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smokeys-house · 26 days

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Travel Log 11 + All the Sea's a Stage

Passage from Puukko's Travel Log

Venice dragged me kickin’ n’ screamin’ outta Mestre, or at the very least, I reckon so. That's honestly not very surprising t’ me. I do wonder if my falling ill were my body’s way of reconciling with m’ mind. It seemed t’ work. Regardless, followin’ its workin, so did I, too, start. Workin’ I mean. Fer Arturo, a fellow blacksmith and knife maker. Ye know all this, on account o’ the last entry. What ye may not know is since my betterin’, I've still been workin’ with and for ‘im.

I cleared me head fraught with fright an’ found I really and truly do not know what it is I'm doin’ out here. Difference now bein’ that I've sorta found peace in quiet resignation. I've submitted to the fact I'm miles away from Moominvalley on a fool’s errand, the fool bein’ me. I don't feel tortured by it n’ more. I feel more present here than I did on arrival, hell, maybe more present than I have this whole trip. Exceptin’ when I got shot at, that's nigh on the quickest way back t’ yer wits, if ye been there! Can't say I recommend it in place o’ coffee, though.

Venice is… well it's beautiful. Can hardly pick a spot to sit fer lunch without sighin’ a dreamy sigh. Water everywhere, an’ fine folks about. I find myself wishin’ I could show it to the folks back home. Still missin’ them, if only when I stop fer a bit. I've been wandering streets and stopping in shops, absorbing the local flavor. Exploring is somethin’ I'm keen on, and do well. Seems everybody's got wind in their sails fer the opening of the summer market. Seein’ as how I got grand designs fer that’un, too, I can't say I'm not excited. Spent quite a bit of time tryin’ new things ‘round these parts, but now everybody’s fixin’ to bring out the big guns!

Plan’s set fer tomorrow. Workin’ Arturo’s stall, sellin’ his pieces n’ mine, plus a lil somethin’ on the side for to pay him back in kind. Doubloons’ll make fer a good keepsake fer some I'm sure, an’ I'm quite happy to lighten m’ load.

Watch out, Venice! Puukko's prize-worthy knives are comin’ fer ya!

Signed Puukko

All the Sea's a Stage

Dawn had yet to break as folks of all manner had begun preparing market stalls in the wide open city square. Wagons, tables, tents, and even simple usherette trays surrounded a large central fountain. Draped fabric signs and sandwich boards boasted low prices and rare finds. Amongst the crowd and growing spectacle, Puukko groggily forced herself to set her and Arturo's stall and display. Early mornings hardly ever agreed with her, and by summer's start she'd usually have begun her yearly hibernation. Despite her disposition, she rather enjoyed the crisp morning air sinking into her fur. It reminded her of the cold Lonely Mountains in which she'd made her home.

She opened the large trunk she'd brought with her, and began setting the table with displays and cases, setting out knife after knife on crushed velvet. She nestled her coinpurse in the center, tastefully left open with a smattering of doubloons spilling out of it. As the sun rose from beyond the horizon, it cast a glow through the fountain's watery arches. The tentative quiet hustling of peddlers and purveyors shifted into warm welcomes under the morning's shadows as they baked away. Not being much for words quite yet, Puukko covered her stand with a cloth draped atop it, and set about the market in search of coffee.

Patron after patron shuffled in and shook off their slumber, brimming with excitement for the market's opening day. Despite the early hour, the crowd seemed to grow steadily and unceasingly. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans steaming as they met with hot water reached out from the corner farthest from where she'd set up her stall. She hurried over, but the line had already formed. As she took her place in wait, she found a distinct sense of unease.

“I've managed crowds larger than this'un… s’ what gives?” She thought to herself. “New place and new faces, but this feels quite like somethin’ else.”

She looked about the area, her head on a swivel. The line ahead of her shimmied along as each guest received their morning elixir. She noted who was armed, and with what, but only saw a scant few chore knives. She looked again for any sign of strangeness and found only that everything was as it seemed, though she still could not shake the anxiety that had taken hold within her chest. She paid for her coffee and a small baked treat to nibble on, heading back over to her stall. Of the variety of customers and sellers in attendance, Puukko was among the tallest, though not alone in that fact. Her head stuck out above most others in the crowd, and she navigated the sea of people with a fair bit of ease despite her round shape and size.

The earthy and near chocolatey aroma of her coffee seemed to stymy the feeling tugging at her stomach on into the afternoon, and a busser came by for her mug and plate. The cool morning gradually became a warm day as she spoke with countless customers all seeking something different, yet the same at the end. Some wanted knives for cooking, others for hunting, daily tasks, and so on. Both her pieces and Arturo's sold in near equal quantity, and for a small fee, she'd wrap each in a drawstring bag with a doubloon carefully placed inside.

The excitement and energy of it all was matched in quality only by its peaceful nature, and in quantity by how much it seemed to unnerve Puukko. She found much to enjoy about the day, meeting new people and sharing stories here or there, though the prickly sensation of anxiety continued to creep back in no matter how many times she pushed it away. It proved to be a fearsome foe.

It was only a few hours after noon, and she'd nearly run out of stock. With only a few knives left on the table, she became restless. She searched the faces of the crowd, considering whether to pack it in early or hold out till she found new owners for all of her knives. It was then that she noticed an oddity. Something was out of place, and for the first time since the day began, she could put a finger on it. She saw from afar, a man with a particular style keeping his eyes on her dutifully.

He wore a long blue coat with large gold buttons atop a plain, but considerably old fashioned style of shirt. Atop his head was a red kerchief tied neatly at the back in the form of a cap, aside which dangled from his ears, two large gold hoops. The man had a mustache that curved into two sharp points, and was otherwise cleanly shaven. His striped slops tucked neatly into his tall boots, and above all else, he wore a sword and pistol at his waist. This was no ordinary citizen of Venice, this was a pirate. Puukko's heart unsteadied, as the image of the man appeared suddenly and as though ripped right from her past. Given what she'd been through the past months, she entertained the idea that it was a hallucination. She chanced a glance and turned her head to match his distant gaze, and just as soon as she'd seen him and he'd seen that she had, he walked off with purpose.

Puukko's mind bombarded her with thoughts. Had she been discovered by an old foe? Was she getting sick again? Did pirates still dress like that? She decided against pursuing him, figuring it to be for the best if she wasn't involved in old habits.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?” A voice broke through the din of the crowd, startling Puukko’s ears.

“Oh, uh. Yes, I'm fine.” She shook her head free from thought. “Anywho, how can I help you?” The thought of the pirate she'd seen gnawed at her. She was frozen much like she was in Mestre, poisoned by the gap between action and folly. She'd spent long enough playing the hero and the villain, but the consequences of her past felt more obvious and pointed in Venice.

“That's enough, Puukko. You've done enough. Don't ruin this, too. Ye don't need to be at the center o’ all the world's mischief.” She thought to herself with a heavy sigh. She continued peddling knives, half heartedly hoping for some direction. Either something would drag her back to Arturo's shop, or something would plunge her straight into trouble.

For a while, it seemed as though the excitement had died completely. She'd sold everything she'd brought, save for a few small pieces. With the market still lively, she'd decided upon packing it up for the day. The market would be waiting for her tomorrow, and she'd made enough to pay Arturo back for his kindness. She turned around, setting her earnings aside. Just then, she heard someone approach alongside a clinking of coins. She turned just in time to see a man grabbing her bag of doubloons from the table. He snatched the bag and began to sprint, only making it a short distance before Puukko leapt over the counter. Her massive form tackled him to the ground, sending gold coins scattering along the cobblestone.

“What in blazes do y’ think yer doin’ robbin’ an old woman like that?!” She shouted, pinning him to the ground with one paw and her knee.

“Run!” The man she tackled yelled past her.

Just the other side of her stall, a pirate rose with the strongbox containing today’s earnings. He began blazing through the crowd, swiftly toward one of the exits of the square. Puukko was enraged. Her money being stolen was one thing, but the money of the man who offered her a place to stay was another entirely. She stumbled to her feet off the pirate she'd stopped prior, and gave chase.

“Stop! Ye thievin’ bastard!” She struggled through the now alarmed bystanders, trying carefully not to bowl anyone over with her large frame. Her quarry was lithe and thin, capable of dodging past any would-be do-gooders that attempted to stop him. He climbed atop crates and over barrels with ease, all while carrying the box of money. Once through the thick of the crowd, she could finally run at her full speed. She made much headway toward him, nearly catching up. It seemed as though he was running toward the edge of town, nearest the port. Just as they turned the last corner between them and the docks, the pirate turned and readied his pistol, aiming it at Puukko. As she rounded the corner she stepped back seeing his gun, flattening herself against the wall for cover. The man pointed his pistol in the air, and fired. The resounding bang echoed throughout the streets.

The sound faded, accompanied by the pirate's boots striking the stone as he continued running. Puukko peeked around the corner, and upon seeing his fleeing once more, gave chase again. Moored in the harbor was an elegant and boldly painted frigate, she was maroon with ornate details in black and gold. A large crowd surrounded her, mostly average townsfolk, and atop the deck, several pirates were ready to welcome their fellow who'd snatched Puukko's money. He forced his way through the gathered crowd, across the gangway and aboard the ship. Puukko followed cautiously behind, parting the crowd with purpose.

“I come fer what's mine, and fer that alone!” She shouted as she crossed the gangway, approaching three armed men standing in the center of the ship's deck. “This don't need t’ be naught but a quick exchange o’ pleasantries.”

“A quick exchange it will be, Captain Whetstone.” The pirate in the center said. He inspected the money within the strongbox one of the other men held open for him.

“But no’ a pleasant one.” One of the other crewmen said, scowling. The tallest pirate, seemingly the man in charge, set Puukko's strongbox aside. He readied his cutlass idly, preparing a cautious approach.

“At arms, men!” The tall man said. The resounding sound of steel rang as each of the men present drew his sword. Pirates poured out from below deck, keeping their distance and lining the railings of the ship. Puukko reached for her knife, only able to reach the grip before a sword was pointed at her throat.

“Tsk tsk tsk… Hardly a weapon befitting a legend, Whetstone.” He rammed his cutlass into the deck just before her, backing away to draw the one resting at his waist. “Go on. It's all yours.”

She kept one eye on the cadre of pirates within the center of the semicircle drawn by the men lining the rails. She wrapped her paw around the grip of the sword, deftly plucking it from the wood of the deck. It'd been some time since she'd held a sword she hadn't made herself. It felt clumsy, but not unusable. She held it in front of her face, and gave a duelist’s greeting. She took in her surroundings, and for a brief moment, felt a stillness she hadn't in an age. The scent of the sea mingled with the aroma of oiled steel and anticipation. The longing, nagging sense that had become so familiar faded in an instant.

“D’ya reckon you'll make history today, boys?” Captain Whetstone said. “Or d’ya reckon you'll become it?” She paused a moment, awaiting any response.

Whetstone proceeded to charge at the man she presumed to be their leader with her sword low, and he raised his to counter it. She batted it aside, quickly closing the distance and striking him in the chest with the butt of her sword. He faltered in pain, and as he attempted to regain his balance she threw him hard to the ground.

As the first man tumbled, the second approached from behind with his blade raised high. She heard his approach and intercepted it behind her back, whirling around to deliver a powerful punch to his gut. He sputtered a moment, unable to recover from the wind being knocked out of him as Puukko shoved him to the ground as well. In mere moments, she'd felled two men without bloodshed. The gathered crowd of tourists, presumably here to see a historic ship docked at the harbor, got much more than they bargained for. Hoots and hollers overlapped with gasps of shock and awe.

She turned to the third man from the main group, the one who stole the chest in the first place. She stomped over, intense and slow. “So what’ll it be?” She growled. “There's more'an one reason I'm still alive. Better start thinkin’ on why those two still are.” She motioned with her sword to the men on the ground as she continued her swagger.

“What are you lot doing?! Get her!” The third man shouted as he backed away. Several of the men lining the railings ran in, battle cries emanating from each. Whetstone feinted a high cut against the first man to close the distance, instead reaching for her opponent's wrist as he attempted to guard against it. She twisted his arm, tripping him as she took his sword in her off hand. The men began to encircle her, but her speed and size made her a veritable cannonball on the battlefield. She kicked the nearest man she could in the chest, knocking him back into his fellows. As he tumbled back, she dashed out of the circle, letting loose a flurry of ferocious attacks with her swords. She had no intention of killing, nor even maiming the men, she was careful that her cuts all met steel instead of flesh.

“Halt, men! And hold fast!”A voice boomed from somewhere above, from a yardarm on the mainmast. “Avast, ye, Captain Whetstone. For you find yourself on the ship of the star of the seven seas, Mary the Razor!”

“Who?” Whetstone looked up, seeing a figure standing proudly and obscured, back-lit by the sun. The fighting ceased, the pirates that had surrounded her began backing away.

“I've known many names. O, ye who would know me as the daughter of the Cane King, know me no longer! For I no longer live in his shadow, but bask serenely in yours!” The figure swung from a rope, landing with a stylish roll onto the deck. She flipped the dark, curly hair that spilled out from beneath her feathered tricorn back over her shoulder and drew her sword. A fillyjonk woman, dressed in deep, royal blue. She held her sword aloft, the point hanging delicately in front of Whetstone's snout. It was ornate, and decorated with sapphires that matched her outfit.

“Marion..?” Puukko dropped her defensive stance, slack-jawed.

“‘Tis I! Mary the Razor, Pirate Queen!” The fillyjonk winked as she performed. She turned her blade edge up and drew back. “Taste steel, you blaggard!”

The crowd cheered as she swung at Puukko, several flashy cuts intercepted by her cutlasses. Puukko deflected a swing at her shoulder, but did not follow up. She instead bound her sword against Mary's, leaning in to have words.

“What the hell are you doing, Marion?” Puukko asked with a concerned whisper.

“Play along, I'll explain after!” Marion whispered loudly. She gave Whetstone a reassuring smile before throwing her weight into the bind, pushing hard against Puukko's guard. “I've got you, now, fiend!” She switched back into character with ease.

Puukko, confused and in awe, attempted to reassess the situation. She noted the relative ease with which the men she threw flew great distances, the fact that they'd all gotten up and out of the way when Mary interrupted, and finally she noted the sword she held against Mary's did not seem to bite into the other the way a sharp blade would. She smiled with warmth she had not beheld for years, and felt reinvigorated. She backstepped a fair distance, tossing one sword above her with a flip and catching it. She smirked as she rushed back into distance with Marion, swinging both swords at her side. Marion caught both with grace, twirling as she pushed them aside. Marion's footwork was elegant and dainty, but fully assured and confident.

Marion threw cut after cut at Puukko, sparks flying off of their blunted swords as they met. They danced on the deck together, neither of them seeming to have advantage over the other. Their blades flurried with panache, each completely lost in the art of combat, and both wearing a distinct and visible fondness for the other. The bout lasted longer than any either had faced before, and was as rife with passion as it was complexity. After much swordplay, Marion thrusted dead center, forcing Puukko to append her cutlasses in defense.

“Surrender!” Mary said, her blade being held back by Whetstone's two, her free hand behind her and away with flamboyant bravado. “You've met with certain defeat!”

Whetstone bound her swords to Mary's, barely able to abate the force of her thrust. She took one step to the side, throwing her left sword into the deck, it sticking out a few feet away with a twang as it flexed from the force. Whetstone pushed Mary's sword into the strong portion of her own blade, against the guard.

“I reckon I have.” Whetstone reached up with her now empty paw and forced Mary's hat down over her face, shoulder checking her with gentle force. Marion's hat tumbled to the deck, and as she regained her composure, Whetstone placed her paw on the small of her back and swooped her down for a kiss, casting both hers and Marion's sword aside. Some in the crowd applauded loudly, as others shared confused looks with one another. The crew aboard the ship began to bow, some firing pistols and cannons into the air and cheering.

“I never thought I'd see you again.” Puukko spoke quietly, gazing into her lover's eyes.

“And I always knew you would.” Marion countered with a smile.

–

“I can hardly believe it. After all these years, I cannot believe it's really you!” Puukko set her cup of coffee back on its saucer. Below the deck of Marion's ship was a comfortable if somewhat gaudy atmosphere. The walls were littered with a smattering of what the modern mind would attribute to a stereotypical pirate, and though aboard a ship, many loose knick knacks and bottles sat upon shelves or against walls. An array of cushions were laid about small tables, alongside stools and chairs surrounding larger tables and counters. Rich reds and buttery golds set against rustic yet polished wood, and atop it all, a variety of lights enough to give the whole area a comfortably dim warmth. Puukko sat across from the love she'd thought she'd lost, as the crew walked about freely handling this or that.

“Captain, I…” Marion's eyes began to well up with tears.

“Don't ye start with that, else I will too!” Puukko smiled wide. It felt odd for her. “‘sides, not yer captain n’ more! Ain't even got me own ship.”

“There was a time I thought you dead.”

“An’ I, you. Though, I guess on yer end that were my own doin’. I did fake m’ own death. Or somethin’ like that I s’pose. Sorry about that…” Puukko fiddled, turning her cup around repeatedly on its plate.

“I– or I mean, we, did eventually find out what happened to you. What you did for us. But by then, no one was sure where you'd gone. Or if you'd survived out on your own. After that, it just… fell apart. Some of the crew came with me for a time, but everyone eventually made peace with the freedom you'd bought them in exchange for the freedom you'd given them at sea. Most decided to honor you by living the lives you'd saved for them.”

“If'n you'll allow me t’ speak truth, I don't deserve all that. I did it fer you, Marion.” The two of them sat in solemn silence for a moment as the ship bobbed idly in the harbor. “So… yer not actually still a pirate, I reckon?” Puukko asked, cocking her head to the side.

“No, we're uh, mostly involved in shipping goods and things of that nature…” Marion looked away.

“We're a traveling themed restaurant!! We do live theater!” A passing crewmember offered as he passed the table, walking off to another room.

Marion blushed, her face turning bright red as she attempted to hide her embarrassment. “Thank you, Marcus, very helpful!” She sarcastically shouted back to him before palming her face.

“No problem Miss M!” Marcus gave a thumbs up from behind the open doorway.

“That's Captain! Captain M! Oh, he can't hear me now…” Marion said, still hiding from Puukko's gaze.

Pukkko couldn't help but laugh at the exchange. She wiped a tear from her eye. “Well, that explains the furniture. And the crowd.”

“Do you like it? It's all weighted or nailed down so as not to fall during shows and while the guests are eating. Though, it does make it more difficult to pack up when we sail. The cushions and low tables are for guests with poor balance, and– Ah, I'm sorry, you don't need to hear all that. I'm just glad to have you back.”

“No, please,” Puukko held Marion's paw with both of her own. “Tell me everything.” She listened intently, growing more smitten with each detail Marion excitedly shared with her.

Puukko and Marion spent the next several hours together, making up for lost time. Then, they spent the next several days together, too. They sailed and performed along the Italian coast. They performed fearsome displays of swordplay within the lines of a play Marion had written for them long ago, and in the evenings they performed silly cliché pirate songs to immerse their dinner guests. They spent almost every hour of every day with one another, sharing everything they'd missed after so many years. It was nearing midsummer, and despite the past few days being a dream come true, the two began to feel ill at ease.

“Hey, Koko.” Marion smiled at Puukko. She was just beginning to wake, early in the morning. “There's something we need to talk about.”

“If it's about my acting, I'm workin’ on it!” She laughed as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Marion's bed was quite large and comfortable, though it took up most of her cabin.

“We're planning on heading back out to sea. The Mediterranean. We'll be sailing out to Greece, next, I believe.”

“I see.” The gears in Puukko's head began to turn. She didn't want this to end, but knew from the start it would have to. She couldn't abandon Moominvalley.

“I was hoping you'd come with us. You're a living legend, and it'd really help draw a crowd.” She held back all that she'd wanted to say.

“Ye don't be needin’ Captain Whetstone to stay afloat.” She gave a half-hearted smile. “Yer a sight to behold all yerself. As much as I want to go with you lot, I… I can't. It wouldn't be right. To the folks back home, and to you. I uprooted ya when we first met, then did it again when I died.”

“Puukko…”

“I can't keep clippin’ wings, lass. I'm an anchor. I'm grapeshot through the mainsail. If I let go of Moominvalley now, I'd never forgive m’self.”

“I understand.” Marion laid back down, staring at the ceiling. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The rolling of the waves was peaceful, though both their minds were not. The silence seemed to stretch on and on.

“I've got a house.” Puukko offered weakly, breaking the silence with a start.

“In Moominvalley?”

“Mhm.” Puukko nodded. “In the mountains. Can't see the sea from most of it, save fer if ye head up on the tower. I used t’ go up there ‘n think about you.”

“Wait, tower?”

“It's a moomin thing, don't ask.” She chuckled. “It's good country, Marion. Lots of folk down in the valley leadin’ strange and loveable lives. They count me among ‘em, I reckon. It's beautiful, and peaceful, and–” She hesitated. “and lonely.”

“I see… It sounds beautiful.”

“It could be our home. Together.” She shook her head from side to side, already knowing the answer Marion would give. She knew inside that she could not take Marion away from all of this, but she felt that she needed to make the failed attempt to fully understand.

“I cannot go with you, Puukko. I fell in love with the sea as much as I did you all those years ago. She is deep and unfathomable. Unknowable in her entirety.” She sighed. “She's constant and endless… but I am not. Her waves always return to the shore. She'll always be there, but I won't. One day I'll grow too old to sail, and I fear it sooner every day.” Her voice began to tremble slightly. “But when that day comes, I'll find you. And without that dread and grief you've felt this whole time, you'll have grown again. And you'll have grown apart from me for the first time since we met. You'll be a woman anew. And I can fall in love with you all over again.” Tears streamed from her eyes. She held onto Puukko by the arms, looking her in the face with a weak smile. “Can you do that for me, Captain? Can you be my shore to break upon once my time as a wave has ceased?”

“I… I reckon I can.” She squeezed Marion tight to her chest in an embrace. The weight of grief borrowed from a goodbye soon to come weighed heavy on her, but for the time being, she chose to carry it while enjoying the time she still had with her beloved.

#Whetstone's whispers #moomins #moomin oc #i just realized all the formatting and italics and stuff got reset when moving it onto here #im not gonna go through and fix that #now im mad

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pleaseignor · 2 years

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Holden: writing a bastard (informal)

It's no surprise that Holden is an absolute piece a crap, I mean, a Pathological liar, utter hypocrite, and language that makes you wanna punch him square in the face, its KINDA infuriating, but refreshing in a sense. Hell. I can't remember the last time a book got mad, or disappointed, well, not intentionally that is. What I'm tryin to say is, it must take real skill to make a character so damn oblivious, and even with all the crap Holden spouts to the reader, you still kinda feel for the guy, I mean he's a brat, and everything, but you kinda pity him when he feels down or something bad happens to him, and by something bad I really mean when he gets punched, kinda happens a lot, guess that's what you get for being such an asshole, J.D Sterlin, you musta done something right cuz I'm starting to like this book, very rare for me btw

#words

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cleverthylacine · 2 years

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WIP Wednesday

Every Day is a Winding Road, chapter 23:

Commandant Glitch—once Damus, now Tarn—had been fascinated with anecdotal case reports of spark transmigration in split-spark or spark-bonded pairs following traumatic, unexpected death. Tarn was not by inclination a scientist and did not care that most of the stories were unverifiable battlefield folklore, so he decided to test his hypotheses despite the unlikeliness of success.

Nickel could understand, knowing Tarn, that this kind of thing would appeal to him more than the practical experimentation he’d been tasked with: things like creating new and better MTOs, figuring out what interventions and supplements could keep troops going longer on smaller energon rations, and what frame alterations could be done to improve efficiency without destroying morale.

All of it was horrific, of course. After the first few pages, Nickel had needed to drop her emotional processing down to the lowest priority possible without losing all motivation to continue, given the danger that they were all in. She could not imagine what it had been like for Glit to have to witness these things, and to have to assist with them under duress.

Designs and Persuasions, chapter 23 (Ravage POV):

“Relax, sweetspark,” said Jazz; he slid an arm around my shoulders, then stopped when he felt me tense. It was going to take me a while to get used to how handsy he was. “I’m not helping, am I?”

I consciously untensed, and decided to lean back into his arm; this was not my natural inclination, but his field was full of affection and I knew that it would feel nice if I let down my guard a little. Jazz relaxed and squeezed my shoulders. “You don’t have to,” Jazz said, awkwardly.

“Just give me time, Jazz,” I said. “Eighty percent of the time we’ve spent together, you’ve been in our medical bay.”

Jazz nodded. “I’m not tryin’ to be as easy with you as Sounders is; he’s your spark-mate and your junxie. I just want you both to be happy.”

“That’s not going to happen until Galvatron’s dead,” I said, a little more tension flowing out of me with each ventilation as I grounded myself in the present. “You know, I don’t want you to feel that your place here depends on keeping us happy.”

“Everything’s fine, Firecat.” I could hear the grin in his voice without stopping to look up at his face. I wasn’t going to let him call me that, but it was funny, and I laughed.

“That makes even less sense than ‘Princess’ does!”

“Princess makes perfect sense,” said Jazz. “I’m not saying he’s a femme, I know better. But he’s still a princess, anyway. You’re very femme, but you are not a princess at all. You’re made of fire, and nothing can extinguish it.”

“You’re worse than Megatron,” I said, teasing him. “I like you, a lot. But I don’t want to be called that.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, with only the tiniest pout. “I can’t write poetry like you or him. But I’ve got more rhythm than he ever had.”

“You’ll have to show me on the dance floor,” I said, and just like that, he gracefully twirled me out onto the floor.

love & darkness & my sidearm, chapter 18:

“I’m just fine,” said Drift, “but you might tell your buddy Orion that he doesn’t have to be wearing the badge for the whole town to notice him. He’s stalking Ravage and Soundwave.”

Ratchet winced, and put a digit’s worth of high-grade in his oil. He also offered Drift some oil, but without the additive—he didn’t have any idea what Drift might have already taken—and Drift took it.

“I told him she’s dead,” Ratchet grumbled. “And that Soundwave was nowhere around here, if he even still functioned.”

Drift’s optics were laser-bright and it felt like they were burning right through him. “I see you trust your amica a little less than I do,” he observed, taking a drink of the oil. “Always a great sign. Ravage is dancing in Miracle Square and Soundwave’s providing the music. He came early to watch but he stayed in the alley like he knew he was doing something wrong. When I left there Howlback was schooling him.”

Ratchet groaned. “That sounds like it’s almost as much fun as the conversation that I’m going to have to have with him will be.”

love & darkness & my sidearm, chapter 19

Glit nodded. “Starscream doesn’t even know that I am legally a person now,” he replied. “When he finds out, he’ll either be furious, or he’ll think it’s funny that I got one over on the Functionists. Any idea which way he might swing?”

The two seekers glanced at each other and shrugged. “It depends on who’s yelled at him last, and for what,” said the blue one. “I’m Thundercracker, he’s Skywarp, and we know you’re Glit. Congratulations on passing the test. I’ve heard it’s wicked.”

Glit shrugged. “My sister coached me on the high society aftslag parts.”

“Oh, did she do especially well?”

Glit laughed bitterly. “She failed. They made her take it on the scheduled date, even though she’d been beaten the night before. But she should’ve passed. She used to be a Recorder.”

“Recorders never pass,” said Starscream, returning. “They know too much. Except for the one Ambus conjunxed, their jobs are for life, and if Ambus’ conjunx ever leaves him he’ll probably be found in an alley somewhere.” He glanced at Glit. “And yes, I know you were built to be a Recorder, but that’s not the work you’ve been doing.”

“It’s not,” Glit agreed, and then glanced away before saying, “For what it’s worth, I hope you do get into the Science Academy. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

#my fic #all hail ravage #wip wednesday #voice of stanix #maccadam

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ghostsandmirrors · 2 years

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Steve looked at the photos, a confused look on his face. They were… friends? Bucky was his friend. It sounded right, yet he wasn’t sure if he could trust the man. “We were friends?” It didn’t matter now, Steve didn’t even remember him. He grabbed the shield with his metal arm. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re trying to trick me, but I’m not afraid of you.” Steve sighed. “They didn’t say I had to kill anyone this time…”- Steve Rogers anon

There was a small movement as Bucky shifted his weight, not entirely comfortable with how this all felt but not willing to just tell Mystery Steve to figure it out on his own. He may have been avoiding Steve, but this wasn't the same man.

"You sure look like a friend," he said, voice gentle and guard dropped; Mystery Steve hadn't done anything to raise any mental alarms besides the 'that sounds familiar' one, so Bucky had no reason to believe that'd change. He had clearly forgotten who this could have been, because otherwise he would have considered fighting to be an almost guaranteed option. True, he still wasn't entirely certain that this was a Steve, but he looked and sounded like a Steve so it still should have been a possibility in his brain.

Left hand clenching into a fist as soon as the shield was grabbed, arm whirring as the plates moved like his arm was tensing, his shoulders squared and he shifted his stance just a little to make sure his left side was turned more towards the man who'd stolen his shield. He wanted to limit the amount of difficulties he could have with trying to defend, and having his metal arm between them would make things easier, even if he didn't want to fight the man. Not because he didn't want to punch someone who looked like Steve--he definitely did have the urge to after everything that had happened--but because he didn't want to risk the coffee table; his house was bare enough without breaking the small amount of furniture he did have.

"M'not tryin' to trick you," he said, keeping his voice in that same gentle tone that was forced into a sense of calm and held a certain amount of stability. Said tone was completely demolished, however, when Bucky fully registered what'd been said. That also felt familiar in the worst possible way and he suddenly knew how Steve'd felt on the helicarrier, even if he didn't have the same hang-ups.

This wasn't a good night.

"Who didn't?" Bucky asked loudly, admittedly trying to buy time in the vague hopes that he could distract Mystery Steve enough to do… something. He really didn't want to lose that coffee table. "If they didn't say it, are you gonna kill me in my fuckin' apartment 'cause you wanna, punk?" he asked, almost sounding incredulous, the name coming out of habit, not that he noticed; there were more important things to be thinking about right now.

One of the less important things he was thinking about was the urge to start lecturing Mystery Steve for not only appearing in his apartment unannounced, but also for stealing his shield and threatening to kill him when the whole reason he'd wanted the man to stay was to stop him getting into fights while lost. It was another urge he was resisting, though there was a chance it'd be a good distraction so he wasn't writing it off as an option just yet.

#ic #ic!ask #anon!ask #ic!answer #afallencommando : bucky barnes #verse : that shield #ooc: sorry this got long again #ooc: i got rambling >.<#ooc: bucky's solo thought is 'the lion the witch and the audacity of this bitch'#ooc: l o n g b o i #put it in the queue

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astralaffairs · 3 years

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Request: "Hey babe it's been a shitty day, so plz make it better by responding to this. Alright so hear me out: we've all seen the memes, so we know how ppl would react to finding out about fotp thom and mc, but remind me, do we know how Alex reacted???? Lmao there would be such chaos"

___________

"You and Jefferson are dating?" Though Alex's yell was muffled through the phone, his tone was unmistakable, and Y/N cringed at the shrill undertone beneath his fury. "When did this start? Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd react exactly how you are now," she said, "and, frankly, it's none of your business who I date."

"You know how long I've hated him for, Y/N," Alex snapped, and she rolled her eyes.

"I don't pick my boyfriends with your career in mind."

"But he's wrong for you," he huffed. "He's gonna prove that to you soon enough, too. He'll start treating you like shit the minute he gets whatever he needs from you."

"And what, exactly, is he trying to get from me?"

"Are you fucking serious? You've been his biggest critic in the media this entire time. He's just trying to shut you up."

"Our relationship hasn't exactly been much of a career-booster for him, either, in case you hadn't noticed," she pointed out, but he only scoffed.

"Oh, he'll be fine. He can just ride on his fucking trust fund for as long as he wants, but what about your career? You need the money."

"I still have a job, y'know. I'm just not covering domestic politics anymore."

"I knew it was suspicious when you changed departments," he muttered, and Y/N rolled her eyes. "I'm coming over. We need to talk about this."

"What?" she asked, eyes widening in surprise. "No, you can't; I have Thomas here with me."

"Too bad. I'm already outside."

"How the hell did you get here so fast?"

"I left home the minute I saw you on his Instagram."

Y/N grinned, holding her phone against her chest as she looked up at Thomas. "Aw, babe, he follows your Instagram."

He snickered. "Tell him I'm flattered."

"It's disgusting hearing you call him that." Alex's reaction was loud and visceral enough that she could hear it even before she lifted the phone back to her ear.

"Then I guess you're really gonna hate hearing our wedding vows, huh?"

"'Wedding vows'?" Thomas repeated as he raised a teasing eyebrow, folding his arms. She only shushed him, though a small smile played at her lips.

"Your what?" Alex's reaction was to a similar end, but it had a very different tone. "No. No way. This is where I draw the line. I swear to god, Y/N, if you marry him, there's no way I'm coming to your wedding."

"That's really too bad. I'm sure he'll be disappointed to hear it," Y/N said, and the sadness in her voice was mocking.

"As though he's gonna be invited when we get married," Thomas grumbled. It was her turn, then, to raise an eyebrow.

"'When'?"

He shrugged, but his grin was broad. "After you lemme know your ring size, at least."

"Isn't it a bit presumptuous of you to think I'm going to say 'yes'?"

"Don't tell me you'd really be willin' to start from square one with somebody else after everything we've been through, sweetheart," he replied matter-of-factly. "The only real question is when I propose."

"Don't get ahead of yourself just yet, Jefferson."

"I'm still here!" Alex's shout pulled her back to the phone call she was still on; she rolled her eyes.

"How could I forget?"

"Let me into your flat," he said, and Y/N looked to Thomas with wide eyes when they could hear his loud footsteps in the hallway outside.

"How'd you get up here?"

"Mira let me in."

"God, she needs to stop doing that," she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Open the door."

She jumped when the sound of him banging on it echoed through her front room. "Alex—" When she regained her bearings, returned to her call, she realized she was talking to a dial tone.

"Unlock this, Y/N." His impatient voice came through the apartment door, that time, muffled, but her head shot up at the sound.

"You need to leave," she insisted. Though Thomas wore a deep-seated frown, neither she nor he moved to get the door. "I don't wanna hear your lecture on how Thomas is gonna ruin my life."

"But he is!"

Thomas rolled his eyes as he stood, and Y/N's eyebrows shot up when she watched him start toward the door. "Wait, at least let me get it," she called after him, but he didn't stop. She stood with a huff to follow him.

He unlocked it. "What d'you want?"

Y/N winced visibly when he opened the door for Alex before she could reach it, and Thomas leaned on one arm against the door frame, towering over him with an impatient eyebrow raised. Alex scowled, undeterred.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at, Jefferson?" he hissed. "You're really gonna toy with Y/N like this? And for what? If you're trying to get at me, at least do it directly."

The laugh Thomas let out was mirthless, condescending. "You really can't wrap your head around the idea that something isn't about you, huh? Guess I shouldn't be surprised, since you've always been this self-centered."

"If it isn't about me, then what the hell is your game?" he asked, taking a step closer, but despite Alex's harsh glare, Thomas raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"D'you really think there's no way my intentions are genuine? You think Y/N's that unloveable?" he asked. "That's vicious, even for you."

"I didn't say that she—!"

"Must you two do this right now?" Y/N asked, exasperation heavy in her voice. When Thomas turned to look at her, Alex pushed past him.

"Y/N, I'm just trying to save you from him; don't you see that? He—" Alex froze, his gaze fixed over Y/N's shoulder. "Wait. Why are there so many boxes here? And why is your apartment so empty?"

"I'm moving out," she answered bluntly. He raised a wary eyebrow.

"...and going where?"

"Thomas's place."

"You're moving in together?" he exclaimed, eyes wide. "What the hell are you thinking? Has it even been two weeks since you got together?"

"I mean, officially, it's been a month," she said reasonably, "but, really, we've been fucking for almost a year."

"A year?" Alex repeated. "What the hell, Y/N? What were you thinking?"

"Well, whatever I was thinking, it looks like I'm still thinking it." She shrugged. "Or, y'know, maybe I just couldn't make rent, so I started sleeping with a rich guy. I'm trying to be thrifty."

She could hear Thomas snickering at that, but Alex looked beyond appalled. "You couldn't have gone back to sleeping with Lafayette?" —Thomas scowled— "C'mon, I know how much you like him. You didn't have to sacrifice your morals in order to sleep with him, either, unlike you do with Jefferson."

Thomas's glare was burning, and Y/N huffed. "I was never sleeping with Lafayette."

Alex furrowed his brow. "You weren't?"

"No, I—"

"She was sleepin' with me." Y/N’s skin jumped at the feeling of Thomas's arm around her waist, pulling her close as walked up beside her. Alex's eyes widened. "So fuck off, Hamilton. You can't do anything about this. 'S too late."

She couldn't tell whether it was horror or fury that shone in his wide eyes. "Y/N, you've gotta end this. He's awful and manipulative and narcissistic. Don't listen to what he's saying; it isn't too late to get rid of him."

"Is it too late to get rid of you?" she grumbled, and Alex narrowed his eyes.

"I just want the best for you."

"I don't need you telling me what's best for me," she said impatiently. "Either sit down and make peace with him, or leave. You can't just talk me out of this."

"If you wait any longer, it will be too late."

"Too late for what?" she asked. "What the hell do you think is gonna happen? He's gonna kill me in my sleep?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," he said, scowling, and she rolled her eyes.

"Thomas?" she said, turning to him.

"Hm?"

"Are you planning on killing me in my sleep?"

His mild expression didn't change when he answered, "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Mmh, thanks for confirming." She turned back to Alex. "Looks like you were right. Thanks for the warning; you can go now."

"Don't just dismiss this!"

"What were you expecting? I was just going to dump him on the spot when you showed up here?" she asked, and Alex huffed, folding his arms.

"If you had any common sense, that's exactly what you'd do," he said seriously. "He manipulates people, Y/N; that's what he does! And that's what he's doing to you. Don't get attached."

"Alex—"

"Listen, Hamilton." Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose as Thomas released her waist, stepped in front of her. He stood dangerously close to Alex, who didn't move so much as a millimeter away. His expression was cold but deadpanned. "I know we've got a lotta issues. That isn't some secret. But it's not your place to try and ruin my relationship, alright? You don't see me bustin' into your house, tryin' to convince your wife to leave you."

"Are you really comparing your little fling with Y/N to my marriage?"

"Little fling?" Y/N repeated incredulously, but both men ignored her. Thomas shrugged, still staring Alex down.

"I don't see why not. You heard us talkin' about gettin' engaged when you were on the phone, didn't you?"

"No way you're actually getting married," Alex scoffed. He turned to Y/N. "You're not really gonna marry him, are you?"

"I..." When she trailed off, Thomas raised an expectant eyebrow. "I'm not having this conversation right now. I'm not about to get engaged under duress."

"See?" When Alex turned to Thomas, she rolled her eyes.

"I'm not siding with you. I love Thomas, but you can't come here and bully us into getting engaged."

At that, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Hang on, you love him now?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She groaned, rubbing her temples. "You were more willing to believe that we were were getting married than that we've already said 'I love you'? I told you we've been... sort-of together for almost a year."

"Please. This won't last." He turned back on Thomas. "Y/N's never been in a relationship for more than four months. Now that you're official," —the final word was sneered— "the clock is ticking." Alex's eyes shone with vindication when Thomas raised an eyebrow; the concern in his eyes was genuine, and his gaze flickered back to Y/N. "Yeah, that's right. Don't get comfortable. It's only a matter of time before she leaves you, too."

"Will you shut up, Alex?" She looked more frustrated than anything, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "The history you two have doesn't extend to me. I know you hate Thomas. And I also don't care. It doesn't give you the right to talk to him like that, and it absolutely doesn't give you the right to talk about me like that."

"You're just pissed because I'm right."

"No, I'm not! I just fucking hate that—" Y/N cut herself off with a shuddering breath when she heard her own voice beginning to raise. Thomas squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, and she felt her tense muscles ease as she looked up at him gratefully. She turned back to Alex. "Y'know what? I want you out of my apartment. I don't have to take this from you. Especially not in my own home."

"You needed to hear it," he warned. "Someone needed to say it before this ends in disaster."

"I don't care what you think, right now. I want you to leave." Her firm tone left no room for negotiation, and although Alex glared up at Thomas, he didn't argue.

"Fine. But when he breaks your heart, you're going to regret not listening to me."

"I think I'll survive," she replied dryly. While she was watching him expectantly, he was still eyeing Thomas, and when he spoke, he disregarded her words.

"I still don't know what the hell you think you're playing at, Jefferson, but I'm not letting you get away with it," he snarled. "I can see right through you, and it's only a matter of time until Y/N does, too."

Thomas licked his lips, his jaw tight and shoulders tense. Although his expression bordered on nonchalance, his tone was threatening. "Believe whatever the hell you want, but if you really think for a second that I'm about to let you drag Y/N into your plot to ruin my life, you've got another thing coming," he said, voice low. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, I seem to remember hearin' her ask you to leave."

Alex's narrowed eyes darted between Thomas and Y/N, but after several moments, he just scoffed, meeting Y/N's gaze. "When he starts treating you like shit, don't act like no one warned you it was coming."

She hummed noncommittally. "You'll be the first person I call, just so you can say, 'I told you so.'"

Though he rolled his eyes, he left without another word, slamming the door shut behind him, and Y/N let out a sigh of relief, raking a hand through her hair. "Well, he could've taken that worse."

"I dunno, sweetheart; that was pretty bad," Thomas said, and despite the skepticism in his tone, she shook her head.

"No, Alex has thrown much bigger tantrums about much smaller things," she said, "I'm pretty sure he just got most of his energy out on the car ride here."

"I’ll take your word for it, but..." Thomas trailed off, seeming to have thought better of what he was about to say, and she turned to him with her brow furrowed.

"What, was this seriously the angriest you've ever seen him?"

"Not by far." She eyed him warily when he pursed his lips. "But... what was he sayin' about none of your relationships lastin' more than four months? Was that all true?"

Her eyebrows jumped at the worry that flickered in his eyes. When she stepped forward, laid a hand on his chest, he didn't pull away, and she took that as permission enough to wrap her arms around the back of his neck, to pull him close. "You know he was just trying to get a rise out of you, right? He just wants you to feel insecure in our relationship."

"But was it true?" he asked. "You really never been with the same person for more than a couple months?"

"That has nothing to do with us."

"Answer me." He was looking down at her with severity in his gaze, and she frowned.

"Yeah. It's true." Her eyes dropped away from his as she played with the curls at the back of his neck. "Does that really change the way you look at me?"

"It changes the way I see us, if 'm honest," he murmured, and Y/N brought a hand up to his cheek, brushing her thumb over his skin.

"It shouldn't. None of my relationships lasted because I didn't love any of the people I dated. But I love you, Thomas," she said seriously. "Do you know that you're the first person I've said ever that to? Family and friends aside, of course."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She pushed herself onto her toes to kiss him lightly. "And I mean it. I've always been terrified of commitment, but... being with you doesn't scare me."

"God, I should hope not," he said, a trace of a laugh buried in his voice. "If you were scared, 'm pretty sure I'd be doin' something wrong."

"Well, in all honesty, I was an anxious wreck the first time I told you I loved you," she admitted. "I was almost hoping you'd outright reject me so that I'd have to move on."

His grin was broad. "So, what I'm hearin' is that I oughta stop makin' jokes about marriage?"

"Only if you don’t want me running for the hills," she said, but her tone was playful. "In all seriousness, if you were anybody else, I'd have started packing my bags the minute you asked me for my ring size. There’s a reason I’m still here."

"Good." He leaned down to bump his nose against hers. "'Cause I do wanna marry you. Doesn't matter to me when it happens, but I'm gonna get a ring on your finger if it's the last thing I do."

She grinned. "Go right ahead." When he kissed her, she pulled him tighter against herself and he wrapped his arms snug around her waist. "Guess I'm gonna have to call the jeweler, now," she murmured against his lips. "Gotta see when's the next time they can get me in so I can get sized for a ring."

"Who said I was the one proposing?" Thomas asked incredulously, and Y/N pulled away just enough to look him in the eye.

"Me. You're the one with all the money."

"Now, this doesn't seem quite fair."

She laughed. "Listen, when a million-dollar trust fund falls into my lap, I'll be more than happy to buy the engagement rings. But until then, the burden's on you and your inheritance, Jefferson."

"'N that's a burden I'm more than willing to take on, sweetheart," he said. "The minute I get your ring size, the trust fund'll take care of the rest."

"The minute you get it?"

"If that's what you want."

"Not so fast, Jefferson." She rested a hand on his chest. "Try living with me for a few months, and then we can revisit."

"I'm holdin' you to that."

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notquitetwilight · 3 years

Text

THE CULLANOS: A TASTE OF BOSTON, PART TWO

The Cullanos continue taking care of business in Boston. Warning: this story contains graphic violence and sexual references (no smut, just truly cursed references). Previous instalment

Esme breathed shakily as she walked hand-in-hand with her husband past brownstone after brownstone. The street was deserted; it was just the two of them and the parked cars that lined their path. Her thoughts seemed to scream louder in the silence as she mentally willed that the daughter they left behind would be safe.

“S’like Brooklyn down here,” Carlisle said absentmindedly, keeping his voice low. When she didn’t answer, he looked at her, suddenly noticing her unease. “What’s the matta, baby?”

“I think…” she trailed off, unsure. She wasn’t used to being nervous. But she couldn’t shake the image of Rosalie’s wide eyes right before she had left her in the car. They were the same shade of blue as Carlisle’s, the type that seemed cold and piercing when narrowed, but inviting enough to swim in when widened. Though she’d never have admitted it, Esme knew she was afraid. And that made her afraid.

“I’m not sure we should’ve brought her.”

He frowned. “Rosie?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, our other child we were recently reunited with. Who else?”

“She wanted to come,” he said, raising a shoulder.

“So? If she said she wanted to do crack, would you let her?”

“Depends on whether or not she’d share,” he grinned.

“Carl, I’m serious,” she said, her voice cracking a little, which surprised both of them.

He squeezed her hand. “She’s a smart girl, Ezzie. She knows the drill.”

“Still, if somethin’ goes wrong—“

“It won’t.”

“If it does, I don’t…” she stopped in her tracks, feeling like she couldn’t take in air as quickly as her body needed her to. She closed her eyes as she tried to level her breathing. “If somethin’ were to happen to her, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d never forgive myself. Or you.”

She opened her eyes to find him looking a little wounded. “I thought this was what you wanted. Her here, with us.”

“It is,” she said, starting to walk again. “But all this is also why we gave her up in the first place, right?”

He groaned quietly. “Not this again.”

That infuriated her. She let go of his hand and made a great effort to keep the volume of her voice low in her response. “I’m sorry, is my fear for our daughter’s safety inconveniencin’ you?”

“I can’t keep doin’ this,” he said with a sigh. “Over and over, I keep tryin’ to make you happy, and over and over, I feel like I’m failin’. Because I don’t know what you want. Because you don’t know what you want.” He spoke so calmly, so matter-of-factly, without a hint of malice. She balked at him.

“What?” was all she managed.

“You want me, but you don’t want me. So I try move on. Twice. When ya do want me, I’m there in a heartbeat. You want our daughter, but you don’t want our daughter, so I give up my chance to be a dad to her. But then you do want her, but only from a distance, so we torture ourselves watchin’ other people raise her. Then you want her, fully want her, so I bring her back to us, and ever since I did you’ve been sayin’ maybe we shoulda left her as she was. I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I can’t make you happy no matta what. Maybe you were right, all those times ya said family life wasn’t for you. Ya seem a lot less happy since we became one.”

She gritted her teeth and glared up at him, ready to risk their cover in screaming at him. Yet her anger dissolved immediately upon seeing his face. He looked…sad. Truly, hopelessly sad, the type that usually only came with grief. Only she was allowed to see him this vulnerable, and only she had seen him wear this same expression just twice before: the day of his mother’s funeral, and the day they gave Rose up.

She had never considered how all of it might have looked to him, how what she said or did could be misinterpreted. She just assumed he knew where her head was at, because she always knew where his was at. But it suddenly occurred to her that she knew everything he thought because he spoke everything he thought to her. He knew her well, better than anyone else did, but he wasn’t a mind-reader. And while she believed herself to be a relatively good communicator, she knew she was nowhere near as good as him.

“There it is,” he muttered, interrupting her thoughts. He came to a halt and nodded to the dark grey brownstone a little ahead of them, the last on the street.

She frowned. “That’s...their house?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s attached to other buildin’s,” she said flatly.

“Guess that’s what silencers are for.”

He started for the Ivanov residence while rooting in one of his pockets, but she pulled at his arm. “Carl.”

He let her grip lead him to face her, but he looked at his feet, kicking the ground.

“Look at me,” she said softly. His head stayed down and his forehead remained creased.

“Baby?” she tried. He raised his head to meet her eyes then, and she couldn’t help but smile with relief. He was usually the one for terms of endearment, so the rare times she used them, she got his full attention.

“I’m not...less happy,” she started, unsure of how to explain herself.

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I am sure! Give me a chance. I’m much more happy, one hundred per cent. But I’m also much more worried. And maybe that’s what looks bad. Maybe I’m not handlin’ it right, I dunno. But I’m not used to bein’ worried. I’m not used to bein’...scared. And I am, Carl. For the first time in my life, I’m fuckin’ terrified. Almost 24/7.”

The line between his eyebrows deepened. “I don’t get it,” he shook his head the slightest bit. “Why? You’ve never been the anxious type.”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to say,” she gripped onto his forearms and gently shook them. “I’ve never been scared because I only had myself to worry about. And I didn’t care what happened to me, or what kinda shit I got myself into. The money and the good time was worth it. Everything was carefree and I didn’t wanna be tied down. But it got to the point where I wasn’t...happy anymore. I think that’s where the Charles thing came from. You got married for the first time and I hated it. And it was my own fault, because I said no to you, but it was only when I saw what you had without me that I realised I wanted that, too. So I married that asshole and then that went to shit. Had me kinda believin’ I wasn’t meant to have that family life. And then it was back to square one; you askin’ me to marry you, me sayin’ no, you gettin’ married to someone else and me hatin’ it again.

“But I just continued doin’ what I wanted, not carin’, until that day she walked in on us in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone the way I hated her that day. It was like, all of a sudden I realised that even though you were mine, you were officially hers on paper. She was the wife, I was the goomar. And I fuckin’ hated it and I fuckin’ hated her and I wanted it to just be fuckin’ done with already. And then she was dead and you were askin’ me to marry you again and it felt so right to finally fuckin’ say yes. And I think I started to feel a little bit like the stakes were higher after we made it official, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it is now. Not as bad as it’s been since Rosie came. We worked so hard for her to trust us, for her to want to stay with us. And now the three of us are finally together as a proper family. It might not be a ‘Brady Bunch’ scenario, but it’s us. It’s like, the last piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place, and now I’m waitin’ for it to fall apart. So you’re right, I’ve never been the anxious type. But I never had anything to lose. Now I do — I have everything to lose. And I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

He wiped away a tear she hadn’t noticed rolling down her cheek and pulled her into him. She gasped for breath after rambling for so long. “Why didn’t you say?” he mumbled against her hairline, then kissed the top of her forehead.

“I dunno. Maybe I thought you knew already. Or maybe I didn’t wanna sound stupid.” She sighed and fully leaned into him, her cheek against his chest. This way, she was facing the Ivanov house, and it registered with her that there was the tiniest sliver of light visible through a gap in one window’s heavy curtains.

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” he stroked the back of her head. “It’s a relief, actually. I thought maybe you were gettin’ bored of it all. Of us.”

“Never,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the house so she could lift her head to look at him. “You’re my person, forever.”

“And she’s our person, that we made,” he smiled. “Isn’t that fuckin’ crazy, when ya think about it?”

“But isn’t that— doesn’t that make you scared? I’ve seen how much you adore her. Why aren’t you worried, like me?”

“I just...trust in my gut. And my gut says none of us are dyin’ for a long, long time.”

“That’s it?” she asked without snark. She was genuinely fascinated by his complete lack of concern for their safety.

“Yeah. I have faith in us. We’re not dumb, we’re not new to this, we’re good both as individuals and as a team. And like you said, there’s more to lose now, so there’s more to fight for. Think of how unstoppable you were when you didn’t give a shit. Can you imagine anyone bein’ able to stop you now that you do?”

“Guess not,” she said, feeling a smile growing across her face. She was still worried, but she felt much better. There was a lot of sense in what he said. His words did their job in comforting her, as they often did.

“I love you,” she said, pulling at his neck to bring his face down to hers. “You always know the right thing to say.”

She kissed him then, slowly and expressively at first. But she quickly began to lose herself in it, and her fingers found themselves running through his hair. He let out a soft groan before pulling away and grinning at her.

“Later, baby. We have a job to do.” He glanced at his Rolex and his face dropped. “Shit. We’re a lil’ behind schedule. Alice’ll be waitin’.”

She nodded and pointed at the house as the two of them began walking again. “Someone’s up, too.”

He squinted at the window as they both rooted around in their pockets for their earpieces. They stopped a little short of the brownstone as they put them in.

“You ready?” he whispered, taking her hand again and bringing it to his lips to kiss it.

She nodded once more, and the two of them turned on their earpieces.

“About tiiiiiiiiiiiime,” Alice sang the second they were connected. “You’re late. By five minutes!”

“A queen is never late,” Esme said, her speaking volume lower than Carlisle’s whisper had been. “Everyone else is simply early.”

“Did Madame Mafia just quote ‘the Princess Diaries’ to me?” Alice asked with mock shock.

Carlisle tilted his head and raised his brows.

“Rose showed it to me last weekend,” Esme answered defensively. “We were...bondin’.”

He smirked and turned away from her, eyeing up the house in front of them. “Okay Alice, how’re we doin’?”

“Strangely, no guards — not on the property, anyway. That’s not like them at all. I partly wondered if they were hanging around the area and you ran into a few, because you were late, but I guess not since you’re alive and calm. As for the Ivanovs themselves, two are home: Katarina and Garrett. I have eyes everywhere except the bathrooms, so unless the rest of the family and an army of cronies are hiding in showers, this should be pretty easy.”

The words were like music to Esme’s ears. Her shoulders immediately relaxed, and she finally began to feel excited. She beamed at Carlisle, who gave her a knowing smile and mouthed “see?” in return.

“That’s what I like to hear, Al,” he said. “And you’ll be able to shut their camera system down once we’re out?”

“Of course. Once you’re out and alive, it’s gone.”

“Great. So, they’re still up?”

“Unfortunately,” Alice groaned.

“Don’t worry about us Al, that makes it more fun.”

“I wasn’t saying ‘unfortunately’ because I don’t think you can handle them. I was saying ‘unfortunately’ because over the past half hour, I’ve seen some shit. And that’s saying a lot, considering I work for you two.”

Esme and Carlisle exchanged a look, the pair of them frowning.

“What do you mean?” she asked her.

“I mean I want a raise,” Alice grumbled, causing Carlisle to break into another smile.

“Ahh...they’re in a bedroom?”

“That idea, yes. But wrong room. The living room’s where you’re heading for. Second floor. The ground floor is more like an empty hall, kinda like those malls that don’t really start ‘til you go up the escalator. There’s an elevator, but obviously that’ll make noise, so you should take the stairs.”

“That’a girl. Did you see if they’re armed?”

“As far as I can tell, no. There’s a shit tonne of guns and what appear to be Molotov cocktails in the bedrooms, so don’t give them a chance to go running. I can’t see any weapons in the living room. But I mean you guys know, the likelihood that they’ve got something concealed somewhere — either in the room or on them — is 50/50.”

“Yeah, true. Thanks. I guess that’s our cue.”

“Alrighty. Good luck! I’ll be right here in your ears the whole time.”

The pair of them readied their weapons and clinked the tip of their guns together in salute as they always did.

“Ladies first,” he smiled at her, and he let her lead the way.

Back in the car, Rosalie leaned into her headrest after checking her timer for the umpteenth time. She had set it the second the couple disappeared from view and found herself checking it every minute or so since. There was nothing else to do. She didn’t want to get distracted by her phone in case trouble was around. She couldn’t play music, because she neither wanted to attract attention nor miss anything she’d need to hear. All she could do was wait in the silence, and every second that ticked by felt like an hour.

She almost jumped out of her skin when her phone noisily vibrated on the dashboard. She grabbed it in a panic as though it was loud enough to wake the whole street, but once it was in her hand, she simply stared at it. Royce. Of course. She should’ve known her on-again off-again boyfriend would be the only person to ring her at this hour. She let it ring out, then shifted in her seat to make herself comfortable. The second she did, her phone began to vibrate again. With an eye roll, she brought it up to her ear.

She was immediately met with loud sounds that caused her to wince and pull the phone back slightly. A baseline thudded, so she knew he was out, but the sound was too distorted for her to tell if he was at a club or a party.

“Hello?” she asked, beginning to wonder whether the calls had been accidental. A muffled voice finally spoke, though it said nothing comprehensible.

“Royce, is that you? I can’t hear you,” she tried, keeping her voice low. She wasn’t going to up the volume she had maintained just because he called her from a loud place.

“ROSE!” Royce boomed from the other end of the phone, causing her to wince again. “Come...c’mere. M’over...s’funnn.”

The combination of the loud atmosphere, poor connection and slurred words made it difficult to understand.

“Royce, I don’t know what you’re saying. You know I’m not even in New York or Jersey right now, right? Remember I told you?”

“M’over...” he said again before saying something intelligible.

She was losing patience. “You’re drunk again, and I don’t know what you’re saying. I can’t talk right now, okay? I’ve gotta go.”

He started shouting incoherently. The only thing she made out before hanging up on him was the word ‘bitch’.

She inhaled deeply and checked the timer again. They’d been gone seventeen minutes and 48 seconds. Esme had said to leave after the forty minute mark. She shuddered at the idea of having to drive off without them, wondering whether or not she’d be able to do so if that’s what it came to. It was hard to imagine life beyond them now, though they’d only been connected for a little over a year. She stared out the windshield, biting the inside of her cheek, and felt her phone vibrate again.

Huffing, she thrust it up against her ear. “I said I can’t talk!” she hissed.

It was dead silent. There was none of the noise of the previous call. For a split second, she wondered if she had accidentally hung up.

“Rosalie?” asked a clear, deep voice after a beat.

She paused. “Yes?” she said in a small voice.

“Oh, it is you, thank god!” Relief flooded her as she recognised the voice as Emmett’s. “I was a lil’ confused for a second there. Thought maybe I dialled the wrong number.”

“Sorry Emmett. I— I thought you were somebody else.”

“No prahblem, no prahblem.”

“Is everything okay? If you’re calling me because you couldn’t reach the lovebirds, they’re not back yet.”

“No, no,” he said. “I just wanted to check in and say hi while the two ‘a them are gone. Y’know, just makin’ sure you’re holdin’ up okay on your first big job.”

“Thanks,” she said, a little bitterly.

He must’ve picked up on her tone, because there was another pause. “Uh, sorry to bother you.”

“I’m not pissed at you, I’m pissed at them for thinking I need to be checked up on. I told them I’d be fine.”

“Huh? Nobody asked me to. I just wanted to.”

“Oh,” she said awkwardly, but the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“Yeah. It’s just, I remember how scared I was on my first big job.”

“I’m not scared,” she insisted, back to frowning.

“No? Then you’re a braver soul than I am. I was scared shitless.”

“Really? Carlisle never said.”

“Because he doesn’t know,” Emmett laughed. She didn’t know a sound could be so warm. “I held it together pretty well. But when all was done, he dropped me off at the corner of my block, and I waited for his car to disappear before pukin’ my damn guts up all over the sidewalk.”

She was the one laughing then. She leaned her head against the window as a silence fell over them.

“Okay, maybe I am a little worried,” she said quietly. “Time seems to be dragging by. Esme told me to leave if they’re not back within forty minutes. I obviously don’t want to have to even think about doing that.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “Honestly though, I’m sure she said it as a precaution, and they’ll be back to ya in no time. You haven’t seen your parents in action. Let’s just say I’m glad I work for them, because I’d hate to be against them.”

“Thanks,” she said again, more sincerely this time.

“And it’s okay to be scared. It’s completely normal. The people who are never scared— those are the mad bastahds you gotta watch out for. Because you gotta be batshit crazy to never know fear.”

“Carlisle’s never scared,” she smiled.

“Well, there ya go, see!” Rosalie could hear the smile in his voice, too. “Case in fuckin’ point!”

She found herself laughing again. It came so easily to her when she spoke to him.

“I better get goin’, letcha get back to it.”

“Okay,” she said. “And thanks, Emmett. I think that helped.”

“No prahblem,” he said again.

“Unless Esme and Carlisle did put you up to this, in which case, no it didn’t.”

“I swear’ta gahd, Rosie, neither of them even know. I had to get your number from Alice.”

Rosie. He had picked that up from Carlisle. It was strange how much she’d come to like a nickname she initially detested.

“‘Kay. Well, thanks again.”

“You have my number now, too,” he said, sounding suddenly serious. “I’ll be right here at the other end of the phone, anytime you need me, ahrite?”

“Does that include if in twenty-or-so minutes’ time I have to decide whether or not to leave my long-lost parents for dead?”

“You betcha.”

“Great!”

He laughed. “Take care, Rosie.”

“Bye, Emmett.”

She hung up the call and resisted the urge to check the timer just yet. A new-found calmness had come over her, and she wanted to bask in it a little while longer.

“Is she beating him to death?” Carlisle whispered up at his wife as she reached the top of the stairs to the Ivanov’s second floor. Alice had been right, they ran into no extra bodies on their way in. And though she was several states away, she had disarmed the entrance’s security with ease.

“No,” Alice answered with a sigh before Esme could. “I think that might actually have made for easier viewing.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” Carlisle quietly teased.

“I’ll have you know, this isn’t your average spank session,” Alice scolded.

“Well now I’m curious,” Esme said, straining to listen. “Is this somethin’ I’m gonna wanna take note of?”

“Ugh, knowing you, probably,” came the answer in her ear.

Esme looked back to smirk at Carlisle.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Shoulda brought a pen.”

“I’ll take mental notes,” she promised.

“And if that fails, you can use the notes my therapist will have taken after I’ve word-vomited all this to her while rocking back and forth,” Alice announced.

Carlisle took his place beside Esme at the top of the stairs and slipped an arm around her waist. The long hallway ahead of them was windowless, its red and gold-patterned wallpaper interrupted by the occasional closed door. Still, it was brightly lit by the two massive chandeliers that hung from its high ceiling. To their left was the unit for the elevator. Carlisle waved at the little CCTV camera above it, prompting a laugh from Alice. Behind them was another set of stairs that led to higher floors they wouldn’t see. The Persian carpet that stretched the length of the hall floor would come in handy to muffle their footsteps.

“Up ahead, the second door on the left is the kitchen,” Alice told them. “It’s got a pass-through and an open plan door to the living room, so be careful.”

“‘Kay,” was all Esme dared to respond as Carlisle let her go. She crept forward.

The pair of them silently edged along the wall, the voices from the living room growing louder as they got closer. Esme stopped at the kitchen door and brought her pistol up to her chest. The pair of them concentrated on the voices inside.

“Alright, swap,” Katarina said. “It’s my turn to rest.”

There were two thuds, and then her voice mingled with a man’s as both began chant-like muttering. Esme couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Carlisle tapped her on the shoulder. When she looked at him, he mouthed, “praying?” with a confused frown.

She paused to listen and confirm, then nodded. He was right, though it left her no less confused. The muttering stopped, and there was some shuffling of feet. The sounds of slapping and groaning resumed, but this time they could tell Katarina was the receiver.

She nudged him and put her gun-free hand on the door handle. With his nod of approval, she slowly pushed it down and opened the door at an acute angle.

“You’re all clear here,” Alice told her, but she gave a quick glance around it anyway to get her bearings. The kitchen was reasonably small for such a big house, and it looked as though it had been home to a frat party. Mess, clutter and countless empty bottles of Absolut Vodka littered every surface. The pass-through was a few feet ahead on her left.

Tip-toeing inside, she immediately grabbed her other gun so she had one in each hand. Both of them made their way to the side of the pass-through as Garrett was saying something about Christ. They hunkered down, then crawled under it, and shimmied out of their heavyweight coats as quietly as possible.

Esme was about to rise slightly up when Carlisle touched her arm. “Only shoot if you have to,” he mouthed slowly so she’d get every word.

The two of them rose and peeped through together. Esme had been right; Garrett was sat on a chair with Katarina bent over his legs as he repeatedly slapped her backside. Still, he mumbled about “the Lord” this and “Jesus” that. Esme looked at Carlisle quizzically.

“Feel the hand of God,” Garrett suddenly half-shouted in comparison to his previous volume. “Who has the most lovin’ hand of all, Kate?”

“God, through you,” Katarina answered him.

“What the fuck is this?” Carlisle breathed, just about audible. “It’s like watchin’ Barbie get an exorcism.”

Esme pressed her lips together to contain a laugh, mentally cursing him. With Katarina’s long blonde hair and baby pink Adidas tracksuit, he wasn’t far off the mark.

“It’s called CDD,” Alice informed. “Short for ‘Christian Domestic Discipline’. The whole religion thing stumped me too when I saw them praying, because like, they’re not even the same religion, right? She’s presumably Orthodox and he’s gotta be Catholic. Anyway, I googled ‘pray spanking’ and found that. Apparently it’s a movement that started as like, a ‘women are inferior in Christian marriages and should treat their husbands like God himself’ thing, but naturally, it got turned into a kink.”

The two of them exchanged a look again and sank back down to their hunkers. Carlisle gestured out their route around the corner of the wall they were now up against and through the open plan door. He pointed to her and made a finger gun, then pointed to himself and pulled out a rope from one of his coat pockets. She nodded once and rounded the corner with her guns raised right as Garrett’s head looked in that direction.

“Don’t move,” she warned, one pistol aimed at his head and the other aimed at Katarina’s.

They both froze, his hand mid-air. Esme stalked closer as Carlisle moved behind them.

“Off the chair,” he commanded. “And putcha hands behind your head.”

They did as they were told and knelt on the ground. Carlisle patted Garrett down and began tying him while Esme came to Katarina’s side. The blonde swallowed tightly. When Carlisle was finished with Garrett, he moved onto her.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her,” Garrett said as he patted, making Esme smile. As if he’d be able to stop them with his hands and feet tied.

“Whadiya take me for?” Carlisle asked. “I don’t hurt women.”

“Mhmm,” Esme agreed, tracing the side of Katarina’s face with the tip of her pistol. “This one’s all mine.”

Garrett helplessly flopped in Esme’s direction from his place on the floor.

“Easy now,” Carlisle said, finishing up with Katarina and moving to crouch down beside him. “I said I wouldn’t hurt your girl, and you repay me by goin’ for mine?”

Garrett stared blankly ahead. Carlisle tilted his chin up with his gun to meet his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you double-crossed though, would it? There was our Kiev deal, then the small matter of you murderin’ your own pal. Lettin’ his kid grow up without a father. What kinda person does that, huh? Ya know, I might be a lotta things. But I know where my loyalties lie. And I’d never betray a friend. Even people like us have rules, and that’s one of ‘em.”

“You wanna talk about the loyalty of friends?” Katarina piped up, prompting Esme to hold her pistol against her head. “You might want to look closer to your own circle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Esme asked, her eyes narrowed.

“You haven’t wondered where the others are?” Garrett smiled. “They’re actually in your neck of the woods. Meeting with some of your buddies. Ironic really, isn’t it? You come all the way here hoping to kill Tati, only for her to be in your area.”

Alice gave a “hmm” as Carlisle’s eyes flickered to meet Esme’s, then settled back on Garrett’s face. Neither of them could tell whether or not he was trying to throw them, but both understood not to let him.

“We didn’t come here to kill Tatiana,” Esme said cooly. “Any single one ‘a yous woulda done. Instead we got two. I call that a success.”

“Do you?” Katarina cooed. “I wouldn’t be that confident ‘til all of us are dead. Especially if I had a daughter who didn’t know how to shoot.”

Carlisle felt the colour drain from his face. Esme immediately yanked Katarina down by the hair until her cheek hit the floor, then placed a knee on her back.

“What the fuck does your family know about my daughter?” She growled into her ear. “Tell me everything you know and how you know it.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” Katarina said, the words muffled against yet another Persian rug. “You’ve been paradin’ her — what’s her name, Rose or something? — paradin’ her all around New York and Jersey. Don’t tell me you didn’t think people would notice?”

“I hear she’s real pretty,” Garrett added. “And you know us bunch, we like our blondes.”

With that, Carlisle began relentlessly punching him. Garrett’s groans sounded different to how they had sounded in the hallway. Here, he was getting to know much less loving hands.

Esme pulled at Katarina’s hair again. “Tell me who told you about my daughter.”

“No.”

She shifted so she could better aim for Katarina’s kneecap, then shot it. The blonde let out an agonising scream, which woke Carlisle from his blind rage just long enough to look up and spot a marble urn on the fireplace.

“Tell me who told you about my daughter.”

“Fuck you,” Katarina moaned, writhing in pain.

Carlisle got up and grabbed the urn, dumped whatever ashes were inside into the fire pit, and made his way back to Garrett.

Esme flipped Katarina over and shot her other kneecap. Another ear-piercing scream blocked out the sound of Carlisle beating Garrett with the urn.

“Tell me something. Anything about what or how you know.”

Katarina simply whimpered. Esme pressed her foot against her knee, but the scream that followed was feeble. She would soon pass out from either blood loss or pain.

“You’re not gonna tell me anything?”

Katarina barely shook her head. Esme sighed and shot her between the eyebrows.

Carlisle was sitting still and staring at Garrett when she made her way over to him. “Is he dead?”

He shrugged.

She picked up the urn from the floor and gave Garrett’s body several extra beats to be sure.

“Is now,” Alice said quietly. Neither of them laughed.

Carlisle rubbed at his temple while Esme sat back beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“They know about Rosie,” was all he said.

She nodded.

“Guess there’s no goin’ back now. Even if she wanted to, there’s no way she can go back to the life she had.”

“No,” Esme agreed.

“I get it now,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

“Get what?”

“I think...I’m finally worried.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Alice awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Alice, what they said about our friends—” Carlisle started.

“I won’t say anything,” she said before he could finish. They both trusted that. If Alice was a betrayer, they’d already be dead.

“Thanks.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before standing up. Esme didn’t like seeing him so uneasy. He was her comforter, so if he needed comforting, things weren’t good. But he did need comforting, and as his person, it was her job to do so.

“Alice, could you mute us for a while?” Esme asked as she got to her feet. “And turn off the living room camera? We need a minute.”

Alice hesitated. “Alright. But watch the time, for Rose’s sake. And I’ll mute you, but don’t mute me in case I need to warn you about unexpected visitors elsewhere in the property.”

“Thanks,” Esme said.

“Okay, I can’t see or hear you now. So if you need my attention, go to another room.”

Esme tugged Carlisle’s arm. “Help me move the bodies out of this room. I want it to be just us.”

He looked at her with confusion, but did as she asked.

Rosalie stared at the numbers on her timer. Forty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds, and still no sign of her parents. Her free hand drummed at the steering wheel the way her fingers had before they left.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered at the windshield. She felt her eyes start to well up and blinked furiously.

“Fine. An hour,” she promised aloud to no one, in attempt to settle herself. “We’ll hang on ‘til it’s been an hour.”

She glanced back at the timer, but a noise made her look up again. There the pair of them were, running towards her, open coats flapping in the wind. She exhaled with relief and started the engine. The headlights lit them up as she drove forward, giving her a full view of them. Both were covered in blood splatters.

“Thank god,” she cried as each of them swung open a door and hopped in the back.

“Hey, Princess,” Carlisle greeted her as she sped off.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Esme chirped. “Thanks for waitin’. Sorry we’re late.”

Rosalie frowned. Her tone was...strange. In the rearview mirror, she found the two of them staring at each other dreamily. Then, she registered Carlisle’s messed hair, and realised it wasn’t a tough fight that had delayed them.

“You assholes!” she seethed. “Do you have any fucking idea what ran through my mind?! I thought you were dead! I thought I was gonna get myself killed waiting around for two people who’d never come, because they were dead!”

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

“That’s it? You scare me into believing you’re dead and all I get is a simple sorry?”

“You were scared for us?” Esme sounded pleased. Rosalie rolled her eyes.

“You’re right,” Carlisle added. “That was selfish. Worry isn’t a nice feelin’. And a simple sorry isn’t all you get for it. We’ll head down Fifth Ave once we’re home if you like.”

She did like the sound of that, but she didn’t want him to think she could be easily won round. “Fine,” she said with a sigh.

“Oh and Rose?” Esme asked.

“Yeah?”

“We’re teaching you to shoot.”

118 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

hi! i absolutely love your writing, and i fucking screamed when i saw that your requests were open. i was hoping you write something about the miya twins sharing a darling? yes, i am a simp and i am fucking proud of it

Atsumu is a bastard, and therefore, Osamu is bastardly by association. I refuse to respect them, but I see the appeal. Have your twins, but I’ll do my best not to let you enjoy them.

Title: Homecoming.

TW: Nonconsensual Touching and Implied Bullying.

Sometimes, you try to think about what your life would be like if you were born a year earlier.

Or a year later, you guessed. It didn’t matter. If you were just a bit older or months younger, you would never have met the Miya twins. You would’ve been at a safe distance from the pair all thoroughly Elementary School, free from their torment in Junior High, and they couldn’t have followed you into your teens, not if you’d never caught their eye in the first place. You weren’t special, nor were you afraid to admit that. You were a target, one that could and would be replaced as soon as you failed to serve your purpose.

You supposed it was your fault, then. You failed to break, so they failed to move on.

That didn’t make you feel any better about your current situation, though.

Atsumu and Osamu had been going to Inarizaki for two years. Four full semesters, as opposed to your measly handful of weeks. It made sense that they had a better grasp of the terrain, and thus, your shock was muted when a pale hand emerged from a storage closet you hadn’t known existed, latching onto your wrist and dragging you through the narrow entrance, the door left ajar just enough to allow you through without attracting the attention of your peers. You failed to resist, at first, stumbling forward out of blind stupor, but by the time you thought to fight or scream or do something, a palm was pressed against your mouth, your back flush against a familiar chest and your arms trapped under something heavy and strong, pinning you down with a force you wish you’d never grown accustomed to.

There were no windows, no lights, leaving your focus to shift around the small space desperately, searching for something to latch onto in the darkness. A phone was turned on, then off, illuminating a small section of the floor briefly before flickering into nonexistence. It was a passing hope, though. Your eyes were beginning to adjust, just enough to make out the apathetic, self-satisfied smirk you’d grown so accustomed to. Atsumu’s smirk. You could guess who was holding you, if he’d agreed to take such an idle role.

When Atsumu spoke, he did so impassively. As if you’d been the one to approach him, and he was just indulging you in a conversation he had no interest in. As if you were the one holding him hostage. “Look at this, ‘samu,” He started, scanning over your struggling form. He was less than an arm’s length away, the cramped closet only allowing for so much room between its occupants, but you could still feel him prying into you, his head bowed in an effort to better look down on you. “The brat’s all dressed in black ‘n white, tryin’ to blend in with the rest of us commoners.”

“Think Shiratorizawa was too much of a step up, ‘tsumu?” Osamu’s voice was neutral, uncaring when taken out of context, but you’d learned to pay more attention to what he said than how he said it. Beyond that, the arm now wrapped around your waist clenched down, squeezing for a moment as the hand covering your mouth dropped away entirely, giving you the option to answer but warning you against it, before you could. “It was probably just a break. I’d want some time away from that face of yours too, if I was ‘em.”

There was a hint of a snarl, a reflexive response to their brotherly teasing, but Atsumu quickly regained his composure, gritting his teeth and narrowing his gaze, although you weren’t sure which one of you the gesture was supposed to be directed towards. “Yours ain’t much better, y’know,” He countered, taking half a step closer. “Why did you come back, babydoll? My brother and I were so disappointed when you left without telling us, you don’t know how long the big guy back there spent tryin’ to find whatever hole you decided to hide in. Almost broke my heart, if I’m bein’ honest.”

You hesitated before answering. You’d left because of their treatment, their jeers and their jokes and their determination to make your life hell until you graduated. They must’ve known that, and you doubted they hadn’t managed to uncover the reason for your return, yet, either. They knew your scholarship ran out and you had to come back, they knew that. They just wanted to hear you say it.

It was the least you could do to deprive them of that small victory.

“I missed the scenery,” You muttered, your response almost too quiet to hear. “Everyone’s nice, at the Academy. I guess I was feeling nostalgic.”

Atsumu frowned. Osamu snickered. You let your confidence flare before reminding yourself not to let them have any effect on you, no matter how positive the shift seemed. Rather, you steeled yourself, squaring your shoulders as Atsumu reached forward, catching your jaw and tilting your head back. “I don’t really remember why we were missin’ you,” He said, forcing you to face him, his thumb biting into your jaw when you tried to twist away. “You’re always actin’ so stubborn, when you know ‘samu and I don’t mean any harm. If you just started behavin’ right, we wouldn’t have so many problems. We wouldn’t have to go to such great lengths to get your attention.” He paused, dropping your jaw, but freedom was a temporary comfort. Without warning, he took you by the hair, jerking you up by the scalp and earning a pathetic, whiny whimper for his efforts, the noise enough to spur him on, as he continued. “If you weren’t so cold, we wouldn’t have to be so mean.”

“Then what?” You’re talking before you can tell yourself not to, getting mad before you can tell yourself not to. It’s was instinct, to curl your hands into fists and drive your nails into your skin, to hate the men who currently surround you. Distance had spoiled you, given you time to grow content with the idea of a life that didn’t include the Miya twins. It seemed too soon to adjust to what you used to be complacent with. It seemed unfair. “You want your punching bag to smile and say ‘thank you’, and that’s great, that’s wonderful, but unless it gets you to screw off, I’m not interested. I don’t want anything to do with you or your--” You took the time to drive your heel into Osamu’s foot, only stopping when he let out a stifled, pained grunt. “-fucking brother, and there’s no amount of bullshit you can put me through to make me think otherwise.”

There was a beat of silence. Osamu looked towards Atsuma, Atsuma looked towards Osamu, and then they both looked towards you. You pursed your lips, your pride morphing into a hallow, jagged shape, one that came to rest at the back of your throat. You waited for the backlash, your anticipation mixing with that sense of impending dread, but the blow never came.

Instead, they laughed.

“This is why you shouldn’t be the one doin’ the talking, you make both of us sound like pricks.” Osamu’s chin came to rest on your shoulder, a chuckle still lacing the edges of his tone by the time he finished. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck affectionately, kissing the dip of your shoulder, adamantly ignoring your renewed attempts to squirm out of his hold. “The poor thing’s already shakin’. I think you scared ‘em, ‘tsumu.”

“No, no. If anything, our little mouse got too brave.” There was another tug to your hair, another string of smirks and glances between the two, and in the distance, a bell rang, but neither boy seemed to notice.

If anything, they were more concentrated on you than they’d ever been.

“I think someone needs a proper welcome home, don’t you?”

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hawkbucks · 3 years

Text

For @stardustandbucky, who made me remember that I never actually wrote The Scene.

“You’re stupid,” Tony hisses, fingertips delicately holding a small square of golden ambrosia and bringing it up to James’ chapped lips. His words are harsh, they sting and cut deeper than the cruel slash of any sword, yet his eyes water, betraying his outwards appearance of anger. “You should’ve just let me be hit.”

James, sensing that replying wouldn’t be the best idea right now, nibbles on the corner of the square. Its effects are immediate, and he can feel as blood stops flowing out of his now closing cuts and the aches start fading away. He swallows, then starts to reach up to a place above his right eyebrow where a Stymphalian bird’s feather cut particularly deep.

“It’s fine.” Tony gives him a once-over, arms crossed and a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “You should– you should be fine.”

Before James can say anything, Tony turns on his heel and stalks away, plopping himself down in front of the crackling fire.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s reaching out until Steve comes over and lowers his hand.

“He’s not talkin’ to me,” James mumbles to Steve as they walk side-by-side. He keeps his head down, mentally counting the amount of pebbles that he’s accidentally kicked as they walk along the path. Every attempt is met with sidewards glances and dead silence, and acknowledgement is given only in the form of Steve relaying Tony’s words.

Steve looks at him. “I’m the last person to be giving relationship advice,” he says, “but… maybe just give him time? I mean, I’m not gonna say what you did wasn’t stupid, because it was–” and James snorts, thanks Steve– “but he likes you, you know? And you putting yourself in danger like that…”

“Doesn’t mean he has to be angry about it.” He would much rather deal with a concerned, fussy Tony than a Tony that barely glances at him and communicates with him via Steve.

“Emotions aren’t that simple, man, and you know it. I’m not tryin’ to say that he’s completely in the right with his reaction either.” Steve’s voice is rather firm, surprising that small part of James that forgot Steve can be amazingly assertive when he wants to be. “Like I said, give him time. I’ve seen how you act when he gets so much as a scratch; how would you feel if the situation was reversed?”

James mulls over it for a moment. “Worse.”

“Can you ask James if he wants anything?” Tony says to Steve, placing a hand on Steve’s left forearm. He tosses some bags of chips and jerky into a shopping basket, then leaves to roam more of the convenience store.

Steve turns to look at James, looking either sympathetic or pitiful, James hasn’t decided yet. “Tony wants to know–”

“I know. I don’t want anything.”

Steve’s hand freezes on a pack of cookies–James’ favorite. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Please.” It exits James’ mouth before he can even think about it. What was Steve saying about giving him time? “Tony, listen, I know it was stupid, but gods, give me something. Anything.”

Tony looks at him, and for a fleeting moment, James thinks it’s all going to be alright. “Steve,” Tony starts, “can you hear that?”

Heartbreak, as James figures out quickly, is painful.

His ma taught him better than to eavesdrop, but Steve and Tony most definitely think he’s still asleep, or else they would’ve put a stop to their whispered argument to keep things from getting awkward.

“This isn’t a good way to show someone you like them,” Steve says flatly.

He inhales sharply and prays to the gods that Steve and Tony didn’t notice.

Tony splutters, breathless. “I don’t–”

“I know you were angry, but try and see this from his side.” The try and see the way he was so desperate to keep us–keep you–alive that he almost killed himself part goes unsaid. The do you see how much he likes you back part goes unsaid. The please, talk to him because I’m actually starting to get worried part goes unsaid. It all goes unsaid, but Tony hears it anyway.

There’s no response, and James is half-expecting Tony to start deflecting as he always does when he’s being forced to confront his emotions. He’s half-expecting Tony to just walk away from the conversation and tuck in.

“I fucked up,” Tony finally says, voice small and quiet and so un-Tony-like that it’s downright concerning. “I really fucked up.”

He goes back to sleep.

Someone pokes at his cheek. “Wake up,” they say, and he does. His eyes open, and he takes in the sight of unruly black hair and honey-brown eyes staring down at him, and gods, they’re close enough that their noses are almost touching.

“Tony?” He catapults himself upright in his sleeping bag, nearly knocking their foreheads together had Tony not pulled away fast enough (and wouldn’t that have made a pretty mark). “You’re talking. To me.” He barely manages to suppress a smile, because that would’ve made him look dorky as all hell and he doesn’t need that right now.

Tony bites his lower lip. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. I’ve been an asshole lately, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He maneuvers himself and straddles James’ lap before sitting down. “You saved me. You saved Steve. And I just ignored you. It wasn’t right, but…” Tony scoffs before continuing. “No, I’m not gonna make any excuses. It just wasn’t right.”

James is silent, processing this entire thing. Suddenly, he wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and draws him in close for a hug.

Tony doesn’t reciprocate for a long enough period of time that James thinks that this was a mistake, but then he feels Tony’s trembling hands clutch the back of his shirt, and he buries his face in the crook of James’ shoulder. “Bucky,” Tony croaks, voice muffled. “I’m sorry.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. Gods, how long has it been since Tony’s called him that? He hums and hugs Tony tighter.

They stay like that, taking comfort in each other’s warmth, until James is the first one to pull away, resting his hands on Tony’s hips. Tony’s hands go from his back to the front of James’ shirt.

“You were awake, weren’t you? When I was talking to Steve,” Tony says softly, seemingly apprehensive. “I heard you.”

James hesitates before nodding.

“How much did you hear?”

He averts his eyes, gaze flickering around their little camping area before coming back to rest on Tony. “Enough.”

Tony frowns, not satisfied. “What did you hear?”

“Steve said that you like me.” Tony flinches, and James supposes that he could’ve said that a bit more gently.

“It’s hard not to,” Tony offers along with a wobbly smile, covering up his nervousness with confidence. He rubs his thumbs against the cloth he has clenched in his hands. “You’re a likable guy.”

“So I’ve been told,” James snorts, lightning up the mood enough for Tony’s smile to turn from anxious to genuine.

“So you’ve been told.”

Tony’s eyes drop and he pretends to be reading whatever the hell is written on James’ shirt. James just watches him with a soft smile, the scene utterly domestic. “Can I kiss you now?” James blurts out because he has no filter.

Tony stops the motion of his thumbs, eyes wide with both surprise and a burgeoning hope. “What?”

“Kiss you? I mean, only if you’re okay with–”

He’s tugged forward, and his lips are pressed against Tony’s own.

Tony, as he finds out, tastes like strawberries.

(Steve wakes up some time later, takes one glance at them, and demands that they don’t kiss when he can see.)

#NOW THIS IS WHAT I CALL ~*VINTAGE*~#Reposted for you Suma! Hopefully it's as good as you remember alskdjsalkd #old posts #ambrosia au

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meltwonu · 4 years

Text

| caffeine | [chapter 5]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; oral(male receiving), face-fucking, hair pulling, some name calling, masturbation, minor panty sniffing. 😈🥴Much like SE this doesn’t follow any of the drabble game posts/blurbs that precede it otherwise it also wouldnt make sense jkfhksh there are some similar plot points as one of the posts i made but its not directly related! 💕💕A bit of a shorter chapter this week but thank you for your continued interest~💕💕💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - x - x - x - x - x

True to your word, you find yourself at a SVT House party a few days later.

You wonder how any of them can even deal with the amount of people currently crammed into every square foot of the big house because you can barely keep it together. Minghao is nowhere to be seen, obvious. And Mingyu currently towers over everyone else in the kitchen where you stand; pouring liquor straight into Jihoon’s mouth. You raise an eyebrow at the sight, taking a sip of your own cup before you turn to exit the bustling kitchen.

It wasn’t that you were a prude or hated parties; it was more-so the crowd that really turned you off. Also the fact that SVT parties usually only ended when the law enforcement swung by and you typically did not want to be around when and if that happened. You really had to know how Minghao dealt with this.

“Whoa there baby, not so fast!”

An arm wraps around your waist and tugs you into their warm chest and you immediately spin around in their hold to see who the culprit is. “Um, can I help you?” He was definitely taller than you, had a beaming smile, and cute mole on his cheek.

“Yeah! You almost left without introducing yourself to me, cutie~”

There’s a laugh on his lips after and if you weren’t already involved with someone from SVT House, this guy would’ve definitely been your pick. “Why should I go first? You’re the one with your hands on me.” To your surprise, he lets go of you, backing up slightly to give you some space.

“Oops, sorry, haha, you’re right! My name’s Seokmin.” He smiles at you, extending a hand towards you which you take as you introduce yourself. “That’s a cute name! Say, you wanna get out of here?” You try to refrain from laughing, of course that was his goal. “It depends, where are you tryin’ to take me?” His smile turns into a smirk, eyes smoldering as he peers down at you. “Hmm, guess it depends where you wanna go? There’s a lot of rooms in this house, cutie. And I can take you to any of them.”

It’s at this exact moment you realize that everyone that’s part of SVT House apparently takes a course in flirting. “What do you say, baby? I could show you somethin’ new, if you’d like.”

“Actually, I think I have to have a word with her.”

The familiar voice has you turning to your side, meeting Wonwoo’s inquisitive stare as he brings his own cup to his lips. “Oh… okay. Nevermind! It was nice meeting you though!” Seokmin shares a look with Wonwoo before leaving, a pout on his lips before he exits.

“Wow, didn’t think I’d actually run into you here Wonwoo.”

The said male smirks, placing his empty cup down on the cluttered countertop before he starts to push you out of the kitchen and into the hallway. There’s a few people scattered about in the tight space, but thankfully more empty than the kitchen had been.

“I live here. Why wouldn’t I be here, princess?”

“I mean, Minghao tells me he usually stays in his room when you guys have parties… I just assumed you were the same or something.”

Wonwoo leads you to a restroom in the hallway, gently pushing you in before he turns to lock the door. “Oh? Think I’m a goody two shoes even after everything I’ve done to you? You’re too kind, sweetheart.” He backs you into the countertop, arms caging you in as he stares down at you.

“No, I never said that. Trust me, I know you’re not.”

Wonwoo tells you that his room is off limits when you ask. That it’s a luxury you need to earn before he takes you there. You pout at him at first, but you accept it for what it is. For now.

Instead, he pushes you down onto your knees, hands immediately flying to the waistband of his jeans to undo the button. You watch him, hands already behind your back as you try to get as comfortable as you could with the rug digging into your kneecaps.

“Your little show the other day was real cute, princess. We should do that more often when you don’t show up to see me. I always miss your tight cunt, baby.”

You nod up at him, eyes focused on his half hard cock coming into view when he pushes his jeans and underwear down enough. “But for now, I want you to suck me off with that slutty ‘lil mouth of yours. And no hands.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wonwoo guides his cock to your mouth, tapping the head of it on your cheek before he drags it across to your lips. You part your lips, welcoming his cock into your mouth as you begin sucking on the head. Groans spill out of his mouth as he watches you; his left hand still guiding his cock into your mouth as his right hand goes straight for your hair. He threads his fingertips through your hair, pulling on it enough to get you moaning around him.

Little by little, you take more and more of Wonwoo’s cock into your mouth until he’s deep throating you. And you can feel him getting harder and harder in your mouth as you hollow out your cheeks around him.

“Fuck, your mouth is so fucking small… You’re so good at sucking my cock.”

By now, he already has both of his hands in your hair, holding you still as he thrusts into your mouth. You rub your thighs together, moaning around him when you feel how wet you are. “Mmh, I know how much you want me to take you upstairs and fuck your pretty cunt open. You only get that if you’re a good girl, y’know?” He lets out a heartless laugh, continuing to use your mouth to get off.

You whimper around him, eyes teary as you look up at him. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. We’ll get to that eventually.” He thrusts into your mouth particularly hard as you sputter around him. You know for sure you already look like a complete mess, eye makeup smeared and spit and precum dribbling down your chin. There’s a vague noise which sounds like knocking coming from the other side of the door and it reminds you that there’s an entire crowd of people just outside.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum in your mouth. Be good and swallow it all for me, okay?” You nod slightly, relaxing your throat as he picks up the pace; the hands tangled in your hair tighter than before.

The knocking gets quicker and louder just as Wonwoo cums, a faint ringing in your ears as you swallow down all of the warm liquid. You can feel some of it dripping down your chin as he continues to shallowly thrust into your mouth, riding out his orgasm.

He lets go of your hair as he braces himself on the countertop above you, catching his breath as he stares down at you. You finally use your hands to brace yourself against his thighs, cleaning his cock with your mouth.

“Such a good girl, sweetheart.” Your throat feels impossibly sore; giving Wonwoo head after drinking earlier was probably not the best idea. “T-thank you, sir…”

“Hey! What the fuck is going on in there!?”

Right. The knocking.

Wonwoo gives you enough space to stand, legs shaky as you try to wipe off the cum drying on your chin while simultaneously trying to smooth down your messy hair. He tucks himself back into his underwear before he zips his jeans up, looking just as normal as ever. You check yourself in the mirror, only to find your lips swollen and eyes red from crying. There’s no way whoever is on the other side of the door won’t know; you just hope they’re too drunk to notice.

Despite the knocking, Wonwoo cages you against the sink again, tilting your head up to meet him in a searing kiss. It tastes like alcohol and cum, but he doesn't seem to mind. He drags a hand up your naked thigh, pushing the skirt you were wearing up until he can run his fingertips over your covered slit.

When he breaks away from the kiss, his lips ghost over yours, a smirk on the edge of them. “Take off your panties for me.”

“H-huh?”

“I can feel how wet they are and I want them.”

You decide to let him, letting him drag the wet material down your thighs until you step out of them. He brings the soaked material to his face before smelling them, moaning as he does. Wonwoo pockets them right after, just as the knocking becomes unbearable.

When Wonwoo thinks you’re decent, he sidesteps you to open the door, revealing Seokmin on the other side.

“Fuck, are you serious? Should’ve just said you had dibs, bro. Anyway, party’s over man, someone broke Soonyoung’s gundam in the living room and he’s raising hell and jumping onto the tabletops. I think they need you.” Wonwoo doesn’t reply, instead wrapping a hand around your wrist as he drags you out of the restroom and back into the hallway.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Guess we’ll have to continue this another time.” You watch as he turns and starts walking away, surely to take care of whatever is going on in the living room. The stickiness between your legs is unbearable now that there wasn’t anything keeping it inside your panties, but you just need to get home so you can take care of it. Leaving yourself a mental note to send pics of yourself to Wonwoo later. He’d surely punish you for touching yourself without his permission, but you’d deal with that later.

“Hey, you gonna be okay? It’s kinda late to walk back. But I can walk you back if you want?” Seokmin comes up behind you, arm braced against the wall.

“Huh? No, it’s okay. I’ll, um, get a taxi or something. It’s not that far.”

“Okay. Might wanna text your dick appointment when you get in, though. That guy may not seem like it but he worries.”

That night when you get in, it’s a quick race to get undressed before your legs are spread on your bed.

Your idea of letting Wonwoo know you’re fine is sending him pictures of your state of undress and videos of you thrusting your dildo into your wet pussy. You even take the time to send him some audio clips where he can hear your whimpers and your wetness while you play with your toy.

You imagine it’s Wonwoo’s hands all over your body and Wonwoo’s cock deep inside of you. You even take the time to edge yourself twice; imagining it’s him making you whine and wait. His deep laugh and filthy praise on your mind when you cum hard; back bowing off the sheets as you cry out.

There’s a satisfied sigh on your lips when you slide the toy from inside of you, tiredness settling in when you sit up to get cleaned off. Getting off alone was fine, but it definitely wasn’t the same as actually fucking Wonwoo.

You were definitely going to the library tomorrow.

#fratboy!wonwoo #wonwoo smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios

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introvert-no-chameleon · 4 years

Text

Of Monsters and McGuckets

Fiddleford just wanted to have his morning coffee in peace, but Gravity Falls and the Stan brothers had other plans.

AO3

Fiddleford Hardon McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual. One had to be if they ever hoped to survive Gravity Falls, and, even more daunting, live with Stanford and Stanley Pines. Keeping them in line was an occupation in itself. His co-workers were two of the most chaotic and morally questionable people he’d ever met in his life. (Then again, as someone who had once made a giant robot to terrorize his ex-wife in an admittedly misguided attempt to get her back, maybe he shouldn’t be throwing stones in that last department).

The point is, when it came to dealing with uncommon and frustrating situations, he usually managed to keep a straight head. But on one deceivingly lovely morning, just when he’d went out to the porch to sit back with a nice cup of coffee and the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon, he saw two large monsters sprinting towards the shack, and. Well.

It was only reasonable that he’d react the way he did.

The first thing he did was spit out his early-morning coffee, ruining his only clean tie in the process. The second thing he did was dash into the shack like the Devil Himself was on his heels. Lastly, he slammed the door shut, locked it, and began combing the living room for the shotgun he knew for a fact Stanley kept around. He thanked the Lord Stanford wasn’t here, lest he’d be chastising Fiddleford for “harming” (defending himself against) a perfectly healthy specimen. Never mind the fact that half of these subjects of study had tried to eat him, no sir. Scientific discovery was always more important.

(Sometimes, Fiddleford wondered how on God’s green earth Stanford Pines hadn’t fallen to his death into a ravine or some other nonsense in pursuit of an anomaly. Heaven knows the man, while undeniably brilliant, was severely lacking when it came to common sense).

A bang rattled the wooden door of the shack. Fiddleford yelped, dropping the pile of books he’d been in the process of moving in his scramble to find the gun. He eyed the secret lab entrance and wondered if the door would hold them back long enough for him to make a dash for it.

“Fidds, we saw you run in, will ya just open the door?”

Fiddleford froze. That voice, while even more gravelly than usual (a thing he hadn’t thought possible) was definitely familiar.

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he said, dazed, as he walked over to the door and unlocked it. “Stanley?”

Upon closer inspection, he couldn’t deny that the square-jawed face that peered down at him belonged to Stanley Pines. There were some…notable…differences, such as the fact that he had glowing orbs for eyes, all his featured seemed to be carved from stone, he had ridiculous pointy ears and fangs to boot. He’d be right at home next to the gargoyles from those pictures of cathedrals he’d studied for his History of Western Art course.

“Took ya long enough,” said Stanley, ducking his head under the doorway and lumbering inside. Each step made the floorboard groan loudly, and for a few seconds Fiddleford thought the man would break through the wood floor. “Thought we’d never get back.”

“Stanferd, do ya have…fur?” said Fiddleford, stepping away from the door to let the other man in.

Stanford—it couldn’t be anyone else, not with that straight-backed posture and furrowed brow peering over thick-rimmed glasses—walked in behind him, hands behind his back.

Hearing the question, Stanford adjusted his glasses, with a large, six-fingered paw. His facial features were lion-esque, as was his entire body, save from the colorful green, blue and red feathered wings that trailed behind his body. He even had a cute little lion tail poking out from a hole in his pants. “It appears so, yes.” He cleared his throat. “We may have a…problem.”

Stanley, who had gone to the fridge to get a beer, came back glaring at Stanford with those bright yellow orbs. “No shit, Sixer. I hadn’t fucking noticed.”

Stanford’s ears flattened against his skull. Fiddleford would’ve found it amusing if Stanford wasn’t now 7 feet tall and didn’t have large, sharp teeth. “Language, Stanley.”

Fiddleford considered grabbing some alcohol as he took in the situation. After a few attempts at forming words, he finally settled for the question he found himself asking on a near-daily basis. “What in tarnation did ya two get yerselves mixed up in now?”

“Oi, don’t look at me,” said Stan. He jerked his clawed thumb at Stanford. “Mr. Science here was the one who just had to walk right into a mysterious, glowing lake that he almost drowned in.”

Stanford’s tail twitched, and he growled. “We almost drowned, Stanley, because you turned into 300 pounds of moving stone.”

“I was only in the lake because you started flailing around growing a tail and screamin’ for help!”

Ford sniffed, chin held up in that way it got whenever he’d start getting defensive. “Swimming with wings is incredibly difficult.”

“Yeah, I would know, I have them now.” Stanley stretched out his bat-like wings for emphasis.

Judging by Stanford’s bloodshot eyes and Stanley’s slouched posture, along with the fact that they seemed even more short with each other than usual, Fiddleford guessed that they’d been arguing on and off about this for a while. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now see right here, the two of ya best calm down, you’ll tear the shack apart if you start fighting bein’ like this.”

The two of them, while far from calm, quieted down.

“Right,” said Fiddleford. “So ya discovered some magic water that turns folks into monsters?”

“Yup,” said Stanley. “We found it in some hidden path behind some bushes and a couple of boulders.”

It’s almost as if it was hidden away for a reason. “Did ya at least remember where the path is?”

“Of course,” said Stanford, having the audacity to look indignant. “What do you take me for?”

“An idiot who got us turned into two walking Summerween costumes because he couldn’t just collect the water in a cup and some gloves like a normal scientist?” said Stanley.

“As if you would know what a “normal” scientist does,” said Stanford, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, fellas. Let me just get some food in me and then we can go back out and get some samples,” said Fiddleford. “I need me some caffeine to deal with this.”

Stanford opened his mouth but Fiddleford stopped him with the same withering glare he’d give his son whenever he tried to step out of line. “Stanferd Pines, if ya think I’m gonna run around the woods with the two of you, in this here state, on an empty stomach, yer sorely mistaken.”

“Fidds has got a point,” said Stan. “You probably haven’t had anything other than that piece of toast since you woke up.”

“I suppose some food wouldn’t hurt…” said Stanford. “I did have an incredibly strong urge to maul a deer we spotted on the way over.”

Fiddleford was getting some bacon out of the fridge when he heard the end of the sentence. He straightened up and slammed the door with more force than strictly necessary. “Y-ya did?”

Stanford seemed to come to the same conclusion Fiddleford had, because he raised his paws up. “Oh, n-no, rest assured. I don’t have any inclination to eat you.”

“Thank the Lord…”

“After all,” said Stanford, rubbing his chin. “According to mythology, sphinxes only consume humans if they are unfortunate enough not to know the answers to their riddles.”

“Don’t I feel better,” said Fiddleford, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do ya reckon ya can still have some bacon and eggs?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” he said. “Oh! I must write down our findings in my journal. Now, where did I put it…” Stanford went up the stairs, muttering to himself the entire way.

“Ya know, he actually started running on all fours at least twice on the way over.” Stan grinned through another sip of beer. “was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Fiddleford sighed. That would explain the fighting. He rolled his eyes as he saw Stanley reach in the fridge for another can and shut it before he could. “Stanley Pines, it is 8 o’clock in the morning.”

“Ooh,” Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Two last names in less than five minutes, it’s a new record.”

“Stanley.”

Stanley pouted, and even with his new…physical features, Fiddleford still found it endearing. “Aw, come onnnn, Fids, I’m emotionally distressed!”

“Yer no such thing.” He smiled a soon as back turned to the other man. He took out their skillet and placed it on the stove.

“Y’know, I gotta hand it to ya. You’ve gotten a lot more assertive since we’ve met, it’s kinda hot.”

“Yer flattery will not sway me into lettin’ ya get another drink.”

Stanley laughed behind him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still bein’ serious. Ford didn’t even try to fight you about getting breakfast. If it was me, he’d be yelling at me by now about how we were wastin’ time and crap.”

“It doesn’t take much for the two of ya to get at each other’s necks.” Fiddleford cracked an egg on the edge of the skillet. Anyhow, that’s because he’s hiding away scribblin’ field notes. The moment he’s done, he’ll be tryin’ to drag us on out of here.”

“Eh, true.”

For a moment, the eggs sizzling and snapping on the pan filled the warm silence. His stomach grumbled as the savory smell of cooking food reached him. “Stanley, can ya hand me the coffeepot?”

The floorboards creaked behind Fiddleford. A shadow loomed over him. “Stanley?”

“…You’re not, uh, scared of me or nothin’?” Stanley’s voice had gotten so quiet Fiddleford had hardly heard him.

Fiddleford glanced back at Stanley, who despite his size was hunched over, looking mighty small for someone who was now a literal boulder.

“Why on earth would I be?”

Stanley blinked meekly. He gestured towards his entire body. “Uh…’cause I look like this?”

Ah. He did try to threaten them with a shotgun. Some of the unease he’d gotten rid of returned, but he tried his best not to show it. He swallowed down his fear as best as he could. “Should I be?”

Stanley frowned. “Eh, I mean, I feel different, but not in a “eat somebody” kinda way. I do have a very strong urge to perch on the roof and attack pigeons.”

“Fascinating.” Even without his caffeine, his scientific curiosity was finally starting to get the best of him. “Well, gargoyles are known as guardians meant to ward against evil. Perhaps you’ve developed some sorta protective instinct…”

He stopped mid-ramble. Even without eyes to speak of, Fiddleford could tell Stanley was avoiding his gaze.

Fiddleford brought his hand to Stanley’s cheek. It felt warm, to his surprise, like rock that had baked under the afternoon sun. Stanley peeked up at him. “Darlin’, the only thing I’m afraid of is the damage you’ll cause around the lab if we don’t turn ya back. Yer like a bull in a china closet as it is.”

Stanley chuckled, leaning into Fiddleford’s touch. “Somebody has ta make things interesting around here.”

Something crashed overhead, quickly followed by a string of curses. A series of heavy objects thumped against the wood overhead.

“I’m alright!” called Stanford’s voice. “I simply knocked a bookshelf over my person, but this new form is surprisingly durable!”

“Things are interestin’ enough as it is,” said Fiddleford, his brief moment of curiosity gone as soon as it came. “Where in tarnation is the coffeepot?”

“Relax, Fiddlenerd, I’ll make ya a fresh one.” He went over by his side, giving him a playful shove that sent Fiddleford to the ground. “…Oops. Sorry, uh, forgot about the whole…stone thing.”

Fiddleford glowered up at his boyfriend, taking his hand as he helped Fiddleford back up. “Yer lucky a got a soft spot fer ya, else I’d be mighty cross.”

Stanly gave him the gentlest peck on the top of Fiddleford’s head. “Once I have my human body back, I’ll make it up to ya.”

Stanley gave him a cup of his precious lifeblood, black with two sugars, just as he liked it. Smirking, Fiddleford took a sip, getting warmed by more than just the coffee. “I’ll hold ya to that.”

Somebody please give Fiddleford a raise.

Comment on what monster you all think Fidds should be, and I may do a second part. I've read some people make him a scarecrow, and I considered making him a centaur.

#mystery trio au #mystery trio #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #young fiddleford #young stanley pines #young stanford pines #young stan bros #fluff #fiddlestan #monster falls #gargolye!stan #sphinx!ford

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luci-four · 4 years

Note

hello! would it be alright to request some mammon fluff? i read thru all your posts and im in love with your writing 💕

A/N: Thank you!! You didn’t give me anything really specific so I hope this is good enough for you ♥ thank you for being so patient!! ★

Hide N Seek. {Mammon x Reader/MC}

Mammon knew better.

Call him stupid, dumb, an idiot, a dumbass, a--

Too many, too many.

Call him what you want, but when it came down to the wire, Mammon was not unintelligent. He was creative, and smart in the street sort of sense—he could get by and there definitely were times where he let his knowledge shine.

Mammon new better, but he just couldn’t stop himself from pissing off Lucifer.

He didn’t even remember what he did this time. All that mattered was the heavy—frightening—presence of Lucifer’s anger, condensed to a very... vivid aura that suddenly filled the room. Before the second half of his name could pass by his brother’s lips, the second brother was on the run.

Bounding through hallways, skipping a stair or two at a time going up, jumping back down over the railing just to make his movements confusing; Mammon bolted. He was fast—he was pretty certain he wouldn’t get away from Lucifer, but ‘a man’s gotta try’, or so he told himself. If he could just get out of Lucifer’s line of sight just long enough to hide, he’d be golden! He’d strive for that, that was his favourite colour, after all. Taking several turns, ducking under furniture and hopping over others; Mammon had to bite his tongue and hold his smile until he was completely in the clear—but he was almost there! So close! If he could round the corner to the hallways fast enough, he’d be out of the line of sight to his impeding murder--

His saviour—yes! His MC! His sun! His light! His... cushion? His partner in crime? Whatever their title may have been now, he could hear their voice complaining to themselves; he slammed against them the second they stepped around the corner, covering their mouth to keep them silent. The both of them tumbled back into the small closet MC had left open when looking... for whatever it was they were looking for. Mammon didn’t know, and didn’t care. He pulled the door shut, held his finger to his lips to try and quiet MC’s muffled words, and grimaced hard when he heard his brother’s footstep pass by. He leaned his head against the door, listening as closely as he could for the fading sounds and sighed out of relief for a moment before it was cut off by a strangled cry.

“Y’owch!” he had to fight himself to stay quiet and pushed on MC’s forehead to try and pull his hand back, “Get your damn teeth out of me!”

“Stop suffocating me and I wouldn’t bite you!”

“Hey, shush it, will ya?” He hissed, “We’re tryin’ to stay hidden here!”

“You mean you’re trying to stay hidden!” MC emphasized their words with a particularly hard poke to Mammon’s chest, “Why was I dragged into your mess—again!”

“Not my fault you were right there!”

“Now I’m stuck in this small ass closet with you!”

“Yeah yeah, but please! Please be quiet!” he gave a hushed shout, “I’m beggin' ya!”

MC’s face screamed irritation. Mammon gave his best puppy dog eyes, pleading for them to help him out. After they sighed, they turned their head away from him, reluctantly agreeing though they were quick to give him a death glare when he tried to hug them. They both stood in silence for a while, Mammon growing more and more awkward by the minute. His eyes adjusted to the darkness he found himself in, and caught glimpses of MC while they paid no attention to the demon in front of them.

They were close—Mammon could feel it before ever needing to see it; the heat bouncing off of one another, the overall sense of closeness—chest to chest and face to face should they turn back toward him, he was going to die. His heart raced, his pulse knocking heavy in his veins and his breath growing ragged while his knees fought to keep him up; he was dying, that was it, he was dying and was kind of, maybe, sort of, afraid of Lucifer catching him—that's it! Nothing to do with MC...

Nothing to do with the sliver of light from the crack of the door and how it catches their eye and illuminates it like the stars. Nothing to do with how sweet and comforting they smelt. Nothing to do with the soft sound of their breathing or the curve of their face or--

No, nothing to do with them. He’s obviously just getting claustrophobic.

“So...” he started in his whisper, “come here often?”

“Do you want me to punch you right now?”

“Double dare ya.”

They clenched their fist and shifted to aim it towards his stomach before he quickly deflected them.

“Hey, knock it off will ya? I was just jokin’.”

“Oh, scared, are you?”

“Scared? No way!”

“Your body says otherwise.”

“My body is a temple and is as sturdy as ever!”

“Is that what we call it now?”

“Watch it!”

Mammon’s mind moved on its own, as did his mouth. Without realizing it, the awkward aura around him dissipated; he felt so calm and collected, he actually felt pretty confident—it had to be because he got away from Lucifer, of course—he could do anything, he could say anything. Despite MC’s teasing tone, the corners of his mouth couldn’t help but tug up to a playful smirk; his tongue sharper than ever as he threw the teasing right back at them. The words that passed his lips brought such a delectable heat to their face, a pout to their lips, a huff to their breath and a slight lean towards him that he just couldn’t get enough of. The bold way they gave it right back to him, however, was enough to make him equally as heated; he shied away from them, angrily denied all allegations, turned his head and bit his lip the more they leaned against his chest and close to his face to eat up his reactions with a wicked smirk. What the hell were they doing to him?

“Back it up, will ya?”

“Where am I supposed to back up to!” they leaned even closer to his face, “You shoved us into a closet!”

Mammon grunted and attempted to lean away from them, only to catch a glimpse of the sliver of light in their eye once more. The way they looked at him seemed... questionable. Well, he was certainly questioning it. Their eyes seemed... unfocused, though they definitely were resting on something; their bottom lip had their teeth just barely sunken into it and he could just barely make out that their skin seemed flushed. They looked... soft, like they were waiting for something they really wanted but just couldn’t reach out and take themselves. They looked... they looked...

They looked like he did whenever they weren’t paying attention.

He didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was because he felt like he was looking into a mirror? Or maybe because this all felt like a dream? Whatever it was, Mammon was ecstatic! He could almost jump for joy! Cheer! He was so happy! He was nervous! He was scared! Wait, those emotions didn’t mix—or did they? The perfect blend of nerves and bliss danced around like butterflies in his stomach and drums in his heart; Mammon was almost ready to thank God for bringing the two of them together in this closet. Almost. Wait, why were they in here again?

It didn’t matter! Mammon didn’t care! With eyes as wide as the moon and a smile just as bright, he grabbed their hands and interlaced their fingers, getting a shot of confidence and the need to tease to help him get the words out of his mouth.

“So,” his eyebrows gave a little smug wiggle, “we gonna kiss, or what?”

MC’s eyes went wide as though they just snapped back to reality, giving him a bewildered look for a split second before such a sweet laugh bubbled out of them. They hunched over a moment, leaning their head on his chest and trying to catch their breath as their laugh only grew louder. Mammon couldn’t help but laugh too, moving their still intertwined hands to wipe the tears off their face with the back of their own hands.

“Well?”

Mammon’s body language screamed just one big ‘please’ that he knew MC could read—he didn’t care. The way they smiled back at him made his stomach flip, watching them slowly get closer to his face made it feel like his heart was leaping square out of his throat. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, excited and partially in disbelief.

“Will you calm down for a second?” MC laughed again, only to keep their smile and laugh once more as Mammon eagerly closed the gap between them.

Oh, he was ready to just die, then and there, in that closet with them.

It was everything—no, more—than he could have ever imagined. It was pure bliss; soft on MC’s end but a little rougher on his as he moved like an excited puppy. Feeling their smile against his lips only egged him on; a little desperate for more—and a little unmanly to whine a bit as he had, he was lucky his eyes were closed so he didn’t see the almost sinful look they shot him—he felt them move back for a moment to untangle their hands. Once their lips made their way back to his, they gently held his face where he instantly became putty.

His limbs felt heavy, and he just wanted to lean everything he had against MC—but in a way they’d never have to let their lips leave his. Was there such a way? Could he find it? The slight tease as they grazed their teeth over his bottom lip as they pulled away caused him to let out another (embarrassing) whine. Letting his head fall heavy into their hands, he simmered in the moment a while longer before lifting his equally heavy eyelids halfway just to let those pool into theirs as well. The way they smiled at him was innocent, adoring, and... happy. Mammon knew his lazy smirk gave them the same feeling as well.

Mammon didn’t think he’d find himself stuck in a closet today—he especially didn’t expect to kiss MC—but he was thankful nonetheless. Something kept nagging at the back of his mind, however, but he just couldn’t find the strength to address it when such an amazing, adorable, teasing little brat stood in front of him; he wanted more—more kisses, more time alone, more of them, more--

The room flooded with light, the force which the door was opened caused a heavy wind against Mammon’s back. Judging by the sheepish look on MC’s face, it wasn’t a good sign in the slightest. In an instant, the warmth that cradled his face—and the rest of him—had been stripped away as he was lifted by the back of his shirt and pulled away from MC and dragged out of the closet.

“Dammit Lucifer, ya couldn’t’ve waited a few more minutes!”

“Be thankful I found you when I did, thanks to MC’s laugh. Any longer and your punishment would have been tripled.”

Hearing that it was their fault, Mammon watched MC give him an embarrassed laugh, scratching the back of their head regretfully before blowing him an apologetic kiss that made him cry out.

“Aw, come on!”

#obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me! mammon #om! mammon #om! drabbles #obey me! drabbles #obey me! writing #om!#om! writing #swd: obey me!#shall we date: obey me #om! imagines #obey me! imagines #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #satans bookmark

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msmarvelouswinchester · 3 years

Text

Love In Sin

Chapter 9

Summary - Special Agent Winchester is forced to go undercover with his frenemy Special Agent L/N when they try to track down a notorious drug dealer. How will Y/N and Dean complete their task? Will their relationship worsen or will new feelings emerge between them?

Pairing - AU!Detective Dean Winchester x Reader

Warning - None, Fluff-ish

Word Count - 1.5k

Square Filled - Clothes Sharing ( @spndeanbingo )

A/N 1 - Surprise, this series lives! So, it has been a loooong time. I wasn't originally planning to post this part today but my college is killing me and I am hardly getting any writing (and reading) done. This was already done and edited so I finally decided to post this today.

A/N 2 - This may seem like a filler chapter but it's not, trust me. It's a very important chapter which plays a crucial part in the next chapters. ENJOY!

Beta'd by the absolute sweetheart @deanwanddamons <3<3

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Groaning loudly, Dean dropped his head as you paced around the room, complaining for the hundredth time that night.

“Will you stop?” He grumbled. You came to a halt when you heard his words and turned to look towards him. Throwing a glare his way you continued your pacing .

“Y/N/N, stop it. This isn't going to solve our problem - it'll only annoy the tenants downstairs,” he said and got up from his chair.

“What are we supposed to do? My pacing around is definitely not helping neither is your what, fourth glass of whiskey,” you retorted.

“Third,” Dean said, “this is my third glass and I'm tryin’ to get drunk.”

“We ended up in this situation because we were slacking and this is exactly what we are doing again,” you raised your voice, regretting your decision to stay at Dean’s house with him, “if you won't even try to get out of this situation, I'll be going back to my house tomorrow.”

“You won't stay alone in that house until we catch that son of a bitch,” he said, setting his glass and walking over to you, “it's dangerous.”

You knew it was dangerous considering how the house you had rented in Kansas was destroyed when you had gone back to get your belongings - furniture was thrashed, utensils were broken and clothes were torn, but nothing was stolen. It was clear that Crowley's men were trying to send you a sign to leave their boss alone.

It was Bobby who suggested that staying alone and travelling a few kilometres everyday to discuss the proceedings of the case would be a bad idea since Crowley and Co. were waiting for the perfect opportunity to cause disruption in the case. And knowing how ruthless Crowley could be, murder and kidnapping didn't seem like a far-fetched option for him.

Dean had piped up saying it would be better to stay at his house since he had noticed your house had a weak security system. His other reason was that he had a car, unlike you.

Needless to say, you had reluctantly agreed to stay with the green eyed detective, but deep down inside, you knew that staying with Dean gave you a sense of security and you didn't want to let that go.

“We will figure a way out,” he said, standing a little too close to you.

“How?” You asked the obvious question.

“I have contacted my brother. He will be working as our lawyer to get them to drop the charges. Sammy will be here early morning tomorrow,” he said, removing a stray piece of hair from your face, “but you gotta cool down, sweetheart. Give that pretty little head of yours a little rest.”

“I-I can't. I am freaking out Dean,” you said.

“I know. You have almost bore a hole in the ground by your pacing,” you hit his arm lightly, making him chuckle, “I'm thinkin’ about the case too.”

“Is Sam-will he be able to….this is a critical one,” you mumbled, looking down at the floor.

“I have faith in my brother and he can go to hell and back to save me just like I can. Sammy will do anything to help us. Trust me,” he said, putting a finger under your chin, prompting you to look up at him. He leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead. This simple act worked like a sedative and you calmed down a bit.

“Join me for a drink,” Dean said and strolled his way back to the couch. You followed him and took a seat beside him. Pouring a drink, he handed you the glass.

“One drink. Only.” You said.

“Alright.”

“Who do you think might be the mole?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink

“It can be anyone. Charlie, Kevin, Bobby, Rufus-”

“Ruby, you,” he nodded, “me.”

“Like I said, it could be anyone,” Dean said.

“Motive?”

“Depends.”

“Do you think we can prove our innocence?” You asked, “the cops kinda caught us red handed and-”

“It's….tough.” Dean said and jumped out of his seat, knocking over the tumbler of ice.

You tilted your head in confusion, furrowing your eyebrows.

“What?” You insisted.

“A few years back, when we were only fledglings in the bureau, Rufus Turner was working Crowley’s case. This information was in the case file that Bobby gave to us. He had arrested two men in his gang but by the time they had got to know about that dick, they had already lost him. He had escaped the feds again,” he explained, flailing his arms all around in excitement.

“Maybe we can find out who those two men were and interrogate them about Crowley,” you said, smiling a little for the first time that night, knowing you had a lead.

“Now all we need is access to those two men's files. FBI is not gonna help us so we have to take matters in our own hands. I’ll call Ash and ask him to find those,” Dean said and ran back to his room to get his phone.

“Ash? What about Charlie?” You asked, when he came back to the room, “And shouldn't you tell Sam first? He is our lawyer and he should be informed about this.”

“It's not like we are gonna interrogate a witness and Ash is a good friend of mine. He is not a fed whereas Charlie works at the bureau and right now we can't trust anyone who works there because we don't know who might be working as a two-faced devil and ratting us out to the God of the Underworld,” Dean said, dialing Ash’s number.

“Ash,” he said when the said man picked up the phone after a few rings.

“Listen, we are kind of in a tricky situation here-oh you heard….not really, we got one week….no it won't….I know you're a busy man, Ash,” Dean said, rolling his eyes, “but we need your help….yeah….the thing is we need access to the old case files related to the drug mafia Crowley….yeah I know that genius….can't you-fine….I owe you one.”

“So?” You asked, hoping for good news.

“Ash will let us know by morning,” he said.

“Can we trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” you reached for the bottle of whiskey.

“What do you think you're doing?” Dean asked, raising his brow.

“Relaxin’,” you shrugged, “you should try to relax sometimes.”

“You think you're such a smartass, huh?” He said and plopped down on the couch beside you, making you giggle.

“Thanks for tonight, Winchester,” you turned towards your friend.

“For what? For helping you calm down when you were running around like a headless chicken?” He smirked.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, “you know what I mean.”

“I'm here for you. We're in this shit together and I promise to get us out of this mess,” he said as you moved closer to him.

“And I have faith in you.” He pulled you closer and kept your head on his shoulder. He hummed in response. You closed your eyes, sighing loudly, but the sweet moment of coziness was interrupted quickly.

Your eyes flew open, “You son of a bitch, Winchester! Way to ruin a moment! How dare you put ice in my sweatshirt?” Dean laughed out loud.

“First of all, that's my sweatshirt you are wearing and you were looking too peaceful with your head on my shoulder,” he laughed.

“Fuck you!” You growled, and hit his arm hard.

“Ow!” He rubbed his arms. Dean effectively dodged your second attack, “woah, easy there tiger.” By now you were laughing too. As your laughter died down, you looked at Dean and saw him smiling softly at you. You blushed furiously under his strong gaze.

“You hungry?” Dean asked, clearing his throat.

“Uh-huh. Kinda forgot about food today until now.” You said, diverting your eyes.

“I'm thinking about ordering pizza. You okay with that?” He asked.

“Sure.” You said.

Half an hour later, as you were enjoying the delicious pizza and watching some crappy tv trying to put a break on the racing thoughts, you heard Dean speak.

“About earlier,” he sighed.

“Oh yeah. You better be sorry Winchester,” you gave him an annoyed look.

“No, I'm not sorry for that. It was fun,” he laughed.

“No it wasn't,” you said, but failed to hide the smile threatening to take over your face.

“It made you smile,” he pointed out.

“Fine, you're forgiven,” you said as Dean gave you a cheeky grin.

“In all seriousness, what I said earlier, I meant it. I promise to get us out of this mess,” he said, leaning down to give you a chaste kiss on your cheek, your skin tingling with an unknown sensation.

“I know,” you said, “I think I should go to bed now. We have a long day ahead of us.” Dean nodded as you got up and made your way over to his guest room.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the series!

Feedback is highly appreciated!

#dean x reader #supernatural #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #au dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #deanxreader #au dean winchester x you #au dean fic #love in sin #jensen ackles #supernatural fanfic #au dean winchester x reader #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #spn

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