words and the warmth of their comforting kisses, Blake was lost in the experience. She had never truly faced her desire to feel affection like this. She missed it, desperately so. Her teammates were more touchy-feely than the people she was used to, a welcome change, if she were honest. But this was different.

Each honeyed word, each kiss shot right through Blake's psyche and stained her soul. If she were to describe what she wished to those so willing to fulfill that wish well... it might not exactly be this, but the effect was the same.

The ridiculousness of the situation was lost, Blake was being kissed, and damn it, she liked it. She never formed these thoughts, of course, her mind was a soup of blushing, but the conclusion formed in that soup all the same.

She wasn't thinking much, she didn't hear the twins declare their task finished, she didn't notice being carried out a window and into the night, and she didn't feel her ankles being tied.

Though she did feel her company's kisses farewell. As blissful as they were, they were lost in the feeling all the others had, and there were many others.

[4 hours later]

Weiss hit the dismiss button on her scroll, silencing the alarm the instant it woke her up. She sat up, taking only the moment needed to collect herself mentally before stepping out of bed.

She wondered when Blake would wake up. She was always the next to wake up, Weiss mused internally as she squinted in reflex before opening the blinds.

Curiously enough, the sun was not as irritating as it usually was, not even close. Weiss opened her eyes more fully, taking only a moment to recall the previous day's weather forecast before the scene before her caused her to let out a blood-curdling scream.

Ruby and Yang fell clumsily to the floor at the sudden alarm. Blake would have fallen out of bed as well, were it not for the rope holding her aloft by her ankles just outside team RWBY's dorm.

Ruby and Weiss moaned mournfully, sympathetic to their teammate's plight. Yang was not prepared for such a sight and did not try to hide the anxiety from her face. Luckily, she did not need to as Ruby and Weiss were preoccupied in getting a still-entranced Blake into their room.

After some awkward maneuvering, Blake's team got her back into her room. Ruby and Weiss apologized profusely to Blake, who was slowly waking up from her stupor, insisting they should have been more diligent in their defense of their teammate. All the while, they were scrubbing the copious number of lipstick marks from Blake's face and neck.

The two stammered and blushed freely, directly reminded of their own ordeals at the lips of this enigmatic pair.

Yang meanwhile, stared blankly at one of the two identical messages she received simultaneously from two seperate numbers on her scroll.

"See you soon <3 XOXOXO"

#rwby #malachite twins #blake belladonna #melanie malachite #miltiades malachite #team rwby #ruby rose #Weiss Schnee #Yang Xiao Long

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sian22redux · 5 years

Text

A Puppy in the Family

So yes fellow crazy baseball fans, I know you’ve been watching closely--have guessed that my Cleveland’s loss to Boston means @theycallmebecca gets a fic. This time I didn’t need to ask for a prompt--I know what she would like: a sequel to He Followed Me Home.

So here it is.. more adventures of Fenway and Dodger and Chris and Y/N..this time from a slightly different point of view. Grin. Hope you enjoy. This is part 1 of 2.. no warnings--just tooth rotting fluff. Shout out to Twitter’s Thoughts of Dog for inspiration.

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

March 2020

Today is a wonderful day.

All days are, of course-- even the ones that are wet and drizzly, forcing us to sit patiently inside watching the raindrops race down the windowpane. But today is a particularly extra super specially wonderful day.

Because Chris is coming home.

Our ‘dad’, our protector, chief Frisbee tosser and best roughhouser is finally coming back. That thing that happens in hoomans’ ‘wurk’ had come round again. A ‘script’ arrived. I do not know how this pile of wonderfully new smelling paper can magic Chris away, but it does. Almost every time it arrives. After the pats and hugs and snuffles Y/N will pour a glass of wine and mope, snuggle with us on the big white couch, marking little x’s on the calender (that evil thing with V-E-T scrawled across it) and then she will go about our usual day routine: breakfast kibble and a quick walk on Lorel drive, her leaving us to go to ‘wurk’, long snoozles for Dodger and I, then staring at the door til my eyes go wobbly; more snoozles after we play fight a bit and then finally she is back!

Y/N is home! Dinner kibble comes and then pats and play time and then bed.

This has happened for three lines of x’s before this wondrous day arrived.

Y/N is so excited. She has primped us both. Brushed me til my coat shone glossy black, trimmed Dodger’s nails and brushed the dust out of his fur, even sort of brushed the house. She wiped and tidied and walked around with the noisy ‘coom so we knew it was important.

(Dodger doesn’t like it—he hates the loud whoosing noise-- but I stood and waved my tail because she said “Good boy” and “Chris is coming home” and I don’t want to look less than my best.)

We wait while Y/N primps herself (her dress and shiny lips are nice) and then it happens.

We hear a big engine car and the door whines open and he is there! Chris! Chris! I am so happy I can’t help but bark and not mind that Dodger is always faster than I am. He leaps up to put his paws on Chris’s chest, barking “Hi, Hi, Hi,” leaping like a kangaroo, and Chris is answering ‘Hey there dude,” and laughing at the licks and I am very careful not to knock them over and so proud when I get the big strong pats.

“Good boy, Fenway. Good boy. Missed you too. big guy!”

Chris sees me! I wiggle my whole body in ecstasy until it knocks over the umbrella stand and his suitcase. Oopsie. sometimes I forget that I am BIG.

Then it is Y/N’s turn. She gets kisses and duper hugs..the ones that lift you right off the ground because our Chris is super strong and super excited to be back with his partner once again.

There’s a bit more of greet time for us and then it’s greet time for them, though as welcome rituals go it’s kind of odd. There is no sniffing of tushies, or zooming around for play or licking muzzles but there is lots and lots of talking and kissing and talking and kissing and sprawling on the giant couch and glasses of wine on the low wood caw-fee table that I have to be extra careful to not bump over.

“Fenway, pal..watch out!”

Oops—sorry. I was only showing off my new squeaky hotdog.

Dodger and I sit at their feet and send happy thoughts their way and eventually Chris stands up, and carries Y/N into the bedroom and I start to rise but Chris says ‘Stay.”

Whine.

I want to be with them too.

<No you don’t,> says Dodger, flopped over on his side and heaving a contented sigh.

<They’re doing it again.>

<Mating. They’ll be there a while.>

Oh. Right. Dodger has explained this. Hoomans, unlike dogs, do not usually joyously couple underneath the sun. They’re shy. And slow. They take ages with it and honestly sometimes I worry that it must not work because they do it all the time.

Sometimes Chris and Y/N aren’t that shy and do it where we are. On the couch. In the kitchen. In the swimming pool. Dodger takes this time to snoozle more but I usually just lie there and thump my tail to be encouraging.

It must be tiring for Y/N to be in heat so much.

<You’re not a bitch. What would you know about that?> Dodger chuckles at me, tongue lolling and pale eyebrow raised.

I frown, puzzling it through. < Jenna the Bichon at the park said so. And I think it is right because sometimes they sleep right after.>

<Good point.> Dodger lazily scratches at his chin. <And Y/N doesn’t run around as much as Chris. She must be tuckered all the time.

I stare at the blond wood of the latched and bolted door (it’s firm, I checked), alert to intruders or harm but nothing seems amiss. A few high-pitched giddy squeals come from the bedroom but Dodger just rolls over and goes to sleep.

<They’re fine, Fenway. Get some sleep yourself.>

I do, and dream of pats and empty laps and ice cream cones.

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

<Gooob morning!!> I bark to Chris and Y/N the next day when they drag themselves blearily out into the super toasty sun streaming through the windows.

Dodger as usual is silent but stretching ready for a race. Me--my toes are a tippy tappin’ and I am jumping, so excited to see them there, so unable to contain all the love the world inside one BIG but furry body. All I can do is bark <I love you.> again and again and again, while sending all the happy thoughts.

“Hey, hey.. hold up Fenway.” Chris opens the backyard door. I bounce outside. The air is clean (no fires) and the sun is warm and Chris is back! Oh happy day! I snap at a yellow moth and almost catch it; mark my tree after Dodger goes on his, and trot around the yard, sniffing all the whiffling smells—grass and pool water and leafy moldy goodness.

Y/N comes outside with sleep shirt on and two cups of coffee. Chris tosses Dodger’s new red ball far as the fire corner <Goob morning> I bark again hoping the ball will come to me. Yes!! Chris notices!! I Proudly Catch it and trot over and drop it at his feet. Y/N comes back out with a little pot of honey, a jug of coffee cream and two cross-haunts. Mmmmmmm. Flaky buttery goodness. I want really bad but I am trying to be extra good, so I make myself join the chase.

We fly back and forth and back and forth until Chris says “Enough!” and so I stretch out on the cool patio, lay my head on Y/N’s bare feet to keep them warm. This gets a tummy scritch (my mastery plan has worked) and so Dodger noses in, leans against Chris’s legs. <Pat me, please> he yips, twice, then Chris laughs and calls him jealous—scritching him perfectly behind the ears.

Chris’s big strong hands are good at scritching.

For a little while we all snoozle just there in a heap (Chris is ‘still jet-laggy’ says Y/N) but when I open one eye there is more kissing going on.

<Dodger, do you notice it?> I whisper quietly.

Dodger, more experienced with the world than I—he is a whole year older--turns over on his back, ear drooping crookedly, looking up to the ‘ounge chair and taking an experimental sniff. “Nope. What does it smell like?”

I do a deep long sniff, just like when we ride in the car with the windows down and I am eating the wind. “Happy. New kind of. Sugary good.”

He turns toward Y/N and tries again, holding longer on the in. <Oh,> he yips. <She’s expecting Good nose Fenway.>

Expecting? As in PUPPIES?! I sit right up in shock. <You can smell it?!>

Oh. Suki is a very pretty Maltese who lives just up the street. She knew her mom was sick and was very sad and brave before she was happy again because Mrs. Wilson is ok.

I think it was all the helping hugs that Suki gave.

I give another whiff, luxuriating in the Happy and then the kissing stops. Chris pulls Y/N up---says the magic words ‘More BREAKFAST’ and so I leap--follow them inside- sniffing carefully toward Y/N’s back. Happy definitely. New and Sweet and Rainbow Magic Sprinkles.

I excitedly wag my tail and bump her leg but she laughs, puts her hands on her hips and misunderstands. “Fenway you are not getting another breakfast.”

I jump in my excitement, tapping my feets but she just laughs and reaches for more cross-haunts and jam (Jam!!!). I have to be extra good behaviour and not jump up to steal. Sometimes I can’t help myself—I am technically still a puppy too: Dodger says its no big deal so long as I am mostly good.

Speaking of Good, I inch close to her chair and take another sniff, resting my snout in her lap. Still Happy. Still New. This is good, very good, and so I burrow deeper, thumping my tail on the floor, super happy for them both.

“Fenway, I can’t eat with you there.”

I put a paw upon Y/N’s leg, trying to get closer to that wondrous smell! HAPPY! She holds her pastry high, laughing as I take another whiff, but then I’m taking too much room, too excited to remember I am BIG.

“Fenway? What is up with you? Go sit!”

I don’t listen. I am too happy (and inches from the Jam!). I miss Dodger’s warning bark and then Chris is there, frowning down, shoving my nose away and in the hard voice he says. “Fenway, No!! Bed!”

I have a sad. I follow his finger to my bed and flop down on cushy foam, tucking my tail as far under as it can go. Sorry dad. Sorry.

Dodger comes and waits patiently until I am released.

<I don’t think they understand,> I sigh mournfully.

<No,> says Dodger, <but they will when she changes shape. Be patient.>

Patient!? That is the hardest thing of all. I sigh and watch them eat. There is talking of parks and parties and ‘pearances, all the usual breakfast stuff. Tick tick tick. Finally a walk is called and I am on my best behaviour; carrying along my leash because outside is larger than you think and I don’t want them to get lost.

<Y/N is expecting puppies!> I bark excitedly to Chris (who still doesn’t seem to hear) as we turn right at the gate. This takes us to the Bermans. Their little hoomans are my frens—they like to play with rainbow spheres and mark the road with chalk and give me water out of the green garden snake. Dodgers trots at full speed and I waddle on behind, past the scary blue mailbox (are there cats lurking there?), past the red STOP sign to the Kindle’s yard.

Oh boy. My little brain is whirly with anxiety. First I think hooman puppies would be good but now I wonder if they will be like Mrs. Kindle’s. Running and shrieking and pulling tails. Trying to jump on my back. Yikes.

<Will the puppies be good?> I yip to Dodger when I catch him up.

He cocks his head and Thinks. <Puppy. Hoomans mostly only have just one. It will be busy and smelly at first but eventually it will be like being in ‘Chussets.

My ears perk up. ‘Chussets. <Really?>

I have been three times. The plane ride is kinda scary but there are miles of trees and a giant green. An extra Lion for Dodger and squeaky hotdog for me. Chasing ball with cousins and extra special Pats from MomLisa. She’s the alpha alpha female.

Very fair and kind.

(She didn’t even scold my excited piddling when Chris and Y/N came back from their ‘moon trip.)

<Not the moon Fenway, honeymoon,> grins Dodger, <The party after The Wedding.>

Ah The Wedding. I was so proud. Y/N and her friends got cleaned and dressed and buffed all sparkly. Chris got nervous but then sleek and clean. Even Dodger and I had a groomer come. The feathers on my tail were so very shiny. Carly looked pretty and Shanna too. Ethan was super proud to walk between us and hold the fancy leashes.

I was very, very good.

I walked between all the smiley happy people remembering to not steal, not jumping up because it startles them when I put my paws upon their shoulders. Once, in the long, boring talking part, Chris cried a little and I stood up to go rescue him but Dodger woofed <stay> and explained it all.

They do? I think this is weird but then I think it must be like when I piddle joyously. They can’t help it--it just leaks out.

There was music and people and Snacks. So many, many Snacks. Our Secret Mission worked. Dodger and I convinced nearly every single guest that we had not eaten in several weeks.

(I didn’t like the salmon. I barfed it into a handy pot.)

Even if Chris and Y/N didn’t have a lot of time for us so many others did. Ardeejjj, Chris’s good good fren knows exactly where to scritch; Miles and Stella and Ethan chased us through the chairs and out onto the lawns. Tara took me for a needed walk (I can only cross my legs so long). It was perfect.

On the ‘moon afterward we stayed in ‘Chussets for 4 rows of x’s. So long, soooo long, but we were at Carly’s house and it was super fun as always. Miles and Stella and Ethan made sure we weren’t too sad. Played tag and toss and chase until I had to flop down in the sun and bake.

(My coat shines more if I am careful to bask enough.)

I guess a new people puppy in the family will be fun but still I worry. Y/N’s smell gets stronger and stronger but strangely they still don’t understand. It’s xasperating. I have a huge snootful of Happy-New and I worry if I will be good enough.

Will the puppy like me? Will I knock them over even when I am duper careful?

<Relax.> says Dodger and I am sure he’s right (year older!) but this morning I feel so angsty I steal a yogurt lid from the trash. Chris doesn’t quite understand and so I have no choice but to evade him spectacularly.

It works. When we are done both of us are smiling.

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Tagging: @nomadicpixel @arizonapoppy @heather-lynn @pegasusdragontiger

if you want to be added just message me.....

#fenway #dodger #a puppy in the family #sequel to He Followed Me Home #sian22redux #writes

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splat-dragon · 4 years

Link

Lead me away; Or leave me lying here ~Sound the Bugle, Bryan Adams

There was a dog staring back at her from the puddle.

She felt a laugh threatening to burble up from her throat, and feared if she let it out she’d never be able to stop, would laugh and laugh and laugh until she died, suffocating on the sound, not able to breathe around it.

Maybe… maybe she was seeing things. It was hot after all, and she’d taken a few good blows to her head.

She blinked, and the dog blinked back at her.

She licked her lips, and the dog’s long, pink tongue did the same.

Bile rose in her throat, burning as it was little more than stomach acid, ‘Fuck, no.’

No, this was impossible, she refused to believe it. A person doesn’t just get turned into a dog!

But, too, a person doesn’t just fall asleep on their nice, soft bed, in their air-conditioned bedroom, and wake up on prickly dead grass in the scorching desert. Is waking up, too, as a dog so strange? No, no, she refused to believe it, and shook her head.

The dog shook its head, dark, floppy ears flailing this way and that.

Slowly, she leaned forward until her nose pressed against the water, and the dog did the same, their noses ‘touching’, the water rippling. And, oh, their eyes were the same, and she’d never seen one with such green eyes before. Of course she’d seen dogs with green eyes, but only ever pale, near sickly, never such a rich shade, so striking against the dog’s rich brown fur that it looked near brighter than on her, but she’d know her own eyes anywhere.

Bile rushed up her throat, suddenly, and she retched, and the dog did the same, but nothing came up, thank god, so she didn’t spoil what little water she had.

‘Oh, god.’

“Ain’t you scary lookin’?”

The snarling.

“Got you some sharp teeth, I reckon.”

The twisting.

“She’s real scary lookin’, ain’t she,”

The way they hadn’t understood her.

“Yeah, looks like she’ll be pretty loud. If anythin’, her barkin’ should be ‘nuff to scare ‘em off.”

She couldn’t deny it, could she?

She started to shiver, something ice-cold trickling down her spine. Her heart leaped in her ears, bounding faster and faster, and she feared it would race until it stopped, unable to keep up with its own pace.

Her eyes locked on the dog, trying to focus on anything but her heart, not wanting to fall in that loop of fear that would only making it go faster and faster, trying to take in what it looked like now, what she looked like now— "Oh, god, This… this is my life now, isn’t it? A dog in the desert, chained to a tree.” and then, a hysterical thought came to mind, and she giggled, the sound tearing from her throat, “Is it really considered being chained if it’s by a rope?”

She couldn’t put a breed to the face, though she’d guess some sort of shepherd if she were pressed. A massive one at that, from the size of its (her) head, blocky and almost octangular. An almost blunt, not-long-but-not-short muzzle, white crowned with a black nose. A white line streaked up between the dog’s (‘mine’, she corrected herself distantly) eyes from it, and she was vaguely amused to realize that the white went up more on the left side of her muzzle, the black from her lower lips and what she was determined to call ‘lipstick’ going up to line the outside of the marking. There were ‘bags’ under her eyes of black, and faint, faint eyebrows, the rest of its fur that she could see, though not much as the puddle was small and so she could only see her head a shade of brown that was almost orange, and from what she could see of her neck the white from her muzzle stretched down to the start of a white streak in fluffy fur.

‘Well,’ she thought, ‘at least I’m a pretty dog.’

Shock. She was definitely in shock. But what could she do? Scream and yell and deny it? What good would that do her, other than to get the attention of those men and risk bringing on their wrath?

So, remembering how thirsty she was, she stuck out her tongue carefully, snapping at the water instinctively when it lurched up from the impact. It came surprisingly easy, but that was instinct, after all. And so she drank and drank the few mouthfuls left, only able to stare mournfully at the brown dirt that was all what was left of the puddle when she was finished, and still thirsty.

They’d have to bring her water eventually, right? A dog can’t be a guard dog if it’s dead.

It was so hot.

She hadn’t the energy for energy. The energy to moan, to whine, to plead for water, if it were even possible for her to. An unforgiving sun beat down overhead, baking her within her thick furs, and she mourned all those poor dogs she’d seen growing up chained outside in the yard, wondered how they’d had the energy to bark and jump around as she went passed. Her tongue lolled from her mouth, near-white for lack of saliva, and she couldn’t remember when last she’d swallowed, each breath rasping, rattling in her chest. Her eyes scraped with each blink, focusing on nothing, waves of heat rising from the ground and distorting everything—not that there was much to see, no animals dared near the shack, and the three men never did anything particularly interesting.

She’d never known it was possible to be so hot.

How long she had been there, she doesn’t know. She’d passed in and out of consciousness, sometimes waking up to the sky dark above her, so cold she rattled inside of her pelt, other times melting beneath a sun so bright it was near white. And she couldn’t count the days through food, as they seldom fed her, little more than crumbs of hardtack tossed to the ground in front of her, water nothing more than the last dregs from their canteens splashed on her face, leaving her to lick off what didn’t evaporate from the sheer heat of her fur.

Horse hooves thundered near, and she forced her eyes open, pain thundering in her temples, and distantly she wondered if other dogs got headaches, or if it was just a her thing. They only opened a slit, little more than crescents of green in the dusty fur of her face, white turned tan from the dust thrown up by the rare winds, and did it really matter? It was probably just Bulldog or Rat or Sniffles as she’d taken to calling them, returning from wherever they went in the day, probably kicking puppies or stealing candy from babies. But, she realized as the rider got close enough for her to make out their figure, the rider didn’t look like any of the three, too lanky to be Bulldog, too broad-shouldered to be Rat, too tall to be Sniffles. ‘Who the hell are you?’ she wondered, and hoped he wasn’t a fourth to their trio, because she was fairly certain she wouldn’t survive another monster, if the heat didn’t kill her first.

They wanted her to bark if a stranger approached. Really, though, she didn’t care, and why should she? If he was a friend of theirs, how was she to know? If he was there to harm them, all the better. And, besides, she was fairly certain she couldn’t even wheeze, much less bark. If she could bark, she doubted she could bark loud enough for them to hear in that tin can they called a shack. The idiots didn’t realize that dogs need water to live, much less bark and play guard dog like they wanted, but she was curious, always had been the curious sort, so she dropped her jaw and tried to bark, though she’d never barked before so it didn’t quite come naturally, and only managed a pitiful wheezy sound, like a stepped on squeaky toy.

Wow.

That was really embarrassing.

She was glad that the sound had been quiet, because she might have just keeled over dead there of sheer embarrassment.

Closing her eyes, she sighed as the man dismounted, boots thudding against the dirt and approaching the shack. Sniffles called out to him, and they began to talk, the words running together like molasses in her tired mind, only opening her eyes out of curiosity when Bulldog and Rat joined in, voices raising aggressively. Bulldog was holding what she was almost certain was a gun, long and black, but it was hard to tell from where she lay.

Suddenly, seemingly without provocation but, considering that she couldn’t hear everything she couldn’t be certain, the stranger’s hand whipped out with what she thought was a gun, and she was right as a dull bang! bang! bang! followed, unlike anything she’d ever heard before, shorter and higher pitched than she would have expected, the air reeking suddenly of blood as her tormentors dropped bonelessly to the ground.

And that was that.

If she wasn’t so exhausted, wasn’t so out of it, she would have been horrified. Terrified, too, would have run screaming in the opposite direction, though where to she didn’t know other than Away. She’d never seen anyone die before, especially not so violently, and the blood-scent, even from so far away, was cloying and choking to her dog’s nose. But even if she had the energy, even if she could have gotten to her feet (her paws? she still didn’t know what to call them) she would have only ended up strangling herself with the rope, so instead she just blinked slowly and remained where she laid, letting her eyes drift shut, letting the man do as he wished.

Let him find her and leave her be, or find her and let her go. Even not find her at all and leave her to rot, to starve and die and desiccate in the sun. And that last thought drew her to the surface, so horrifying that she opened her eyes, stared at his retreating back, and how was he wearing a jean jacket, even a sleeveless one, in this burning heat? and tried to bark, but only managed another wheezing squeak.

As though he hadn’t just struck down three men, the man was mounting up, turning his horse and trotting it towards the main road. Fear sparked in her chest, pushed away the dull apathy that had set in who-knows-how-long-ago, and she knew, she knew, he wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t see her brown fur that she was sure blended in with the tan grasses, would pass her by and leave her to die.

How, she’d never know; whether by pure luck, divine intervention, or that he’d simply heard her, but he reined in his horse, standing up in his stirrups, hand going to his gun as he looked back at the shack, likely looking for a fourth man. His eyes skimmed over her the first time, not noticing her, and then the second time, too, before darting back to her, making out her silhouette for the first time. With a put upon sigh, he dismounted his horse and she’d never be able to put words to the sheer relief that filled her as he approached.

“Hey girl,” he murmured, drawling it in such a way that it came out sounding more like ‘gurl’, and why did that rasping voice sound so familiar? “You ain’t lookin’ too good.” Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, resting on his heels, coming close enough that she could make out details, not just a faltering outline.

Old, faded scars on the side of his face

“I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you, Arthur Morgan.”

Black stubble, shaggy, shoulder length black hair.

“John Marston, you best wash your hair before I do it for you!”

Dark blue eyes, furrowed in concern.

“Huh, I could’ve sworn his eyes were brown in the first game. ”

Her sluggish mind put three and three together, and she gasped, the sound catching in her throat and leaving her coughing and gasping, struggling to catch her breath.

John fucking Marston crouched in front of her. Though he looked different, made of flesh and bone, not pixels and code, John Marston was not a forgettable man.

#rdr2 #rdr #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #i can't quite remember just what guided me this way #silent savior #splat #splat dragon #SplatDragon #splatdragonff #Splat_Dragon #cw: violence #cw: guns #cw: death #cw: blood #cw: animal abuse #cw: animal neglect #cw: dehydration

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ryik-the-writer · 5 years

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Marinara on Main (7/?)

A03

Special thanks to @jenitosam for inspiring me to get back on this one after a year of hiatus 0-o. I have the next few chapters mapped out so I hope to add more to it soon!

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“Yes…very well…thank you,”

Belle frowned as Gold mournfully hung up the phone.

“Astrid will be unable to come today,” Gold sighed. “Said she had a cold.”

Belle groaned. Her chatty physical therapist was clumsy, but her touch was magic, and helped Belle immensely in her recovery process during the past two weeks.

Dr. Whale said if she continued with the physical therapist regularly, she’d be able to return to French Bread’s much early than planned. If she didn’t however, her progress would be unraveled.

“Did they find someone to take her place?” Belle asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately all the other assistants are with other patients,” Gold answered disappointedly. “They won’t be able to send someone over for at least another two days.

Belle took a deep breath to still her frustration. Gold didn’t deserve her ire. He’d been the perfect roommate the last couple of weeks, assisting her with menial tasks like dinner and laundry. By the nights they’d read in the comfort of the living room while Bae played on his phone, sneaking kisses and finger grazes in between chapters.

It was wonderful, but Belle missed her pizzeria and all the misadventures that came with it. She was getting antsy and needed a double dose of stimulation to structure her mind.

Gold watched the crestfallen look on her face, wanting desperately to make her happy. He loved having Belle with him and Bae. Love having dinner with her and swapping out book recommendations. Loved coming home and finding her helping Bae with his homework. Loved laying a blanket over her when she fell asleep on the couch.

She was a part of his home now, and the idea that she would leave as soon as she was able to filled him with never-ending dread. He clung to rationality that it wouldn’t mean she wouldn’t come back over on occasion, and of course they were still dating so they’d see each other all the time.

But not having her here—with her scent in the furniture or little bits of her scattered around the house—felt unbearable.

Yet Belle was in his home now, and unhappy, and that hurt so much more than the possibility of her leaving.

“There is one thing we could…” Gold paused. No, no. They were not nearly that far in their relationship.

“What is it?” Belle inquired hopefully.

Gold grimaced at what he was about to impose. For the first week of Belle’s arrival he’d walked on eggshells, not wanting to make her uncomfortable now that she wasn’t in her own space. He discovered within a few days however that Belle had this amazing ability to make a space hers.

Gold would wake up in the middle of the night to find bowls and spoons from her cooking soaking in the sink. Or books and blankets left in the living room. And even items of her clothing hanging up in the laundry room.

It was beautifully domestic, but Gold didn’t want to allude himself that she would be staying longer than needed. She was young, had a business to run, and they were too early in their relationship to even fathom such closeness.

However, it was a different range of closeness that could possibly make Belle happy.

“I…after my first accident,” Gold said with a gesture to his bum knee. “I had to go through a great bit of physical therapy, and,” he cleared his throat. “I remember a great deal of it. How to do a great deal of it, I mean.”

Belle’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “You can help me stretch out?”

Gold nearly choked on the lump in his throat.

“I…yes. If you’re okay with that?”

“Yes!” Belle breathed in relief, pushing herself from her chair and locating the yoga mat she did her therapy on. “Let’s get started.”

Gold fidgeted as he stepped closer, charmed and terrified at her boldness. Belle was a do-er, and like him had a business-oriented mindset that left little room for dawdling.

He wondered if that would change should their relationship ever become sexual…

He shook the thought from his mind (and groin) and removed his jacket so that he could better bend for what he was about to do.

“We’ll start with your legs and go from there,” he instructed, kneeling at her feet and carefully easing her leg over his shoulder.

Belle clamped her lips shut to keep from giggling, trying to think of something unflattering as to avoid blushing as red as her painted toenails. How ridiculous she was being! She was living with the man for goodness sake, and it’s not like they were chaste! The had their moments of intimacy since she’d taken up residence here, though they’d been stifled both on the fact that there was a teenager running about and because Belle felt less than sexy having to have her kind of boyfriend help escort her to the bathroom.

However, the second her core brushed against Gold’s shoulder, hiding how beautifully awkward this situation flew off the table.

“Okay?” he inquired, though he didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Mmm hmm,” Belle hummed, sounding as high-pitched as a rubber dog toy to her own ears.

He nodded and slowly rubbed up her calf to her ankle, unsure if it was his fingers or Belle’s leg that was shaking. He slowly lifted her leg from an angle to a straight line, keeping her as still as he could until she let out a small moan.

“Too tight?” he inquired, he and Belle both staring at each other when the words left his mouth.

Belle tried to brush it off, to be mature about the situation, but instead she snorted, and soon was falling back on the floor laughing her ass off.

In a matter of seconds Gold followed, using her leg as leverage to the point where Belle’s pelvis popped and she yelped.

“Sorry!” Gold hissed, pulling back and breathing through his laughter. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Belle replied, sighing deeply. “Just go slower.

Dear God. Gold thought. She’s trying to kill me.

Pizza in Paris. Belle thought. I have such a dirty mind.

“Let’s switch,” Gold instructed, treating her other leg with the same treatment but with less hesitation.

Belle stifled a moan of contentment as they stretched. He really did know what he was doing.

“Time for the arms,” he announced, his voice falling to a husk.

Belle breathed out a sigh as Gold eased her legs down, crawling between them to take hold of her right hand. They locked their hands together and he slowly helped her sit up until her back was straight.

“Any pressure in your back?” He inquired, trying to sound professional even thought his voice was shaking.

“Nope,” Belle smirked, teasingly arching her neck and giving her kind of boyfriend a peck on the lips.

Gold’s brown eyes widened, a small smirk of his own before he returned the kiss. He pulled her closer to him, his opposite hand circling to cradle her back.

“Is this part of the therapy?” Belle inquired naughtily.

“I think we can take a break,” Gold teased, his better leg easing under hers to help her slide into his lap.

“In that case…” Belle laughed, unclenching their hands to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Oh. My. God.”

Belle and Gold shot apart to find Baelfire standing at the door way, his face deadly pale.

“Shit,” Gold cursed, helping Belle untangle herself from him. “Bae, we were—”

“I don’t need you to tell me!” Bae yelped, shooting back and covering his ears.

Belle struggled not to laugh at the obscene awkwardness of the situation but broke when she heard Bae shout somewhere else in the house “on the bloody floor!”.

“I should handle that,” Gold sighed, the deep blush in his cheeks fading as he helped Belle to her feet.

“Indeed,” Belle replied as he helped her sit on the bed. “I’ll call Ruby to see if she can give me a hand. She has the day off.”

Gold paused, a half smirk forming on his face. “Why didn’t you suggest calling her earlier?”

Belle gave him a saucy, all-knowing smile. “Why do you think?”

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Yeah, so this has nothing to do with pizza ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle french #mr. gold #ouat #ouat fic #ryik's fics #marinara on main

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roemyheart · 5 years

Text

Double Trouble

A/N: for @marvelmymarvel bc she really wanted a reader x babe x malarkey love triangle but I am so BAD at writing anything remotely angsty (I am committed to fluff) so idek what this is, I just kind of went with it. Also I’m super sleepy so I barely proofread this rip but I hope you still enjoy! Based on the HBO show characters, no disrespect to the original heroes.

When Winters handed out weekend passes and told Easy company to enjoy the nice weather, you did not imagine that you’d be enjoying the nice weather on a Friday evening outside a cozy Bavarian pub with Edward Heffron’s hands tangled in your hair.

That’s not to say you weren’t enjoying yourself. In fact, you thought this situation might be a little too enjoyable as Babe trailed kisses across your jaw, pressing his hips against yours. His mouth was soft and hot but when he pulled back to gaze at you, all heavy breathing and flushed cheeks, his eyes were a blazing inferno. “Babe,” you breathed softly, chest heaving, fingers digging into his clean uniform. Babe smiled gently, in stark contrast from the way he’d all but ravaged you against the side of this building. He wound one arm around your waist and the other cupped your cheek gently, calloused palm against warm skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for that.” You smiled coyly, standing on your tiptoes to brush another searing kiss to his mouth. When you nipped at his bottom lip playfully, he made a surprised noise at the back of his throat. “I kind of have an idea of how long you’ve waited for that.” He cocked an eyebrow. “And how’s that, Y/N?” You leaned further into his space, grinning. “Lucky guess?” Babe titled his head down. “That’s a load of malarkey.” He murmured against your lips. You tried to avoid jolting in surprise because malarkey had taken on a meaning very different from bullshit. “Maybe a little birdie mentioned that you’re always staring at me like I put the moon in your hands. Maybe I got a little curious.” His hands, splayed wide against your back, began traveling downward. “There are some other ways you can keep my hands occupied…” You caught his wrists, bringing them up to your mouth to kiss his hands sweetly. “I have no qualms about making out with you next to a bar, but I do have standards, Private Heffron.” He pouted, resting his forehead against yours. “Yes, ma’am.” “We should head back in.” Babe sighed, looking at you mournfully. “How am I supposed to go inside and enjoy myself now? Nothing is ever gonna be as good as kissing you outside in the middle of the night.” You smiled at him, shaking your head. “I’m flattered but let me buy you a few drinks. You might change your mind.” Babe did indeed change his mind once he downed a few more beers and Luz dragged him onto the dance floor. You watched him from a booth, smiling fondly. He threw his head back and laughed at Luz’s antics, lighting up the tiny pub with his infectious, intoxicated energy. Sometimes, you wished he would change his mind about you. Babe was fiercely devoted and incredibly charming. He was no longer boyish and reserved; he had blossomed into a fine young man with a heart that radiated honor and compassion. He was sweet, he was hardworking, and he deserved more than you thought you could give him. If he changed his mind about you, you wouldn’t feel so guilty that Donald Malarkey spent more time than appropriate on your own mind.

A goodnight kiss couldn’t hurt too much though, right? Not when Babe wrapped his arms around you securely, his mouth featherlight against yours.

“Babe,” You whispered hoarsely, fighting the whimper in your throat as he trailed his lips down your neck, dragging his teeth against the sensitive skin at the crook of your neck. “Hmm?” He continued his slow, sensual assault. “Y-you have to go sleep. In y-your own room.” You warbled, inhaling sharply. He pulled back slowly, looking at you much more like a sad puppy than a guy trying to get into your bed (in every sense of the term). “I guess…” He sighed, pouting at you for the second time that night. You squeezed his hand. “Can’t have you getting in trouble.” He grinned at you crookedly through the dark shadows of your room. “I’m in plenty of trouble.” Babe kissed you once more before heading to his room, leaving you reeling and your heart aching. Babe was already in trouble because of how deeply he adored you but one day later he got into even more trouble. Trouble that came in the form of an awful head cold after going for an unwise late night swim with Tab and Bull. Though the latter two men suffered only from a runny nose, Babe was bedridden (Doc’s orders) with a wicked cough and a fluctuating fever. You visited him several times throughout the day, bringing him tissues and newspapers and hot coffee. It was hard to believe that the sulky bundle of blankets was the same man that made your knees wobbly with smooth words and wandering hands. So, you left Edward Heffron and his addictive kisses in the room down the hall to recover. But that left you yearning for physical affection. Before the war, you’d never given much thought to the intimacy of simple human touch. You worked hard for your family and studied even harder for your classes – getting a boyfriend seemed like a world away, along with all the tender touches and sweet words entailed in a relationship. When you joined the war effort as a medic, human touch became less simple. Saving wounded men was often complicated, and you woke up restless many nights as the memory of bloody hands and anguished screams plagued your dreams. Your hands had been remarkably less bloody throughout your time in Berchtesgaden, but sometimes you felt like they could never be completely clean. As you neatly folded your clothes, barely noticing the chaotic rumble of the men downstairs and outside, you wondered if maybe that’s why you were so drawn to Babe. Despite the horrors of war, every scar jagged and deep, he still seemed to retain his wholesome light. Your conscience could never be clean, but you were pretty sure Babe’s soul was. When he smiled, it was impossible to believe in hopelessness. A knock against the doorframe startles you out of your thoughts.

“Jesus, Malarkey, you scared the crap out of me!” “What’s really scary is that you’re spending our free Saturday night folding clothes.” You wrinkled your nose at him. “Folding clothes is the most fun way to spend a Saturday night, you just have no taste.” “I couldn’t agree any less.” You rolled your eyes, laying your pants in the wardrobe that was much too big. Malarkey moved his hands from behind his back to reveal a case of beer and a deck of cards. You cracked a smile. “Is that all for me, Don? You didn’t have to, really.” He smirked at you, light eyes dancing, and shook his head. “It’s for me, actually. But I like you so I’m willing to share.” You shrugged. “I’ll take what I can get.”

You could only take so much. Don barked out a laugh every time he beat you, leaning into your space, and you felt like you were absolutely burning. He smelled like summer and fancy beer and clean laundry. You desperately hoped he was too drunk to notice the way you ogled at the dog tags glinting against his collarbone and at his muscular arms when he tugged off the top of his uniform, leaving him in tank top that nearly had you drooling.

He was killing you, and not just in this game of Speed. “Oh come on, Y/N, you’re not even trying!” You frowned at him, teetering just off the edge of tipsy as you took a long pull from the bottle. “I am trying. Just not as hard as you, apparently.” His mouth curled up into a devious smile as he shuffled the cards. “I’ve got a deal for you, doll.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “What?” “If you win, I’ll do whatever you want me to for one hour. If I win, you do what I want for an hour.” “Hmmm.” You pursed your lips pensively. “Whatever I want?” You tried to ignore the way your stomach flip-flopped when he practically purred, “Anything your sweet heart desires.” Flustered, you could only laugh nervously. “Even run around butt-naked through the dining room?” He nodded solemnly. A little voice at the back of your head told you that this was only headed in one direction. “You’re on, Malarkey.”

Several minutes later, it was Malarkey who was on you. He caged you against the bed, radiating heat and kissing you like his life depended on it. You couldn’t even really remember who won – did anyone win at all? It was Malarkey, wasn’t it? Or did the late night and strong beer finally take hold of your good sense? The way Don growled when you tangled your fingers in his hair sounded dangerous, but honestly, he was the person who always made you feel the safest. You often found yourself wrapped securely in his space. He’d held you close when you got hit in Carentan and Arnhem. He’d clung to you throughout the raging firefights and awful casualties of Bastogne. He’d tucked your head against his chest the night after you found the camp. In the moments when the world seemed to crumble around you, Don made sure to keep you from getting swept up in the rubble. Though, you did feel like you were drowning in his hot and heavy kisses – in a good way. Despite the haze of sleep and alcohol, you couldn’t help but notice how different this was from kissing Babe. These kisses and caresses held the weight of the world. It was more intense, every sigh, every gasp, every touch. It was strong and it scared you, but he murmured your name tenderly against your skin and nothing had ever sounded so right. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that.” You tensed up involuntarily because you’d definitely heard that before. “How long?” You asked softly. Malarkey hovered above you, gently brushing the hair out of your face, still breathing hard. You couldn’t tell if your heart or his heart was pounding loudly. He smiled, almost bitterly. “Since Toccoa. Since you took my spaghetti.” Your eyes widened. “That’s…a long time.” He kissed your nose, resting his weight against you comfortably. “Tell me about it.” “And it took you this long to tell me?” You playfully pinched his arm, disregarding the toned muscle and how your stomach lurched. “Hey, getting shot at is scary. But telling someone you like them while getting shot at is even scarier. I had to wait until I knew it was completely safe.” His smile was softer the flower petals and his gaze sweeter than honey. You squeezed him to your body, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “You’re safe here.” “You know who isn’t safe here?” You pulled away to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Who?” Malarkey looked at you sternly. “Heffron.” He pinched your waist and you squeaked, becoming so flustered you were nearly lightheaded. “W-what?” “You heard me right. If he comes in here asking for Y/N to be sweet to him, he’s got something else coming. I’ll sock him right in his pretty face.” You wound your finger around an orange curl and tugged gently. “Don’t get so bothered about Babe. Just be sweet to me.” You rubbed your nose against his affectionately and he smiled softly. His voice washed over you like the Atlantic ocean. “I can only be sweet to you, Y/N. You make everything about this bitter world a little better.”

(Apparently this bitter world had it out for you because you ended up on a bus ride squeezed between a fuming Malarkey and a snuggly, sick Heffron soon after.)

#uhhhhhhhhh #maybe a part 2 if you really want some angst????#idk what happened here #we shall see #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fic #babe heffron #donald malarkey #edward heffron #babe heffron imagine #donald malarkey imagine

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tiny-maus-boots · 5 years

Text

Wild West AU pt 6

A/N- Happy Birthday @chloes-yellow-cup I know it’s relatively a small thing but it’s from a big part of my heart. you’re my bestie and ilyan.

Beca blinked at the brightness of the afternoon sun as they exited the mouth of the old mine. She looked down at the steel tracks pinned to the hard dusty earth and toed a rail with her boot, brow puckered in thought. She could see the track stopped just a short bit away past the miner’s shack. No doubt there just to make it easy to haul out rock from the mineshaft. “These don’t go far.” She turned her head to the wind and let it lift the strands that had blown in her face, her gaze landing on Stacie’s tall form.

“It’ll take some work but a few years back Union Pacific hired my dad to blow a pass right through this mountain. Turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. Too much steel ore to make blasting easy but not enough to invest in mining it out.” Beca gave a nod of understanding even though she didn’t see how any of that was going to help them any. Stacie knelt by the track and picked up a few stones to juggle in her hand. “When they figured it wasn’t gonna work they put in a switching track and diverted away from the mountain. But the old track is still out there, a good half mile out. We lay down rail from here to there and we got ourselves something.”

Stacie skipped a stone along the ground with an easy flick of her wrist. Beca watched it clatter out in the direction of the track. If they could get a track laid out they could bring the train to them. A smile curled her lips and she brought her gaze around to Chloe. The redhead ran her fingers along her jaw in a familiar gesture that always meant she was working through something, before nodding agreement, her soft voice gaining firmness. “We bring the train to us it’ll make getting our haul and our asses out of here a lot easier. Bree?”

They all turned to Aubrey who had been silent the entire walk through the tunnel. Beca could see a line of tension in the blonde’s shoulders that normally wasn’t there when it was just the four of them. “The new track goes through Penitence.” Her head tipped to the side and the shadow from the brim of her hat left most of her face hidden. “We can bring the train to us but our little Hell ride will take us straight to the belly of the Beast on the way out.” It was a sobering thought with the Army camped out that way and Beca rolled her shoulders to work out the knot of muscle clenching ever tighter between them. She hadn’t thought that deeply about the whole picture and that could get them all killed. “I made my choice, I’m in this for as long as we’re together but we gotta think this through. We need outta here nice and clean ‘cause I ain’t going back. I’ll eat a bullet before I let Avery take me…”

A wave of unease swept over all of them at the thought. Stacie cut her eyes to Beca in a subtle gesture and she nodded back. Chloe looked back and forth between them her gaze sharp and searching but she said nothing and moved to Aubrey’s side where she reached up and tugged a lock of blonde hair playfully. “What’s the rule Bree?”

Aubrey’s head dipped her head further and kicked at a loose rock. Her words were reluctant and slow but she nodded her understanding of them. “Where one goes we all go.”

“That’s right. Where one goes we all go, even if one or two of us wanna go and get themselves killed like a couple of idiots.” Beca’s head came up quickly and she blinked at Chloe staring her down defiantly. Aubrey frowned then looked between the two brunettes with a questioning brow. Beca cleared her throat but it was hard to meet her girl’s eyes. After a moment realization dawned on Aubrey and she sucked in a deep breath.

“No.” Stacie started forward to argue but Aubrey raised her hands to forestall her rant. “Listen. God knows he’s a problem and a threat but he’s still my brother. I can’t just kill him even if I think he deserves it. It’s not the Christian thing to do.”

“Of course not Bree. You never could and not one single one of us is gonna go looking to pull a trigger on him without cause. That would just be stupid and dangerous.” Chloe pinned them both with a stern look before squeezing Aubrey’s arm warmly, her voice low and serious. “But if he gets in the way I promise you I will put him down. Any of us would. You’re not the only one scarred up inside over what they done to you.” One long finger traced lightly down the scar on Aubrey’s face and Chloe’s voice softened. “He’ll pay for every stitch I put in your skin, they both will. May not be now, may not be our hand, but they’ll get theirs.”

Aubrey didn’t answer and Beca could see the guilt warring with relief in her eyes. It hurt to see because she didn’t understand the blonde’s loyalty to her kin. Only Chloe really knew what Aubrey had been through but Beca could guess how ugly it had been by some of the scars she’d seen marking the blonde’s body. She sighed and gave a short shake of her head and walked along the rail a few feet. She wasn’t mad at Aubrey really, just mad that she was being so damned stubborn. Avery would need killing either way because as long as there was breath in his lungs he’d come for them. He’d come for Aubrey. A haze of brown rose on the horizon and she raised her harp to her mouth to twang it mournfully. “I think that’s Emmy coming up.” Beca looked over her shoulder at the group and jerked her chin at Aubrey. “Can you spot ‘er?”

It only took a few seconds of careful scanning of the face of the mountain before Aubrey was moving with liquid grace, climbing with the thinnest of foot and hand holds. When she was perched high enough up she focused intently on the horizon, her long sight picking up things that would only be a blur to Beca. “It’s Emmy alright, but she’s got a rider with her.” Stacie’s head snapped up and she walked to the end of the track, hand over her eyes to see as far as she could. Aubrey gave a short chirping whistle and sighted down the length of her rifle. “I see a badge.”

“Break for cover.” Stacie and Chloe scattered in opposite directions, the taller woman sliding into the dry creek bed behind the cover of some tumbleweeds. Chloe scrambled behind the shack with her back to it, both guns drawn and ready waiting for Aubrey’s signal. Beca ran back toward the mine entrance and worked her way up to Aubrey’s vantage point. “You sure it’s a badge?”

The blonde snorted delicately, never taking her eyes off the target as it came nearer. “Unless it’s some fancy necklace. If you wanna go down there and look real close you’re welcome to it.” Beca chuckled and pulled two smaller throwing knives from her chest harness and leaned back against the boulder they were covering behind.

“See anyone else out there creepin’ up on the horizon?” If they had to they could get back through the mine to their spot but they couldn’t do that without Emily. If they had to fight their way out of this it was going to be harder to escape unharmed.

“Naw. Just Em and looks like the Deputy is with her.” Beca cursed softly and looked over the top of the boulder. It was still hard for her to see detail but she knew the figure riding in on horseback well enough. “Should I kill him?” She sighed and ducked back down to lean against the rock.

“No. I dunno what he wants but he’s not all bad.” Aubrey turned disbelieving green eyes on her and she shrugged. “He could have left me alone with Cox but he didn’t. I think he was trying to protect me in his own way.” Aubrey frowned at her and she shrugged. “He likes to hurt people, that one.”

It was enough for apparently for the other woman, Aubrey’s jaw clenched and she nodded once but hadn’t lowered her rifle. Just in case Beca was wrong. Truthfully Beca didn’t even blame her for the caution. They had a lot more riding on their survival than they had before. When she heard the wagon clatter to a stop Aubrey called out loud enough to be heard. “That’s far enough Deputy. You just dismount nice and easy, hands high like its Sunday service. Good boy.” When she gave Beca a wink the brunette stood and crawled to the top of the boulder to look down at the Deputy.

He was standing awkwardly by his horse, both hands held high in surrender. “I uh come here in peace. Please don’t shoot me. I’m not armed. I promise.” Chloe tossed her a look from her hiding spot and Beca rolled her shoulder in a half shrug. He didn’t seem to be lying but it was hard to tell. Emily jumped down from the wagon and trotted a few steps forward, half blocking his body with her own.

“He’s a friend! I vouch for him.” Beca slid her knives back into the harness and leapt down to the next large stone, crouching on top of it to look down and the Deputy. He flinched but smiled when he recognized her. Emily rushed forward in her eagerness and waved excitedly. “Beca! I knew it! See Benji, I told you she’d be fine.” Beca didn’t miss the way he smiled at Emily or the lingering look she gave him in return. Her brow quirked but she kept her questions about that to herself for the moment.

“You got some explaining Emmy.” Emily looked back and forth between Beca on her perch and Benji before reaching out to lower his hands.

“He’s a friend. I promise.” Emily tugged him forward by the hand, leading him right past Chloe’s hiding spot. She slipped out of the shadow and brought her guns level with his chest, covering Beca in case it all went sideways. The Deputy jumped a bit and watched her nervously before turning to face Beca again.

“What are you doing here law dog?” Benji let his shoulders drop and took a steadying breath.

“The Army is in Penitence. There’s a signed warrant out for all of you dead or alive.” Her lips curved into a grin and she hooked her thumbs into her harness.

“Dead or alive, huh? How much am I worth now? I bet I break 250 dollars by now.” Beca dropped down to the ground and made her way to the two mules that pulled Katherine’s wagon on supply runs. Nudge and Budge snuffled and hawed at her proximity, each bumping the other out of the way to get closer to Beca. She reached out a hand to stroke their noses as she eyed the Deputy in wary amusement.

“Fi- um- ahem, five hundred.” He looked uncomfortable and she threw her head back with wild laughter.

“Five Hundred Dollars! Well hot damn maybe I’ll go turn myself in.” She made her way around him in a slow circle, stopping only to nudge Emily affectionately and trail a hand over Chloe’s, lowering the raised guns trained on the Deputy. “What do you think?”

“Please don’t do that.” She had heard a lot of people beg her to do things over the years. Please don’t steal my pocket watch, please don’t hurt me, please don’t leave me here, please go to Hell and please don’t kill me. But she hadn’t yet been asked not to turn herself in. He started to take a step forward but stopped himself when Chloe’s guns came back up with a click. “I know you steal from folks and that’s wrong but you also do good things with it. All that money you gave the church for that orphanage, the corn seed you brought that pueblo across the river. Even the heard about the way you kept the train from crossing through Chumash land. See I don’t think you’re exactly what the newspaper says. Not really. You do right when right needs doing. I admire that Miss Mitchell and I think y’all deserved to know what’s waitin’ on ya in Penitence.”

“He’s got ya there Becs. You’re just as soft as a kitten.” Stacie’s amused grin appeared from around the side of the wagon startling a flinch from Benji when he realized how close she was. “You sure you’re not here to get an autograph, boy?”

The Deputy shifted a little shyly under Stacie’s direct gaze, he shook his head with a sluggish shrug of his shoulders. “No ma’am. I’m here because right is right and wrong is wrong. This badge was supposed to mean something but Sheriff Cox, he ain’t right. The things he’s done…” Emily reached out to squeeze his hand, giving him her silent support. Stacie’s gaze went right to it and she raised her brows only just coming to the realization that there was something between Emily and the Deputy. “Point is I don’t think its right what’s happening. You done more good than harm the way I see it and if they catch you it’s a short drop from the end of the gallows.”

Beca cleared her throat at the memory of what that felt like. The seconds before her drop seemed to speed by double time but once she was swinging wildly, the rope cinching ever tighter to choke the life from her, those seconds had seemed interminable. A lifetime of missed chances and lost opportunities flashed through her mind and she knew then, in what she thought would be her final moment, she knew the only good and right thing in her life was Chloe Beale. Beca’s eyes drifted up past Benji’s shoulder and met Chloe’s warm gaze. She wasn’t eager to hang again and much less see any of the girl’s hang. Beca gave the Deputy another lingering look.

“Alright.” She wasn’t about to tell him all their secrets but she’d take his warning as a sign of good faith. It was all information she already knew but at least she knew he wasn’t lying about the facts of things. Her gut told her he was trustworthy but her brain reminded her that she thought Jesse was trustworthy once too. “You better get on out of here Deputy before they start wondering after you.”

It took him a second before he realized he was being dismissed but when he caught on he smiled his acknowledgement and turned to face Emily both her hands in his. “I’ll see you soon. I promise.” Beca smirked at slight frown on Stacie’s face when Emmy learned forward to kiss Benji’s cheek. It was sweet the way he blushed and stuttered a goodbye before mounting his horse and riding back the way he’d come. When he was far enough out Aubrey made her way down to the rest of the group. They stood in silence watching him ride off before Chloe broke first.

“Ooooooh Emmy’s got a boyfriend. Emmy’s got a booooooooyfrieeeeeeeeeenddd” Emily immediately blushed at the singsong tease, her mouth opening then closing.

Aubrey tsked softly, her rifle cradled in her arms. “A Deputy Emmy? Couldn’t you find a nice respectable boy on the wrong side of the law?” There was a teasing glint to her eyes that told Emily it wasn’t serious but she shrugged and gave a wistful sigh.

“He treats me real nice and sometimes…” The younger girl smiled impossibly wide, her arms wrapping around her middle in a hug. “Sometimes we go behind the stable and…”

“Kiss.” It came from three mouths in varying degrees of amusement.

“God! No! Sing…he sings to me.” Emily gave a dream sigh and Aubrey rolled her eyes.

“Oh Lord. It must be true love.” She slung the rifle over her shoulder and moved start pulling supplies out of the wagon. “Let’s get this back to your ma and you can tell us all about this Deputy of yours.”

Beca had the feeling they’d never stop hearing about him now.

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bitch-aucoin · 5 years

Note

Hey i saw you were doing prompts can I get one where Diego is dating someone that also uses throwing knives?????? Thanks!!!!

I’ve never done a reader/canon character before so I HOPE I DID IT JUSTICE!!!

(Rated T for Teen? Minor swearing and appearance of Klaus.)

Something about the situation felt off, wrong.

It didn’t help that Diego was watching you with a wolfish grin from across the room, his arms crossed casually over his broad chest. He was up to something, but what? You glanced away and thumbed the grip, trying to figure it out.

“Any day now.” He called out, tapping an imaginary watch.

Fine. You huffed and turned to face the target. You were probably just thinking too hard. He liked to play games like that. Prompting you to give pause, furrow your brow, overthink it. Apparently it was ‘cute’, a phrase that caused your cheeks to run hot and your heart to stumble over itself when he told you such.

Stupid, sexy Diego Hargreeves.

Stupid, awful knives.

You arched your arm back as you eyed the target, letting the natural curve of your body take over as you wound yourself up before letting it snap. The knife sang through the air proudly and for a single moment, you let yourself smile.

But then it wobbled, which it had no right to do, before promptly stabbing itself into the ground with a loud and ugly ‘thunk’.

“For fucks sake!” You shouted before you could help yourself. Someone laughed at the doorway, probably Klaus, and in a heartbeat the defiant blade was in your palm, poised and ready to go. “I swear to God!”

“Hey now.” Diego’s hand was over yours just as quickly, his lips still quirked halfway. “Ignore him.” Oh, if only it was that easy…

“Yes, do that, just like everyone else.” Klaus drawled from the doorway, not getting the hint that he was unwelcome as he drew the attention back to him. “Are you quite done?”

“It’s a practice room, Klaus, what do you need it for?” Diego barked. You didn’t want to smile, but doing so was impossible when he huffed and puffed like that. Diego caught your eye for a moment and rolled his in response, as if to say ‘siblings, what can you do?’

Klaus sighed mournfully, throwing puppy dog eyes from the half cracked door. “My jazzercise, you asshole, but I guess it can wait if you’re still throwing your knives about.”

“It’s gonna have to.” Diego brandished the blade at him, waggling it in warning. “Now fuck off.”

Klaus’s eyebrows jumped as he grimaced. He knew a threat when he saw one. “Consider it done.”

It was just you and him again after that, still crouching together on the floor. He didn’t show any signs of moving, and something selfish and wanting in you loved that fact. “Do you want to know what you did wrong?” He asked, quirking a brow.

You averted your gaze and rubbed a finger under your nose. “Can I get a hint?” You poised back, not wanting this game to end. He laughed under his breath and brought the knife up between the two of you once more, angling it just so.

“You were onto something before.” Diego said after a moment. “When you were testing it’s weight. Here.” His hand closed over yours and you could feel his calluses. You wondered what he thought of yours. His voice went lower as he leaned in closer, lips near your ear. “Can you feel it?”

You could feel a lot of things, but that wasn’t really appropriate to bring up. Focus. You swallowed thickly as the blade lay in your palm. “It feels, off…” Wrong. The exact opposite of Diego’s warmth and weight, which felt so god damned right when you both like this.

“It’s not weighted correctly, yeah? It lacks a center balance. For example…” His other hand snaked around you and suddenly you were falling to the floor. There wasn’t enough time to scream, or to grab onto him, you just went down.

He was above you in an instant, all muscle and whirlwind force, grinning all too easily as he pinned you. “See how easy that was?” He hummed.

“Bastard.” You spat out, not sure if you should be embarrassed or upset.

“Rookie.” He teased back. You brought the knife up, hoisting it at him in a silent threat. Diego stared at it and blinked before knocking your wrist away. “You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Despite the insistence in your voice he grinned again. “Kinky.”

You flushed and tried to shove at him, finding it absolutely futile. “Oh fuck off.”

He leaned down and there was only a breaths worth of space between you and him. “I think-” He started only for a subtle throat clearing to fill the room in response.

“This doesn’t look like knife throwing practice, unless I’m high off my rocker, which I mean… would we be surprised?” Klaus. Of course. You shoved at Diego again and this time he let you, hitting the ground with a practiced ease before popping up again. “Sorry, the sexual tension rising in the room drew me in.” The seancing Hargreeves drawled.

You threw the knife before you could help it, knowing better this time, all too aware of it’s off-weight and trickery, of the games it liked to play. It grazed just past Klaus’s ear to chop a curl of his neatly off without a sound. He shrieked and jumped seconds too late, already swearing at you, but Diego was already dragging you out of the room as you laughed and laughed.

“I’m sorry-” You started only for him to kiss the very words out of your mouth.

“Never apologize for doing something like that.” He said against your mouth in a rush. “That was so hot.”

You blinked once, twice, and grabbed the front of his sweater. “We should practice more often.” You told him before pressing your lips to his, swallowing up his laugh without a second thought.

#umbrella academy #tua #the umbrella academy #diego/reader #diegoxreader #diego hargreeves #i HOPE I DID GOOD.......#onceafan-alwaysafan

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ultramarinhearts · 6 years

Text

Insecurities | Hank Anderson x Reader |

I’ve got a few requests so far and here’s the fic I made out of the first one! I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: The reader and Hank are in the park with the one of the good boys, Sumo, and the reader runs into a young, good looking guy. Hank is jealous af and he lets out his feelings he have hidden for days, so the fic’s gonna be angsty.

It was a grey Sunday morning, when you were in the nearby park with your love Hank and his St. Bernard, Sumo. It was quite a struggle to get Hank out of bed and make him come out with you to take Sumo for a longer walk so early, but eventually, after prompting and bribing a little, he agreed to come.

Hank had been for a few days quiet, he wasn't even throwing his sarcastic jokes around, like he used to. You tried carefully to ask him about it yesterday, but he was vague and changed the subject. You didn't want to bother him with it too much, since you thought it was about Cole. Even though you had never seen the boy, you missed him. You learnt soon when you started dating Hank, that his feelings would always reflect on you powerfully. It did hurt, but when he was beaming the good things like love and affection, it all was paid back.

You two were walking along the trail side by side, Sumo trotting ahead of you. The dog went on sniffling in bushes, coming soon back with a stick locked between his teeth.

"You want me to throw it for you, boy?" you cooed and patted his large head. Sumo dropped the stick to the ground in front of you and sat down. "Yes, you do", you said and gave Hank a smile before you went down to a meadow nearby, so you could throw the stick for Sumo.

Hank left to sit on a bench, since he clearly wasn't in a mood for sports right now. You sighed quietly and released Sumo to run freely. He waved his furry tail and kept his gaze strictly on the stick, as you raised it and threw it. Sumo sprinted after the stick and seemed to be very proud of himself when he catched it.

"Is that your dog?" you heard an unfamiliar voice from your side and glanced at a tall, blond haired man, who looked like he was somewhat your age. He had also a dog with him, a big rottweiler. Sumo came closer, looking suspicious. He came between you and the man, since he wanted to protect you.

"Yeah - officially he's my man's dog but you could say he's mine too", you laughed briefly and petted Sumo's head. He stared at the rottweiler, that didn't seem to care.

"He's Saint Bernard, right? What's his name?" the man asked and smiled. You thought to yourself that he was a very good looking guy.

"Sumo", you said softly and kept petting on Sumo's head to keep him calm. He wasn't moving from front of you, there was this stranger nearing a member of his pack.

"Nice name", the man said and he kept an eye contact, that took too long. It made you feel uneasy.

"Yep. Cool rottweiler. What's their name?" you were being polite.

"Her name's Scarlet", he answered and patted the back of his dog's neck.

You took a look to the side and saw Hank coming towards you. Sumo didn't leave his guard, even though his tail started to wave wildly again when he saw the older man. You looked into his eyes and smiled widely, but Hank's gaze was at the stranger.

"What's going on?" Hank asked when he reached you. He sounded gruff and observed the situation from under his grey brows.

"I didn't get your name", you said to the man and the answer came quickly:

"Elliot. And you are - ?"

"Y/N. And this is my man Hank", you said smiling nodding towards Hank, who stood rigidly. He looked at you with his forehead wrinkled, he glanced at Elliot and then again at you. You didn't gave him a reaction since you were afraid that Elliot would notice. Little did you know that it gave Hank even more fuel to be jealous about you.

"We were talking about the dogs", you said to Hank whose grumpy look didn't change. "Ah, okay", he muttered.

"I think we have to keep going", Elliot said suddenly and took steps towards the trail. Scarlet got up and followed him obediently. "Good talk, Y/N. See you", he said looking at you before he turned around and walked away with Scarlet on his heels.

You could see how Hank gnawed his teeth. "You really talked about dogs?" he asked and looked at you. You furrowed your brows for him. "Yeah? I don't even know him, what else could we possibly talk about?" you asked as Sumo got up and tried to offer you the stick again.

"I dunno", he said quietly. "Let's go", he added and started walking on back to where you came from.

"But - Sumo's not ready", you said as Sumo waved his tail and whined, looking at you with requesting eyes.

"Then I'll go alone", Hank said and waved his hand lazily as a goodbye. You took an apologizing look at Sumo. "Sorry, something's wrong with your dad", you muttered and put a leash on his collar, the dog dropped sadly the stick. You went after Hank, not talking to him on the way home.

When you got home, hours went on slowly. You hadn't changed a word since you left the park. You didn't want to start the conversation, since you wanted him to apologize and explain everything. He was the one being childish.

You were laying alone on the bed, you were trying to distract yourself by reading a book and scrolling through social media. You growled and threw your phone on the nightstand, standing up. You left the bedroom to get to the kitchen.

Hank was sitting on the couch in the living room, a scotch glass in his hand. He stared at the tv, there was going on some basketball game. Normally he could have asked you to join him and cuddle you throughout the game, he could have explained you all the little things about the game that you really weren’t interested in, but you did it because you could listen to his deep voice for hours.

"You're early with that", you snorted nodding towards the glass in his hand. He glanced at you and took a sip. "Mhm", he answered and brought his glance back at the tv.

You couldn't take it anymore, so you went and sat down next to him on the couch. Hank didn't react, but you sensed that he got more tense.

"What's wrong with you? You're acting weird and I'm worried", you confessed and got closer to him on the sofa. He didn't look at you and took another sip from his glass.

"Fucker", you hissed and took the glass from his hand and put it on the table in front of you. Hank turnt his gaze fast at you, growling out. You put your hand on his shoulder and looked demanding into his eyes.

"What's wrong?" you repeated.

"What the fuck do you do with his name?" Hank asked suddenly and it surprised you. You let go of his shoulder and furrowed your brows at him. "Me? With his name? What the hell do you mean?"

"You know what I mean", Hank hissed back and leant against the back of the couch. He crossed his arms on his broad chest.

"Are you jealous or what?" you asked and combed your hair with your fingers. "Oh my God, Hank, I don't even fuckin' know that guy. And you know well that I want to be with you!"

"You know that he is the kind of guy that you should be with, not me."

You opened your mouth with confusion and shook your head incredulously.

"What the fuck, Hank?" you got out of your mouth.

"Listen", he said after a while and finally looked you into eyes. "I love you so much", he said and tilted his head, grey hair swinging towards his cheeks.

"I love you too -"

"and that's way, I’m selfish to hold you back. Either way you decay with my depressed, drunk ass forever or either way you live a happy life with a stable person, who is more like you and who can give you what you deserve", he said and stopped the leaning. He didn't break the eye contact anymore, you could see that his eyes got more foggy.

"What are you talking about?" you whispered hurting, owerpowering fear rushing through you.

"You're my angel and I want you to have everything good in the world, and I can't give you that", he continued quietly and you noticed how his voice got uneven.

"Are you saying that - you don't want to be with me?" you asked slowly and saying it out loud brought tears in your eyes. You wanted to hug him and never let him go, but you couldn't move a muscle.

"It's not about that", Hank said with a trembling voice and sighed.

"What is it about? If we want to be with each other, what's the problem?" you asked mournfully. Hank sighed and looked down, then he lifted his gaze again and said:

"I don't want you to understand years later that you have been wasting your time."

"It's not time waste if you make me happier than anyone else can!" you almost shouted, wanting to make him understand.

"Somebody else can make you way happier", he whispered and closed his eyes, then he looked away with tears in them.

"S-stop that!" you cried and rushed to hug him, locking your arms around him. "You c-can try to get rid of me, but you w-won't manage! I don't have a reason to go if you l-love me", you said buring your face into his neck, breathing his scent.

You tightened your hold around him to make your words stronger. Your shoulders shook.

Then he put his arms around you as well and sighed against the top of your head.

"When did you become so freakin' stubborn?" he murmured. You went as close to him as you could and answered sniffling:

"I learnt from the best."

You lifted your face to look at him, and you aparted from each other a bit. You cupped both of his ridged cheeks with your hands.

"And if you fuckin' think that I'd rather take somebody like this Elliot over you, you're an total idiot", you said, "I don't give two shits if he's my age and has a perfect body and he's always like a fuckin' happy rabbit with a perfect life, I don't want any of that."

You noticed how Hank tried to hide his smile.

"I want you and your problems, okay?" you said and caressed his cheeks. "I want everything of you, okay?" you continued and brought your face closer to his. He came closer as well.

"Okay", Hank whispered. You wrapped your arms around his neck and got yourself onto his lap. "You're mine", you whispered and kissed his forehead. He lifted his face towards yours and studied your features. “I’m yours”, he said, before he kissed you deeply.

#hank anderson #hank x reader #hank anderson x reader #detroit become human #request #dbh x reader #angst #dbh #hank love movement #dbh hank

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 6 years

Text

The Stranger, Part 2

FULL CHAPTER

Part 1

Dean x Reader

Summary: Reader finds a stranger wandering the road, his head and clothes bloody. He’s disorientated and doesn’t remember who he is. She takes him in and they get close until he starts having nightmares about monsters and killing people.

Then one day, a sleek black car pulls up and a tall man gets out, wearing lots of flannel and has shaggy hair. He claims that the stranger is his brother and he’s come to collect him.

Warnings: Talk of abuse, anxiety, mild violence, language, canon divergence

Word Count: 4.2K

Everything Tags: @his-paradox @sorenmarie87 @lefthologramdeer @grace-for-sale @redm81 @becs-bunker @docharleythegeekqueen @moonchild-shoshanna @idontfuckingknowgurl

SPN Tags: @soythedemonqueen // @kazosa // @lucifer-in-leather // @perseusandmedusa // @tiquismiquis // @mrsbarnes-rogers // @yorkeylover // @through-thesilver-lining // @illysamorgan // @fictionalabyss // @gettinjoyful // @auntsalgal // @stuckupstucky // @miss-spnm0mma // @teller258316 // @sphollis-blog // @sweet-things-4-life // @hobby27 // @sweetlythoughtfulbird // @theoriginalvicki // @dreamchester67 // @xxwarhawk // @assassinofmasyaf // @mahalaraewolfe

THE STRANGER Tags: @unlikelycollectortimetraveler // @chalicia // @kurage14 // @earthtokace // @attractiverandomness // @dizwinchester // @myunrulylife // @mirandaaustin93 // @supernatural-dolan // @keepmyselfalive19 // @superflurry // @anathewierdo // @babykalika2001 // @lipstickflannelleatherjacket // @brimorganbooks // @pilaxia // @artisticpoet // @dawsonfyre // @xalgaliareptx // @xi-i-i-whatsyouremergency // @superwhovianfangirl

Seven Days Later…

“Dean! Dinner’s up!” you called down the hallway, but he didn’t answer. Maybe he’d fallen asleep again, he had been doing that a lot lately. You could tell he was tired. Maybe it was lack of sleep, or he was putting in too many hours at the store after whatever accident he had. Either way, his sleep was broken and haunted, and even from your room upstairs, you could hear him occasionally calling for someone or something.

You knocked softly on the bedroom door and it pushed open slightly. The room was half lit by the table lamp beside the bed, and Dean’s form was laying on his stomach with his face buried in the pillow. He had looked more than a little tired over the past few days. He simply said he hadn’t slept well, so you left it alone. But you were scared he was hiding something more. Maybe the pain in his head was getting bad again, or his ribs weren’t healing, or he was starting to remember who he really was.

You’d tried (and failed) to convince him to see a doctor, swearing up and down that he was fine. Even now, at half past seven in the evening, his rest was labored and broken. You noticed he was scowling in his sleep, his legs twitching and his body tense. You were about to wake him when he turned over suddenly, his arms violently flailing in front of him and muttering the words, ‘no… don’t…’ repeatedly.

“Dean?” you said just above a whisper, “Dean… wake up.”

You sat on the bed beside him and lightly shook his shoulder, igniting his gut instinct to react. He shot up from the bed, grabbed your wrist tight and twisted it roughly.

“Ow! Dean!” you screeched, causing him to really wake up and notice his surroundings.

He registered your face and immediately dropped your hand. “Y/N, I’m sorry… shit. I was having a nightmare, and—”

“Its fine, really,” you said rubbing your wrist where he grabbed you. “That must have been one hell of a nightmare.”

“Yeah,” he grunted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to rid his brain from the horrific visions he just had. He looked at you mournfully, his eyes kept going to your wrist and the guilt he felt was painted all over his face.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Dean quickly shifted his gaze from you, making you feel as if he was hiding something from you, or at least holding back. Even though it had only been a little over a week, you’d come to feel like you knew him, at least this version of Dean, and something felt off.

He sighed and looked at you apologetically. “Maybe later. Right now, I can smell dinner and I’m starving.” He pulled himself off the bed and extended you a hand to help you up. “What’s on tonight’s menu?”

“Meatloaf and potatoes.”

“Perfect,” he smiled again and extended his elbow for you to take as you exited the room together. “And what’s on the Netflix for bingin’?”

“Whatever you like,” you said, though, for the first time since he’d been there, you weren’t as enthused for your night of ‘Netflix and Chill’ with Dean as you had been in days past. Trying to shrug off the odd feeling you had, you simply smiled and headed towards the kitchen to eat.

He kept the conversation light, steering it away from his nightmares whenever you tried to bring it up. Hell-bent on changing the subject, you let him ramble on about the store, the shows you’d been watching, and whatever other small talks he threw your way.

Once dinner was done and the dishes were cleared, you found him on the couch, his head resting back against the cushion. He was sitting on the far end, and you took your place on the opposite end of the sofa. Dean’s eyes were closed, but he felt your weight shift the cushions and it made him grunt.

“You put me in a food coma,” he groaned happily, patting his stomach with both hands. “Please don’t tell me there’s dessert… unless it’s those apple things you made the other night. In that case, I’ll have two please.”

You laughed at him and shook your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Nope,” he said, as he opened his eyes and turned to look at you without taking his head off the cushion, “you’re just a really good cook.”

“Alright, enough flattery. I don’t have the apple things, but I will make more tomorrow.”

Dean did an animated fist pump and grinned.

“What do you wanna watch?” you asked, grabbing the remote and flicking on the tv. “We could binge Game of Thrones… oh, or maybe The Walking Dead.”

“Nah, no zombies, ice ones or otherwise. How about Stranger Things? Those kids are so damn funny.”

You agreed and put the show on to where you’d left off. Sometime around when Joyce Byers was buying an insane amount of Christmas lights, you felt his eyes on you. You looked at Dean and confirmed that he was staring at you. This made you blush and feel very self-conscious.

“What? I have a booger or something?” you laughed but drew your knees up into your chest, a defensive habit you developed while growing up. Your nerves were feeling the weight of the last week, and it hit you (not for the first time) that this man was a complete stranger, and you were just letting him live with you.

You had just opened your home and business to him like you’d known him for years, not just found him bloody on the side of the road. At times you thought he was the best friend you’d ever had, and other times you chastised yourself, brutally, for taking him in like a stray dog.

Now, with the way he was looking at you, you worried if you’d made a mistake. Would he hurt you? Attack you? Beat you silly just for fun? The swirling chaos that was erupting in your head must have been written all over your face because Dean noticed you weren’t okay.

He grabbed the remote and paused the show. “Hey, you alright?”

You couldn’t answer. Somehow between the earlier situation in his room, and now with the way he was looking at you, anxiety had filled the crevices of your brain and you were certain that Dean was some lunatic hell bent on hurting you.

“Y/N?” He leaned forward and reached across the couch, holding out a hand towards you. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You could feel your hands start to tremble, your mind still racing with questions and doubt about whether you could or should trust him. “Hey, talk me. What happened? If it’s about earlier, I’m really sorry I scared you.”

“I, uh, I’m—” you started to cry, and not just a few tears. Something had been building up since the confrontation with Shane and having Dean around was adding to it. Having grown up with an abusive father figure, and a bully of a brother, men were always something you had a tough time navigating. There hadn’t been too many good ones in your life, and while you felt Dean was one of them, anxiety was now making you doubt that.

“Hey, hey… it’s alright,” he tutted, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “whatever it is, we can fix it.”

Dean pulled you into the crook of his arm and held you close. It should have made things worse; normally that’s what happened. Being that physically close to someone was usually the cause of a near instant panic attack. But not this time. Dean’s arm around you helped the trembling to stop, the endless chatter in your brain to cease, and even your tears found a way to dry up. He used his hand to push your head closer to him, leaving a kiss on the top of your hair.

“If you’re worried about Shane, he picked up his keys and he promised he’d stay away.”

“It’s not Shane, it’s you. You scare the shit out of me,” you said in a surprisingly even and calm tone.

He didn’t push you away or react adversely at all. Instead, his grip on you readjusted slightly, making you feel more comforted. You heard him sigh and looked up to try and read his expression. Dean was biting his lower lip, concern dusted across his brow.

“This has gotta be weird for you, I get that. I think about it a lot. If you want me to go, Y/N, I will. I’m better, my head is pretty much healed, my ribs don’t hurt at all. I can just go—”

“That’s just it, Dean. Despite everything, I don’t want you to go. Yet, I fear what happens if you stay. You don’t belong here. You probably have a family, or someone looking for you. For over a week now you’ve lived here, and we quickly fell into this weird domestic routine that feels completely foreign to me. I’ve lived alone for a long time, and except for my shithead brother, I don’t have anyone I talk to regularly.”

“That ain’t right, Y/N. You should be happy and have someone—” he paused and rubbed his hand over his stubbled cheek, lightly sighing. He was serious, but also sweet in the way he was looking at you. “You deserve someone that appreciates you. Someone who looks out for you and cares about you. I’d be dead if you didn’t find me. Honestly, every time I try and think about where I should be, or where that note said I had to be, all I can think is this is where… I am where I should be.”

This time when you looked up, the intensity in his gaze pierced into you, causing a swell of erotic discomfort that hadn’t been there before. Who was this guy that he could bring forth such a rush of emotions? He could make you laugh, feel safe, but also terrify you with how quickly he reacts, like he did with Shane and then earlier when you tried to wake him. He was mysterious and yet familiar, which caused an odd sense of déjà vu that couldn’t be explained. At the same time, you felt yourself wanting him more with each day that passed. These weren’t feelings you were used to having, in fact, they were elusive and very absent in your life.

The house was completely silent. You felt yourself start to slightly tremble again, but it wasn’t out of fear this time. Dean’s face was inching closer to yours, so close you could make out the army of freckles that fell over the bridge of his perfectly shaped nose. You heard him swallow nervously, just as his hand brushed against your chin to direct your face up towards him.

Before you could object, Dean’s lips pressed softly against yours. It was tentative and sweet; the passion driving it was slow to ignite, but it was there bubbling under the surface of the uncertainty it was layered with. He didn’t try and shove his tongue in your mouth or grab you and throw you down on the couch; he kept it light, opening his mouth just enough for you to feel the silky tip of his tongue against yours.

His hand brushed the hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear; then gently cradled your jawline and neck. You weren’t lost in the moment but fully immersed in it; inviting whatever anxiety still clung to you to leave. It went on for more than a minute, the hesitant, yet sensual touches of two people who just wanted to forget the outside world for a moment and find comfort in the other.

He pulled back first and pressed his forehead against yours. A ghost of a smile touched the mouth you were instantly longing for again.

“I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” his voice was raspy and dry.

“Don’t apologize Dean. I’m glad you did. I wanted you too, so much. I’m just… scared.”

“I’m not like Shane,” he said taking both your hands into his. “I would never hurt you or lay a hand on you.”

“I know, I’m sorry I thought otherwise.”

“You have plenty of reason to, Y/N. You don’t talk about it much, but I can see it. And I hate it.”

“Who the hell are you?” you whispered, almost inaudibly, but the desperation you felt to really know him coated your words. You examined his face to try and find something in it that spoke up to your question. But all you found was some kindred—but lost—spirit, swimming amidst the cut of his green eyes.

“Sweetheart, I wish I knew. But right now, I don’t hate the guy I am with you.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, right in the chest. The way he looked at you when he said it just proved that he was sincere. You didn’t know if that made it worse, or better.

“I’m just afraid to get too attached. One day, your life is going to come walking through that door, and you’ll be gone.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But neither do you. You don’t even seem to want to know where you came from.”

“Whatever is going to happen, will,” he said, completely ignoring your last comment. “We can only control right now, right? So, I say we enjoy this for whatever it is and watch the rest of this episode.” He raised his brow playfully, getting you to smile. “Besides, I gotta know what this woman is gonna do with those lights,” he chuckled, but his expression was trying to convey something else. It was as if he was pleading for you to just agree. So, you simply offered him a small smile, then nodded and curled into his side.

You wanted him to kiss you again; thought about just pulling him to you, but you didn’t. Whatever was happening was meant to be taken at a snail’s pace and not just because he was still healing, but because you didn’t want to end up having to do any healing yourself. A broken heart never set correctly, and it was one thing you didn’t need to deal with, ever again.

After going to bed that night, you stayed awake for a long while, mulling over everything that had happened in the past week. Starting with a strange man crashing into your life, then a confrontation with Shane, and now it had just become that much more complicated with the kiss you shared.

Dean kissed you one more time, very softly, while saying goodnight. Though it didn’t last as long as the first one, somehow it was harder to walk away from. Getting involved with him was not in your plans, and maybe in the cold hard light of day, you’d come to your senses, but at this moment all you wanted to do was go back downstairs and be with him.

While you were trying to decide what you should do, there was a large crash of the metal garbage cans hitting the pavement near the garage. Assuming it was probably the raccoons again, you took it as a sign that you should go downstairs and just double check. You jumped out of bed and put your cotton robe over your PJs that consisted of a pair of boy shorts and a tank top and headed down to check out the raucous.

Tiptoeing down the old wooden stairs, you paused outside his bedroom door and listened. It was quiet. Deciding you’d leave him to sleep, you were about to go peek out the kitchen window to check on the noise when another sound from outside caught your attention. This time you heard low voices through from the other side of the exterior wall.

You knocked lightly, but frantically, on Dean’s door. When you heard no answer, you pushed it open anyway, nearly jumped into the room and closed it quickly. The crash of the cans must have woken him, as he was sitting up in bed already. He held a finger to his mouth in a gesture for you to be quiet. Dean threw the covers off himself, pressed himself against the wall and gingerly lifted the curtain covering the window closest to his bed. He motioned for you to come closer and you obliged with no hesitation.

“I hear voices,” he whispered, carefully putting the curtain back with minimal movement.

“Me too.”

“Do you have any weapons? Gun? Machetes? Hell, fireplace poker?” he asked, still calm and cool as always.

“Um, I have a shotgun. Its upstairs in my closet. It's not loaded and its locked in a case. Honestly, I don’t even know if it is fully assembled anymore. I hate the damn thing.”

“At least you have one. C’mon,” Dean said as he grabbed your hand and headed upstairs.

You got to your room and rifled through the closet until you found the locked case. Fumbling with the keys you’d grabbed from the dresser, you opened it and handed the whole mess to Dean. “Do you know—”

Before you could even finish your thought, he was taking the pieces, assembling and loading it in record time. You watched in awe with the speed he had it locked and loaded as if it was as natural as breathing for him. For the briefest moment, the intruders were forgotten, and a bit of the earlier anxiety set it.

‘Who the fuck is this guy’ you kept thinking, yet still really didn’t fear him, just the things you’ve seen him do.

The sound of glass breaking downstairs made you jump, but Dean was by your side in a second.

“I want you to stay here,” he said firmly. “Lock this door and don’t open it unless you hear my voice, alright?”

You nodded, fear starting to consume you. Dean didn’t miss it. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. I’ll take care of it.” He held the side of your face with his hand and locked his eyes with yours, making sure he saw that you believed him.

“You’re going to kill them? I can call the cops—”

“No, not yet. No cops,” he barked, then shook his head, as if trying to get the thought gone. “I’m not gonna kill anyone. Just stay here. Find whatever you can that would hurt someone and hold on to it.”

He tried to offer you a comforting smile, but the sound of more breaking glass set him into action and he was gone out of your bedroom door. Once you locked it behind him, you tried to regulate your breathing and not let the panic overtake you. You did consider calling the cops anyway. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? Not that they would be much help. Your local Sheriff’s department consisted of three officers, two of which you knew from high school and wouldn’t trust them to find a lost dog. Instead, you choose to follow Dean’s caution and just wait it out.

The house was quiet again; you couldn’t hear Dean or anyone from outside. Hoping the intruders left on their own, you chanced a peak from the second story window that overlooked the garage and driveway. All you could make out were three shadows moving along the perimeter of the house and peering into the windows that weren’t already shattered.

The blast of a shotgun rang out and the three shadows took off through the backyard. One of black masses fell over one of the tipped garbage cans. They scrambled to their feet when they saw Dean exit the house by the back door. The dim back porch light gave just enough illumination for you to see him stalking across the driveway, cocking the shotgun.

The fallen intruder got to his feet and dove for cover behind the garage just as Dean fired another shot. Though the adrenaline was coursing through your body, you didn’t feel any more fear. The anxiety of it all slipped away the moment you saw Dean down below; you just knew you were safe. It also didn’t escape you that when he fired the second shot, he wasn’t really aiming near the target.

‘Just a warning,’ you thought and felt even more relief.

From downstairs, you heard the back door close. Not too long after, you could hear Dean’s footsteps coming back upstairs, then his knock on the door. “Y/N, it’s me, open the door.”

Before he could step foot all the way in, you were throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. You felt him sigh against you, placing one arm around the small of your back and hugging you tightly. When you let him go, you saw the concern he held on his brow and followed his gaze to his hand. In it, he held a brick with a paper attached.

“What is that?” you asked. A wave of nausea rising from the pit of your stomach. ‘That,’ you thought, ‘is nothing but trouble.’ “What does it say, Dean?”

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “This is what came through the window. It was on the living room floor by the couch. A second one broke one of the kitchen windows.” He held out the brick for you to take.

Examining it, you turned it over and saw the paper that had been firmly rubber banded to the brick. The note said, ‘we’re coming for you’.”

“What the hell does that mean? Who is coming for me?” your mind was racing, and all you could come back to was that it was from Shane, or some of his idiot friends trying to scare you. Even though you hadn’t heard from him since the incident in the store, you knew he was petty and underhanded; he would do anything to get what he wanted.

“Y/N, maybe it's not for you… maybe this is because of me. What you said earlier… maybe—maybe you were right. My past is catching up to me.”

You felt your knees weaken and abruptly needed to sit. Finding your way to your bed, you fell onto it and drew in a deep, shaky breath. Dean carefully rested the shotgun against the window and sat next to you on the bed.

“Good thing you don’t have close neighbors. Cops would’ve been here by now,” he tried to joke but knew you were too rattled by the message.

“Dean… what the hell do we do now?”

“I don’t know, Y/N. Whoever the hell they were, they’re gone for tonight. I saw two of ‘em take off, one went ‘round the garage but I doubt he stuck around.”

“We really are quite the pair, huh? Me with a psychotic brother, you with a mysterious past and no memory. Where’s the Lifetime people when you need them?”

Dean laughed and rubbed both hands wearily over his face. “Tomorrow, we will try and figure this all out. Not much we can do now, so we should probably try to get some sleep.”

It was your turn to laugh. “Yeah, sleep. Ok. Cause that’ll happen.”

“You gotta try. You’re no good to me sleep deprived and crabby,” he teased, his eyes were tired and his features soft.

You touched his stubbled cheek, cradling his jaw with your hand as he leaned into you. “Will you stay with me? Up here? I really don’t want to be alone after that.”

He nodded softly. You got up from the bed and placed the brick on the floor in the corner. After you slipped off your robe and left it on the chair, you crawled back into bed and Dean followed suit. You both laid down, facing each other in a near mirror-image; each of you with one arm curled up under your pillow.

“You should try to sleep,” he whispered, gingerly brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen on your cheek.

“So should you.”

“You sure this is alright? Me, in your bed?”

You smiled and nodded. “Trust me, you’re right where I want you to be,” you teased, using his own words against him.

He chuckled, his tongue peeking out against his bottom lip and biting it slightly as he sleepily gazed at you. “You know, despite what just happened, I don’t hate how this day ended.”

“Me either. You make me feel safe, Dean. Regardless of which one of our train wreck lives brought this to the doorstep, it doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Dean’s eyes drifted closed, as he wrapped his one free arm up around your shoulder. His fingers grazed against your skin, leaving you wanting to feel more of him. Even though you were more confident that he was really the man you thought he was, you still wanted to be sure; take things slow. For tonight, just falling asleep next to him would be enough; his arm around you, his breath on your cheek and secure in the knowledge that he would keep you safe from whatever threat lay waiting.

Falling asleep with him was just what you needed. Until his nightmares started again. That was something you weren’t prepared for, and Dean’s nightmares scared you far more than the intruders ever did.

Part 3 Published 8/3/18.

Drop me an ask if you want to be added to tags.

#dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean winchester fan fiction #spn fan fiction #spn fanfics #dragongirl writes

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thirsty-cable-posts · 6 years

Note

I want to read a cable x reader where Cable is super down about leaving his family in the past and he’s only got the reader to lean on. He opens up to them and it leads to angsty sexy time.

First of all, I just wanna say that I’m really grateful for the prompts that have been submitted so far. I wasn’t sure how well this blog would do in the shadow of its big brother @thirsty-venom-posts, but y’all have demonstrated that the Cable Thirst Club is STRONG. Now, on with the show.

—-

It’s 3am and you’re sitting at the kitchen table with a scotch and Perrier. You’re sticky. There’s blood on your dress, in your hair, under your fingernails. The dress is likely ruined. That’s fine. You’ll buy a new one. Nothing really matters right now. You’re exhausted beyond care. You may even crawl into bed without taking a shower. But for now, you have the kitchen to yourself in this big, quiet house. And an empty, quiet kitchen is a rare thing at the X-Mansion.

—-

Your date went poorly that night, as they often do, so you jumped at the chance to ditch your would-be suitor to drive about 20 minutes outside of the city to a small cattle farm owned by an elderly gentleman and his wife. You walked into the barn, still in your dress and heels, and a camel pea coat that you never intended to wear in a barn. It was cold. It’s always cold during calving season. You could see your breath, and you could see the breath of the laboring black cow laying on her side in a bed of straw.

Small scale cattle farming is an ailing industry and the cost of a farm call on a Saturday is in the triple digits. Your reputation as a cheaper alternative to a veterinarian means that occasionally you get a phone call from someone who got your name from so-and-so, and they need someone to come out and look at a sheep who got mauled by a dog or a calf that isn’t nursing or a goat that got his horns stuck in a fence. This was one of those nights.

Later on, the regret over your decisions to pull the calf instead of attempting a C-section would tug at you in a painful way. Contrary to popular belief, ranching and cattle farming is not an occupation devoid of sympathy and devotion to the animals. But hind sight is 20/20 and you’d decided to grab a set of chains and pull the calf. The process was slow and labor intensive. The resulting hemorrhage coated you in blood. You tried desperately to stop the bleeding, and the pained look on the cow’s face made you want to crawl under a rock when she finally died. But the little calf lived. It was kismet that another cow had lost her baby that night. You skinned the dead calf, which is a grotesque process in itself. Then you tied the skin to the living, breathing newborn calf with some hay rope. The mama, still distraught and baying mournfully, recognized the scent of her dead baby and allowed the orphaned calf to nurse.

—-

You’re well on your way to a fine, numbing buzz as you stare straight ahead, replaying the events of the evening over and over behind your eyes. Cable’s Voice startles you out of your daze.

“Well look who the cat dragged in.”

You do not particularly like Cable, and you are not in the mood to explain yourself to him. A wellspring of compassion and sympathy, Cable is not. You do not trust yourself not to let a few tears leak out in the recounting of the night’s adventure in animal husbandry. You do not trust Cable not to dismiss your feelings of shame and guilt over the decision that led to that poor pregnant cow’s bloody end.

You sigh. “Listen, I’ve had a rough night. If I woke you up when I came in, you have my sincere apologies. I’m going to bed soon.”

You’re trying to head off any unpleasant interactions with Cable, who is notoriously curt and has been nothing but short with you since moving in to the mansion.

Cable walks into the kitchen and grabs a glass from the cabinet. He pours himself three fingers of scotch, neat and tidy, and passes a disapproving look over your Perrier. “You drink like a toddler.”

That’s quite enough. You run a hand through your hair and close your eyes. The tears feel hotter than hot.

“Can you just not? Can you just not for, like, 5 minutes?”

You feel a large hand on your back, rubbing gently between your shoulder blades.

“Hey doll. Hey.”

You lay your head in your hands and sob. Cable places his hand on the back of your head and makes circles in your hair with his thumb.

“Grab a shower and get some sleep, kid. You need it.”

—-

You’re not sad. You’re just tired. You’re tired and you don’t have any great need for company at the moment. The laundry room is a perfectly decent place to be alone. You’d slept until noon and then decided to try and salvage your bloody dress. The rhythm of the washing machine is soothing and listening to it with your back to the wall and your head between your knees makes it sound like you’re near the ocean.

“Ah, this is the second time I’ve been able to sneak up on you in 24 hours. You’re off your game, princess.”

Cable offers you his human hand, lifting you up to your feet.

“Go change out of your jammies, sleeping beauty. We’re going out for pizza and beer. My treat.”

—-

The pizza and beer was just small talk and swapping stories. It wasn’t until the ice cream that things got heavy. Cable opened up to you in a way that was startling at first. It truth, the loss of his family made your failure to save a cow seem like an emotional pinprick by comparison. Hearing Cable’s voice crack ever so slightly, watching him squint and cough in the retelling of it, the experience made you regret your shortness with him the previous night.

Cable is less of a bully to you now, and more of a tragic hero. Imagining him with a wife, with a daughter - you’d never pictured him as a lover, a father, as someone capable of affection. The idea of Cable The Devoted Husband and Nurturing Father would make you chuckle were it not so profoundly sad that he lost the two loves of his life.

Now, sitting together on the couch in the den shotgunning American Dad on Netflix, he still strikes an imposing figure, but you don’t dislike him. And when he puts an arm over you, your stomach clenches out of a strange sense of excitement.

—-

Okay, so there absolutely will be a Part II and it will absolutely be NSFW. It’s a start, right?

I hope this is (at least in part) a decent interpretation of the prompt. And again, there will be a smutty Part II, so fear not, gentle readers!

#nathan summers #deadpool #cable x reader #Cable #deadpool 2

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