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hunters-lvr · 1 year

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are you serious? pt 2

hunter x masc!reader

continuing back to the boys, hunter pulls out the trashy folder as he basically wants to sob.

masterlist!

"i'm dead serious."

"what is wrong with you." hunter deadpanned, as he went through the folder.

"my bad, i got a little too sad last month." the other male spoke watching as hunter went through all his crumpled papers.

"okay, well, half of these you cant turn in anymore," hunter pulled out most of the papers.

"let's goo."

"let's start on your geometry stuff."

"dude, that's alot." he watched as the nerd pulled out a notebook full of notes.

"no it's not, you're just lazy." hunter shot a snarky remark at him, "okay let's start with the triangles. you know pythagorean theory?"

"no."

"okay so basically, you need to have 180 in degrees for angles.."

hunter then went on a ramble for 20 minutes about angles and squared shit equals the length. by the time he looked back up at you, your head was resting on your hand as you struggled to stay awake.

"look, let's get through some assignments and i'll get you a coffee, okay?" the tutor tried to make a deal with the lazy boy.

"oh damn, you asking me out on a date?"

"what!! no i just, im trying to get you to work with me here." hunter's face bloomed pink, like.. a date? with you? nah.

"boo, what a shame. you're quite gorgeous after all." he tried to flatter his way out of the work, watching hunter's reaction was just a bonus.

he shrugged off the comment and went back to work still talking.

"whatever, i'll just do it for you, okay? then we can leave."

"deal."

"hunter, bro."

"yes (f/n)?"

"you're so smart."

moments later you were there, drooling on the table passed out as hunter grumbled to himself.

by the time hunter had finished a good amount of work it was around 6 pm. he contemplates leaving (f/n) there but it's unfair to the librarian..and the table.

"wake up," hunter flicked at your forehead as you sat up quickly,

"where we goin?"

"i promised you a drink, unless you don't want it."

"no i do, let's go buster." (f/n) stood up and grabbed his shit and put it all in his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as hunter did the same.

"you wanna hold hands bbg?"

you and hunter were around the same height, depending on shoes of course.

hunter looked down at you slightly, "what is wrong with you." you stuck out your hand to him, which he pushed away.

"no, i don't know what's been on your grubby hands."

(f/n) fake frowned, "boo." following hunter as he dragged him to the coffee place, (act like how in barnes n noble they have a starbucks).

"okay, what do you want?"

"i want um, shit, a carmel thingy and 4 shots of espresso."

the cashier stared at the boy cautiously and shook his head inputting the order, "and for you sir?"

"just a large water." he ordered, as the cashier rang him up.

"titan you're expensive,"

"titan?"

hunter blank stared realizing the other boy wasn't from the boiling isles, "yeah, don't worry about it." he shrugged grabbing the drinks from the counter and passing you yours.

"awh, you're so sweet."

"be quiet, camila has been giving us allowances."

"camila? like luz's mom?"

"yea..?"

"YOU KNOW LUZ!!"

hunter took a small sip from his water and nodded his head, "i live with her, and actually we should go to the front of the school."

(f/n) were harassing him the whole walk back to the front of the school. "omg luz is so fun, i didn't know yall were siblings, then again i haven't really been in school. that's why i haven't seen her much.." he continued on his own ramble as they reached the front, camila sitting in the front seat and luz in the passenger.

"IS THAT (F/N)!?" luz practically shouted getting out of the car, "where you been?"

"uhhhhh skipping?" he shrugged.

she looked at hunter, then back at (f/n), then back at hunter. "are you guys friends now?!"

"yes!"

"no."

"yes we are he doesn't want to admit it, he took me on a date?"

"A DATE?" luz exclaimed, going and smothering hunter in a hug.

"GET OFF," he complained, "it wasn't a date it was a deal."

"no it was 100% a date."

"whatever, luz let go now,"

"NO, ICANTBELIEVEYOUHAVEABOYFRIENDIALWAYSKNEWYIUCOUKDDOITIMSOPROUD."

"okay okay luz, i was joking, chill, we just met, however he is quite pretty." (f/n) admitted out loud as hunter rolled his eyes once again and got into the back seat.

"oh mijo, do you need a ride?"

"i'm okay mrs,noceda," you gotta be polite to her after all.

"please i insist."

he just couldn't say no to such a sweet lady, as luz got into the car and you got in and sat next to hunter, he glanced at him.

after a couple of minutes, she reached the intruding boy's house, he unbuckled saying bye to her and luz, and raising his hand to dap up hunter.

he sat there blankly staring at the other boys hand, "bro dap me up?"

he stuck out his hand to which (f/n) grabbed it and dapped him up.

"okay, see ya." he did a peace sign closing the door and dragging himself to his front door.

camera pan back to the car.

"so..you and (f/n) huh.." luz teased watching as hunter's resting bitch face went from normal to fuming.

"shut up."

#golden guard x reader #toh x reader #hunter toh #toh for the future #toh luz #toh #ilovehunter

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anxiousstark · 4 years

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S3 01 | Tattoo

BIG MASTERLIST | TW REWRITE

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 1871

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, blood, murder, dead body, swearing (always).

A/N: SEASON 3 HERE WE COME! Double update this week!

↪ PLEASE RESPECT MY WORK. DON’T COPY, TRANSLATE OR CLAIM THEM AS YOURS. NOT ON THIS WEBSITE OR ANOTHER. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

Summer was the greatest thing that happened to us, and without any doubt, the best thing that had happened to me since I arrived at Beacon Hills. Our summer was full of peace, which is what we needed. No creatures were trying to kill us or other people. We were safe, and even though we couldn't avoid being a little apprehensive, we knew that we were finally safe.

Scott, Melissa and I were able to sit down together, explaining to her everything that had happened. We were terrified because it wasn't easy to explain to someone you loved that danger followed you. After all, we weren't humans anymore. That night we told her everything. Melissa got teary, feeling guilty for not being able to help or do anything for us. We told her that we were fine, we would be fine.

During this peaceful holiday, I was able to get closer to both boys. Scott and I didn't throw ourselves at each other's throats. Of course, there was a long way to walk. We still needed to get used to everything. The hazel-eyed boy and I developed a new habit during summer, whenever we felt anxious we seemed to notice, bodies being attracted to each other, hands interlocking, hoping to give the comfort we sought. Holding hands became a soothing gesture between us. We did it unconsciously.

"Hey, Scott, sure you don't want something like this?" Stiles grabbed a folder, holding it up, showing it to the other boy. I walked closer to him, excited to see what was he holding, knowing Stiles, something that would make me snicker. "Too soon? Yeah." Of course, I snickered when I noticed that he was showing Scott the drawing of a beast that looked like the Kanima. Melissa allowed him to get a tattoo.

For what we got to know, Matt was dead. We still weren't sure what that would mean for Jackson. But we had promised ourselves that we wouldn't get into supernatural trouble during summertime. However, tomorrow was our first day back to class, which meant that the supernatural would come back to form part of our lives.

"I don't know, man, are you sure about this? I mean, these things are pretty permanent, you know?" I walked around the room, admiring the drawings decorating the walls.

"I'm not changing my mind." Scott and I got closer especially at night. One night I woke up after having a nightmare where I saw my mother. It seemed like the other McCall was also having a nightmare, which ended in both of us, sleeping on his bed, and talking about the stuff that worried us. That night Scott McCall cried, he missed Allion, but he couldn't ignore everything that had happened.

"Okay, but why two bands?"

Scott shrugged, stating that he just liked it. "But don't you think your first tattoo should have some sort of meaning, you know, or something?"

"Getting a tattoo means something."

Stiles had a small grin on his face, ready to inform Scott that wasn't the point. But the tattoo artist interrupted him. "He's right, tattooing goes back thousands of years. The Tahitian word 'tatua' means 'to leave a mark.' Like a rite of passage."

"Yeah, you see? He gets it."

"He's covered in tattoos, Scott, literally."

"Okay, you ready? You ain't got any problems with needles, do you?"

"Nope." Scott offered me a smile, ready to get the tattoo he has been asking for so long.

The boy standing next to me scratched his chin. "I tend to get a little squeamish though, so..." There was no time to analyze the situation. Stiles was lying on the floor, an uncomfortable posture making the circumstances even funnier.

I sat on the passenger seat on Stiles's Jeep. Scott had bought a bike with the money he had gained while working for Deaton in the clinic. So now, every day, I was driven to class by the hazel-eyed boy.

"Don't you think it was strange?" He asked me again as I spaced out. "It seems like something supernatural to me. Exactly when we go back to class." After Scott's tattoo, we were ready to go home and have dinner together. My half-brother's happiness due to the tattoo didn't last for long as an excruciating pain made him take the bandages off, realizing the tattoo had disappeared. Maybe we should have taken into account that he was a werewolf, and he healed faster. A tattoo was an open wound.

On our way home, we saw Lydia's car, and not to anyone's surprise, she was with Allison. A deer hit the front of their car, making us run to them to check if they were hurt. Scott was convinced that the deer was terrified.

"I suppose, Stiles." I sighed, running my hands through my hair.

"Hey," He glanced at me for a second, quickly looking back to the road ahead of him. "You alright?" His hand ended up resting on top of my hand, which was resting on my thigh.

"I feel like so many bad things are going to happen again." I lamented. "We still don't know anything about me. There are obstacles everywhere."

"I told you. We will find answers, okay?" He squeezed my hand. To be honest, some nights during summer were spent searching for every scaly creature that exists in the supernatural world. But without knowing what I could do, we couldn't conclude anything. When we arrived at school, we walked directly to our classroom.

Stiles and I glanced at each other when only a couple of minutes into the lecture, Scott had to leave class. My mind went to the worst scenario case, thinking that maybe Melissa was in danger. Stilisnki seemed to notice my change of behaviour, extending his hand, offering me to grab it. I did.

He rested back on his chair, sighing, tired from doing whatever the teacher has ordered us to do. "Hey, Lydia. What is that?" When I followed his gaze, I noticed a bandage around the pretty strawberry blonde girl's ankle. "Is that from the accident?"

"No. Prada bit me."

"Your dog?" I asked. Stiles's other hand extended forward, forbidding me from biting my pen, a nervous habit I didn't notice I was doing.

"No, my designer handbag. Yes, my dog." She replied as if I was stupid, which made me grumble a little while Stiles smiled at my reaction.

"Has it ever bitten you before?" Lydia shook her head. "Okay. What if it's, like, the same thing as the deer? You know, like, how animals start acting weird right before an earthquake or something?"

"Meaning what? There's gonna be an earthquake?"

"Or something. I just... maybe it means something's coming. Something bad." Stiles was completely right. Something was wrong, I felt it.

"It was a deer and a dog. What's that thing you say about threes? Once, twice..." Her words were interrupted when something hit the window, leaving a trail of blood. Every student was interrupted form their concentration, glancing at the window. Jennifer, our teacher, walked towards it. Crows, so many crows were coming towards us. Another one hit the window, and then another, and another.

"S-Stiles..." I whispered, my hand rapidly clutching his shirt between my fingers. The windows couldn't resist so many crows hitting it. They ended up being shattered, thousand of crows getting inside the classroom.

I quickly grabbed Lydia as she seemed to be shocked enough to react, covering her head with my arms. I felt someone doing the same thing for me. Stiles's back pressed tightly against mine, the inside of his thighs pressed against the outside of mines. His arms covering my face after he saw that I was hit by a couple of enraged crows.

Of course, the cops had been called. They were now asking around, trying to understand what was going on. However, this was something out of their reach.

"You alright?" Stiles's hands grabbed my cheeks, lightly moving my head from side to side, making sure that there wasn't any wound or scratch.

"You?" My fingers grasped a feather that seemed to be stuck in his hair, pulling it out. He nodded, sighing in relief, taking me into his arms. That is another habit we had developed during the summer.

"Guys," Mr. Stilisnki came closer to us, his eyes focusing on our intertwined hands. "No more class for today, okay?" He offered us a smile. "Go back home, alright? Make sure you guys are in a safe place." We both nodded.

"Yeah, I see it. It's two bands, right? What does it mean?"

"I don't know. It's just something I traced with my fingers."

"Why is this so important to you? Do you know what the word 'tattoo' means?"

"To mark something." Stiles crossed his arms while letting Derek know as if he didn't know already. He looked so proud of himself.

"Well, that's in Tahitian. In Samoan, it means 'open wound'. I knew I wanted to get a tattoo when I turned 18. I always wanted one. I just decided to get it now, to make it kind of a reward."

"For what?"

"For not calling or texting Allison all summer. Even when I really wanted to, even when it was so hard not to sometimes. I was trying to give her the space she wants. Goin' four months later, it still hurts. It still feels like a, uh..."

"Like an open wound." Stiles finished for him. I sniffed, wiping my wet cheeks. I could feel a pair of eyes on me. "Wait, are you crying?"

I sobbed even harder when the boy standing next to me noticed that I was weeping. "I don't know why," I continued cleaning my face. "I just got emotional." The three boys grinned, Stiles embracing me while softly laughing.

"The pain's gonna be worse than anything you've ever felt." Derek let him know, but that wasn't going to scare Scott.

Fire. He was going to burn Scott. "Oh, wow. That's a... that's a lot for me. So I'm gonna take that as my cue. I'm just gonna wait outside." He tried to leave, and I tried to follow him, but Derek wasn't having any of it when he got up, grabbing us from the back of our shirts, and telling us to hold Scott down.

When we were leaving Derek's house after holding Scott down, who cried loudly, until he passed out. The McCall boy couldn't help but grin and be excited about his first tattoo.

"Well, it looks pretty damn permanent now." Stiles examined it, hands deep down in his pockets.

"Yeah. I kind of needed something permanent. Everything that's happened to us... everything just changes so fast." I sighed, linking my arms with both boys, who offered me a smile. "Everything's so, uh... Ephemeral."

"Studying for the psats?"

"Yep."

"Nice."

Scott opened the front door, but rare enough, he examined it while rubbing his fingers against the wood. "You painted the door. Why'd you paint the door?" He asked, looking back at Derek.

"Go home, Scott."

"Hey," I intervened. Scott's breath got quicker, scratching the paint off the door. "What is going on, Scott?" There was a symbol on the door.

TAGLIST: @og-baby-ob14 - @savemypostcards - @cas-loves-pizza - @used-avocado - @mvrylee - @bilesxbilinskixlahey - @honeydoll-stark - @arieltheworldisamess - @softpeteparker - @kit-kat-katie99 - @thatsuperherosidekick - @bexbetterxthanxwords - @big-galaxy-chaos - @littlemiss-forgotten - @enchantedcruelsummer - @coldfreakeggsexpert - @merla123 - @sammypotato67 - @weirdowithnobeardo - @maggiesblogsblog - @itskindyl - @bobo-bush - @moongoddesskiana - @multifandxm353 - @irwxnhugsx - @xoprincessmel - @iclosetgeek - @andreagf956 - @niawoods - @anerroroccurrrrred - @perrytheplatypus11 - @trustfundparker - @nmriia - @steve-harringtonnn - @trustfundparker - @brithedemonspawn - @weirdowithnobeardo - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @azayamari - @poguestyle17 - @bibliophilewednesday - @10minutesofscreentime - @momentitodebruh -

People in bold means it doesn’t let me tag them.

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syntaxeme · 4 years

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Giardino Segreto ch. 5

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter] | [Next Chapter] Rating: T Chapter summary: As Angel and the Giardinos are coming into their own as a crime family, Alastor is having trouble reading the boss's feelings toward him--that is, whether he has any. Of course, the moment he lets his guard down, an old threat comes back into the picture. Just when things were going so well...

— — –

Venture, it turned out, was as good as her word. Within a month, the hotel was fully functional and attracting guests, in addition to the other more ‘traditional’ fields she and Angel were pursuing—drugs, guns, that sort of thing. As promised, Alastor had leveraged favors, paid bribes, made threats, and generally talked circles around other demons until they had a ‘family’ of a respectable size. Not the most wholesome bunch, maybe, but an effective one nonetheless!

“It’s been a week and a fuckin’ half and Cortez is still draggin’ his feet on this deal,” Angel grumbled from his desk as he looked over the report he’d just been handed. “Venn, we got any other options to get these ACPs shipped? I’m tired of waitin’ on this asshole.”

“I’m sure I could find someone else if you insist,” Venture answered, leaning against the edge of the desk. She had her own, of course, but Alastor wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her sit at it. Too much to do, he supposed. “But the Cortezes could be useful to us. Are you sure you want to burn that bridge so quickly?”

The boss let out a groan and dropped his head back while he thought the matter over. This sort of conversation had become typical of a day’s work, even comfortable. Early on in their operations, the hotel’s third floor had been converted into a sort of administration department, including a spacious joint office from which the two of them oversaw operations. Alastor spent most of his time in this office as well, ready to provide whatever assistance Angel might need of him.

The position of underboss still wasn’t entirely clear to him, but Angel had given him the title, so he accepted it. Well, I wasn’t planning to join the Mob, but why not? It wasn’t as if his legal record before now was entirely spotless. Besides, it gave him some legitimacy and authority when dealing with humans who didn’t understand the real reason it was stupid to challenge him.

“All right, I’ll give him ‘til the end of the week,” Angel decided. “After that, I’m takin’ my merchandise elsewhere. And make sure he knows it.”

“Will do.” And she was off to her desk to make a call.

Angel sat still for a moment, fidgeting with one of his pens and stealing very obvious glances in Alastor’s direction. Cute. Still, he pretended not to notice, remaining where he sat on the sofa against the wall until the boss finally called, “Hey, Al?”

“Hey, Angel.”

The boy smiled and rolled his eyes. “C’mere a minute.” So he did. Mercifully, over the past few weeks, his illness hadn’t gotten any worse—but it was certainly still present and not letting up. Much like Angel’s playful flirting. The boss hopped up from his chair to seat himself on the desk instead, crossing one leg over the other. His new wardrobe really did suit him (no pun intended). When Alastor got close enough, he reached out to slip his fingertips under the demon’s tie and lead him closer still. Whether the fluttering in Alastor’s chest was literal or figurative, it was difficult to say.

“Did you need something?” he asked, doing an admirable job of pretending Angel’s familiarity didn’t affect him. He sometimes got the feeling those efforts backfired, though, as Angel would often flirt harder because he seemed so indifferent, until he finally broke down and turned away or his smile faltered into uncertainty.

“I’m goin’ out with Cherri and a couple of the guys for drinks tonight,” Angel stated, watching closely for Alastor’s reaction.

“I see. Are you asking me to come along and keep an eye on you?” he asked, gently prying Angel’s fingers away from his tie. “Have I been demoted from underboss to bodyguard that quickly? I wasn’t even given a verbal citation.”

“Oh, shut up,” Angel laughed. “I’m asking you to come as you. Full stop.”

That was unexpected. He’d never invited Alastor along on his outings with Cherri—who had become an informant and supplier for the Giardinos—before.

“Are you sure that’s for the best?” Alastor asked. “Call me crazy, but I get the feeling ‘the guys’ aren’t quite as comfortable around me as they are around you. I wouldn’t want to put a damper on your night out.”

“So what’re you sayin’? You’d rather it just be the two of us?” Angel teased.

“I think it’s safe to say most men would prefer your company over mine.” He managed to keep his voice level despite nearing the limits of his tolerance. Much more exposure to that smile on Angel’s face and he was sure to get short of breath soon.

“C’mon, is it because of the Overlord thing? Venn’s going!”

“No I’m not,” Venture interjected without looking up from her work.

“You are if I say you are, Cleopatra,” Angel shot right back. “Hell, you need a night off more than anyone.” Alastor’s policy of ‘I can get you whatever you want’ may have spoiled him a bit. Or maybe it was the power that came with being boss. Yet she still seemed amused by his pushy attitude and smiled regardless.

“What the don says goes,” she conceded with a shrug.

“Exactly. So are you onboard or what?” he asked Alastor, raising his eyebrows. Realistically, Alastor wasn’t likely to enjoy the outing, especially when Angel’s attention would probably be elsewhere. He didn’t often say no to any request the boss— “Alastor.” When the boy got to his feet, it left just inches between them. Crossing his arms, leaning a little closer with the slightest curve on his lips belying his innocent tone, he purred, “Tell me you’re gonna go.”

Despite Alastor’s efforts to hide it, it was a fact that he couldn’t stand against Angel’s charm indefinitely. And, foolishly, he had allowed Angel to pick up on that fact. It wasn’t that he disliked the persuasion. It was gratifying to know that his presence was something the boss was willing to push for. But he would’ve much preferred if agreeing were a choice on his part. Instead, his illness flared up again, tension and pain making it that much harder to argue.

Turning away, unable to handle the hopeful look in those big brown eyes, he forced out, “Whatever you want, Angel.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the boy said with a grin. “Eclipse Lounge. Eight o’clock. Better get there on time if you want a seat next to me.” With a last satisfied smirk, he left the room, snatching his hat off the desk as he went. Alastor remained where he stood and watched him go, waiting for his symptoms to subside.

It was becoming more and more difficult, if not impossible, to tell whether all the flirtation and teasing Angel showered on him was just a method of manipulating him or…something else. After all, it was simply a part of Angel’s personality to make suggestive comments and use his looks to his advantage. That was the reason Alastor tried so hard to respond to it neutrally; if he were to take it too seriously and answer with his honest thoughts on the matter, it might easily put Angel off or scare him away.

“Hmmm~, you two are quite a pair,” Venture mused from where she stood in the far corner of the room.

“There are two of us, so yes, technically.”

“You know your one-liners get a little less snappy when you’re distracted?” She sauntered her way to his side and re-aligned the tie that Angel had skewed. “I’m sure if you told him how you feel about sex, he’d tone down the flirting tout de suite.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me on the subject, so I have no reason to discuss it with him.” Observing Venture cautiously, he noted, “You two seem to be getting along well. Has he said something to you?”

“Oh no, I’m not here to play Mafia Matchmaker,” she said, raising both hands as she stepped back to seat herself in the boss’s chair and give it a spin. “But I will say you’re taking this much more seriously than usual. Why, I’ve never seen you so serious, in fact.”

“My friend, I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean. Levity is my middle name.”

“Is that so?” Leaning back in the chair, she crossed her ankles on the desk in front of her and watched his reaction. As if something in his posture or expression were proving her point, she continued curiously, “See? Even this. It’s bothering you. It’s almost as if you really think of that boy as your superior, but I’m sure I know you better than that.” The way she looked at him said she wasn’t sure at all.

“Do you know what your problem is, Venture?” He bent at the waist to be at eye-level with her and said cheerfully, “You think too much. You really should learn to take a step back, smell the roses—you are working in a garden these days, after all.”

“Careful what you wish for. Snakes and gardens, historically, don’t mix well.”

“And if anyone under this roof were concerned with salvation, that might just be an issue. As it is, you fit into our merry band of misfits quite nicely—so stop trying so hard to maintain your distance. We both know it won’t last forever.”

“Hm.” Her expression remained placid for the most part, but there was a slight furrow in her brow. All things considered, Venture was the last demon on Earth who had any right to judge Alastor’s investment in Angel. And she must have realized it as well. With an exaggeratedly nonchalant shrug, she sat up properly and started organizing the many file folders that cluttered the boss’s desk. “Well? You heard the man. Don’t be late.”

— — —

As bidden, Alastor showed up at the Eclipse Lounge at 7:54. The room was softly lit, low-ceilinged, with a light haze of cigar smoke and a low murmur of chatter from its guests. The word ‘intimate’ came to mind. Fitting for a place where crime lords often gathered and all sorts of illicit deals were made. In the center of the room was a bar forming a continuous ring, so one could approach it from any side. And on his left, seated in the very center of a circular, leather-upholstered booth, was Angel. Spotting him, the boy grinned and waved him over, so he took the place where he felt he belonged: right at Angel’s side.

“I knew you were gonna be the first one here.” The boss looked as smug as ever, fully relaxed in his seat and sipping a John Collins. (Well, how could Alastor not know his go-to cocktail of choice?)

“How’s that?”

“Cuz of what I said about sitting by me. I know you don’t like lettin’ me outta your sight. Maybe you think I’m gonna get fucked up again like that night with Cherri. Am I right?”

“To think that I want to keep an eye on you? Absolutely.”

“Besides,” Angel added casually, “I told everybody else eight-fifteen.”

“So you were the one who wanted it to be just the two of us.” Something about that knowledge was immensely satisfying. “Why, Angel, I’m flattered.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get a big head about it. I just wanted us to have a minute outside the office. Been tryin’ to make it happen for a week now and kept chickenin’ out, so I figured it’d be easier if it was a group thing.” The boy stirred his drink slowly without looking at Alastor. Interesting that he would admit to a strategy like this so openly. Doubly interesting that he would bother making such plans in the first place.

“You already know you have my attention whenever you want it,” Alastor pointed out. “You could have just asked.”

“I guess. It’s a lot easier givin’ orders than makin’ requests, though. Anyway, that’s what we’re here for. That’s what all this”—he gestured to the room—“was about. Me askin’ for your attention.”

With the way Angel was watching him, so thoughtful, so intent, Alastor’s mouth went dry all of a sudden. There was nothing playful or teasing in the boy’s tone. For once, it didn’t come with a wink and a smirk. Instead, he was just waiting, as if he’d expected Alastor might need a moment to consider.

“What sort of attention,” the demon managed, “exactly?”

“Hm. Ask me again once we get back to the hotel.”

All signs were pointing in a very positive direction, but Alastor still tried to fight the surge of excitement and hope that rushed through him. “Angel—”

“Wow, it’s a fuckin’ snoozefest in here.” Cherri had appeared and now scooted into the booth on Angel’s other side, speaking a bit louder than necessary. As usual. “Who picked this dump, anyway? I bet it was you, old man.” She jerked her chin at Alastor.

“Hey, c’mon, it ain’t that bad,” Angel said, nudging her with his elbow. “Besides, once you get a couple drinks in ya, you won’t even notice anymore.”

And so their few minutes of alone time were brushed aside to be replaced with ‘family bonding activities.’ As Angel had said, a few Giardino capos showed up soon after Cherri, and as Alastor had predicted, they seemed a bit uneasy with his presence. But after a round and a half of drinks, they relaxed enough to chat comfortably with the boss, which was nice to see. Venture waltzed in a little after 9 o’clock, and a somewhat tipsy Angel berated her for being late while she waved him off and told him to be happy she’d come at all.

Alastor wasn’t much of a drinker himself and so sat sipping sparkling water while the others had their fun. Angel, he noticed, seemed to be pacing himself intentionally—but he was still drunk enough to giggle excessively at his capos’ jokes. He didn’t go any further than that in terms of flirting, not with them or with Alastor. He did, however, consistently toy with Alastor’s hand under the table, fingertips tracing his knuckles and down the lines of his fingers, sneaking up to brush against his wrist, and generally making it very difficult to focus on conversation. He couldn’t imagine a better distraction.

The outing wasn’t as bad as expected, Alastor supposed. He himself had always had difficulty forming attachments to those around him or close interpersonal relationships, but there was a certain sense of camaraderie among the rest of the group, which was positive. Familiarity could translate to loyalty, and when dealing with demons, any extra measure to assure loyalty should be taken. More than anything, it was nice to see Angel comfortable and confident, assured of himself as he should always—

A sharp baritone rang out across the room: “Antonia?”

Merde.

#RadioDust #Giardino Segreto #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Alastor #Angel Dust x Alastor #Alastor x Angel Dust #hopefully it'll show up in the tag this time.....

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doom-dreaming · 5 years

Text

“Dear Digital Diary”

I finally finished it! So this is my fic for @shanblackwood - as part of a trade (that beautiful bloody monstery boy from a while back). It got much longer than I was expecting, so most of it is under the cut. There’s a lot of pining, a little bit of smut, and copious amounts of fluff. (I hope it’s everything you wanted!!)

(Read it on Ao3 here!)

- - - - - - - - - -

“Oh fuck, we’re gonna have to retake that—” He grins briefly at the camera, all sharp white teeth and sparkling eyes, before ducking his head, laughing.

Your heart skips a beat. You rewind. Pause. It feels like that smile is for you. Like those pale blue eyes are looking directly into yours. You take a screenshot. It joins the other thousands in the folder labeled ‘outtakes.’ You think it sounded innocuous enough.

Not that either of them ever go through your files—you’re one of the few people they trust. They have no reason not to. You’re just the video editor, after all. They’re the faces on the screen. They’re the voices on the radio. You’re not much more than a useful tool to them.

You press play. “—have to retake that—” A few keystrokes, a few clicks, remove the clip from the rest of the recording. ‘>DELETE or SAVE?’ the screen prompts.

Keystroke. >SAVE Click.

- - - - - - - - - -

“How do you always manage to fuck these up?” Tyreen sounds incredulous, but not angry. She punches Troy’s arm and he jumps away with an exaggerated yelp, then smiles. It’s equal parts dazzling and dangerous.

Your heart does a little flip as you play it back in slow motion. >SAVE

The next one is Tyreen’s. She mispronounces a word. “What’s that about me fucking up?” Troy teases, repeating her slip-up in a mocking tone. “Shut it, asshole.” Again, not angry. Playful. He sticks out his tongue at her. Laughs through a grin.

You cut the footage. ‘>DELETE or SAVE?’ Your hand hovers over the keys. >DELETE Click. You attempt to distract yourself with the rest of the video. Anything to keep from thinking about that slick pink tongue on your neck, between your lips...between your thighs.

Three hours later, you pause with your cursor over the power menu. Instead, you nudge it toward the little trash icon. Click. Click. ‘RESTORE TO “outtakes”? >YES NO’ Click.

- - - - - - - - - -

It’s late. Your work had been easy, for the most part. Just fixing pacing, sound and color correction, little things. The twins had stayed professional—well, as professional as they could be, which wasn’t saying much. But they’d gotten their point across with minimal mistakes.

All except for the few minutes before the cameras started rolling when Troy had decided to sing. You’d never heard it before—the song—but you rewound and replayed it so many times that you knew the words by the time you finally forced yourself to move on. After cutting and saving the clip, of course.

He hadn’t been trying to put on a show. He hadn’t even been particularly loud—you had to adjust the volume and bump down the ambient noise to even make out most of it—he was just...singing for the sake of it. Fixing his hair, his eyeliner… ...singing. The usual frantic beat of your heart had settled into a gentle flutter—not the typical reaction when you saw him.

And now you’re leaned back in your chair, watching it again. His eyes are unfocused, distant, but not troubled. He seems calm. Content. That cloying warmth is wrapping itself around your heart again. You find yourself wishing you could touch him. You want to reach through the screen and run your hand through his hair. Trace his jawline. Kiss him. You want to feel him murmuring those lyrics against your lips, humming into your mouth—

You shove your chair away from your desk. Run your hands through your hair. Sigh and close your eyes and shake your head. You can’t do this. You absolutely can’t let yourself feel this. Sooner or later, it’ll start affecting your work, and if you give anything less than what the twins expect—if you’re not useful anymore—

You stand. Close the video. Turn off your monitor. Go to bed. But not even sleep lets you escape from visions of his hands on your body, his mouth on your neck, his whispered words in your ear.

- - - - - - - - - -

You wake the next morning to the insistent ‘ping’ of your ECHOcomm. More work. Well, that’s a good sign.

Your breath stops—no, it feels more like it’s punched out of you—when you see the name of the sender. That single, simple, four-letter name. Troy. Troy Calypso. You hate the way your fingers shake as you open the message. It’s semi-formal, all business, a simple request for more editing. He’s attached several files. More work, you reassure yourself. Just more work.

Still, it takes you the better part of an hour to finally sit down at your computer. But you do, armed with shitty coffee and a very fragile grasp on your willpower. Six videos. DOWNLOAD ALL? >YES NO Click. You try not to watch the progress bar.

Why in the hell do you feel like this? Sure, you’d always had a tiny crush on Troy—but so did a lot of people. They’d be stupid not to, you think. He’s tall and toned and dangerous and confident...and those eyes... You sip at your coffee, grimacing against the half-burnt aftertaste. This crush is getting out of hand, that’s your problem. And it’d come completely out of left field, too. Day one was, ‘oh, he’s cute,’ and now… Well, now you were here. Working yourself into a frenzy over the sight of his goddamn name.

A chime sounds, announcing the download’s completion. You gulp down the rest of the coffee, crush the flimsy cup in your hand, and start clicking. You recognize the setup from the thumbnails alone. New gun reveals. Some of the tension drains from your body. These are something you can handle. Granted, they’re more candid than the usual broadcasts, but they’re still not as personal as you’d been expecting. You fight back the wave of disappointment, rationalizing it away. Telling yourself it’s for the best.

“Hey, ECHOnet, it’s your favorite twin, with another shipment of kickass guns! Tyreen had something “super important” to do—” You smile as he claws the quotation marks into the air. “—so you get me all to yourselves…” He winks. Your heart flips. “Okay! So let’s jump right in—” He makes a face. Cocks an eyebrow. “Jump? Dive? Feels like I need something better than “let’s get started”—” More air quotes. “That just sounds lame.” He sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Your voice makes anything sound good,” you murmur to the screen. He sits in silence for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip, looking lost. The urge to reach out and touch him comes back, even stronger than before. And then the vulnerability is gone, replaced by the cocky, carefully-crafted mask of charisma and confidence that everyone else assumes is normal. “Okay! So let’s break down these new guns! First up, we have…”

Pause. Rewind. Click, click, click. >SAVE Play.

The rest of the video goes more smoothly, as do the next three. Not much to cut, even less to keep for yourself. You continue to fight back the disappointment. Two left. Just two more and you can distract yourself for (hopefully) the rest of the day—

The fifth video catches you off guard. It’s...not a gun haul. It’s not set up in a studio. It’s dark, but there’s enough ambient light to make out shapes. It looks like it’s been filmed from a personal recorder and…

Troy’s face slides into the frame and he’s grinning, looking happier—and more devious—than you’ve ever seen. “Ty’s asleep…” It pans away, toward a vague shape across the dark room, before flipping back to Troy. You realize he’s the one filming it. “...and, uh...the new skag puppies are harmless right now, so…thought I’d play a little prank on her…” He creeps closer, quieter than you would’ve assumed, keeping the camera trained on the bed where Tyreen’s sleeping, clinging to a pillow and… You adjust the volume. ...yeah, she’s definitely snoring.

An odd feeling washes over you. For the first time, you feel as though you’re intruding into something you shouldn’t be seeing. The twins, your gods, are so...human. Granted, you’re smarter and saner than the majority of your peers—you know about sirens and relics and everything that could feasibly give them the illusion of divinity, but this still feels nigh-sacrilegious. He couldn’t have meant to send this…could he? You watch it anyway.

He holds up some sort of treat, then makes a show of placing it on the bed. After a few minutes, both the bed and Tyreen are practically covered and he’s retreating to the doorway, stifling involuntary laughter behind his free hand. You find yourself smiling along with him. “...gonna go release the hounds,” he announces as soon as he’s a safe distance down the hall, although the giggle that follows completely negates any sense of drama. Your stomach curls around itself in a funny twist.

The camera shakes horribly as he jogs across the compound, but you’re glad you don’t speed through it. “Goin’ to see the babies,” he sing-songs to himself once the skag pens start to come into focus. You swear your heart almost explodes. How the fuck is he...like this? Does anyone else see this, aside from Tyreen? Do they know their god is so...sweet?

He whistles as he approaches. The reaction is immediate. A litter of skag pups bowls out of the nearest den, tripping over each other and their own legs, yipping and growling. The camera dips—you assume Troy's kneeling. “Hey, killers...heh, yeah, hey…” He's laughing, scratching at their heads, letting them snap at his fingers. “Oh! You’re gettin’ big, Pepper. Yeah, not really the baby anymore, huh? Wanna go play with Ty? Yeah?” There’s a lower growl, somewhere offscreen. “Easy, big girl… I promise I’ll bring ‘em back.” With that reassurance, he opens the gate.

The remaining three minutes of footage go exactly as expected, in a flurry of hungry skag pups, laughter, cursing, and a few death threats from Tyreen. You watch, awestruck. They’re so playful, so normal. Again, so human. Innocent, almost. The video ends with a mad scramble for the recorder, from which Tyreen emerges victorious. The screen zaps to black, cutting her stream of half-sincere verbal abuse off mid-sentence.

You stare at the replay symbol, vaguely aware of your reflection in the monitor. They wouldn’t know if you kept a copy...would they? Click. Click. Click-click. You name the duplicate something inconspicuous. Not that they’ll go looking for it. ...but just in case.

Steeling yourself, though you’re not sure exactly what for, you click on the last video. The name doesn’t give anything away, none of them do—they’re all titled by filming date—and you can’t make anything out from the thumbnail, but you’re expecting another haul. Surely the personal recording was included by mistake— ...it’s some sort of reaction video. Troy’s own computer screen is the focus. His webcam feed is in the upper right corner.

“Probably gonna regret this…” he mutters. “But what the hell. Okay! The “horny for Troy” chat is officially open!” You pause. Rewind. No...you'd definitely heard him right the first time. “I want you to know you're all sluts.” He shoots a saccharine grin at his webcam. You feel the faintest twinge of guilt. “First question, here we go. ‘Starting with the obvious’—ooh, watch that confidence, fucker—’dom or sub?’ Okay, listen—” The smirk on his lips betrays his dramatic sigh. “These collars?” He yanks on the metal loop with one finger. “Not just for the aesthetic. But truthfully, I can do both. Next question.”

You fidget, acutely aware of how hot everything feels. Your head. Your hands. Your thighs. It's as if half the blood in your body rushed north and the other half rushed south. It's fluid, fiery, desperate. You toss your headphones onto the desk. Push your chair back. Rake your fingers through your hair.

You imagine they're his. Gripping your head as he kisses you, forcing his tongue between your lips, claiming you, marking you. You're mine, he'd growl. The words would rattle through your ribs, filling you up, making you believe them. And in that moment, they’d be true. Just you. Just him—

NO. You have to control yourself. It's not professional, it's not right. Whether or not he meant to send this doesn't matter. It doesn’t justify…

You glance back at the screen. You wish you hadn’t, because your fleeting fit of common sense dissipates as soon as you see the blush on Troy’s face. It’s deep red, beautiful against his skin, splashed across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He’s laughing about something, reaching back to rub at his neck, looking down, long eyelashes fluttering almost shyly—

CLICK. That’s all it takes. A single, swift, definitive motion. The window closes. Your flustered reflection stares back at you. Your heavy pulse taunts you. Your arousal mocks you.

You ignore all of it. With more self-control than you've been able to manage recently, you load the edited videos onto a new drive. You'll deliver them yourself. Maybe that will keep the fantasies at bay for a while. Maybe.

- - - - - - - - - -

You find him in the antechamber of the throne room. Not the most private place, but maybe that's for the best. It was always funny to you, how your reactions mellowed when you were actually, physically close to him. It was a blessing, you supposed. You doubted you'd have a job if you turned into an incoherent, fumbling mess whenever you looked at him.

“You could have just sent them back,” he mutters, plucking the microdrives from your hands. “But whatever. Thanks.”

You nod, though he probably misses it as he turns to look back through the door to the throne room. Tyreen is readying for a hearing. You chew your lip, unsure how to broach the subject really on your mind. To hell with it. “Did you mean to send—?”

“Shit.” His focus returns to you. “You got more than the gun hauls, huh?”

“...yeah. I didn't do anything to them.” It isn't a lie. The original videos are still intact.

“But...you watched them?” One eyebrow quirks. He doesn't seem angry.

You nod. And take a risk. “They were kind of endearing.” You keep your completely unprofessional reactions to yourself.

He huffs a soft laugh. “Don’t hear that a lot.”

“Troy!” Tyreen’s voice barks from the throne room. It cuts into the air between the two of you. “C’mon!”

He rolls his eyes and pockets the microdrives. “Thanks again. Wish I could stick around to hear more of your compliments, but…” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Godhood calls.”

His bootsteps fade, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and deceptively-calm heartbeat.

- - - - - - - - - -

The rest of the day is uneventful, you busy yourself with software updates and routine server maintenance. It’s easy, menial work, but it’s enough to keep your thoughts from wandering too far in any direction. Maybe you’d been right, maybe seeing Troy in person had been enough to take the edge off—

Your ECHO pings again and you nearly jump out of your skin. Meet me in Studio B. Troy. You read it again. And again. And once more to be sure. And then you obey.

Your heartbeat isn’t so calm this time. What does he want? Had you made a mistake? Said something wrong?

The studio is dim when you arrive, just a few low lights flicked on behind the booth. Troy’s waiting, his feet kicked up on the mixing desk, fiddling with his ECHO. The door creaks as you enter. You cringe.

“That was fast.”

“An order’s an order.”

He watches you for a long moment, then hums. “I’m not blind, you know.”

“I—” What? You know that, what is he—?

“Or stupid.” He stands, faster and more fluidly than you’re anticipating. In a second, he’s right in front of you. “I know exactly how you feel when you’re around me.” His voice has dropped to a whisper and your stubborn, stupid, misbehaving heart— “I hear the way your pulse skyrockets when you think about what you want me to do to you.”

You blink. Swallow. Is this actually happening? Warm, human fingers press under your chin, tilting your head, forcing you to look at him. There’s mischief dancing behind his pale eyes.

“Stop trying to hide it.”

“I—is that an order?”

His razor-sharp grin is enough of an answer. And then it happens. Those coy lips are pressed to yours. That hot, pink tongue that had invaded so many of your wet dreams is now invading your mouth. He’s gripping the back of your neck. Tugging at your hair. Moaning and growling and laughing—and the sounds are bouncing around your ribcage.

The surrealism of it all flips an interesting switch in your mind. In all your daydreams, every fantasy, you’d assumed you’d be paralyzed with shock in a situation like this. Frozen in awe and disbelief. Pliable and soft in his hands. Instead? You go wild.

All your actions blur into a haze of sensations. His teeth on your neck, biting deep, drawing blood. Your hands running over the sleek lines of muscle that define his body. The jagged tearing of cloth as something is ripped off. His knee between your legs. The world spinning as you’re lifted and pushed onto your back. You hardly notice the jabs of the knobs and switches on the instrument panel beneath you—your legs are wrapped around his hips and you’re clinging to him with all the strength you can muster.

Frantic, desperate fingers tug at your belt, slide inside you, curl forward. Stars bloom behind your eyes. You moan. He growls. Panted, breathless exclamations ricochet between you. Names are chanted, recited like prayers.

You’re wide open and ready for him by the time he thrusts up into you. Quick, needy. You move with him effortlessly, rocking up to meet his hips, digging your fingers into his back. All you can do is feel. Feel his body, feel his lips, feel his breath whispering over your neck as he leans down, pushing deeper. And finally—

It breaks. Tension releases. Heavy breaths mingle with sighs and feather-soft kisses. Bliss.

- - - - - - - - - -

You wake up groggy. Sore. Not naked, but you may as well have been because you know this feeling. You’d definitely had a good, thorough fucking. There isn’t enough fog in your brain to make you forget who’d done it, either. He knew how you felt and he’d… God damn, had he done something about it. You swear you can still feel the echoes of your orgasm throbbing between your legs and you wonder how long ago—

A brisk knock at the door nearly kills the mood. You scramble from your bed, praying that none of the...evidence...of your rendezvous would be apparent to whoever— It’s Troy. Heat blossoms in your face.

There’s a lazy, satisfied smirk on his lips. “Sleep okay?”

Fuck it. “Would’ve been better with you.” You don’t even attempt to maintain a normal pulse rate anymore.

His eyebrows arch. His smirk grows wider, showing teeth. The faintest hint of crimson colors his cheekbones. “Is that an invitation?”

You shrug. Keep cool! “If you want.”

He nods. Bites his lip. “I’ll, uh...keep that in mind. But, here, in the meantime…” He pulls a microdrive from his pocket and holds it out to you. “It’s not work, it’s…you’ll see.”

You take it, letting your fingers brush his palm. You don’t miss the way his blush spreads. Still so goddamn cute.

“I’ve gotta go, but...watch that tonight. Tell me what you think.”

“An order?”

He winks.

- - - - - - - - - -

You settle into your chair and load the microdrive. One file. Click-click.

You recognize the setup immediately. It’s Studio B. And there’s Troy. You’re fully expecting what comes next, but you still groan when you hear the door creak open and you step into view of the camera. Of course he’d filmed it. You’re not surprised in the least.

It’s...comforting, though, how you can allow yourself to watch this without trying to school your emotions. He’d made this for you. He’d given you what you wanted. He knew. You don’t stop—you don’t have to stop—yourself from curling up in your chair, biting your knuckles, blushing, and… ...yes, you’ll admit it—touching yourself while you watch.

The two of you look good from this angle. You don’t remember pushing his coat off, but there it goes, crumpling to the floor, revealing his bare back as he lifts you onto the table. From here, you can see his cybernetic spinal support, glowing with dim red light when he dips down to grind against you. You want to touch it. You’re surprised you didn’t. Maybe next time...

For once, the fantasy of there even being a “next time” fills you with warm hope. Unless you’ve been reading him wrong, he seems...interested. It makes you giddy. It makes you feel as though all of your initial reactions are justified. Now that you know he’s reciprocating.

You feel like you’re dreaming, watching all of this play out on the screen. Those are your hands scratching red lines down his shoulder blades. Your limbs tangled with his, wrapped around him. Your body moving perfectly, fluidly, rhythmically beneath his. Your voice panting out his name like an absolution.

And his voice doing the same with yours.

You stay there, curled in your chair, one hand trailing idly over your thighs, long after the last of your cries have faded. After he cradled you to his chest and helped you back to your feet. After the video ended.

It’s all real, you know that, but it feels like it shouldn’t be. He hadn’t even really known who you were until yesterday. Had he? You guess it doesn’t really matter. You’re both getting what you want, but… ...deep down, you’re hoping it’s not that shallow.

- - - - - - - - - -

He finds you in the morning. You’re back in the server room, allowing your thoughts to sort themselves out. At least… ...that was the plan. Until you hear his voice.

“So...what’d ya think?”

You don’t look at him at first. Your hands work with swift, practiced motions, tying a bundle of wires together. You’re not ashamed of the way your heart skips anymore, but what are you supposed to say to something like that? “Kinky,” you manage to joke.

He sighs, but there’s a hint of a laugh at the end of it. “And here I was expecting some quality constructive criticism.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t work.”

“You know what I mean.”

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. There’s nothing to lean on; his hands are fiddling awkwardly. He’s shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He seems expectant.

You finally look up, meeting his eyes. Your heart is racing, as usual. Not with anxiety or anticipation. With newfound hope. With affection. A smirk tugs at your lips. “Maybe a better angle next time? Not that the one you chose was bad…”

And then he does it. He ducks his head, laughing, exactly the same way he’d done in countless videos, in hundreds of cut and saved clips. That same scarlet blush adorns his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. And you fall in love all over again.

- - - - - - - - - - @corpseyb0nes @afterthedreamer @mischiefsilvertongue @marigold-magpie @tricerathotss @vanderlinde-exe @ayilachan @zipp0flare @luxury-of-insanity @nikyri-reaper @argentineanweaboo @vanillabuttercreamm @anni000001 @imchaoticnerd

#borderlands fanfiction #my writing #troy calypso x reader #this has some smut but it's not necessarily graphic #not safe for shirts #i feel like i'm missing a lot of tags #smut #pining #fluff #troy's a cutie who blushes a lot

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Text

I have been so touched by your guys’ reaction to this story. These two are a departure from my usual take on Jamie and Claire, but I love them all the same. Thanks for sticking with me and for sharing your love of them. 👑💜

small bit of ;nsfw beneath the cut

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.) Part XVI: Market

Claire hopped from foot to foot at the edge of a murky puddle as Jamie attempted to strong arm the shed door into sliding open. His abashed declaration that he did not have an umbrella, bent at the waist in the front hall closet, led them to become creators together. On the front porch, they tented a blanket over their heads before darting across the front lawn to the shed. It had been a completely ineffectual attempt to stay dry. Laughing, he had fixed the blanket in her small fists before braving the rain to fight the door. It protested viciously before finally relenting with a groan. Giving him a firm pat on the bottom, Claire slipped into the shed and groped along the wall for a light switch. When she found it, the room sizzled to life beneath a yellow glow, revealing a seafoam green pickup with a chrome grill.

“It’s no’ much,” Jamie opined, rising to the door’s stubbornness with his own and pushing it the rest of the way open. “Pre-war, a bit rusty, but dependable. It should have a full tank and working heat. Ye’d no’ thank me for a motorcycle ride in this weather.”

“It’s perfect.”

He made a responsive Scottish noise of disbelief, followed her gaze to his father’s truck, and dried his hands on his trousers.

“I mean it. It’s perfect.”

She ran a finger along the hood of the pickup, trying to remember the last time she had been alone in a car with a man.

Never.

Drivers. Staff. Never even with Lamb or her father.

The answer was that the Queen had never been alone in a car with a man.

And quite suddenly all she could think of was being Claire alone with Jamie. In another life, her real life, there was always someone else there. Breathing and occupying her space. Someone waiting to dote on the Queen. To select a wardrobe and costume her for events in gowns or well-tailored skirt suits. To whisper the names of politicians in her ear as she feigned a detached recognition of parades unremarkable faces. To select the courses of her meals for her, to serve them on historied porcelain and in cut crystal.

She wanted to tell Fraser that it had been an entire weekend of firsts, but the notion seemed soppy and overly sentimental. So she kept it tucked away in her mind’s file folder, where she was going to keep the memories of this weekend.

The first morning waking up to his eyes studying her, hand hovering over her cheek. Realizing what his first arousal of the day looked like. (Hazy blue, pouting lips, sluggish fingers.) The first shower with a man, slippery hands and soft noises becoming heavy in billows of steam. (His arms around her. The fact that he did not bother to ask if she needed the water hotter, just knowing and turning the hot tap full on.) The first weekend afternoon with a lover –– no umbrella, pouring rain, a pickup truck, the hastily constructed grocery list of two people who rarely were called upon to make their own meals. Though chilled to the bone by the rain, the soft, warm domesticity of a weekend in a kitchen had her floating. (The negotiation of a pair over what was for breakfast, the touch on a lower back when passing utensils from a drawer to a hand.)

Though Claire lived a life defined by the constancy of others’ presence, this was the first stretch of days through which she had not felt lonely in a terribly long time.

Rather than divulging all of these firsts, she commented instead that he looked to be soaked to the bone. He smirked, commenting that he was in good company.

He opened the door for her, gave an exaggerated bow, and earned one of the laughs that sounded so sweet to him. The ones that overwhelmed her small frame –– lifted her shoulders, tipped her head, made her touch her belly as though there were something there to contain, fighting for release. The laugh made her eyes go iridescent –– the color of approaching autumn and a dusky moment of silence before a thunderstorm, the burnt leaves escaping a bonfire to crawl over velvety night to meet sky.

He rounded the front of the pickup, slipped into the driver’s seat, and let the keys drop into his palm from their hiding spot in the sun visor. With a silent prayer on his moving lips and a turn of the key, the truck roared to life.

“Will everyone in town know who you are?” she asked quietly, suddenly a little self conscious despite her bravado in declaring her ordinariness the night before. She squeezed the rainwater from her dress, giving him an apologetic smile as it dribbled onto the floorboard. “I mean, if they know you, they’ll know I’m not your wife. Where you work.”

“No.” His voice was firm, sure, but she asked again. Are you sure? I mean, really sure? Angling his body, he looked at her, really studied her. She was nervous. It glowed through her usual formality. Became apparent in cider, whisky, and firelight. She was stanzas of poetry begging to be written in his hand. “I’ve no’ been to this town since I was a lad. I was a tall, skinny thing wi’ spots enough to make a firehouse dog jealous.”

“I am having great trouble picturing that.”

“Believe it,” he hummed as he put a hand on her knee, rubbed a finger across the small, silver scar that he had identified there earlier that morning. (“Three stitches. Breaking out of the girls’ dormitories after curfew with a few other girls. I was fifteen. I thought Lamb would kill me, but he laughed.”) She shivered. “Do ye want to go back inside?”

“No, I––”

“––to warm up? I can go to the market––”

––she shook her head, licked her lips––

“––just pop in quick for a few things. Come back. It’s twenty minutes there, another twenty back.”

Though her dress had become a plaster cast over her thighs and the peaks of her breasts, he had gravely misinterpreted the shiver. It was his familiarity that made her tremble, not nervousness. It was the sensation that they were meant to be together.

“Turn the vents on full blast.” She shook her head again, this time almost violently. “I’ll be better than fine.”

Unconvinced, he shrugged, turned up the heat, and pulled out of the shed.

In the twenty minute ride to town, Claire learned a lot about Fraser. He could not sing, hum, nor whistle. He could not find the rhythm in a song or carry a tune in a bucket. When he tried to wink at her, it was such a garish contortion of his usually beautiful features that she collapsed backwards into the seat in a fit of giggles. The laughter made the very core of her body ache. He set his jaw every time that he slowed to a rolling stop, carefully looked both ways, and held his breath before he again accelerated. He draped an arm across the seat behind her as he backed into a parking spot as he finished off a story about the family dog giving birth behind the Christmas tree one year.

In the overbright, lightly populated market, Jamie learned that common things awed the Queen of England. So common, that Jamie imagined that shopping with her was a lot like what it would be like to shop with a readily impressed child.

Tinned peaches. (“My father loved them with cottage cheese; he ate them for dessert, and I haven’t had them in years,” she explained as she pulled three cans off of a shelf in her small hands, spilling them into the trolley.) Icebox cookies speckled with candied cherries and nuts. (“I could eat a thousand,” she declared with a guilty look and an easy tilt of her head.) A butcher’s case stuffed with various cuts of meat, the front lined with vibrant green paper grass and the trays sitting on lacy paper doilies. (Her fingers pressed against the glass as she turned to look at Jamie over her shoulder, face cracked apart in a smile. “A pork chop supper? It’s all I know how to cook that’s at all special. It was La-” she paused, offering a smile at the butcher who was taking a bit too much of an interest in his delighted patron. “It was my uncle’s favorite.”)

She became wistful as they meandered down an aisle of baking supplies. “My mum had the best hand at baking,” she declared, voice pitched low. He pushed the trolley, bent forward at the waist, resting his weight on the handle and watching her.

“Mine, too. Hated it, but she was the best.”

Her fingers traced the front of heavy bags of sugar and flour, the scarf in her ponytail swishing with each step. “I was too young to remember much of it. But cakes and biscuits, fudge at the holidays. We had our own house… still Crown property, but not… well, not anything like....”

She faded away. The quiet, rubbery click of her stacked heels stopped, and her wandering fingers suspended just over a can of sweetened condensed milk.

He took another step, pushed the cart out ahead of her, surveyed the aisle.

Alone.

“Jamie, I do not know what to say. I am afraid that I am a little sentimental for some reason. I have not been in a market in years. I remember my mum boiling cans of this.” She studied the label, brows furrowed. “It sort of turns to a caramel.”

He closed the distance, took a can from the shelf. “Let’s give it a try.”

This time, she was the one to survey the aisle, then went to her tiptoes and placed the most delicate of kisses on his lips. “You aren’t the least bit worried that I’ll burn down your cabin?”

Grimacing in mock confusion, he shook his head. “No. Ye’re goin’ to do this over a campfire in the back. Really roughing it. I willna let ye near the stove after the mess ye made of those sausages yesterday.”

Laughing, she kissed him again. When they got home, something inside Jamie roared to life and easily became wild for her. After braving the rain from the shed back to the cabin, her dress had become a second skin. It made her into a statue. An exceptional Bernini, the sensual weight of her limbs barely contained by fabric draped and carved of marble. The curls that had been so warm and dry in his bed and beneath his fingers only hours earlier were cemented against her cheeks, coiling around her throat, charting a perfect map for his mouth to follow. With the bags tipped over, spilling contents onto the floor, he came up behind her and drew her backwards, followed that map, went off course, and poured into her all of the need that dwelled inside of him.

They made love there in the entryway, her body molding over the back of the couch and his hand on her spine. He wrapped her in a flannel shirt after, kissed the tip of her nose. In the late afternoon, she made her pork chops, boiled potatoes, and a green salad as he poured them each a drink. Afterwards, they had fallen back into bed together. Her tongue was earthy with sage and whisky, her lips swollen and her mouth emitting tender sounds. He tasted her beneath the hem of the flannel, her thighs clamped around his ears. She returned the favor with a gusto that made him gnaw a bite mark over his knuckle.

They talked for hours until the slow rise and fall of his eyelids fell, throwing his words into a slowed stupor that eventually stopped.

The rain did not abate overnight.

Claire listened to the landing of every drop, her touch molded to muscle (chest, bicep) and his face tucked close to the curve of her throat.

She did not sleep.

In the earliest part of morning, he woke slowly, eyes still sleepy.

“Hi there,” she whispered, pushing a curl back from his forehead. Bees buzzed in her mind. A thousand (a million) thoughts came to life, knocking against the edges of the hive. With an exhaled “hmmmmm” deep from his belly, his eyelids drifted closed again. “Are you going back to sleep?”

“I’ll no’ ever sleep again now that I ken ye’re awake,” he slurred into the pillow.

His breathing slowed and she gave him a gentle jab in the ribs. “Sleepy little liar.”

“I’m just resting my eyes, Sassenach” he mumbled, cracking one eye and looking up and down her thin form. “Did ye have something in mind? To keep me awake?”

“Once more,” Claire whispered, bringing a knee over his hips and settling against him. “Before we go.”

Once more. Before we go.

He hadn’t the heart to tell her that he had planned on having her at least twice before they packed up, but the surprise of waking to her wanting him was like Christmas morning and his birthday all at once.

The curtain of her curls that fell forward from her top of her head painted a shadow across her face in the waning moonlight. Tightness in his belly made him shift just slightly beneath the slight weight of her. The naked parts of her radiated wet heat through the thin cotton of his briefs. He reached for the buttons on the flannel shirt (he would pack it and bring it home; he would not wash it, it smelled like her now), but she shook her head and pushed away his fingers. She made a meal of undressing –– a slow, seductive disrobing. The last button undone, the fabric fell open and exposed nothing more than the midline of her torso.

A roving hand slipped into the back of his shirt to find her lower back, urging her forward.

“I need you inside of me.”

He grunted quietly in response as she slipped the band of his briefs over his hips, her fingers struggling between the sheets and his bottom to free him completely.

“Insatiable, are ye, lass?” Sleepiness made his voice syrupy and his accent thick, but his eyes. Those glowed blue in the dark, awake and sparkling as though somehow lit from within. She smiled, through the uncomfortable thought that had roused her (going home) and led her to straddle him (not having him there like this), still dwelled at the front of her mind.

“I am. Insatiable.” For you. For this. For us.

“I can see right into yer mind, Claire.” A single hand on the center of his chest as she rolled her hips along the length of him, her throat creaky as she swallowed.

‘Can you?’ she thought. ‘Everything changes at first light. Sunday morning. This life in this cabin isn’t real.’

He guided her body so he could feel her (exquisite, slick, and soft; clearly having been ready long before he woke), and found the ache of his horrible yearning morph into a painful need.

“Is that so?”

“Aye,” he said evenly, eyes focused on hers as he surged into her. She worried what he could see on her face as they joined and she bowed herself forward, burying her face where his shoulder met his throat. On top like this, she was almost too full with him, yet needed more. Her hesitancy made his hips lift, pressing them even closer.

“Christ,” she hissed as she ground back down over him, wondering if he could see the words at the back of her mouth or if he saw only images flashing across her brain.

All of their waiting.

Their nights with Brimstone and Donas. Their thinly-veiled innuendos dropped easily for the other to pick up from horseback. The separations at the end of the night that ached, long glances as steady fingers readied the horses for a night of rest, and incidental touches that gathered a multitude of meanings like arms full of wildflowers.

“Okay?” he asked, one hand on her waist and another reaching for her cheek when she pulled back up, straight, and started to move.

She relocated his hand from her face to her breast, and moved against him slowly. “Perfect.”

All of their hesitancy.

The day he stood before her in the stables and told her in no uncertain terms that he did not know if he could wait for her. When he laid bare his conclusion that what they were doing was wrong as long as she had promised herself to another man. For her part, unfaithfulness to another seemed to be only a petty crime then. To be unfaithful to another, just so she could know Fraser in all that he was. To wear an affair like a second skin for a summer (the season that she said they could use to sate their hunger for one another before she married), and then to wear it from her wedding day onwards forevermore as a crown of thorns.

Her name fell from his lips, pleas to the God on whose name she was Queen, and hisses of profanity followed.

(Claire. Oh God. Oh fuck.)

She fell forward again. This time into his mouth, breasts crushing against his chest as she kissed him. He rolled them, taking her wrists and pinning them above her head as he took from her the sensations she had withheld. Crying out beneath him (last name first, first name last –– Fraser, then Jamie), she let her hands go slack, cinched her eyes shut. She had thought very little of what would happen if she had him without an expiration date occasioned by a marriage. He released her wrists, kissed her, tucked a hand between their bodies, and slowed his hips as she finished.

Pulsing. Gasping. Weeping. Finally.

Her fingers found his face, held it as his universe burst moments later.

Spent, he laid heavy over her, marveling that he could feel her fingertips travel the length of his spine. Feeling remained there when he had convinced himself long before that the mangled, puckered flesh was beyond sensation. Goosebumps broke out along his forearms and he nuzzled his face closer to her.

“What are you thinking?” she asked eventually before placing a single kiss in the space between his clavicles.

“That ye’re no’ ever so beautiful than ye are when ye’ve been loved.” She felt so small against his chest, his hand cupping a single buttock. “Tell me what is in that curly heid of yers. I ken it’s sittin’ somewhere far, far from here.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, adjusting. “I said on Friday that I did not want this to end. Now…”

When her voice trailed away and her face dipped, he took her gently by the chin. He finished for her. “Now it is.”

“Exactly.”

She could have washed her face in a new round of tears at the way that his lips quirked into a half-smile. “Och, weel, we’ll be back.”

“But until then… how?”

Loving him seemed like a felony. Subjecting him to her life. The flash bulbs. The adulteration of this place, the quietness of the cabin and the sleepiness of the town that they had visited. The expectations that would be foisted upon him. She had little doubt that he would take it all for her. That he did love her, but the fact that this weekend was not an infinity rattled her.

He swiped away the line of tears accumulating at her lower lashline. “Ye’re thinking too far ahead, Claire. Wondering if this can work. How it can work.”

She just hummed in response, closing her eyes. “Sassenach. What does it mean?”

At this, he snorted, kissed the tip of her nose. “An English person. An outlander.”

Seemed right to her.

#;mod kate #HRH #Her Royal Highness AU #jamie x claire #Royal AU #queue it like it's hot

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reallyautomaticvoid · 5 years

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Calling It: Good Intentions: Chapter 7: It’s a Terrible Plan

Sorry for the late update! Work got crazy and then I went through a bout of writer's block (so much fun >.<).

But, hopefully, that’s all done now! And as an apology for the longer than expected wait, I made the chapter longer than originally planned.

And now I will be on more a regular writing schedule.

Hopefully.

Anyways, Enjoy!

* * *

With the help of the Titans, Tim spent the week constructing a list of excuses for the Bats.

Tim’s favorites (at Con suggestion) is, “Why, no, Dick, Tim isn’t around ‘cause Ra’s is trying to sell him a timeshare at Nanda Parbat. I think he might take it; it’s a pretty good deal.”

Tim laughed so hard he knock over the stack of shipment logs he’d been going through. Tim didn’t want all of the Bats in a hundred-mile radius to come raining down on him (or to know how close to true that is) it had gone in the funny but no pile.

Drumming his thumbs on his desk, Tim watches BB through his monitor getting ready to call Dick to tell him the good news. With most of the Titans gathered around him, Tim had hacked into the main feed so that they could see the conversation between Gar and Dick unfold.

Picking up a sock, Bart crinkles his nose. “Dude, do you ever do your laundry?”

Tim arches an eyebrow at him. “You were there for my last annual pilgrimage to the laundromat.”

“That’s a horrifying sentence; from start to finish.”

Before Tim could respond, Gar’s voice crackles from the speakers. “Ready?”

Tim presses the intercom button. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”

“You sure you want to do this, Tim?” BB eyes sparkle through the computer.

Tim ignores the question.

They’d talked about this.

And Tim’s fine with it.

“Remember, we’ll be watching.”

Gar laughs. “Shyeah, ‘cause that won’t be creepy.”

Tim nods because, point, before pressing the intercom off.

Two rings later, Tim could hear Dick’s voice.

“Gar, how’s it hanging, bro?”

Tim pays no attention to the stab of jealousy threatening to overtake him at Dick’s friendly greeting.

Moving forward, remember?

Instead, he focused on what Dick was doing. It looked like Dick had been in the middle of looking through old case files.

Gar leans back in his chair. “Not bad, man. How are you doing?”

“Fine.” Dick shuffles some papers off the desk and into a folder with a vague smile.

Tim sucks on his teeth.

Tim knows that move.

Tim taught Dick that move.

What doesn’t Dick want BB to see?

“We’ve been working our way through some of Tim’s old files.”

Well, shit.

That could be anything.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim sees Conner shooting him a concerned look.

Tim puts on his best Wayne Enterprises CEO blank face.

Conner rolls his eyes in an I know what shit you’re trying to pull. Knock it off asshole kinda way.

Tim grimaces.

Dick, however, keeps talking.

“But it’s hard. Most of the files on the Batcomputer are months old at this point. So, most of the info in it is outdated.” Dick sighs, ruffling his hair. It’s something Tim recognizes from his days of being Robin.

Something Dick only does when he’s frustrated with a case.

“Bab’s has been trying to trace his com unit, but she can’t find any. I don’t have to tell you how pissed off that makes her.”

Tilting his head, Tim squints at the screen.

There’s almost a look of…pride? on Dick’s face while Dick was saying that?

That couldn’t be right.

Babs couldn’t find the GPS on the com because Tim disconnected it over a year ago.

Why would Dick be proud of something Barbara’s failing at?

“But you don’t need to hear about that shit; why’d you call?”

“Well, funny story, it’s actually about Tim.” Dick’s body snaps to attention. Dick moves his chair so close to the computer’s camera, Tim couldn’t see the room anymore.

“Is he okay?” The urgency in Dick’s voice makes Tim’s stomach drop.

Okay, what the fuck is Dick doing? Outside of tech support, I hadn’t been important to the Bats for fucking years . What the actual fuck?

Tim feels a warm hand squeeze his shoulder. Glancing up, Tim sees Conner giving him the: we can call this off if you want look. Half smiling, Tim shakes his head.

“Tim’s fine,” BB assures Dick, eyes darting up towards Tim’s room. “At least, he was the last time I saw him. No, I’m calling because the team and I had a vote.”

Dick stares at Gar blankly before comprehension dawns across his face.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d that go?” Dick winces just like he always does right before he doesn’t dodge and gets hit in the face.

“Well, it was close but we did agree to give you occasional updates on Tim. On a trial basis, of course.”

Dick’s face looks like it was about to split into two from his smile.

Tim’s eyebrows narrow.

Okay, not the reaction Tim was expecting. Sure, he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting (disgust, disappointment) but…not that.

“You can call and somebody will give you an update but,” Gar hesitates.

Shit. What went wrong?

Gar had said what the team had agreed to tell Dick.

Was he getting cold feet?

Shit.

It's a big ask, to fuck with friends like this.

Gar had agreed to do this though (even telling Tim in private he supported this plan one hundred percent).

Still though…

“But, Dick, it was a close vote. Not all of the Team is very happy about this…arrangement, man. Not all of them agree that this is the right thing to do. So, if someone doesn’t want to tell you anything, I wouldn’t push.”

Dick stares for a long moment, calculating, before nodding.

“Okay. I’ll try not to step on any toes.” Dick slowly nodding before smiling. “So, how’s Tim?”

Tim feels his brow furrow. The way Dick asked that question…what the fuck? It’s like Dick had been waiting years to ask it but had been too afraid.

Tim shakes his head.

Why would Dick care how he was doing?

Gar shrugs. “He’s fine. He and Bart went to get some comics. We didn’t want him to walk in while we were having this conversation.”

Dick looks like there were another hundred question he wanted to ask.

“So, is there anything new in his life I should know about?”

Gar takes a moment before answering. “Well,” he starts slowly, “we were attacked by H.I.V.E. the other week. Red Robin was capturing for a few hours before we got him back.”

“What?” Dick jumps up like he’s about to hop a plane to San Francisco. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Gar raises an eyebrow. “Because it was before you called.” Dick flinches. “And besides, man, Red was fine. I haven’t heard him screaming ‘cause of the nightmares in a few days now.”

If Dick looked ready to hop a plane a minute ago, it was nothing compared to now. “He’s having nightmares? I’m on my way right now to—”

“To do what? Cuddle? Dude, he’s not going to let you into the Tower, let alone his room to cuddle. Don’t you know how to play it cool? That’s how I got Rae, man.”

Tim glances over to Raven whose lips had become a fine line.

Dick rolls his eyes. “Dude, you followed her around like a lost puppy for months before she gave you the time of day.”

“Not cool, man. You’re supposed to agree with me.”

“Even if you’re telling an out and out lie?”

“Especially then.” Both Dick and Gar laugh. Gar sobered up first. “Besides, I think he’s supposed to be back in Gotham at the end of the week. Tam’s pissed at him for skipping out on some of his meeting from his last visit. She made him promise that he’d be back sooner rather than later.”

Shit, Tim’s not comfortable with the way Dick’s eye’s lit up at the mention of Tam. It’s the same way they’d light up for Tim when Tim gave Dick an idea for pranking Bruce.

BB, however, doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he keeps barreling on. “So, if you play your cards right, you should be able to see him in just a few days. Okay, dude?”

“Gotcha.” Dick’s eyes are still dancing.

There’s a delightful new gnawing sensation in Tim’s gut.

Fantastic.

* * *

“I have an idea,” Dick announces as he enters the Batcave. Bruce doesn’t look up from the project he’s working on at his workbench. Jason doesn’t stop his before patrol warm-ups.

Jason calls over to Bruce. “Ya better call the papers, B. Dick had an idea. Ya know how rare they are.”

Dick rolls his eyes. Brothers. “Yes, yes, your hilarious, Jason. No, I had an idea about getting Tim back.”

Bruce put down the piece of something he’s trying to resemble and stares at Dick.

Bruce’s stare isn’t anything compared to Batman’s stare but it’s still nothing to sneeze at. Dick knows that something had been bothering Bruce since he had talked to Selina. The Bruce’s Brood (patent pending) is stronger than normal.

Dick eyes Bruce for a second before continuing on. “I called Gar last week to ask him for a favor. Asked him if he could give me any info on Tim.”

Jason stops mid pushup to stare at Dick. “Bet he fuckin’ loved that.”

“No, he was partially happy with that idea,” No, Dick, we aren’t going to spy on our teammate for you flashes in Dick’s mind before he shoves it aside. “But he did say he’d take it to the rest of the team for a vote. That was about a week ago. Well, I just got a call from Gar. The Titans are on board.”

Jason’s jaw drops before he hops up and grabs a water bottle. Leaning against Bruce’s workbench, he says, “ya honestly think they’re gonna fuckin’ tell you what’s goin’ on?”

“Gar said they would,” Dick insists. “And it’s a place to start. But, we’re getting off track. No, Gar said that Tim was going to be back in Gotham at the end of the week for WE stuff. So I was thinking, we need a way to get Tim to believe us when we say that we want him back, right? Well, he’s got to be here in order for us to do anything so—”

“What? Ya wanna ambush ‘em at WE? That’s a fuckin’ terrible idea. Remember what happened the last time ya did that?”

I’m not your Brother Dick.

Dick flinches at the memory before pushing it aside. They were going to have plenty of time to…correct Tim’s thoughts of whether or not he is or is not Dick’s family.

“No, that’s not what I’m thinking. If Tim Drake is at WE that means that Red Robin will be patrolling. If we can have his back when he’s patrolling, he might start to trust us again. And isn’t that the goal?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Ya think that if we hang out with ‘em for a couple of nights that he’ll want to kiss n’ make up? You're dreaming.”

Dick counts to ten before exhale. “It’s a place to start.”

“Agreed.” Bruce’s voice finally cuts in. Both Jason and Dick whip around to stare at him. “Tim…Tim needs proof before he’ll believe. Believe in us again.” Bruce pauses before shaking his head. “The only way to get him to come back into the family is if he believes in us again but if we put too much pressure on him, he’ll run.”

“Like he did ta ya last week?” Dick elbows Jason who doesn’t notice.

Bruce grimaces. “Yes, well, Batman may have come on a little strong last week.”

“Little?” Jason smirks.

“Enough Todd.” Damian emerges from the shower toweling off his hair. “Father, Grayson, if you really want Drake back in line, which I’m still unclear as to why—”

“He’s family,” Dick’s exasperated at this point. Sometimes his family was clueless. “He’s fucking family and we fucking let him fall. We failed him.” Dick glares at Bruce. “Did you know that Tim was on life support?”

Bruce’s stony face is answer enough. Damian’s smirk falters while Jason clenches his fists.

“Yeah, didn’t think so. Gar and Rave apparently called me and I missed the fucking call.” Dick runs his fingers through his hair. “We need to get him back. Tim isn’t going to come back to town for us,” Dick ignores the way his stomach clenches when he says this, “but he will come back for work. Let’s use that. Right now, he’s only in town a few days a month. At most.”

“Yes. I would say work would be the only thing that Drake would come back for.”

Damian’s sneer was firmly back in place. Dick didn’t miss that Damian’s hands were slightly shaking. Maybe he cares a bit more then he’s been letting on.

“So we’ll use that. And when he’s here, we’ll try and get him to, I don’t know, catch a movie with us, go on patrol, get him to have a goddamn conversation with us, something. Then, we’ll try and ease him back into the family.”

“Tt. That’s a dreadful plan, Grayson.”

“Do you have a better one?” Dick snaps. None of the other Bats move. “Great. Then this is the plan we’re going with.”

* * *

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Tim.” Cassie flips through her magazine. “Trying to trick Batman is a terrible idea.”

Tim’s due to back in Gotham later this afternoon. He had been having this argument for the last half an hour. “I know, Cass, you’ve made it clear that you don’t like what I’m doing. You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.” Tim straightens his tie. “Besides, Tam will kill me if I don’t go to Gotham today. Seriously,” he answers Cassie’s skeptical look, “I don’t think that Con could stop her.”

“Oh, I’m not crossing Tam, even for you, man,” Con claps Tim on the shoulder. “She scares the crap out of me. And, she doesn’t even need Kryptonite to do it.”

Cass waves her magazine at Tim. “You know Vicki Vale says your having a secret affair with Tam again, right?”

Conner snorts, “are they engaged again?”

“Not yet,” Cass skims the article, “apparently Bruce doesn’t approve.”

Tim sighs as he swings his duffle bag onto his shoulders. “Can’t wait to field those questions. Time to go.”

Giving Tim a critical look, Cassie finally put down her magazine. “You sound like your going to your death.”

Tim grimaces, “worse. I’m going to a city full of Bats who know I’m coming.”

“Don’t worry, man. It’ll be fun,” Tim gives Conner a look who just shrugs. “Or it’ll be terrible, in which case, you call me and I’ll get you out of there. Win, win.”

Open mouthed, Tim stares at Con while Cassie shakes her head. “We need to work on your pep talks, Sweetie.”

A few hours later (thank you, repurposed Batplane), Tim’s punching his code to his apartment.

After Batman visit, Tim took all the bugs that Batman had planted and sent them back with a note saying better luck next time.

There hadn’t been a response.

Admittedly, the fruit basket mighta been too much.

Of course, that didn’t mean while Tim was at the Tower that Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood or even Robin (though, probably not Robin because all of his belonging were still intact) coulda come through again and planted more.

Even though Tim’s confident his security system would have alerted him to an intruder, he still put on a little show because, well, Bats.

Sighing, Tim enters his apartment, dumping his briefcase and duffle onto the couch while scanning the room.

Nothing yet.

Turning towards the hallway, Tim traces the wall with the tips of his figures, scanning all the while. There wasn’t anything in the bathroom (and thank Gods, that’s one conversation he was glad not to have), his bedroom, living room, guest room, kitchen, or really, any room he searched.

Shanking his head, Tim opens the fridge. Fuck, sometimes, I’m just as fucking paranoid as Bruce.

From the table, Tim hears the sound of his phone vibrating. Closing the fridge, Tim sees Babs’ smiling face flashing from the screen.

Fuck.

Leave it to Oracle to know when I’m back in Gotham.

Before he could lose his nerve, Tim presses the speakerphone button.

“Hey, Babs, what can I do for you?”

“Well,” her tone is light, teasing, “you could give me half the Drake fortune and become my personal Tech guru.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Is that all?”

Barbara laughs. “It is. But more realistically, you could have dinner with me tonight.”

Tim stops mid-search. “I don’t know, Babs.”

“How much food do you have in your fridge right now? And remember, I know when you’re lying to me.”

Sure. Tim gives the offending fridge a dark look.

“I have this new magical thing. It’s called a credit card. And I can buy things with it. Like food.”

“Great,” Babs matches Tim’s sarcastic tone. “You can use this new mystical item to get me dinner too. And I’m craving a sub from that deli down the street from you.”

Tim resists the urge to slam his head against a wall. “They deliver.”

Babs clicks her tongue. “It’s not the same, Tim.”

Tim sinks down into a chair next to the table. “Babs, I just got to Gotham. I haven't even unpacked yet. Rain check?”

“Tim, we both know you’re not going to unpack. Come on, just an hour. If I hear Jason tell me you ‘hit it with a hammer and light it on fire’ one more time, I’m going to do that to him.”

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. All he wanted to do tonight was veg out.

Especially since tomorrow is (probably) going to be shit.

However, he knew losing battle when he saw one.

“Fine, give me an hour. I’ll bring food over to the Clocktower.”

“You’re the best, Tim!” With that, Barbara hung up.

Tim gets up to take a shower before going over to the Clocktower (ignoring the growing gnawing feeling in his gut).

It’s been there since BB called Dick, it’s not going to magically go away just because you want it to. Suck it up, Drake.

Tim shakes his head, changing into Tim Drake clothes. He pulls on blue jeans, one of his favorite shirts with an empty coffee cup equals dead battery on it, a pair of converse that were practically falling apart, and an oversized hoodie which he pulls over his head.

All and all, he felt more like himself then he had in a very long time.

Tim shoved the gnawing feeling in his gut out of his head again. All he was going to do was go, have dinner with Barbara, go on patrol then bed. A few hellish days at WE and he could escape back to the Tower.

Smiling, Tim goes down to his garage that housed everything from Tim Drake’s skateboard to Tim Wayne’s shiny new Jag to Red Robin’s newest (to Gotham) bike. Tim grabs the keys to one of his daytime civilian cars.

Unlocked the Jetta, Tim slides inside. The outside might look shit but the inside was still in good shape. The car had been one of the first things that Tim had bought when he had first moved out of the Manner. At the time, Tim had wanted a car to get from point A to point B without hassle.

And here's the winner, all these years later, still chugging along, much to Tim’s surprise.

Jiggling the key in the ignition, Tim manages to get the car to whine to life. Grinning, Tim pulls out of his garage and into traffic.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

#Calling it #chapter 7 #fanfiction #Tim Drake #garfield logan #conner kent #bart allen #dick grayson #raven (DCU)#cassie sandsmark #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #Damian Wayne #barbara gordon

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spinnedcycle · 5 years

Text

Happy 10th 4/13!!!

for today’s occasion, I thought I’d share some cherished memories. I started reading homestuck in 2015, and as I did, I’d save different pictures or take screencaps of whatever I thought I’d want to look at again later, or whatever I found especially funny or cool or interesting. as I went I started putting more of my emotions into the filenames, and what resulted is basically something of a brief liveblog throughout the picture folder.

so take a look at my first experience with homestuck. I hope you enjoy seeing how much fun I was having.

also it should become apparent with some of my reactions, but I knew a bit about homestuck goin into it

(RIGHT CLICK PICS AND OPEN IN NEW TAB FOR FULL SIZE) or just zoom on mobile

I’ll only post the caps of the first 5 acts, cause I kinda trailed off with it in act 6. rest under cut

it’s funny seeing how much I, vriskaluvr#41388, hated vriska. but that’s why she was such an entertaining character

also, yes, I typed “nigga” there, which is very unlike me now. this was back when I was younger and more of a 4chan person

#homestuck #betas #trolls #john egbert #rose lalonde

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thelastspeecher · 5 years

Note

💋 with Fidds and Stan in the Spy au, like Ford would go with Fidds if he could but his skills are needed elsewhere for this mission, which takes place at some pride event (which could secretly be the location of where an important package is to be exchanged). Also Angie getting a kick seeing Stan all glamoured up in colours, which Stan isn't a big fan of at all

💋 - Pretend Couple

I’m gonna pretend that the reason I’m posting this now isn’t because I procrastinate, but rather because I was waiting to post it until Pride month. Here you go. Some very timely spy stuff.

Send an emoji and one or more characters!

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“Give mea second,” Ford said, holding up a finger. He dug around in his back pocket, pulled out his phone, and took apicture of Stan. “Perfect.”

“What areyou doing?” Stan asked. He scratched hisarm. “Damn, these sequins areitchy.” Ford sniggered. “What’s so funny?”

“You’redressed up in sequins and Day-Glo colors, Stanley. There’s nothing about this situation thatisn’t funny.” Ford tapped on his phone afew times. “There. That should cheer Angie up.” Stan gestured to Fiddleford, who was deckedout in a similar outfit.

“Youdidn’t laugh when you saw him! Fiddlesticks doesn’t dress up like this either!”

“That youknow of,” Ford said quietly. Stan staredat Fiddleford.

“Really?”he asked. Fiddleford turned as red ashis flamboyant scarf.

“Stanford,we should get goin’. Finish the missionas soon as possible. I’m sure Stan wouldlike to get back to his fam’ly.”

“Yes,yes,” Ford said. “We should-” The theme from Star Wars began to play. “Oh. One moment.” Ford tapped on his phoneagain. “You’re on speaker.”

“That wasthe best thing I’ve seen all week!”Angie’s voice shouted exuberantly. “Oh,Lord, that almost makes up fer bein’ benched from field missions fer the nextnine months.”

“Have youshown the girls yet?” Ford asked.

“I didn’tthink of that! I’m goin’ to do that!”

“Angie-”Stan started.

“Darlin’,let me have my amusements where I can,” Angie said. “And don’t pretend like ya wouldn’t have theexact same reaction if Stanford was the one in that getup.”

“Yeah, well,it shoulda been him in the sequins,” Stan muttered. Ford frowned at Stan. “I know, I know. You’re benched from field missions, too.”

“Not allfield missions. Just ones involvingcrowds,” Ford corrected. “The lastmission I went on was…difficult.”

“No,Apple, don’t-” Angie’s voice came over the phone. She let out a loud sigh. “I got to go. The dog’s gettin’ into stuff. Have fun on the mission. Bringback souvenirs.”

“Goodbye,Angie,” Ford said. Angie hung up. Ford put his phone back into his pocket andpicked up the manila folder he had set down to grab his phone. “All right. The debriefing can continue.”

“Great,”Stan said, scratching his leg. “Whatexactly are we doing?” Ford opened thefolder.

“You willbe picking up an important package at the Pride celebration,” he explained,skimming the contents of the folder. “Try to blend in with the crowds both before and after you haveretrieved the package. Let us know whenyou have the package in your possession, head to the corner of Mayer andGarfield, and wait for extraction.”

“Soundseasy enough,” Fiddleford said.

“It’smost certainly easier than some of the previous missions, yes. Your cover, as minor as it may be, is thatyou are a couple.” Ford closed thefolder. “If you wish, you can use falsenames, should you have to call for each other in the crowd.”

“Allright, well, I’ll be Tyson, then,” Stan said.

“Clark,”Fiddleford said. Stan squinted at him.

“How manygay guys named Clark have you actually met?” he asked.

“Three.”

“Wait,really?”

“Theywere all paramours of Lute’s at some point,” Fiddleford said with a shrug. He grimaced. “Oh. Lute’s in town. Do we have to worry about him attendin’ thecelebration?”

“No. Angie’s already sent him on an errand runthat should take a few hours. Themission should be finished by the time he returns with what she asked him toget.”

“What didshe ask him to pick up?” Stan asked, curious despite himself. Ford furrowed his brow.

“I thinkshe claimed to have a craving for a very specific specialty food. I can’t remember what, but it’s onlyavailable in a few stores far from where the celebration will be.” Ford shrugged. “But that’s not relevant to the mission. You best head out now to beat the crowds. And…” A twinkle appeared in Ford’s eye. “Have a gay old time.”

-----

“Allright, package received, heading to the drop-off location,” Stan said, stuffingthe item – which was much smaller than he’d expected – into his fanny pack.

“Excellent. Be sure not to lose track of it,” Fordreplied over the earpiece.

“Won’t bea problem, thanks to whoever came up with these outfits. I mean, I’m not exactly the most fashionforward person, but even I know fanny packs look awful,” Stan grumbled.

“I thinkfanny packs are cute,” Fiddleford piped up. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Ofcourse you do.” Stan peered around thecorner of the alleyway entrance. “Coast’sclear. Let’s get this over with.”

“Ahem.” At the sound of Fiddleford clearing histhroat, Stan looked over. Fiddlefordheld out a hand. Stan groaned loudly.

“C’mon, man.”

“It’s ferthe mission,” Fiddleford hissed.

“Are yousure you don’t secretly have a crush on me, Fiddlesticks?”

“Yermarried to my younger sister!”

“That’snot a no.”

“Fercryin’ out loud,” Fiddleford muttered, grabbing Stan’s hand. He pulled Stan out of the alleyway. They were immediately assaulted by the joyousshouts and thumping music of the celebration. They began to walk down the sidewalk, heading for the drop-off. Stan’s scowl grew worse with every step.

“Ford,did the people who came up with these costumes ever actually go to Pride?”he hissed. “Because there are plenty ofpeople in plain T-shirts. Seems likethese outfits are only less attention-grabbing here than they would be on anormal fucking day.” There was noresponse over the earpiece. “Ford?”

“He’sprob’ly not responding ‘cause yer throwin’ a temper tantrum over somethin’ hecouldn’t control,” Fiddleford said quietly.

“Dude, Ihave two kids. I know what a tempertantrum looks like. I was not having atemper tantrum.”

“Whateverya-” Fiddleford stopped abruptly. “Hang on, do ya hear that?” Stan stopped as well and strained his ears todistinguish any single thing from the joyful cacophony surrounding them. A familiar voice carried above the noise.

“-well, I’ms’pposed to be runnin’ an errand fer my sister, but it’s not that pressin’, soI figured I’d stop by the celebration on my way.” Stan and Fiddleford exchanged a panickedlook.

“Lute!”they whispered.

“Pfft, nah,I checked with her to make sure it wasn’t time-sensitive,” Lute continued. His voice was getting louder. Presumably, because he was getting closer. “She made me promise to pick up a couplesouvenirs fer my adorable nieces, but since I was already here, she couldn’treally tell me not to come. Rushed meoff the phone, though. Somethin’ ‘boutthe dog bein’ trouble, I think.”

“So thatexplains why you aren’t all dressed up like you usually are for Pride,” asecond voice said. Lute and whoever hewas with were getting closer by the second. Fiddleford looked around frantically.

“There’snowhere to go, the crowd’s too thick!”

“Justcalm down, act normal,” Stan hissed at him. “Maybe he won’t see us.”

“Usually,you’re dressed up like those two over there,” the second voice said. Stan and Fiddleford looked over. Standing across the street was Lute,accompanied by a man much taller than him, wearing a tanktop with multiple heartsemblazoned on it in a rainbow color scheme. The man was pointing at Stan and Fiddleford. Lute looked in their direction. He frowned.

“Yeah, I…hangon.” Lute stepped into the street. Panicking, Stan grabbed Fiddleford andplanted a kiss on his lips. Fiddleford’seyes bulged. “…Oh. Never mind.”

“What?”Lute’s companion asked.

“Theylooked familiar, but I must’ve been imaginin’ it. Let’s go find some of those lil flags. I bet Fidds would want one.” Lute and his companion disappeared into thecrowd. Fiddleford pulled away from Stan,his face beet red.

“StanleyPines-” he started. Ford’s voicecrackled over their earpieces.

“Fidds,Stan, be careful, Lute’s at Pride!”

“No shit,Sixer,” Stan growled. “We just saw himwith his lay of the week.”

“…Oh. He didn’t see you, right?”

“Right,”Fiddleford said. His cheeks were stillred, but beginning to return to their normal color.

“Why thehell didn’t you tell us earlier?” Stan demanded.

“I didn’tknow! I just got off the phone withAngie. Lute decided to stop at Pridebefore he went on the errand, and he only told her after he had arrived, so shecouldn’t tell him not to.”

“We know,”Fiddleford said in an undertone. “Weheard him talkin’ to the feller he was with. Even in this crowd, his voice carries.”

“Well…” Ford seemed at a loss for words. He cleared his throat. “Continue to the drop-off point, and make itfast. Lute might double back and see thetwo of you.”

“Yep,”Stan ground out. He grabbed Fiddleford’shand and began to drag him towards the drop-off point. “Fiddlesticks, you better not say a wordabout-”

“Do yareally think I’d mention it?” Fiddleford replied tartly. “It weren’t exactly somethin’ I’ll rememberfondly later.”

“Yeah,yeah.” Stan glanced at Fiddlefordmomentarily. “I won’t either. You’re not a very good kisser.” Fiddleford’s face turned red again.

“…Stanley?”Ford asked over the earpieces. Stan winced.

“Yeah?”

“Wouldyou mind repeating that? And elaborating? I’m very curious as to how you’ve concludedmy boyfriend is not good at kissing.”

#kajdasfd I take so long to do prompts sometimes whoops #Stan tells Ford that he is not going to elaborate upon what he said to Fidds #but that he stands by it #in his opinion Angie is a much better kisser than Fidds #Spy AU #Stanley Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Stanford Pines #Angie McGucket #Lute McGucket #there are elements of Stangie but I don't think I'll tag it #my writing #ficlet #writing meme #ask #bluestuffeh

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sinsofafangirl · 5 years

Text

Chapter Three.

"You're just a stupid little girl who has done nothing but ruin everything I've ever worked for - your father would be ashamed"

"I'm glad your father's dead, he doesn't have to see what a wretch and a cancer you've become"

"Police Academy?! Ha! Maybe I'll get lucky and someone sensible with half a brain will shoot you like your failure of a father"

Ava woke with a start, her body jolting upright, her eyes still heavy with sleep unable to focus on her unfamiliar surroundings as her heart pounded erratically and her chest heaved as she struggled to shake off the remnants of the all too familiar dream. Too caught up in regaining her composure she never noticed the bucket of water or the person throwing it until she was drenched and spluttering. Her hands came up to rub her eyes in an attempt to once again clear her vision before throwing a glare at the offending person "'bout time you woke up, almost thought you'd died and saved me a whole lotta trouble" a roll of her eyes indicated she'd heard him, she just refused to give him a reaction. Of fucking course it'd be Jacob Seed to get her wet in the frosty early morning air and not in the good way. "Fuck off, Seed" came her irked reply mentally slapping herself for actually responding to him "someone wake up on the wrong side of the cage this morning?" a question asked without an ounce of genuine care and a smirk so fraudulent it made her old Barbie dolls seem a hundred per cent real in comparison. Ava didn't reply and instead huffed in annoyance; she was exhausted and her entire body ached from having to sleep on the dirty floor all night so she was in no mood for being patronised by an asshole choosing to focus on trying to untangle the mess of brunette hair with nothing but her fingers - unsuccessfully I might add which only worsened her already sour mood. Refusing to give up her hands continued as best they could to untangle some of the easier knots and avoiding the still tender area of where she'd been struck a few hours earlier.

Cerulean blue eyes watched as she stubbornly refused to give up enjoying the small huffs of frustration he'd hear occasionally. If he was any sort of gentleman he'd offer her an extra set of hands but he found watching her struggle much more entertaining. Instead the former army marksman took the opportunity to study the young woman sitting awkwardly in his cage; always know your enemy he thought as his gaze wandered over her. Now that it was daytime he could get a good look at her; hair a chocolaty brown and even though it was currently a mess you could see she took care of it, she must have been about 5"2 and a hundred and five pounds if that which surprised him considering she put quite a bit of force into the kick to his face last night - not enough to hurt him too much but she still managed to draw blood. That didn't mean anything to him though, she was still weak and he looked forward to putting her through her paces and beyond but for now his studying continued now noting her eyes that were a sea green "you getting off on this, Seed?" then there was that mouth of hers always too quick with a smart remark and a sarcastic comment - that would soon change, he'd break that bad habit first. "You could have avoided all of this if you and your friends had just walked away" which was true but Ava wasn't about to admit that especially not to Jacob who currently sat upon a metal chair, his large arms folded across his chest whilst his legs stretched out before him crossing at his feet; dickhead came to mind as she finally gave up on trying to tame her unruly hair and turned her attention to the eldest of the three siblings. Easier to see him properly within the early morning rays of sunshine peeking through. The photos provided within the manila folder didn't give much detail; too grainy to actually make anything out but now in the morning light she noticed just how beautiful his eyes were and yes, she hated herself for admitting it and yes, she almost threw up in her mouth but she couldn't deny that they were strikingly beautiful and one of the first things she'd noticed. His scars and his burns weren't even on her radar as she casually studied him whilst his attention was momentarily elsewhere, of course they were noticeable and of course she was curious about them; how had he gotten such severe scarring? Did they bother him? Then she snorted realising what a stupid thought that was - it was Jacob Seed as if anything bothered him.

Her snort caught his attention and his eyes snapped back to her making her look away "somethin' funny?" completely ignoring his question Ava rose to her knees and shuffled until she was at the front of the cage "to answer your previous statement. If you and your freakshow of a family acted like decent human beings none of this would have happened" she spat venomously, her facial expression twisting into something that conveyed hatred. Within an instant Jacob's demeanor changed from one of mild amusement and boredom to that of white hot rage, his hands came up to slam on the bars of the cage as he shot forward making the young woman fall back in fear and shuffle as far back as possible - everyone knew not to slander his family in anyway but apparently Ava didn't get that memo and instantly regretted running her mouth as she saw the sheer anger in his glare and the way his hands gripped the bars hard enough to turn his knuckles white. She wasn't afraid to admit that she was terrified right now but her wide green eyes couldn't look away "don't ever talk ill of my family" his voice despite being low was filled with rage and a fierce protectiveness that almost sounded like a growl, it made a chill run down her spine. If making situations worse by running your mouth was an Olympic event Ava would get gold everytime, it was a talent and right now it was one she wished she never had.

His gaze lingered on her for a few more moments as if contemplating his next move and Ava just prayed to whatever higher power that existed that it didn't involve him opening the cage. Instead Jacob released his grip, stood swiftly from the chair and moved towards two of his Chosen; unable to hear what he was saying Ava closed her eyes and made a mental note not to mention his family again. When she reopened them she noticed Jacob had headed inside the Veterans Centre and the men he'd been talking to heading her way "time to get cleaned up little lady, brother Jacob's orders" cleaned up? Wonderful she thought knowing it wasn't about to be a warm bubble bath waiting for her. When she hadn't moved quickly enough the cage door was wrenched open and a dirty hand grasped her hair making Ava his in pain as he dragged her kicking and screaming across the compound "quite ya flappin' girly, it ain't doin' ya no good" she didn't listen and despite her ankle throbbing she managed to get a lucky hit on the shin of the second man who cursed loudly before regaining his composure and back handing her for the trouble making her head swing back, almost seeing stars from the impact.

Ava was thrown unceremoniously onto the hard floor of a dimly lit concrete room, her hands and knees stinging from taking the brunt of the impact, this made her glance over her shoulder and glare at her two 'knights in shining armour' but they'd already left leaving her to her own devices for the time being. Her mind wondered what their version of 'getting cleaned up' was because judging from the state of them and the smell she had to endure on the way over they hadn't bathed in quite some time; hypocrites.

Ava noticed the medium sized drainage hole in the middle of the room and the large hose pipe hanging neatly on the wall near the door but her muddled mind didn't put two and two together and paid no attention to it, instead she focused on the door and wondered if they'd been stupid enough to leave it unlocked. It couldn't possibly be that easy to get off here, right? As if she'd be able to just open the door and go? Seeing as she was cold, exhausted and hungry Ava didn't think she had much of a choice and even with a bad ankle she could suffer through the pain long enough to get away from this place.

Without hesitation she slowly pushed herself up off the unforgiving floor and hobbled towards the door; her ankle protesting every step she made but she wasn't about to let that stop her when her freedom was so close that she could almost taste it.

A shaky hand reached out towards the handle, her fingers brushing it gently but to her horror it moved and the door began to open making her recoil from the fiery haired brute who had just stepped inside "goin' somewhere, pup?" he asked, his face showed no emotion and neither did his voice which didn't bode well for the brunette now sat on the floor - the momentum of trying to move away quick enough meant she fell ass backwards and her ass had no padding so no doubt that would be yet another bruise for her.

"Strip" came his clipped demand, his gaze fixed and hard on the woman in front of him. His arms were folded across his chest again and Ava wondered if that was a natural stance for him or if it was to stop him from possibly murdering her. Her brows furrowed in confusion at his demand "what?" "you heard me, I said strip" again, his tone was short and clipped but that didn't stop Ava who scoffed and point blank refused. There was no way she was going to strip for him "and if I don't?" she asked raising an eyebrow as if to challenge him which with all things considered was probably pretty stupid on her part but up until this point her life had been a series of stupid events so why not continue?

It was then she realised her mistake and her eyes widened in absolute fear as Jacob stormed across the room and it was in that moment she saw that rage within his eyes from earlier and prayed that whatever death was coming it'd be quick. All of a sudden she found herself pinned to the cold, harsh floor with one of his hands around her throat, his grip hard enough to leave bruises whilst his other hand pinned both her wrist above her - she had nowhere to go because her legs were useless at this point and even they weren't she doubted she'd have enough strength to fend him off long enough to reach the door. His face was now right above hers, his breath hot on her face as she struggled to for air "you'll learn why I'm the best at what I do and you'll either play nice and fall in line remembering that you're nothin' more than meat that's expendable" as if to emphasize his point his grip around her throat became that much tighter that she'd started to squirm beneath him, panic mode had kicked in as her vision became cloudy. She truly thought she was about to die and in the back of her mind she found she was okay with that because that would mean she would finally meet her father. In her current situation she was completely powerless to stop him from choking the life out of her and snapping her neck like a twig but apparently he wasn't feeling that murderous today and released his grip just enough for her to gasp for air " - or you'll be culled, tied up and used as live target practice for my Chosen, so what will it be, princess?"

Ava gasped and spluttered again fighting for air unable to give him a physical answer Ava weakly nodded as much as his grip allowed making a cruel smirk replace the scowl he'd been wearing previously" good girl, you know what to do" within an instant he'd relinquished his grip on both her wrists and her throat and had returned to his previous position. His gaze hardened and cold as watched her pathetically regain her composure.

With no other option but to do as she was told the young brunette cautiously and fearfully began to slip out of her deputy uniform as shaking hands fumbled with zips, buckles and buttons. His never wavering gaze didn't help her much either and not knowing if he would strangle her again also didn't help but soon enough she'd managed to discard her uniform leaving her in nothing but her bra and underwear; surely I can keep these on, right? This made Ava look over towards him and in return he merely nodded making tears spring to her eyes as she tentatively reached for the clasp of her bra at the back to unhook it before letting it drop to the floor. Ava gulped down the feeling of nausea before scrunching her face in pain as she winced - her throat would be sore for a good while and no doubt the bruises he left will last weeks before they fade.

Refusing to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her cry, Ava thumbed the elastic of her underwear before tugging them down over her hips, thighs and legs before discarding them with the rest of her clothes. Every part of her was open to him, she felt extremely vulnerable wished she was anywhere but here. Her earlier bravado had been stripped from her and now she naked and exposed in front of him. A face full of cold, harsh water soon broke her train of thought as the force of the pressure slammed her against the nearest wall making her cry out but this only resulted in more coughing and spluttering from the woman. Not that she could see but she could already tell that her skin had probably turned a nice shade of red if pain was anything to go by.

No matter how hard she tried to cover herself from the onslaught of water it just never made a difference, instead she gave up and pressed herself against the cold wall waiting for it to be over.

After what felt like an eternity the water stopped and she was left sore, drenched and very, very cold if her shivering was anything to go by. It's the type of cold that works its way into your bones and then it's icy tendrils wrap itself around your core and you genuinely wonder if you'll ever feel warmth again. "Get dressed" a flurry of definitely used clothes that consisted of ratty dark jeans and a fade flannel shirt hit her but Ava was that cold she would have worn a garbage bag to get warm at this point so she hurriedly threw them on making a note of just how big they were on her, not that she was about to complain especially if it meant being stripped again.

By now Jacob stood in front of what he could only assume was a drowned rat, her hair now forcefully untangled hung dripping onto the flannel she wore as he grasped her jaw he noticed how she flinched but said nothing, his grip just hard enough to have her attention and possibly leave bruises "when you behave yourself you get privileges like clothes but if you keep running that mouth of yours and misbehaving those privileges get taken away and you'll get punished. I'm sure my men out there would love to see the sight that I just saw and I mean, who knows what would happen if I'm not around" his not so subtle threat was quickly understood; the possibility of getting raped wasn't something she wanted "have I made myself clear?" "y - yes" Jacob quirked an eyebrow and gripped her jaw that little bit harder; more bruises to add to the collection she thought as she painfully cleared her throat "y - yes, sir" her voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk but her answer seemed to satisfy him because relinquished his grip and strode to the door, an arm keeping it open as he glanced at the sorry state of a deputy.

"Time for your trainin', let's go, pup" Ava meekly nodded; too tired and too fearful at this point to put up a fight. Her stomach filled with dread as she made her way towards the door.

It couldn't get any worse, right?

#my stuff #far cry 5 #fc5 #far cry 5 fic #far cry 5 fanfiction #fc5 fanfic #fc5 fanfiction #jacob seed #jacob seed x rook #jacob seed x oc #Oh boy I'm sorry it's so long #I'm on mobile so can't put it under a cut

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pinkevilbobdoesthings · 5 years

Text

Ok aay guys, so I’m real excited to share this chapter, but letting you know that it does get a bit intense near the end, but I hope you all like it.

Here’s chapter 5 of ‘The Mess’.

_______________________________________

Caleb could feel himself falling apart. It was just an hour and a half twice a week without Frumpkin. A simple thing that anyone else could manage, but not him. By the time his class was over, all he could think of was going back to Frumpkin. And once he was back to Frumpkin, Caleb thought he would just go back to normal, but no, he was still trapped in his head and full of fear.

Frumpkin deserved better than him. Sometimes Caleb would try to convince himself to just let Jester keep Frumpkin, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was too selfish. And despite that Frumpkin would still purr in Caleb’s arms.

Jester was another thing that Caleb did not deserve. She was so bright and cheerful that even on his darkest days he could feel her warmth. But he couldn’t show it. Caleb felt like he was buried in cotton unable to move or speak. Everything was just reactions. He hated it, but he couldn’t breakthrough it.

And yet Jester stayed there was him. Despite everything she remained by his side and kept telling him silly jokes and smiling at him. But those smiles lost their shine. That was Caleb felt the worst about. He had hoped that Jester was smart enough to realize that she was too good for this and just leave Caleb alone, but she didn’t. Jester was the purest thing Caleb had ever met. She wasn’t pure good or even pure in the way most people meant it, but she was pure Jester and that was enough for Caleb.

******************

Jester groaned face down in her notebook. They were nearly two weeks into the new semester and she still didn’t know what to do about Ikithon. She debated drawing a dick on his car, but that felt too small scale for what he had done.

Beau dropped her bag on the kitchen table next to Jester. “Hey, what’s up with Caleb? He’s acting all weird and junk.”

“Huh?” Jester never heard of Beau hanging out with Caleb.

“He’s gone full library hobo again and making my job hell,” Beau asked. “So what happened?”

Jester told Beau all about Professor Ikithon and what he did to Frumpkin. “So now Caleb’s all-”

“Library hobo,” Beau said. “Isn’t that sort of thing illegal?”

“I think so, but Caleb’s in no place to press charges and Ikithon’s got like tenure and stuff. Yeza and Nott’s been trying to get the university to do something, but there’s a lot of red tape. I’ve been trying to come up with the perfect prank, but I’ve got nothing.”

Beau nudged Jester’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t say you got nothing. You got me.”

“You mean you’ll help?” Jester asked.

“Hell yeah! I’m always ready to knock someone down a peg or ten,” Beau said.

Jester gave Beau a tight hug. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go making a big deal about it,” Beau said with a smile. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Jester grinned. “Sure you do.”

**************

It was a simple plan. Two teams acting in the middle of the night: Jester and Fjord at Ikithon’s parking spot and Beau and Nott at Ikithon’s office. Jester had managed to convince Fjord fairly easily to join her, Nott, and Beau in getting revenge on Ikithon.

Fjord’s and Jester’s task was simple. Just a little surprise for Professor Ikithon when he came to campus in the morning. They had finished fairly quickly and were waiting for Nott and Beau at their rendezvous point.

“I still don’t know where you got all those,” Fjord said.

“Oh? Are you looking to get some for yourself?” Jester asked waggling her eyebrows.

Fjord turned beet red and went silent.

Meanwhile, Beau and Nott were supposed to break into Professor Ikithon’s office and cover it with hundreds of post it notes that Jester drew little dicks on. And they were late. Jester tried to pretend that she wasn’t worried and that it wasn’t a big deal but every minute that went by Jester imagined a new way that Nott and Beau could’ve gotten caught.

Relief swept over Jester when Beau and Nott finally returned. But their bags that should’ve been empty were bulging even more than when they had started. “What happened?” Jester asked.

“There was a change in plans,” Beau said. “We’ll explain at the apartment.”

Curiosity filled Jester as they made their way back to the apartment complex. Nott would shush her every time Jester would try to ask insisting that they had to be quiet(which was rich since Nott was being louder than Jester was). “What happened?!” Jester asked the second they stepped inside of Jester’s apartment.

“Okay, so I know we were supposed to cover the office in dicks, but we uncovered something even better.” Nott said.

Jester frowned. She found that very hard to believe.

“Dirt,” Beau said as she opened up her backpack. On top of the colorful post-it note dicks was a bunch of folders and papers. “Turns out Professor Ikithon’s been pretty busy.”

Fjord picked up one and started reading it. “Wait, ‘with an appropriate donation, your child will be sure to be accepted’. He’s taking bribes to let rich kids into the university?”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Beau said. “We’re talking about everything from blackmail to hiding scandals to money laundering.”

“Seriously?”

Nott nodded. “Wait until you see the emails.” She pulled out a usb drive. “This goes pretty deep.”

“Wait, blackmail?” Jester’s eyes grew wide. “That’s how he’s getting away with bullying Caleb!”

“Most likely. I’m going to make copies of these and hand it over to both the cops and the university,” Beau said.

An idea hit Jester. “Can you make me a copy too?”

“Sure,” Beau said. “I’m keeping a copy for myself anyways.”

“Thanks, but why didn’t you cover the office with dicks? I worked really hard on those,” Jester said with a pout.

“And let Professor Ikithon know that someone was snooping in his office?” Beaus asked. “We’ll save those for a special occasion.”

Jester grinned. She already had the perfect occasion in mind.

***********************

Trent Ikithon’s morning was not going as planned. Traffic was terrible and he didn’t have time to get his morning coffee. All he wanted was to get to work and get his first class of the day over with. This was completely thrown out the window when he got to his parking space and discovered that it was filled with … adult toys. Close to a hundred of them.

Red filled his vision. He stomped out of his car and started kicking at the, ahem, adult toys clearing them out of the way. Most toppled away harmless and flopped around on the concrete. One though remained firmly where it was. Trent grabbed it, but it remained in place. He pulled and pulled at it, but it wouldn’t budge. Laughter from passing-by students stopped him and made the professor realize how it must look.

Trent let go of the ‘adult toy’ quickly and called maintenance to take care of it. Now he’d have to go find parking on campus which was frankly a herculean task. Professor Ikithon didn’t know who was responsible for desecrating his parking spot, but he would just have to take out his frustration on his classes. Fortunately, his favorite target would in his afternoon class that day. Who knew maybe this would be the day he could get Mr. ‘Widogast’ to cry.

*************

Jester watched the video of Professor Ikithon discovering his parking spot for the eighth time in a row. She didn’t know who recorded it, but she was grateful for them. The prank went off even better than she had expected. Frumpkin batted at Jester’s phone. “No, this is not for kitties, Frumpy,” Jester said holding the phone away for Frumpkin.

The door opened cueing that the class was over. Hurriedly, Jester put her phone away. The rest of the class hurried out, but Caleb was moving slower than he used to. It was like it took his brain longer to respond to things than it used to. Fjord stopped by Jester for a moment. “Warning you. Today was real bad.”

“What do you mean?” Jester said.

“Ikithon had a crappy morning and decided to take it out on Caleb. I don’t blame Caleb for being afraid of him.”

“Caleb’s afraid of him?” Caleb hadn’t told her that, but he barely talks. Ocassionally he’d text her on good days thanking her for taking care of Frumpkin for him, but good days were becoming increasingly rare.

Fjord shrugged. “That’s what I reckon at least. Caleb shakes a lot around him at least. Can’t blame him. Ikithon had it out for him today.”

“Do you think it was our fault?”

“No clue,” Fjord said and then sneezed. “I gotta get goin’. See ya later, Jes.”

Jester waved him goodbye, but her heart wasn’t in it. She knew that Professor Ikithon was probably going to be pissed over the prank, but Jester didn’t think of the possibility of Caleb paying for it. After she made sure Frumpkin was ready for Caleb, she waited next to the door.

“Really though, I expected better from you, Bren,” Professor Ikithon said loudly. Jester poked her head around the corner to see who he was talking to, but Caleb was the only other person in the room.

“It’s Caleb Widogast,” Caleb said in a soft whisper.

Professor Ikithon snorted. “You and that silly new name of yours. Get going. I don’t know why I bother with you.”

Caleb looked like he was close to tears when he took Frumpkin and Jester’s heartbroke. She screwed up and there was nothing she could do to make it up to Caleb.

*************************

Jester spent the rest of the afternoon crying in her room. If she had given it any thought, she would have done the prank on a day that Caleb didn’t have class or maybe not at all. But she didn’t and Caleb got hurt all over again. How could Jester be so stupid?

“Hey, Jessie!” Beau called out as she entered the apartment. “I got the goods!”

Quickly, Jester wiped the tears off her face. “What goods?”

“Everything we got from Professor Ikithon’s office last night,” Beau said. She set a stack of papers on the kitchen table. “I emailed you a file of his emails and junk too. Some of it’s real messed up. Turns out the Professor effin’ crazy.”

“Yeah?”

Beau nodded. “I didn’t send you this one, but he’s got a research project in there that’s nightmare.”

“Can you send it to me anyways?” Jester asked.

Beau stared at Jester for a long moment. Jester held eye contact until Beau nodded. “I already sent you the rest so why not. I’ll email it to you in a little bit. Just be careful reading it. It’s effin’ sick.”

“Thanks Beau,” Jester said giving her roommate a hug.

“Do I even want to know what you have planned with all that?” Beau asked after wriggling out of Jester’s grip.

“It’s a surprise!” Jester just hoped that it was one that Caleb would like.

******************

Jester went through and organized all the files and papers before even glancing at the last one Beau gave her. The file was called The Yellow Notebook and filled Jester with dread. She imagining all sorts of horrid things that could be in there, but she had to check what it was in case it gave her more to work with.

She clicked on the file and found it was full of pictures of the pages of a spiral bound notebook. Jester started on the first page. It was dated to close to 15 years ago.

“Hypothesis - Submerging an individual and their wounds in a solution will increase the speed of recovery.” Beneath that there was a bunch of chemicals listed that apparently made up the 5 different solutions Ikithon was testing. “Subject - 17 year old male, caucasian, 152 pounds, 5’ 9”, good health.” It was dry and boring, but Jester clicked on the next page and kept reading.

“Test 1 - A cut 2 centimeters in length was made on Subject’s arm. Subject was submerged in bath of Solution A. This experiment was conducted in the subject’s dorm room. Cuts of identical size were previously made on Subject and healing time was already noted.” A note was added to the entry later. “Healing time identical to the previous control test.”

The next four tests were all identical to the first one only with different solutions. Test six started the same, but then the subject was submerged in the solution each night for a week. All the notes were the same until the third day of the seventh test. “Subject has shown agitation and belligerence towards the solution submersion. Physical assistance was required to insure that the subject was properly submerged.” Jester’s stomach dropped. That sounded like a scientific way of saying holding the subject under water against his will. The rest of the tests had the same note of ‘assisting’ the subject.

“Test 8 - Day 3 - Side effects noted: Subject’s previously excellent memory has become increasingly faulty. Subject has extreme difficulty recalling events and conversations from the previous day. He has also shown difficulty regulating emotions. Events that previously garnered little reaction now cause intense reactions from Subject. Example: the fire alarm went off in the dorm building and Subject began sobbing.”

It was all so cold and clinical, and Jester just wanted to go back in time to give the poor subject a hug. The more she read the more she hated Professor Ikithon. Part of her wanted to stop reading like it would stop more terrible things happening to the subject, but there was no changing the past, so Jester kept reading.

All the entries were clear and easy to read with no mistakes except for one, Test 9 Day 4. Bren was written down first and had a slash through it followed by the correction of Subject. Jester froze, she knew that name. It was what Ikithon called Caleb. Realization filled Jester. Caleb was the subject. Her friend was the one put through all these cruel tests. “Oh, Caleb,” Jester whispered.

It explained so much. Why Caleb wouldn’t go into dorm rooms or baths and how he couldn’t remember the year before he was sick. The tests were probably even the reason why Caleb was sick in the first place. And it might even explain that mysterious scholarship Caleb had. Someone at the university must’ve known about this and was covering it up.

There was one page left and Jester was tempted to quit, but she had made it that far. She continued to the final entry. “Test 9, day 7. TEST CANCELLED. Subject’s parents found dead in house fire. Subject was unable to regulate emotions, was driven mad by own grief and was submitted to hospital psychiatric ward. Months of research wasted.”

Bile rose up in Jester’s throat. She tried to fight it back, but she ended up dry heaving into her wastebasket. Her mom had told her that evil people existed, but Jester didn’t realize just how terrible some people could be. Jester wanted to scream and cry and hit something, but none of those things would help Caleb. So instead she made a phone call. “Hello, Traveler? I need your help.”

#widojest #critical role fan fiction #pinkevilbob writes

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mrs-hollandstan · 6 years

Text

Undercover {2} || Undercover Cop!Reader x Mobster!Bucky

Warnings: more alcohol consumption, language, talk of past domestic abuse, talk of religion, lil bit of violence, kidnapping?? (already in the last chapter), verbal fighting

Word Count: 3,745

Author’s Note: Here’s part two loves. I also left this part open for a next and I might have smut in the next one or the one after?? Idk, I’ll see where it takes me. Leave me feedback!

⟵Previous || Series Masterlist || Next⟶

Bucky was very familiar with the story of Adam and Eve. Despite being violent by nature, he still referred back to his Catholic upbringing brought upon him by his mother after his father left the family. He and his sisters dressed in worn clothes that were handed down, and some of the people of upper Brooklyn crinkled their noses at, attended church every Sunday with their God fearing mother who prayed every Sunday morning that her son wouldn't end up like his father. She prayed every day and every night that her son would be nothing like his abusive, alcoholic father and if he ever were a father he'd the complete opposite. And he proved her wrong. She didn't see the business he was starting. She was gone long before he began the criminal career of head mobster of New York. He wasn't an alcoholic and he killed men that hit their women or kids. He kept a Bible in his office but it hadn't been opened in years. The small black Bible with crumpled, yellowing pages had belonged to his mother. He'd been thunked upside the head with it a few times when he'd said something stupid, but it brought memories back that often reminded him to go to a confessional every once in a while. And the father at the local church was always waiting patiently, every other Sunday or so for Bucky to come in and confess to all the crime he committed. The story of Adam and Eve was one of the stories Bucky was most familiar with. He saw himself as Eve in the situation of you and him. He knew what he wanted with you was forbidden but he was tempted and if he could, he would eat the forbidden fruit. Hell, he was even willing to face the consequences. The way he saw it, half of your precinct was crooked anyways. It's not like he'd get arrested waltzing in to see his girl. Half of the men would even welcome him like a long lost relative showing back up at Christmas. But he wouldn't show you that. Even if you already knew.

He sat fuming in his corner of the bar the night after you'd shared a cold shower, awaiting your arrival expectantly. But you didn't show. Instead you ordered takeout, watching the clock tick by and wondering if he'd show his face in your building again. Your heart skipped excitedly when the delivery man knocked, leaving you wondering if it was Bucky. But much to your dismay it was a tall blonde with similar blue eyes that you wished were someone else's. Bucky questioned going out to find you. Force you back to the bar and take the snake off his hands. But you never arrived and he was a little saddened. And you, the same when you rolled into bed that night with no butterflies fluttering in your belly from the mobster kissing you or growling in your ear, showing how pissed off he was at your actions.

The following day and evening was slow, your feet kicked up on your desk waiting for more phone calls staring at the same dingy wall and twiddling a pen between your fingers. Each time you sighed, your so-called partner, Agent Davis, smiled to himself, flipping through old unsolved cases and doing paperwork,

"You should go out. Just patrol. See if ya catch any robbery suspects or a hopeless dame wrestling her purse from some criminal. Ya got too much time on your hands." Twirling the pen, you shook your head and reached across the joined desks to snag a dusty manila folder from the thick stack,

"Nah... I'm goin out later. I'm gonna bring someone in tonight." Cocking his head, red hair fell in Davis's curious eyes,

"Is this still about Barnes? You better watch yourself. He shows up here and you could end up dead. Half these fuckin cops got a thing with him and if you deliver him in cuffs you better draw a line for them to cut across your neck."

"You think I don't know that? I'm not stupid. And no, it's not Barnes. He's actually... helping me... unfortunately." Dropping his own pen against the desk as if he'd been shocked, Davis leaned in, the crisp, light blue button up he had on stretching tightly around his biceps,

"Seriously? What happened to you staying neutral Y/L/N? You told me you wouldn't get involved and now here you are shacking up with the head kingpin of New York." Tsking, you shook your head,

"Not that it's any of your business Davis, but I told you that to shut you up. It seems like every word that comes out of your mouth is you spouting some bullshit about what's in my best interest. News flash, I'm a big girl, I can handle myself. Being a cop isn't a cake walk, I earned my way in and I sure as hell can handle the responsibility that comes with it without you breathing down my neck every five minutes." He frowned disapprovingly, leaning back in his chair, the creak of it ricocheting off the walls. He studied you through narrow eyes, watching the tendrils of hair not tucked in the braid resting neatly at your back bob as you looked through the suspects in an old, tattered manila folder that had seen many a fugitives in its day,

"What did you do?" Your eyes found his again, quickly looking back down at the date of birth of one Adrian Gonzales, a convicted armed robbery suspect put behind bars for six months until a more cement sentencing was drawn out in the few short months arriving. The year 1988 flashed in your brain as you collected words for Davis in the forefront of your mind. And then it spilled,

"I let him kiss me."

"You what?" He whisper yelled like an excited schoolgirl who just found out who her best friend's crush is at a sleepover. You looked up again, his eyes sparkling in wonder, now resembling that same schoolgirl but older, wondering when her best friend became such a badass. His general reaction had you cracking a smile through the stoic façade. You nodded, biting your lip,

"He brought Stark to my apartment. He was just sitting in the dark and scared the piss out of me. But he uhh... he's handsome and he just... without words asked to kiss me and I let him." You reply quickly with a shrug, your finger tracing over the red stamp in Gonzales's file that in the moment you couldn't read. Your brain was fogged with how bad of an idea the situation of Barnes was. Davis was growing excited at not only the opportunity for you to finally get some, but at the sheer audacity of you to want to take on such a wide load with a convicted felon in your bed if it ended well.

"What. A. Rebel." He speaks slowly and when you look up again, his eyes are trained on the wall behind you, his eyes flashing, deep in thought,

"So what flowers do you want in your bouquet?" You giggled together, Davis shielding himself when you chucked a paperclip his way,

"Shut up. Don't assume it's going that far. It was just a kiss."

"Yeah but you read him. He didn't even have to ASK to kiss you and you gave him permission. That's soulmate material. I expect it to at least get to third base." With a sarcastic roll of his eyes, he smiles, resting his chin on his hand,

"Its not that serious. It was one kiss, a spur of the moment thing. No more." He clicked his tongue,

"Right, just make sure that you name one of your boys after me when you get one."

"Shut up!" He chuckled, leaning back in his chair,

"Y/N Barnes. Got a nice ring to it darlin. I like you two together. I feel like he's like the devil and you're an angel and he's gonna corrupt you. It's kinda hot... like... write a book after you guys get together." Rolling your eyes,

"Anyways... moving on swiftly, I want you to help me pick out my outfit. Red dress?" You turn your phone, showing him the mirror selfie of yourself in a short, low cut red dress that dared to impress, "or leather pants and a tank?" You swiped to the next photo, similar in taste but black leather jeans and a fitted black tank top, both of which clung to your curves. Davis's eyebrows raised,

"Uhh... I-I don't know. They're both daring and bold and will definitely capture attention but are you trying to scream sexy or business?" Thinking on your answer, you shrugged,

"I'm not really sure." You muttered. He sighed,

"I'd say red dress. You look good." You nod, looking yourself over in your awkward selfies. At ten in the morning, just before your shift you were trying on outfits for him. He'd never know that but you felt ashamed. You pulled out every piece of clothing you think he'd like and by the looks of it, you'd fit right in to the Barnes Mob family. Sitting in his lap just like he imagined playing with his hair and kissing his neck while he negotiated an arms deal. Despite the hard shell, Bucky was desperate for every grain of your attention. He wasn't used to not getting what he wanted and now here you are telling him no. Watching you daydream, Davis smiles,

"My God you're in love."

"I am not and don't you repeat that. It's a job and I intend to get it done. Even if I have to seduce him a little bit."

"You know he'd be impressed by you in fucking sweats but here you are going all out with a fucking red dress and some high heels. There's no need for seduction, you're a stunner babe." Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your chair again, wondering how Bucky would take to you skipping into his club after telling him you'd be in the night before. No doubt about it, he'd be pissed seeing you strut in like nothing happened. But what you'd done was over, you'd have to face the consequences with a high head and pray it didn't bite you.

Around nine that same night you dressed in the little red dress, sliding a pair of black pumps on to go with it. The bright lights outside Bucky's club made you realize how deep in you were. The bouncer knew your name instantly, your nerves skyrocketing, a hand on your lower back from the tall blonde as you entered the already crowded club privately as if you were a queen. The smell of sweat and alcohol was strong and through the crowd, you could see Bucky, his eyes wandering the misty, dark club. When his scanning eyes rested on your figure stood in the doorway, you swore he clenched his jaw in anger, his grip tightening on his typical tumbler. Downing the rest of the alcohol in it without looking away, he stood, brushing his suit jacket off and storming up the stairs to his office. Pushing through the crowd, you paused at the base of the steep steps, composing yourself before heading up. The clack of your heels on the wood announced your presence, Bucky's fists tensing in his pockets, his jaw clenching as his anger boiled over on the stove of his belly. Trudging up to the open velvet door, the stale cigar smell hit you in the face like it did the night before last, somewhat comforting you in the heated moment. Enveloped in the scent and the new warmth his office brought, you sucked in a deep breath through your nose, exhaling slowly and looking him over. Hues of red and blue danced across his pale face, shadowed as he clenched his jaw again and again, his hands tucked in his pockets and his jacket discarded across the back of the desk's single chair. He stared down at the bar-goes through the single octagonal window,

"Close the door." He spoke lowly, not flinching as you complied, closing the creaky door tight behind you. Standing frozen to your place in the doorway, the air between the two of you was suffocatingly thick. He cleared his throat, his eyes traveling up to the ceiling,

"This is a fucking game to you isn't it?" When you didn't respond, his eyes found yours, his anger strengthening at the shy look in your own,

"Don't go shy on me now baby. You're the one that played me remember." He spat through gritted teeth.

"I didn't play you. I was acting the same as you did. You kick me outta here and tell me that we'll be in touch and you expect me to just sit here and play your little bitch. Expect me to come running every time you call?"

"So where were you last night then huh? I had my arch fucking nemesis sitting in my office all fucking night, waiting for your ass to make an appearance, and I could've turned him loose but no, I held him waiting for you to show and you didn't." Crossing his arms and turning his body towards you, he cocks his head like a child waiting for his question to be answered by a parent, his feet set at a wide, domineering stance that you wanted to laugh at if you were completely honest. Looking down at the dress clinging to your every curve, your lips twitch up,

"I was at home... what are you gonna do Mr. Barnes... punish me?" The shock written across his face is a mixture of comical and terrifying. Either way you've just crossed a line and there's no coming back. He growls before he storms forward, bracing you against the door behind you, his body pressed against yours. With his arms above your head, he growls again, shaking the door,

"Is this a fucking game to you sweetheart? You think you're special or somethin?" Staring up into his stormy blue eyes you can see the battle he's in with himself. He wants you. He wants you just as much as you want him. But his business and your job both stand in the way. Diving in for it, your lips meet his rather harshly. He stumbles back holding your body to his as you thread your fingers through his hair. Turning you both, he slams you into one of the dark walls, holding your wrists in his hands again, jamming a knee between your thighs, his face darker than before,

"You don't get what you want. You don't get to fucking stand me up and waltz in here and say you're not my bitch and then act like you're gonna get somethin outta me." His jaw clenches yet again and you can't help but feel a little overpowered,

"What do you want from me Barnes? You want me to drop to my knees and beg you to forgive me? You want me to come in here every night and make you happy?"

"I WANT YOU TO STOP ACTING LIKE A CHILD!" He snarls in your face pulling you back only to slam you against the wall like he did that first night. You squeak involuntarily, your wrists pressed so hard into the wall that now you're convinced they'll break. You whine in pain, twisting them in an attempt to get them free, your eyes still locked in his,

"Bucky you're hurting me." The pain in your voice has him pressing harder, a cry falling from your lips. With hair covering your face as you bow your head, another cry leaves you and you raise your head, tears already streaming down your cheeks,

"Bucky please you're gonna break my arms." The quiet voice breaks through his rage, the sight before him something he saw far too often during his childhood. The tear tracks down your cheeks has him reeling back, your body slumping against the wall as he stares down at you. Memories of his terrified and maltreated mother finding her children cowering in a dark corner together flash in the forefront of his mind and he realizes then that he's made a mistake. He swore to not only his mother but his sisters, himself even that he'd never be that man. He swore he'd never hurt a woman but here you are rubbing your wrists. And it's not like the other night when he had your arms braced behind you. You weren't in pain then, just petrified of being manhandled. Reaching up, Bucky watched you wipe tears away, collecting yourself just enough and looking up at him,

"Where's Stark?" His tongue was caught in his throat,

"Doll I-"

"No! Where is Stark Mr. Barnes? I have other places to be." He didn't think his heart could break at the sound of your voice cracking and your eyes now cold and slowly drawing the shield he'd had knocked down back up. He swallowed, jutting his thumb over his shoulder,

"Basement. I'll show ya." Sadly leading you down the stairs and into the back room, down into the basement, he rounded a corner, gesturing to a passed out Stark tied to a chair. Keeping the zipties around his wrist, Bucky hoisted him up, staring down at your face as you looked him over. You avoided Bucky's eyes, holding your hand up when he opened his mouth,

"Don't. Just... go back to doing what you were doing. I'll leave you alone and you can just go about your side of the deal. No more death, no more bodies. Stark is behind bars and that's what we had an agreement on, nothing more." Taking Stark's arm in your hand, Bucky jumps in front of you as you start towards the door,

"Doll don't do this."

"I'm not your girlfriend! You don't own me and I'm a cop. This isn't going to work in any way and now that you've hurt me I can't." His heart breaks as you avoid his eyes still, tears filling them. He remembers in that moment what his mother looked like. He remembered how tired she looked. He remembered how exhausted and hurt she looked. He remembered the bruises and the busted lips that he always thought was her trying to make a stand but it was just when her overall appearance annoyed him. And now you're reflecting that same thing. And Bucky is the reason. His heart pounds when you look up at him,

"I'm... I'm sorry darlin." He speaks so low you almost don't hear him over the music upstairs. For once you can see the tough exterior he's built, crumbling. You can see the pain in his features and you know its personal but you refuse to touch on it. He steps forward, his shoes clacking along the thick cement, his hand coming up to rest at the back of your neck. Holding you in place, he leans in slowly, kissing your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin longer than they should. Stepping back he waves you up the stairs, following you, the mood between the two of you having gone from angry to sad. You could feel how much passion the both of you had put into such a brief relationship. You knew you were wrong walking into Bucky's bar. He knew he was wrong expecting the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen to lay her life down, kick her career aside and be his so easily. You both knew what you were getting into and you avoided the red flags. And now here you were, walking out of Bucky's bar and he wasn't sure he'd ever see you again. He followed you out into the cool night, watching you shove Stark into the back of your car, his arms still bound behind him. Bucky stood straight, staring up at the bright lights outside his club wondering if the life of scars, the life of crime and deceit was worth losing something so valuable like a life with you,

"Do you uhh... do you want me to come down to the station with you? Make sure he doesn't try an pull a fast one on ya?" You shake your head, looking him over from his feet to the top of his head. He was sharp. Suit and tie, polished shoes, soft, long hair cascading down his shoulders. When they say eyes are the windows to the soul, they really mean it, and Bucky's were scarred with the years of pain, but staring up into them, you could see the turmoil he was putting himself through over his actions within the past ten minutes. He'd hurt you and if he could go back he'd have done so many things different. He would have never laid a finger on you. He would've never gotten so angry. He would've never done any of it. He nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets again and looking at his feet, trying to hide all his raw emotion from you,

"Guess I'll uhh... I'll see ya around then." You nod, looking down at his shoes, your heart pounding as you realize that this is it.

"Yeah, I'll see ya. Don't make me come down here again." You don't see it, but he smiles in the dark. When you look up, he finds your eyes hauntingly cold. The you he fell in love with is gone. Her shell stands before him. The vessel of the warm soul is standing before him, closing him off and for once he fears it. He wants to grab you and hold your body to his, make that soul come back. He wants the spunk and the attitude, he wants you to do your worse. But instead he watches you walk away. He watches you climb in your car and start it, the emission from your tailpipe billowing up into the air. He watches you drive away from him, leaving him standing on the curb, hating himself. He promised his family he wouldn't become his father and now he was standing in overcast Brooklyn, watching you drive away after he hurt you. He deserved it. Bucky was familiar with the story of Adam and Eve and his consequence for eating the forbidden fruit was losing you.

Permanent Taglist: @embrace-themagic @mmeeggaannn @spiderman-n @winters-beauty @smexylemony

Series Taglist: @ddaengboi @avengersassemblee @vogueworthy-barnes @teawithbucky @imnotcoolmasterrr @whaddaputa @akamaiden

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fcknrylee-blog · 7 years

Text

— ❛ + RYLEE’S INTERLUDE ⦚ PART 002. ❜

LOCATION: Beverly Hills, CA

DATE: August 18, 2017

TRIGGER WARNING: None

Rylee had received a message from an unknown number earlier in the day, instructing for her to meet them toward the end of her shift near the rainforest exhibit of the zoo. Figuring they could do no harm in such a public setting, she went along with it and waited near the entrance with a coworker nearby for safety measures. It seemed as though she’d been waiting forever until a woman approached her. After getting a good look at her seemingly Polynesian features, Rylee recognized her to be the same woman she’d encountered last Friday.

“Rylee…I’m Samoa,” she simply stated with a smile. Furrowing her eyebrows at the unfamiliar woman, Rylee returned a halfhearted smile before responding with her thick Houston-laced accent. “Uh-huh…what’s goin’ dine? You wanted me to meet you here and we gotta get ready to close the zoo.” She caught a swift glimpse of her coworker that was keeping a close eye, noticing a clear expression of confusion written on her face. Returning her attention to the woman in front of her, she noticed that she’d presented a stuffed yellow envelope.

“I understand, I’ll make it quick. I don’t know how to say this and I don’t expect you to have an immediate reaction right here, but…I am your mother.” The woman stood silent after the last word as Rylee released nervous laughter, as she did any other time she’d been uncomfortable. “You triiiiiippin’, my t-lady just got back home last night.” Shrugging it off, Rylee began to walk away before the woman gently grabbed her wrist. “Please, just…just take this,” Samoa pled as she held out the envelope, sounding as if on the verge of tears. Though confused and in disbelief of the statement made to her, Rylee’s curiosity got the best of her. She took the envelope and watched as the woman began to walk off before being met with her coworker as they turned to head in the other direction. “What was that about?” Softening her face to hide her confusion, Rylee flashed a reassuring grin. “It was nothin’, just my momma’s old friend."

She went on about the end of her work day as usual, letting the strange event sit in the back of her mind until she got to her truck and sorted through the contents of the envelope given to her. There’d been Samoa’s number handwritten on a sticky note, copies of files and reports, pictures of Samoa and, who seemed to be, her husband and another folder. Inside that folder were two images of a newborn that resembled exactly what Rylee looked like in her baby pictures. There were newspaper clippings about an ongoing case of an infant in Hawaii that had been kidnapped from Samoa and Alapa'i Polamalu.

The two things that stood out to Rylee were the birth certificate and social security card. She’d never seen these before and had known for her parents to struggle with school registrations when it came to these exact documents due to them "not being able to locate them”. Across them both read the name Konani Polamalu, the name of the infant still missing from Hawaii. As the reality of the possibility of Rylee being Konani set in, she let her watery eyes fall to the pictures of Samoa and Alapa'i. She unlocked her phone and opened a picture of herself, putting it beside the images of the married couple. Immediately seeing the resemblance, she sat in silence before pulling herself together and heading home. She figured it’d been too long of a day already and the party happening tonight would be the perfect place for her to release this sudden stress before having to confront it tomorrow.

#ℜ ⦚ DOING A THING.

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thelastspeecher · 5 years

Text

Spy AU - Toxin, pt. 4

So anyways yesterday when I posted a ficlet, I actually already had the follow-up to said ficlet ready for posting which doesn’t happen very often. If you were on the edge of your seat, wondering what happens next, here it is. Smol de-aged Ford at the Guck farm. There’s angst but also chickens. Enjoy.

(Uh...if you don’t like needles, warning, there are needles in this)

Ford woke up in an unfamiliar room. He sat bolt upright in a panic, his heart racing.

Where am I? What happened? Did I get kidnapped? Am I- He caught sight of a framed picture on the wall. It was of two people at a wedding. He immediately recognized them as Angie and Fiddleford’s parents. His heartrate began to slow. Okay. I haven’t been kidnapped. I’m presumably at the McGucket farmstead. He put aside the blanket that had been carefully tucked around him and slid off the bed. I’m getting sick of the unpredictability of my new sleeping habits already. The door to the room had been left ajar; he silently pushed it open further to exit into a hallway.

“…You’re sure that no one found out where we lived?” Stan asked from somewhere else in the house. Ford began to head in the direction of Stan’s voice. “Like, completely sure?”

“Yes, Stanley, we are,” Mrs. McGucket’s voice said calmly. “If there was even a doubt about it, we wouldn’t have allowed Stanford to stay with ya, since he was the one targeted.” Ford entered a living room. Potted plants were on nearly every surface, and the walls were covered with family pictures. Somehow, the clutter didn’t make Ford feel claustrophobic. Instead, the room merely felt homey. Angie and Stan were seated on a floral-patterned couch, while Mrs. McGucket sat regally in an armchair. Ford stared at her for a moment, admiring the way Mrs. McGucket commanded the room.

It’s like she’s a monarch holding court. Mrs. McGucket looked over. She beamed.

“Howdy there, Stanford.” Ford blushed. “Aw, no need to get flustered.” Her voice was warm and maternal.

Angie clearly picked up some childcare tips from her mother.

“Are ya well-rested?” Mrs. McGucket asked. Ford nodded silently. “Are ya sure? If yer still tired, you can take another nap. It’s fine. We weren’t talkin’ ‘bout anything that ya needed to hear anyways.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ford saw Stan swiftly and silently slide a sheet of paper into a manilla folder.

“No, I’m fine, Mrs. McGucket,” Ford said.

“All righty then. Why don’t ya join Stan ‘n Angie on the couch. We can have us a chat ‘fore ya spend some time with the chickens.”

“I don’t need to spend time with chickens,” Ford protested.

“That’s fine. But ya should still go fer a walk ‘round the farm. It’ll do ya some good.”

“Okay,” Ford mumbled reluctantly. He walked over to the couch. Stan quickly set the manilla folder from before on the coffee table, then lifted Ford onto the sofa next to him. Ford looked at the manilla folder. It was nondescript. A single corner from the page Stan had slid into it peeked out. Angie reached over to shove the paper in completely.

Hmm. Odd. I wonder what’s in that.

“We should prob’ly get the nasty thing out of the way,” Mrs. McGucket said. Ford blinked.

“What nasty thing?” he asked. Stan grimaced.

“He just woke up. Can’t he have a minute or two?” Stan asked. Mrs. McGucket nodded.

“Sure, but yer only prolonging the inevitable.”

“What?” Ford asked again.

“Fidds is goin’ to take some blood samples from ya,” Angie said. Ice filled Ford’s veins. Tears sprang to his eyes. Angie’s calm expression morphed to one of alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t- I don’t-” Ford started. Stan started to rub Ford’s back.

“When we were kids, Ford got poked and prodded by a billion doctors,” Stan said. “He hated any medical thing until we were in high school.” Ford sniffed. “…I, uh, I guess that’s back now.”

“I don’t know why I’m having this reaction,” Ford said shakily. “Yesterday, you said HQ would want to perform regular check-ups, and I was fine.”

“This toxin ain’t somethin’ to mess ‘round with,” Mrs. McGucket said. Ford rubbed his eyes. “I’ll go tell Fidds to get things set up.” She got up from her armchair and left. Ford took a shuddering breath.

“What- what all happened?”

“What do ya mean?” Angie asked.

“The last thing I remember is being on the plane.”

“Oh. Well, ya fell asleep pretty fast. We decided not to bother tryin’ to wake ya up before ya were ready, so we just let ya sleep,” Angie said. She rubbed the back of her neck. “Honestly, we were expectin’ ya to wake up way before now. I mean, ya slept through the plane landing, us getting off the plane, us getting in the car, us driving to the farm, us taking you inside. All of it.”

“Guess getting shrunk makes you tired,” Stan said. Ford was quiet. “Ford?”

“I don’t like these unexpected sleeping spells,” Ford said.

“Well, once we get ya on a nap schedule, they won’t happen,” Angie said. “You’ll sleep durin’ naptime, not durin’ dinner or while we’re drivin’ somewhere.”

“Naptime,�� Ford mumbled. Fiddleford entered the living room with a briefcase. Ford perked up. “Fidds!” Fiddleford smiled weakly.

“Howdy.” He set the briefcase on the coffee table and opened it. Ford began to shake at the sight of the contents: syringes and test tubes. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt one bit,” Fiddleford said. He took a step closer to Ford. Ford immediately tried to hide behind Stan.

“Wh- Ford, it’s okay,” Stan said.

“No needles,” Ford stammered, still attempting to squeeze into the space between Stan’s back and the couch. “No needles!” Stan reached around, grabbed Ford, and held him close to his chest. Fiddleford removed one of the syringes from the briefcase. “No!” Ford tried to break free of Stan’s grip.

“Stanley, turn him around,” Angie instructed. Stan did as Angie suggested, turning Ford so that he faced Stan, rather than Fiddleford. Ford continued to try to escape. “Stanford, stay still.”

“I don’t wanna needle!”

“Stanford,” Fiddleford said pleadingly.

“No needles!”

“Ford,” Stan said. His voice was completely calm. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You trust me, right?” Ford nodded. “And you trust Fiddleford, right?” Ford nodded again. “See? It’s fine.”

“I don’t want needles,” Ford whispered.

“After Fidds gets the samples, we’ll get you somethin’ special, okay? Anything you want,” Stan said. Some part of Ford screamed that he wasn’t to be bribed like a child. That small part was overridden by the possibilities that immediately flooded Ford’s mind.

Anything I want? What would I choose? Ford was so distracted by his own excitement that he didn’t notice his sleeve getting rolled up or a small patch of skin getting swabbed by disinfectant. A new book? Ice cream? A tour of the R&D lab? He did, however, feel the needle.

“Ow!”

“It’s okay,” Stan said, again in that overly calm tone. “It’s okay.” Ford felt a bandaid being taped onto his arm. His other sleeve was rolled up. Ford began to whimper. “Think about what you want after this is done, okay?”

“Okay,” Ford mumbled. He tried to focus on the possibility of a reward.

Could I convince Stan and Angie to buy me a small pet, like a hamster? Or maybe just a dinosaur model. The second needle pierced his skin. Ford whimpered again. Maybe five dinosaur models.

-----

A chicken ran in front of Ford. Ford didn’t notice. He was too busy rolling up his sleeves and counting each bandaid on his arms. The bandages were decorated with trucks and boats, something that would normally annoy him. But he was too drained to feel emotions. He looked over at Fiddleford accusingly.

“Was it really necessary to take four samples of blood?” he asked.

“Look, I did what I was told to do.” Fiddleford looked away sheepishly. “And actually, it was five.” Ford’s stomach flipped over. He re-counted the bandaids.

“No, no, I count four.” He began to hyperventilate. “I count four. I can’t have forgotten to count already, I-”

“There’s one on your leg,” Stan said. He knelt by Ford’s side and rolled up his left pant leg. Sure enough, a bandaid with a truck emblazoned on it was slapped onto his calf. Ford blinked.

“I don’t remember that one.”

“I’m pretty sure by that point you were having an out-of-body experience,” Stan said. He pulled the pant leg down again. “I didn’t think you were gonna freak out that much. It’s been years since you’ve gotten even a bit nervous about needles.”

“I’m in the same boat,” Ford mumbled. Now that the moment had passed, he felt ashamed of his behavior. “I can’t believe I tried to hide behind you, Stan.”

“Eh. The first time we went to the pediatrician, Danny tried to make a break for it,” Stan said with a shrug. He stood. “She nearly got away with it, too. Got past us and started running down the hall before a nurse grabbed her.” Ford tried not to think about yet another comparison between him and Stan and Angie’s young daughters.

“So, do ya know what ya want fer yer reward?” Angie asked. Ford looked up at her.

“I thought that was just to get me to calm down. You’re really going to get me a reward? For something as mundane as getting blood drawn?” Angie nodded. “Why?”

“We told ya we would,” Angie said simply. She crouched by his side and handed him a bag of chicken feed. “Why don’t ya help us feed the chickens?”

“I’m not a child,” Ford scoffed. He immediately flushed.

I tried to hide from needles. I don’t know if I can claim that.

“I’m not a kid, either,” Stan said. He scattered some chicken feed. “But I’m still helping out.”

“Fine,” Ford said. He stuffed a hand into the bag and grabbed some feed, then tossed it onto the ground. A chicken immediately trotted over to peck at the seeds. Ford’s eyes widened.

It’s so close. He reached out a hand. The chicken scrambled away at first, but then slowly approached again. Ford’s breath caught in his throat. The chicken was close enough for him to touch now. He gently stroked the chicken’s back.

“Remarkable,” he breathed. The chicken let out a sudden squawk. It pecked at his hand and scampered away. Ford blinked. “…Oh.”

“You didn’t get hurt, did ya?” Stan asked. Ford looked over.

“Huh?”

“It pecked you. Are you all right?”

“Yes, Stanley, I’m fine. I’ve experienced far worse.”

“Oh. Right. Right.” Stan looked at Angie. She shook her head. “We’re probably gonna have to leave soon, so finish up feeding the chickens, okay? Angie and I need to talk to Sally.” Ford nodded. “Fiddlenerd will stay here to watch you.”

“That’s not my-” Fiddleford started. He huffed. “Fine. Whatever.”

“I don’t need supervision,” Ford said. Stan was silent. “Stan? Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. I did.” Stan paused. “Fiddlenerd, bring him in when you guys are all done, okay? He’s probably gonna stay awake on the plane this time, so we want him to have some say in what snacks and stuff we bring.” Fiddleford nodded. Stan and Angie trudged out of the chicken enclosure and towards the house. Ford slumped.

“You all right?” Fiddleford asked. Ford shook his head.

“I was happy for a moment,” Ford said quietly. He tossed some more feed. “I guess Angie was right that I’d like the chickens. But- but everything that happens just reminds me that I’m a child right now. I- I panicked over needles, I needed to be consoled with promises of a reward, Stan was worried I’d be upset over a chicken barely pecking at me, and- and I can’t be left unsupervised. With chickens. Ten feet away from the house.” Ford removed his hand from the feed bag, clenched around a fistful of seeds. He stared down at his fist, chubby with baby fat. “Even- even my hands! They’re- this is a child’s hand. A young child’s hand.”

“Well, sure it is. Yer a young child right now.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“I know.” Fiddleford silently threw some feed. “All those blood samples will help us figure out a way to put ya back to normal, though, don’t worry.” Fiddleford looked over at him. “And in the meantime, try to enjoy it.” Ford stared blankly.

“Enjoy being three?”

“Focus on the positives instead of the negatives. Like we always do on the regression missions.” Fiddleford tossed feed. “Let’s think of some positives right now. First one is that ya get to spend quality time with Stan ‘n Angie. Spendin’ time with fam’ly is always nice. Second is that ya don’t have any responsibilities. Not a single one. Ya don’t even have school.”

“That’s a fair point.”

“Third is that Stan ‘n Angie are suckers fer a cute face,” Fiddleford continued. “And they’re so worried that I’d imagine they’ll go even more overboard than usual. You’ll get spoiled rotten by those two.”

“That’s right.” Ford threw some more feed onto the ground.

“Why don’t you try to come up with one?”

“Okay. Um…” Ford wrinkled his brow. “Strangers won’t comment on my polydactyly. I remember faintly that when I was very young, people didn’t even notice it half the time. They were too focused on my admittedly chubby cheeks.”

“There ya go. Four whole reasons this won’t be as bad as it seems,” Fiddleford said. He stuffed his hand inside his feed bag. “Oop. Looks like we’re all out. C’mon, let’s head inside. Get ya ready fer the plane.” Fiddleford opened the gate, allowing Ford to exit. Ford looked up at Fiddleford.

“R&D will figure it out quick, won’t they?” he asked. Fiddleford nodded.

“They sure will,” Fiddleford said. Ford beamed. Stan opened the front door.

“Get in here, pipsqueak, or I’m gonna choose your snacks for you!” he called. Ford immediately ran for the house, clambering up the porch stairs and rushing past Stan, who was still holding the door open. Stan chuckled and closed the door. Fiddleford sighed.

“Fifth reason is that he can’t tell I’m lyin’.”

#akjsdfnadsnkf my wifi keeps cutting in and out I JUST WANNA POST A FIC #it's a v angsty fic but I WANNA POST IT #there are a few things in this ficlet I am very proud of and they all have to do with smol Ford's behavior #OH ALSO. I have a sort of interlude b/w this ficlet and the one I posted yesterday ready #I just. couldn't stop writing smol spy Ford #Spy AU #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Ma McGucket #Angie McGucket #Fiddleford McGucket #ficlet #my writing #speecher speaks

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