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moonieandi · 5 months ago

Text

snapshots pt. 4 | stanley pines x f!reader

summary: you and stanley unknowingly go on a date

warnings (TW): swearing, illusions of past abuse, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, slight angst, affection

notes: thank you all for the engagement! hope you enjoy <3

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked an up to date masterlist of all the parts of this continuing series- hope you enjoy <3

word count: 3.9k

| masterlist | part v |

He had somehow managed to drag her out of the basement that day.

Of course, he had been down there assisting her in any way he could. A high school dropout only knows so much about mechanical engineering and quantum physics. Still, she seemed happy enough to dance around the chalkboard she (he) had dragged downstairs, bouncing off ideas with him contently listening, trying to piece back together complex wiring to get the ominous inverted triangle on the basement wall to whirl back to life.

She was even more spurred on when he actually engaged, not that he raised his hand like he was back in class (not that he ever remembered doing so when he was in class). She simply seemed grateful that he was attempting to learn anything to help her. To learn how to move this whole fucking thing along.

She dragged him to the basement quite often now that the shack was half shut down for the winter. He had managed to see a few rounds of locals and tourists through the Murder Hut from early October until Thanksgiving when snow began to fall. Then tourists dried up, and only the locals frequented now, so Stan reduced his hours and gave some more of his time to helping her downstairs during the day.

Every night was spent downstairs in the basement though, there hadn’t come a day since she stepped through that front door that they both didn’t wander down to the portal. Of course, this was usually then followed by convening upstairs in front of the T.V., Stanford’s journal passed between the two of them.

She had grown more frustrated as of late, raving about alien material and compatibility with human electronics. He did his best to understand, and he followed along very aptly. Always wanting to be an attentive sounding board, and even bouncing his own, albeit stupid, ideas.

Not that she ever made any indication of them being stupid, and not that she would ever stop him from voicing them.

Educationally, he felt it was the closest he’d ever gotten to an actual education. Said education being advanced quantum mechanics, but everyone had to start somewhere.

But now they were out for dinner because, after yesterday’s long night of pacing and chalkboard rants, he thought they deserved to go out on the meager earnings of yesterday’s Murder Hut tour.

That and it had been exactly a year since he first laid eyes on her. Not that he was gonna tell her that.

He could acknowledge that she may have noticed the amount of time that had past, hence her growing irritation with the lack of progress in getting Stanford back, and her growing hours spent in the dark of the basement. But she more than likely didn’t know of the significance of the exact date, or care, which he figured may be more likely. Especially with the anniversary of Ford’s disappearance having come and gone.

December had been hard for the both of them really, and some things had settled somewhat awkwardly between them from the previous week.

They both handled the anniversary slightly differently, her with general avoidance, head somehow buried deeper in that god-forsaken journal. He found some semblance of self-soothing in diving head first into holding a conversation with any customer that walked through the front door of the Murder Hut that day.

Sitting across from each other at the dinner table was hard that night, and for the first time ever, she poured copious amounts of wine into their mugs on a weeknight. The kitchen had been eerily quiet that night, the silence only broken by scrapes of plates and mumbled conversation.

He remembers being disgusted with his hands that evening. Remembers thinking about how he had shoved his brother away that day, how Ford had stumbled from one end of the room into the other just to disappear before his eyes. How his hands had reached for Stanford, calling for him. How the journal made its way back to his hands, but his brother hadn’t. His hand had been constantly grazing his shoulder that day, running along the raised scar, a sickening feeling sinking further into him throughout the day.

They had both shuffled around each other that night, and she had not said so much as good morning and goodnight in her mounting grief, it felt like. She had felt bad about how she handled that day but had felt even worse about failing Stan and Ford. She knew of the hope in Stan’s eyes that day when she had trampled in through the door of the shack, knew the relief he felt in her knowledge and presence. But a year had passed, and she could feel nothing but shame when she looked at him. She saw both twins that night while looking over at his hunched figure across the dinner table. She had said goodnight to Stan and Ford that night and had wandered upstairs wondering if she could wash the image from her eyes in the bathroom sink.

They had both returned to normal by Thursday but had grown more determined than ever before. So yeah, Stan figured a night out may be deserved.

She seemed happier now, sitting crisscross from him in the Greasy’s diner booth, elbows on the table as she reached over to draw along the corners of his paper placemat with the crayons she had swiped from some kid on the way in.

Something that made him chuckle for a little too long. He must be a bad influence. He had sticky fingers and she knew it. It now seemed to be a competition between the two of them, who could steal the most random of objects.

Her hand was out, shielding the drawing on his placemat as she switched between the meager 4 colors the shitty diner crayon pack supplied. He nudged her hand aside as she giggled.

“No! My masterpiece! Give me a second you grump.”

“It better be good, Picasso, you’re hoggin all the crayons.”

She handed over the red one, and he elected to reach across to her own paper placemat, beginning to draw his usual comic-book-style figures. One of the figures, oddly enough, began to look like her.

Her face was so close to her drawing she might as well have been kissing the table, when she shot up, smiling at Stan and looking for approval.

“Ta-Da!�� She moved her hand, showing a mish-mash of red, blue, green, and purple.

He stared contemplatively, sitting back in his seat humming. In truth, he had no idea what he was looking at, but he would entertain giving an “expert” review.

“Hmmmmm, now the color selection may be controversial to some but I think the blue and the purple over here are just lovely. Truly an emotional piece mhm.” He nodded his head, pointing at the corner of colors.

“You have no idea what it is, do ya?”

“Not a clue Doc.”

She laughed, pointing to the blue and purple figures. “Okay so these are two llamas and they are totally in love. You can tell by the cool rainbow and shooting star I put by them.” She pointed at what he figured was the “rainbow and shooting star” between said “llamas”.

“And they are here in Gravity Falls because I drew a bunch of pine trees behind them!” She pointed to what he supposed was the foreground and the mess of green sprigs she had tried to draw.

He hummed again. “Very moving, very touching Doc.” He moved to wipe a fake tear, sniffling along with his act.

“I ain't much of an artist, am I Stan?” She laughed, finding humor in her lack of skill.

He gasped, fake clutching his pearls, an even faker mean expression on his face. “Don’t say that Doc! This is a masterpiece!”

She smirked. “Okay, then that will be 50 bucks for said masterpiece, pay up!” Hand held out to him she made to grab his placemat.

“Pretty steep price there kid, don’t get ahead of yourself now.” He conceded.

She smiled again. “I knew you thought it was shit.” Shaking her head at him she moved to look at his own drawing. “Now what's this?”

He smacked his hand palm side down on the corner image, a blush on his face. “Nothin’!”

She nudged his hand now, trying to lift his hand finger by finger. “No! I had to show you mine now fess up! What ya drawing?”

His hand clenched the corner of the paper placemat, ripping the picture of her from the corner of it and crumpling it up into his hand.

“Nope!”

“Yup!” She had risen up with her hands on the table, reaching for the corner paper now clutched above him in his fist. “Lemme see! Don’t do this Stan!” She giggled the entire time.

He panicked at her determination, fisting the paper into his mouth.

“Gross Stan!” She laughed. “What the fuck!”

He swallowed the paper, not thinking much of it. Saving himself the embarrassment of having to explain himself. He smiled across from her though, as she cracked up at his over exaggeration.

She looked just right, under the shitty diner lights. Car headlights flashing as they went by from time to time, he began to wonder how long she would stay. If she would linger around, once Ford had returned. Wondered what it was that note said, that she brought in with her that very first day she burst through their front door. She had put it away after that day, and he never really did get to see his brother’s usual cursive gracing the paper. What was it he had said, to get her of all people out here?

She was too good to linger, he figured, and Gravity Falls felt far too small for someone like her anyway. Even if the unknown waited past their doorstep, they both hadn’t made the move to wander into the woods in search of the creatures Ford had spoken about. Something they had both voiced before over dinner, their shared hesitation to walk too far from their doorstep. If it was just himself he reasoned he would have wandered into the woods looking for signs his brother had been there, he wasn’t fearful of the unknown, he had done plenty of other things that were far scarier than what waited in their backyard. But she was here, and he felt some semblance of duty to watch her back in particular. So they had made a pact to not wander off too far from the other, and they had stuck to that deal even when coming into town.

The townsfolk hadn’t seen Stan without her by his side since he trampled into the gas station in search of food that very first week. Surprisingly, not too many townsfolk approached her at all when they were out. If it was because he tended to glare at unknown men, she didn’t comment.

“Order up!”

Susan made her way back over to their booth, her hands full with two separate plates of short-stacks.

“For you Mr. Pines.” Settling one plate in front of Stan, Susan moved to place the other in front of her. “And the other for you Mrs. Pines!”

Brain short-circuiting, he freezes in his motion to grab his fork for his meal. His mouth began to move to correct Susan.

“Thanks!” She said across from him, a panicked look in her eyes. Face creeping up into a flush as she thanked the waitress.

Susan made her way away from the table after exchanging common pleasantries, all the while he sat in suspense.

Only after he could swear Susan was out of earshot did he lean into the table, chest close to his plate to whisper across at her.

“What the fuck was that?”

She looked beyond guilty, ringing her table napkin in her hands as her eyes flickered to every corner of the diner that didn’t contain him.

“I-I may have… accidentally… at some point, perhaps…” She sighs, knowing the drive home will be silent, absent of the usual radio. At least it would be if they couldn’t make it through the mistake she had made all those months ago. “Accidentally, sorta, maybe, kinda, let Susan think that we were married?” Her voice rising in octave, her hands running along the rim of the diner table now.

He sits back, disbelief struck him. How the fuck had she managed that?

She answers his question unknowingly. “Okay, so for your birthday in June, remember how I begged you to come to town?” A nod. “Well, you know how I snuck off to Greasy's to get you some birthday pie?” Another nod, remembering how she had been so happy to have correctly guessed his favorite kind that night. He hadn’t even chastised her about the money she had spent on him.

She continues, hands now flying around, trying to flick the memory away. “Okay well, when I got the pie from Susan she had called my order and she called me Mrs. Pines. And I just…. froze up… and I didn’t know how to explain- well everything.” Her voice picks up speed. “I’m not good at lying, like I can do it, but she just caught me off guard. And we hadn’t discussed what we were gonna tell people- like what we were gonna tell people about us living together? And I thought of Ford and all that bullshit-“ she slumps further into the booth seat.

“And well, ya I just…I just didn’t correct her.”

Staring at him, expectantly now. Perhaps waiting for him to explode on her. But all he can manage to do is unravel his fork from his napkin and dig into his pancakes to finally take a bite. Chewing around it, he finally can ask something. He’s less likely to yell with his mouth full.

But the question dies on his lips. He feels more confused by the second, and then more frustrated also. The silence she figured would follow in the car seems to have raced ahead and sits between them at the table now. Her appetite diminishes by the second, and she no longer waits for some sign from Stan, some indication of acceptance. She didn’t figure there would be, she knew she had fucked up. Or at least, fucked up by not telling him about all this sooner, but she had more or less forgotten in between work and well… enjoying living alongside him. But perhaps the arrangement she had unknowingly shoved him into wasn’t something he was comfortable with, which was understandable. She hadn’t ever really believed herself marriage material, and more or less figured she was even less so in Stan’s eyes.

He knew she wasn’t the best liar, their old conversation concerning his name had rushed back to him. He hadn’t wanted there to be any lies between them, because he knew it would be difficult for her to upkeep them on top of everything else. That and he believed that their arrangement and reliance on one another wouldn’t work in the slightest if they were just spilling bold-faced lies back and forth to each other. But this arrangement she had stumbled headfirst into came as a surprise. Perhaps they should have rehearsed something to say to everyone who asked about them, but then again Susan didn’t really ask, she had just assumed that they were together, were married. He understood her stumbling into something like that, but he was struggling to find a way back out of it. Because he couldn’t allow her to live attached to him like this, didn’t want her to have to lie for their own comfort.

A lingering worry in the back of his mind, concerning his past. What if it all came rushing back? What if someone was out there looking for him? What if they hurt her?

He was far past frustrated, not at her though. At all the scrapping and clawing he had to do just to get here, to wind back up in the comfort of lies to survive. But he didn’t want her scraping by with him through this, he wanted her to live. At least before today, he believed she could leave him behind if it all fell apart under him. Always an escape plan somewhere in the back of his head, a way out, a door to reach in the dead of night. But she had shut it, and he didn’t know how he was gonna get her out of it now.

They finished dinner in silence, something that also rubbed him the wrong way. He was frustrated, and taking it out on her. She folded into an odd shape across from him, now looking dim in the diner light. It only served to frustrate him more.

Susan didn’t comment or come by to further disturb them through dinner, which was odd for the waitress. She liked to talk, and Stan knew that the south half of town would know about their silent dinner by Friday night.

Bill paid, they made their way back to Stan’s car. His coat caught up in her arms, he opened her door and shut it again after she entered the car without so much as a prompt.

He didn’t voice a single word until he made it to his seat, he had been too wound up concerning what she had said. That and he hadn’t wanted anyone else to hear their conversation. To know about the lie she had sown, tying them unknowingly together.

“So you’re tellin’ me that this town has thought that we’ve been a couple, no married, for about six months?” His hands tight against the steering wheel.

“Well no, because it was just Susan. Like, maybe just a few people know?” She reasoned.

He shakes his head, chuckling. That’s not how small towns like Gravity Falls worked. “Nah, she told everyone. People in this town are nosey Doc. Everyone’s gotta know by now.”

He adjusts himself in his seat again, reaching his hand out to the back of her seat, like he always does. She’s swallowed by his red coat, her hand meticulously passing the patch he had put across his right shoulder. Humming to fill the silence. He sighs.

“This is gonna be hard, Doc. I get why ya shrugged off the assumption Susan made, really I do, but that doesn’t change the fact ya didn’t tell me.” His hand rubs his eyes, frustration seeping off of him. How the fuck was he gonna pull this off?

“What do you mean?” She interrupts. “It won’t be that hard Stan, we can manage this, it won’t be too hard.” She shakes her head, trying to smooth over his frustration.

“How am I supposed to convince this whole fucking town you married some sorry-sap like me doll?” He points between them, an intensity to his eyes. “Now this will be the hardest con. Because why the fuck would you have married me, huh?” He shrugs, throwing his hands up.

Looking over his scarred shoulder, feeling regret seep through his bones when he sees her now. Sitting there, his winter coat hung off her shoulders, a look of disbelief on her face. An apology on her tongue, he could almost hear it now.

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “What’d I tell ya Doc, don’t apologize to me.” He turns back to face her now, still shaking his head.

“No.” Anger blooming on her face. “No, why the fuck would you say that Stan. Why the fuck would you even think that.”

She was fuming, a look crossing her face he had never seen before. He had never seen her this thrown before, and he hadn’t the smallest inkling as to why her anger grew tenfold in the face of his statement.

“Because I ain’t no good and you damn well know it!” Voice raising, hackles rising.

“No!” She shakes her head, fingers fisted into his coat sleeves. “You are good, Stan! I don’t wanna hear that utter bullshit from you, don’t say that to me. I don’t believe it, not for a second.” Shaking her head, refusing to leave his gaze. "You're kind to me, you're considerate to me. You're good to me." She reasoned. But he was only ever really good to her if anything. Only kind in the face of her everything.

He thinks of his parents then, their image mirroring their own, but only for a moment. Arguments in front seats of cars and in front of televisions. How they would bend and snap back to each other, how he figured his father would snap and his mother would lie, to soothe him. She would lie, to see the end of the argument, to soothe frustration and heal hurt. But he figured it had more to do with his father's temper more than anything, more to do with raised voices and raised fists. But she was a terrible liar, his Doc, and he would swear to be less of a terrible grump.

He slumps in his seat, turning glassy eyes ahead of him.

“I just didn’t want you to have to lie for me, hun.” He hadn’t called her that in weeks, a flickering memory of that dream always made him flush at the enderment. But he enjoyed how she melted when he did call her that, so he’d concede his embarrassment for her.

“Stan, we can do this.” She slides closer, into the middle spot of the long bench, reaching her hand to his chin and pulling him into an earnest gaze. “Stan we can do anything, we will do anything, to get your brother home. And if it means lying like this then I'm prepared to do it.” She chuckles, humourlessly. “Especially because I’m the one who got us into this mess.”

She’s beautiful, he thinks, this close. Diner light seeping in through the dashboard window, her eyes looking deeper than he'd ever been allowed to notice. She's even more beautiful, as she giggles across from him, slipping a stolen diner spoon into his hand. Slipping her fingers around the stolen object and his fingers. He chuckles finally, he's a terrible influence. His heart settled into that familiar aching sickness, something he doesn't dismiss as much now. Now that it felt as familiar as her. There was a certain comfort he fell into when it came to the feeling and her now, one that made his heart race.

It wasn’t a mess though, what she had done, but it did solidify what he had to do next.

He had been thinking about it for a while, thinking about what sitting in one spot would bring to his, their, doorstep. Thought of the crimes he had left behind, skipping from state to state. It's what had kept him up late at night during those early summer months. What had made him linger around the door late some of those nights also, what if it all caught up to him? Would she be safe?

No, he figured now. Now that she had intrinsically tied herself to him, she was safest next to him. That she hadn't shut any door, that there was a way out, but only for the old him. So she wouldn’t be leaving, but that old part of him would have to. Protect her, them.

He sighs, ready for the conversation they would have to have. He would have to be more honest about himself, he warmed, kinda like her. But really only with her.

“There's something I gotta do then, hun.” He shuffles, leaning into her warm palm along his cheek. “I gotta die.”

She pales next to him.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls imagine #stanley pines #stan pines #grunkle stan #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader

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rafesheaven · 7 months ago

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what would reader do if one of the women rafe used to dom was jealous that she was the only one he had an arrangement with after a while and “warned” her that he was going to get tired of her eventually just like he had with everyone else

nonnie, i like this question & i'm kissing your brain, this is v much yelling soft!dom!rafe to me

rafe had every single woman that he's been with completely obsessed with him, not only because of how good he is in bed but they liked the fact that he was successful, they were simply just using him for sex, in hopes of it becoming a more permanent situation.

you didn't think much of how your arrangement with rafe affected anyone until you stepped into the elevator one night, heading to the upper level of his apartment.

a woman enters the elevator and you give her a small smile. it's quiet between the two for a few seconds before you hear, "you're the one that's been going in and out of rafe's apartment, right?" the woman doesn't hesitate to ask.

your eyebrows furrow, clearly confused as to who the woman is but before you can even respond, the woman cuts you off, "you know, he's just going to get bored of you, right?".

"excuse me?" was all you could say. "look, just trust me when i say that rafe will get bored of you pretty quickly. i'm just trying to warn you" the woman shrugs. "you know, woman to woman" she adds.

"what makes you think that he'll get bored of me?" you scoff, "i was once in the same position as you are in, and look where that left me. i'm not the only one that he got tired of and you surely won't be the last".

as the elevator comes to a halt, stopping on rafe's level, you're quick to get off, the last thing you hear before the doors close on her is, "just take my advice and leave him before he gets bored and leaves you".

as you make your way to his apartment, the entire conversation continues to run through your head and it’s not until his door opens when you’re thoughts dissipate, at least, for a few minutes.

he grins as he greets you but he immediately notices the way you seem to be stuck in your thoughts, making his smile drop, “hey, what’s goin’ on?”. the next few words that leave your mouth end up leaving him shocked, “i think we should end this…whatever this is”.

he takes in a deep breath, “what? what are you talkin’ about?”. anxiousness is practically dripping from your words, your forefingers digging at your thumbs. you chew on your lip, avoiding eye contact with him, “whatever this arrangement is that we have, i wanna end it”.

he was spewing out questions, trying to find an answer, “end it? am I being too rough? did I hurt you last time?”. all you could was shake your head, “no…” there was a pause, “it’s better if we end things now before you get bored of me”.

his face softens, his hands immediately cupping your face, “hey, look at me”, making you look up at him. “call me selfish all you want but i don’t want things to end. I don’t know where this is coming from but I could never get bored of you”.

“i don’t wanna end things because i want you and only you” he whispers, his thumb caressing your cheek. rafe leans down, his face inches away from yours, his lips just merely hovering over yours before pressing against yours.

he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, “how could i ever get bored of you when you’re always on my mind. every single second of the day, all i think about is you”

tagging: @oceandriveab / @babygorewhore / @xxbimbobunnyxx / @sturnioloshacker / @starkeyisthelastname / @rafecameroninterlude / @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles / @redhead1180 / @rafeinterlude / @crvptidgf / @drudyslut / @amandabbbbb / @starkeysheart / @flvredcas / @fae-of-prey / @nemesyaaa / @emilysuperswag / @kisses4angel / @eddieslut69 / @rafesthroatbaby / @lilacheavenn / @rafescurtainbangz / @ihe4rttwd / @peterpan-neverfails / @hallecarey1 / @heartsforvin / @hyperfixationgirl / @eternalbuckley / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @native2princess

taglist ⇢︎ masterlist ⇢︎ stargazing (thoughts)

#𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀𝓈 ༉‧₊˚.#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x reader #dom!rafe #dom!rafe cameron #dom!rafe x reader #soft!rafe cameron #soft!dom!rafe #soft!dom!rafe cameron #soft!rafe x reader #rafe cameron blurb #obx blurb #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron obx

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zigrethsnotebook · 1 month ago

Text

A Northwest

Stan x Reader

words: 2,361

tags: sfw, fluff, reader is a Northwest

a/n: this way to the request for this story

You just arrived in Gravity Falls, a town your family has lived in for generations. However, you had promised yourself to never return. After a big fight with your little brother about a woman’s place in the family and him insisting that he should be the sole heir of the family estate and such, you had had enough. Told him that if he wants it, he could have it all.

Your parents hadn’t cared either. Well. your mother had but… your brother had to have learned his attitude towards women from someone. You and your father had never seen eye to eye on anything, especially when it came to such progressive topics like ‘Should women be allowed to vote’. God, you hated him. Even went to his funeral with a big smile on your face and the most colorful clothes you could find, pissing him off one last time.

But all of that was in the past now. All you cared about as you walked those familiar streets again was your niece - Pacifica. Preston had, unsurprisingly, run his wealth into the ground, leaving himself, his wife and daughter homeless. You on the other hand had made a great career for yourself and earned enough money to live a very comfortable life.

So, as soon as you heard about the whole incident from Priscilla (she calls you about once a month, only when her husband isn’t around to hear it), you decided to help. Not him. But his wife and mostly Pacifica. You had great hopes that maybe the next generation of your family wouldn’t turn out like the rest of them had and well, if you want something done, better do it yourself.

You had arrived a little earlier than expected and decided to stop by Lazy Susan’s Diner. Greasy’s Diner. When you entered and sat down at the counter it seemed like she didn’t recognize you. You didn’t blame her, you looked nothing like you did 34 years ago. After you had left you had decided to reinvent yourself completely, new clothing style, new hair color, although by now it was starting to grey a little.

You probably wouldn’t have recognized yourself either.

As you sipped on your coffee, contemplating whether or not to remind Susan of you, you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned to look it was a man in an old looking suit, wearing a fez and the cockiest smile you’d seen this year. You leaned back against the counter, amused.

“You’re new in town, aren’t ya?” You hummed, deciding to play along. “Yes, I suppose so.” He leaned against the counter as well, his eyes never leaving yours. “I knew it. Well, let me tell ya, a pretty woman like yourself should not be wandering about these woods on her own. There are a lot of dangerous creatures lurking just off the main road. But don’t you worry, I will gladly give you a tour of the town, showing you all the places to avoid. And also the places to stop by more often.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at you at the last sentence. You couldn’t help but laugh at his silly flirting. Behind him in a booth two children groaned in an exaggerated way. He looked back at them with a frown. “Hey! Let a man have a conversation.”

Ah, he must be their uncle? Or something? You just smiled at him. Cocky, flirty, broad shoulders and responsible enough to take care of kids. If you had known that a guy like this lived here you would have come back years ago.

“I would gladly take your offer, Mister…?” You trailed off, inviting him to introduce himself, which he did. “Pines. Stan Pines, at your service.” He grinned at you and you nodded as you gave him your first name as well and continued. “Mister Pines. Unfortunately, I have some urgent business I need to take care of first. Perhaps we can postpone this tour?”

The man looked a little deflated at first, but quickly brightened up again at your question. “How about tomorrow evening. We meet here again for dinner. And after that we’ll take a stroll through town?” “Sounds lovely.” Stan clapped his hands together and winked at you before he went back to the booth with the kids.

By that point you had finished your coffee and headed out to look for Pacifica and her parents. You didn’t see it but as you left Stan looked after you, very obviously staring at your ass and grinning. He’d love to get his hands on that.

When you found them you got the basics settled first. Get them some place to stay the night. Then you got them a new set of clothes, their current ones being torn and dirty. That’s how you spent the entire rest of the day, pulling your brother and his family out of the hole he had dug them into.

You made it a point to hold it over his head though, that you managed to get rich on your own while he couldn’t even keep the money he inherited. He was mad at you the entire time but he couldn’t refute your words, you were correct after all. All throughout this you noticed the way Pacifica looked up at you with bright eyes.

To Pacifica you very quickly became her role model. Confident and strong-willed and most importantly, not taking any shit from her dad. She clung to you, asking you countless questions and admiring you for every choice you had made, especially standing your ground and moving away from the family.

She had heard rumors about her dad’s sister, but until today she had never actually met you. Obviously, her dad didn’t want her to get any ideas from you. You, the black sheep of the family.

Seeing Preston crawl back to you now, after all those years, was incredibly satisfying to you. If you’d also get to help turn his own daughter away from his precious ‘family values’ then you’d proudly call you her aunt.

While you were out helping your family, the Pines had also gone back to the Shack, now relaxing in front of the TV. Mabel was texting on her phone with Candy and Grenda. Suddenly, she gasped after having read the newest text from Candy. “There’s more of them?!”

Dipper and Stan looked at her in confusion. “Who?” Dipper asked, but Mabel ignored him, just stared at her phone as another text appeared. “She was at Greasy’s Diner? Today? We were there today! How did we not see her!?” Dipper was starting to get frustrated with Mabel ignoring him, so he placed his hand over her screen, making her look up at him.

“Who are you talking about?” “Pacifica’s aunt! Candy says that she heard her mom talk to her friend on the phone who told her that another Northwest came to Gravity Falls today. Apparently, she wants to help them now that they’re homeless.” Stan bellowed a laugh.

“Serves that slimy Northwest right! Blood runs thicker than water after all. Even he needs to learn that.” Ford, who was also enjoying movie night with his brother and the kids, looked at Stan. He had forgotten how much of a family man Stan really was.

Dipper frowned. “Okay, sure. But if she can help them out then that means she is also rich. Who’s to say she is any better than Pacifica’s parents?” Stan scoffed. “She probably isn’t. But who cares. Hopefully, they’ll just leave Gravity Falls together now and we won’t have to bother with them anymore.”

Dipper turned back to look at the TV. “Yeah, hopefully…” He mumbled, although he didn’t quite mean it. He hated to admit it, but he had started to like Pacifica a little.

The topic was dropped after that and movie night continued.

The next day came and went rather quickly for you. There was a lot for you to do, to get your brother on the right track again. So much so that in that haze you almost forgot about your date with Stan. But you remembered and soon excused yourself, leaving them in the motel room you had rented them.

You went back to Greasy’s and met up with Stan, who immediately greeted you with a kiss on the cheek and his hand on the small of your back as he led you inside. He truly was a man of action and you appreciated that about him. There was a certain honesty in his behaviour which came as a refreshing change to the cold mask your brother and his wife had learned to live with.

“So, what was this business of yours that was more important than the best date you’ll ever have?” The way he was presenting himself in his seat, one arm over the backrest and the other resting on the table, while he looked at you through half-lidded eyes and a smirk on his lips. You loved this. It was silly in a way, but it was so different from the way you were raised that it left you feeling giddy.

“Oh, just some old family squabble. Nothing important.” A lie, of course, at least to some degree, but you knew that your family was hated in this town. And for good reason. So you didn’t want to taint his view of you before he got to know you properly.

“Hm, yeah, I get that. My brother and I had a rough time these last few decades as well.” His smirk had faded and you missed it already. Even so, you asked: “I’m so sorry. Where is your brother now? Did you manage to work it out with him?” Stan chuckled lightly at you and his smirk returned. “Well, considering that I live in his house… Yes, I’d say so.”

You chuckled as well. Now this was something you and your brother would never be able to achieve.

The two of you had a very nice dinner together and talked about everything and nothing. It was a fantastic date. When you left the Diner you turned to look at Stan again. He was already grinning at you and held his arm out for you to take. “Now, onto the tour?” You laughed and gladly looped your arm through his. You had already forgotten about this part of the date.

You strolled through the woods. Stan told you all kinds of fantastical stories about monsters and little supernatural critters that are said to live in these woods. You didn’t believe a word of it, of course, but it was fun to play along.

After about twenty minutes you had reached a wooden house in the middle of the forest. It looked like it was supposed to attract tourists, with a big sign on the top that read ‘Mystery Shack’.

“And this,” Stan made a grand gesture, as if revealing the house to you, “is my humble home. Well, my brother’s, but you get it.” You chuckled lightly and pulled his arm closer to yours again. “Yeah, I’m starting to.”

Stan led you inside, telling you about his family. You were starting to get really excited to meet them. Stan had talked so highly of them, you were sure to like them.

Something you didn’t know was that throughout your entire date, Pacifica had followed you. She was curious who you’d agree to go on a date with, especially so soon after arriving in the town. She was shocked, to say the least, when she saw you and Stan Pines entering the Diner. She was even more shocked when he led you to his home.

After you had entered, she stayed outside for a while, pacing back and forth and considering whether or not to confront you about it. Eventually, she decided to do just that.

Inside the Shack Stan had already introduced you to the kids, Mabel and Dipper, and also his twin brother Ford. It was very sweet, especially when you quickly realized that the kids were very similar to their great uncles. Or grunkles, as they put it. They were such a charming family and you envied them for it a little.

After a little bit of sitting together with them you heard a knock at the door. “Any of you expecting someone?” Stan asked around the room and everyone shook their heads. Dipper stood up and went to open the door. In front of him stood Pacifica.

“What do you want, Pacifica?” At the name your ears perked up. What was she doing here? You told her to stay with her parents. Then again, you wouldn’t have stayed with them either.

“Your great uncle went on a date with my aunt. I want to know why.” Everyone turned to face you, even Dipper craned his neck around the doorway to look at you with his mouth hanging open. Mabel was the first to speak up. She stood on her chair and pointed at you. “You are a Northwest?! …How? You are so… different!”

You chuckled sheepishly. “Yeah, well, they don’t call me the black sheep of the family for nothing.” At that Stan’s expression immediately softened again. Being the odd one out in your family was something he could relate to.

By now Dipper and Pacifica had walked into the room as well. Pacifica had her arms crossed in front of her and looked at you like she was trying to figure you out. “I get that. But why… him?” She gestured towards Stan who frowned at her. You just shrugged your shoulders.

“He’s exactly my type. Plus! He seems to have the same kind of… affinity for making a quick buck like I do.” You smirked at Stan and he returned with a smirk of his own. In a way, you two were quite similar.

Pacifica groaned in frustration and turned to Dipper. “No way. I get a cool new aunt who immediately dates your stinky grunkle? This is unfair.” “Well, I’m about to be your stinky uncle as well!” Stan laughed loudly and soon enough everyone at the table joined in, even Pacifica.

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #zigreth writes #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

Text

deja vu - part six (stan route)

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

choose your own adventure / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part five | part seven

interested in the ford route? click here for masterlist.

Gdl Gzkvh. Gdl Yilgsvih. Gsv gzkvh nzb wruuvi yfg ivtziwovhh, gsv gifgs droo yv ivevzovw.

The drive back to the Mystery Shack was a bit tense to say the least.

Stan and Ford had both agreed to not mention your dream to the kids, not wanting them to worry but immediately, Mabel and Dipper started to pick up on the tension between you and Ford.

The pair watched the two of you, eyes darting back and forth over their cereal, ate out of plastic cups as you both tried to avoid interaction with one another as much as possible.

The tension became apparent when you asked Dipper to switch to the front seat when Ford slid into the driver’s seat, offering to drive back since Stan was sleep deprived.

Due to the lack of sleep over the past two nights, both you and Stan knocked out in the back next to Mabel, the only sound echoing through the car was Stan’s snores.

Mabel breaks the awkward silence, “Are you and Y/N fighting, Great Uncle Ford?”

Dipper looks up from his book, back at his sister, “Mabel..” He mutters, not wanting to upset Ford even further than he already seemed.

“It’s alright, Dipper. You and your sister are much more perceptive than I give you credit for.” Ford glances back at Mabel who stares back at him in concern, “We’re… at a bit of an impasse, Mabel. Y/N got a painful memory back last night and I’m giving her some space as she processes everything.” Ford explains.

“Did you two get into an argument or something? Is that what she remembered?” Dipper asks.

Ford hesitates, not wanting to mention Bill at all after what they went through last summer, “Something like that..”

The two decide to drop the matter for now.

As Mabel looks through the photos she had taken during their camping trip, she glances to the side briefly when she hears Stan’s snore stutter. Usually, she would nudge him awake, thinking he was choking in his sleep. Instead, she blinked owlishly at the scene before her. Your head had slumped to the side in your slumber, landing on Stan’s shoulder. A bit of drool leaked from your mouth onto Stan’s shirt yet her uncle was still fast asleep, snoring away, with his head atop of yours.

‘Y/N has been a lot more comfortable with Grunkle Stan compared to Grunkle Ford. But that would be devastating for Grunkle Ford…’ Mabel muses before snapping her fingers and rummaging through her bag to pull out a tween magazine she had buried at the bottom.

‘A good ol’ compatibility test should prove that Grunkle Ford and Y/N are a perfect match!’ Mabel grabs a glittery pen and flips to the dog eared page, smoothing out the wrinkles on the paper.

“Mind if I ask you a couple questions, Uncle Ford? It’s.. uh… for a summer project of mine to interview a family member.” Mabel comes up with a fabricated excuse, causing her brother to glance back at her skeptically. She quickly hushes him with a finger over her mouth and he sighs, putting in his earbuds and going back to reading his book, accustomed to his sister’s antics.

“Sure, go right ahead, sweetheart.” Ford says, appreciating any type of distraction from the worries he had circling in his brain about the memories you were going to uncover tonight.

“What adjective best describes you? Smart, Cute, Flirty, Goofy?” Mabel asks, pen hovering over the bubbles.

“Well.. that’s a bit of an odd question. Smart probably is the most accurate descriptor for me out of all of those.” Ford hums.

“Got it. Next question, what do you look for most in a partner? Humor, A Killer Smile, Quick Wit, or Positive Attitude?” Mabel decides to skip over the option ‘A Six-Pack’.

Ford raises his eyebrow, “What class is this for, Mabel? These questions are quite peculiar.”

“It’s… uh for my Science class. We’re learning about the science of attraction!” Mabel comes up with hoping Ford will buy her answer.

“Huh, fascinating. The curriculum they’re teaching the youth nowadays is a lot more diverse. I probably could have used a class like that growing up…” Ford mutters mostly to himself.

“Quick wit. I value a mind that can keep up with me.”

“Interesting… Now what animal resonates with you the most?”

- You were woken up with a gentle shake, your eyes fluttering open. You’re greeted with the sight of the Mystery Shack with Dipper and Ford’s backs disappearing inside, carrying their backpacks and gear. Letting out a yawn, you’re about to sit up but pause, feeling the weight of Stan’s head still atop of yours. Your eyes flick over to Mabel who attempts to wake her Grunkle but with no success.

You decide to pull your head out from underneath Stan’s, feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought of how long you two were leaning on one another for. This causes his head to toss suddenly down, jolting him awake as his head whips back up, “Wha-? Where are we?”

“We’re back home, Grunkle Stan. Your snores were practically shaking the car.” Mabel teases her Grunkle before her eyes look over at you.

You see a certain look in her eyes and can’t help but gulp.

You knew you were in for a Mabel interrogation session.

Did Ford tell the kids about your dream?

You barely understood what was going on - how were you supposed to explain this to a 13-year-old?

“Y/N, I wanted to ask you a couple questions for… a school project.” Mabel says with a grin that you can’t fathom saying no to.

Stan glances over at you and chuckles, “Trial by Mabel again… good luck, toots.” A warm hand encloses over your shoulder, patting it in a mockingly sympathetic manner.

“How about we head inside first, Mabel?” You say with a tired smile.

Surprisingly, said interrogation was not about your first encounter with Bill. Instead, it was a quiz straight out of a teen magazine.

‘Huh, somehow I thought this would be way more intense.’ You think to yourself as Mabel finishes the last question, sitting on the floor in front of your air mattress.

“Hey… are you mad at Great Uncle Ford, Y/N?” Mabel asks, putting her glittery pen down to look up at you with a concerned tilt of her head.

Ah, there it is.

“Mad isn’t really the right word.” You explain, trying to find an accurate descriptor for your feelings towards Ford at the moment, “Frustration fits a bit better. Mix that with a good amount of confusion and that’s how I feel towards your great uncle right now.”

“You think you’ll be able to forgive him?” Mabel questions, “Grunkle Ford kinda gives off a prickly cactus vibe when you first meet him but he does have a softer, less prickly side.”

You laugh at Mabel’s comparison, envision a cactus with Ford's nose and glasses, “I guess that fits him, doesn’t it?”

“I really hope I can, Mabel. I still don’t know what your Grunkle did that led to us going our separate ways but I definitely don’t want to be holding a grudge forever.” You admit as honestly as you can.

A knock on the closet door interrupts your discussion, your voice telling the person on the other side of the door to come in.

Stan opens the door, “Is the interrogation over? Is it safe to come in?” He jokes, eyes flitting between you and Mabel.

“I don’t know, am I done, Mabel?” You ask, glazing down at the pre-teen who nods, “Yup, got all the information I needed!”

“Mind giving us some privacy, pumpkin? The adults gotta talk about adult things.” Stan asks his grand-niece and Mabel grimaces, remembering the birds and bees conversation Stan had with her in Dipper’s body last summer.

She quickly takes her leave, thanking you before shutting the door behind her.

Now it was just you and Stan.

“So what adult things do we need to discuss, my fellow adult?” You say teasingly.

“Hey, you try to find a better way to ask your niece to leave to have a private conversation without getting a billion questions asking why she has to leave.” Stan scoffs before his expression looked a bit more serious.

“Ford told me you wanted to break into the museum tonight to maybe find more of your memories.” Stan pauses.

You notice his reluctance, “Is breaking and entering against your moral code?”

“Of course not, I’m all for breaking in, but… you sure you want all your memories back all at once?”

“I mean yeah, why not?” You say, wondering where Stan was going with this, “Who knows how long it’s going to take for these memories to come back organically, especially since Ford has nothing from our time together?”

“Guess that’s true…” Stan mutters, not considering that he had a lot more to work with to bring back his memories compared to you, “Listen, I’m just speaking from personal experience here. I know ya got a time limit compared to me but it gets pretty overwhelming getting a ton of memories back to back. Just… pace yourself, if it gets too much tonight, okay?”

Despite your initial skepticism, you see the genuine concern in Stan’s face. You knew that while you had a few years of memories to get back, Stan had 60 years worth of joys and sorrows all flooding back to him at different stages. You were still determined to get as much of your memories back tonight as possible, but you better understood the potential pain and confusion that came at the cost of that.

“I’ll try…” Your answer doesn’t give Stan full certainty but he recognizes that’s the best he can ask for at this point.

“Well, I’m gonna catch up on some more sleep. The real reason I came in here was Ford wanted me to tell ya that the museum closes at 10 PM so we’ll head out at 11 PM, don’t forget to wear all black.” Stan reminds you, heading towards the door. You were slightly perturbed by the fact that Ford was using Stan as a messenger of sorts. You recognize you had asked for space but this was a bit much.

“I’ll remember to bring some black gloves too.” You say jokingly.

“I mean if you’ve got 'em…” Stan says with a shrug, having a pair himself that he was going to wear.

He sees your surprised expression, “Oh.. you were joking. Forget I said that.” He says, closing the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Mabel stares down at the results of the compatibility quiz in her and Dipper’s room in the attic, having compared you and Ford’s answers.

40% - Good friends but not much more.

“That can’t be right… they should at least have a 70 or 80% compatibility rating for them to be soulmates!” Mabel says in shock, her pen running across the pages to make sure she tallied up the scores correctly.

Dipper looks up from his journal, halting his own writing, “Ya know, it’s been almost thirty years since they dated, Mabel. People can change, maybe they just aren’t compatible anymore.”

“But Dipper, I failed at matchmaking for Grunkle Stan last summer… I was really hoping I could find a match for Great Uncle Ford and Y/N seemed like a perfect candidate.” Mabel sighs, flopping back down onto her bed and burying her head in a pillow. “Maybe Great Uncle Ford’s match isn’t even human. He did date a siren at one point.” Dipper points out.

On his way up to his room, Stan stops at the twins’ room, giving a courtesy knock before opening the door. He sees Mabel buried in her pillow and glances over at Dipper who merely shakes his head in response, a silent way of communicating ‘It’s complicated.’

“Hey kiddos, me, Ford and Y/N are going out later tonight to hopefully find some of Y/N’s memories back in the old museum. Soos and Melody will be in charge if you need anything.” Stan announces nonchalantly, leaning against the door frame.

Mabel sits up, “You guys going on an adventure without us?”

“Why can’t we come, Grunkle Stan? We’ve been down there before last summer, we can help you guys search.” Dipper protested.

“Hey, this isn’t an adventure - I’m just tagging along to help break in, and keep your Uncle Ford and Y/N from fighting.” Stan puts his hands up defensively, “Besides, you kids gotta remember that they didn’t end on… the best terms to put it lightly. Y/N’s might have a lot of not so great memories with your Uncle Ford that I don’t think either of you want to see.” Stan explains with a slight sternness to his voice.

The two twins look at each other, knowing Stan only uses a serious tone when he means business before nodding in understanding, their prior protests gone.

“Alright, your Grunkle’s gonna take a siesta before another late night. I swear I haven’t stayed up this late in ages.” Stan is about to take his leave before Mabel stops him in his tracks.

“Wait, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel calls out, causing Stan to pause at the doorway and groan over the fact that he was being kept from the sweet solace of his bed.

“Can I… ask you a couple questions too?” Mabel asks, clutching the magazine.

‘Maybe there is something there.’ Mabel thinks to herself, recalling the last few interactions you’ve had with her Grunkle Stan.

“I swear I think you’re starting to get a kick out of interrogating people, pumpkin. Someone's gonna recruit you for the FBI someday."

Your fingers ran over the ink of your journal, looking through the pages of the dreams you had cataloged over the past twenty plus years.

Tonight was hopefully the night you would uncover the meaning behind them.

Slipping the journal into your black fanny pack that you are thankful you packed, you close the door of your room behind you, decked in all black attire. You pass by the living room on your way outside, seeing the peaceful scene of the twins watching Duck-tective with Soos and Melody in the living room before making your way to the front door of the Mystery Shack.

As you step out into the cool summer night, you see Stan and Ford already standing outside, their deep voices bickering. Both wearing all black attire with gloves. They practically matched aside from some clear stylistic differences in their tops - Ford wearing a black turtleneck and trench coat and Stan wearing a black t-shirt and black leather jacket.

“Stanley, if we just bring a pair of bolt cutters, that should be enough to just cut off the lock.” Ford argues, holding up the bolt cutters.

“When you’re breaking and entering, you want to bring as little equipment as possible - otherwise, you might leave evidence at the scene. Besides, you’re the one who said you needed me to tag along for my lock picking skills!” Stan protested.

“Am I interrupting something?” Your voice cuts through as you approach, causing the two to whip their heads around and fall quiet out of embarrassment.

Ford clears his throat, “No, we were just discussing the best method of getting into the museum.” It was the first time he had spoken to you since this morning, and the tension between the two of you was still present as he redirected the conversation back to Stan as he brushes past you to put the bolt cutters back inside, “We should probably get going, I’ll concede and let you pick the lock.”

The three of you piled into El Diablo, the twins sitting in the front and you sitting in the back behind Stan. Stan toyed around with the radio, the music filling up the awkward silence. You glanced over at Ford who had a steely look in his eyes, quickly averting your gaze when he saw you looking in his peripheral, taking a look himself.

Stan’s eyes flicked between the two of you in the rear view mirror before letting out a heavy sigh, “You know, this night’s gonna be a lot harder if you two knuckleheads can’t at least talk to one another. I know I’m supposed to be the mediator here, but I can’t translate silence.”

“Stanley, I’m just giving Y/N the space that she asked for.” Ford mutters defensively, his arms crossing in an almost childlike manner. “She said space, not a cold shoulder, Poindexter.” Stan points out before glancing at you through the rear view, giving you the floor to speak up.

“We do have to communicate… you’re really the only person who can help me understand my memories.” You admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I can’t promise that I won’t get upset tonight, but I will at least give you the opportunity to explain everything before jumping to assumptions.”

Ford glanced back at you, a sense of relief washing over him, “Thank you… I hope tonight gives you some type of closure depending on how deep we get into your memories.”

Stan’s shoulders visibly relaxed at the sound of you and Ford putting aside the tension for now to address the issue of your memory loss. The rest of the drive goes smoothly for the most part aside from the twins’ usual bickering and bantering.

Once Stan parks in front of the museum, Ford quickly steps out to scout the area for any cops or security while you and Stan wait in the car. “Already doing a great job as our mediator.” You mention with a grin to which Stan rolls his eyes, “Please, I was just pointing out the obvious. I can’t do much mediating if you two aren’t even talking.”

“By the way, these are for you. Need to make sure we don’t leave any prints behind even though I’m doing the lock picking.” Stan reaches into his jacket pocket before fishing out a pair of black gloves and handing them to you. You look between Stan and the gloves before taking them from his hand, your fingertips brushing briefly as you do so. “They might be a little big… they’re an extra pair I have.” Stan admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I appreciate it either way. Thanks Stan.” You say with a soft smile, sliding the gloves on. Ford raps his knuckles on the glass, signaling the coast is clear. He eyes the gloves on your hands briefly when you slip out of the car before addressing Stan. “So how do you plan on picking the lock?”

Stan pops open the trunk of his car, pulling out a briefcase that contains all the tools of the trade that he has used before in his many years on the run. “Ford, could you go and check what kinda lock is on the door?” He asks his twin as he rummages through the briefcase. Ford walks off again to assess the entrance and your eyebrow raised, “Does it matter what kind of lock it is?”

“Well yeah, you got your deadbolt locks, padlocks, mortise locks, cylinder locks. I know how to break into all of ‘em… except those new-fangled locks that you just put in a bunch of numbers.” Stan explains before glancing over his shoulder as Ford calls out ‘Padlock.’ “Oh this’ll be easy then.” Stan pulls out two small tools before pocketing them and beckoning you to follow him.

You’re not sure whether to be concerned or impressed by Stan’s vast knowledge of lock-picking, but you’re grateful for it the moment the padlock comes loose, dropping onto Stan’s hand. “Great work, Stanley, that went much quicker than I had anticipated.” Ford says, pulling a flashlight to illuminate the dark museum as the three of you slip inside, shutting the door behind you.

You gently nudge Stan on the side, the two of you trailing behind Ford who leads the way, “Nice work, you gotta teach me how to do that one day so I don’t have to call a locksmith whenever I accidentally lock myself out of my place.” Stan’s chest swells with pride from the praise, “Well, it’s pretty simple, I’ll give ya a tutorial before you head out of town.”

Making your way through the museum, the figures and masks that adorn the walls and space looking creepier in the dim lighting, Ford searches for the room full of eyes that Dipper had mentioned to him during their encounter with the Society of the Blind Eye. “Hey Ford, mind explaining how my memories would be in this museum?” You ask.

“Would you believe me if I were to tell you that Fiddleford started a cult?” Ford lets out a dry chuckle at the statement, glancing over his shoulder to see your look of disbelief. “You’re gonna need to elaborate on that one, Sixer.” Stan pointed out. “Honestly, at this point, I would have believed you if you told me that you and Stan were actually clones more than that.” You scoff, causing the brothers to laugh.

“When Fiddleford first invented the memory gun, I had warned him about the potential risks it could pose if it fell into the wrong hands. Unbeknownst to me, Fiddleford continued to use it to deal with his anxiety. After…” Ford paused, clearing his throat of the nervous lump that got stuck, “After the two of you left, Fiddleford created what he called the Society of the Blind Eye. Its sole purpose was to help the people of Gravity Falls cope with the weirdness they witnessed on a daily basis by forgetting.” You stop in your tracks, your brain seemingly buffering. Just when you thought things couldn't get stranger, there was always something that caught you off guard.

“Excuse me, one second.” You announce, walking away from Stan and Ford into another exhibit away from them.

Ford looks at Stan in confusion before both of them jump at the sound of you exclaiming.

“What the fuck?!”

You walked back into the room, letting out a sigh after getting that out of your system, “Alright, let’s keep moving.”

Ford and Stan look at each other and Stan pats Ford’s shoulder sympathetically, “Better get used to that, I have a feeling that’s gonna happen a lot tonight.”

After following Stan and Ford down a pole that Ford had insisted lead to where the memories were stored, your eyes widened, taking in the sight of a room full of capsules with different names laid across the floor, and a statue of a figure in a cloak at the center of the room.

The Hall of the Forgotten etched above the entryway.

“Jeez, how many minds did that old hillbilly erase?” Stan comments, kicking aside a capsule that rolls across the floor.

“I highly doubt this was all Fiddleford’s doing. Apparently, when his mind was gone after multiple uses of the memory gun, someone took up his mantle and took the job quite seriously by the looks of it.” Ford crouched down to survey the different names on the gold tubes.

“Well… where do we start?” You ask, still dumbfounded at the sheer amount of memories that seemed to have been erased.

Ford glances around the spacious room before giving an answer, “Divide and conquer is likely the best strategy. I’ll take this area over here. Stan, could you take the area on the other side of the room? Y/N, you can check the capsules that are next to that statue.”

With the directions given, the three of you split up, the sound of metal clanking against the floor with each tube tossed to the side amidst the sorting. Each new name that you read causes a pit in your stomach to form, becoming more and more hopeless about the possibility that your name would be found amongst the massive pile. Part of you wonders how many hours, days, potentially years of memories of people’s lives are lost within this room.

The hours spent searching drag along, time standing still underneath the museum. “How long have we been down here for?” Stan asks, making it halfway through a pile in the far corner of the room. Ford pulls back his sleeve to reveal a calculator watch the twins had gifted him for his birthday, “Approximately two hours, eight minutes, thirty-one seconds.”

“Should we just call it? There’s still a good chunk of the room left to sort through. We’ve already lost sleep over this.” You sigh, tossing another tube to the side. Stan glances over his shoulder to see you sitting on the floor, your shoulders slumped down dejected.

Stan gets up from his spot on the floor, walking over to you and placing a hand on your shoulder. You glance up, giving Stan a look that he understood immediately. You were getting exhausted by this search. He’d been there before after sleepless nights spent with Ford, looking at old photos and videos of them growing up. He would stare at them over and over again in the tiny hope that his memories would return.

“Hey, Ford and I are ready to stay up all night to help you look as long as you are. Right Ford?” Stan attempts to reassure you, looking to his brother for back up. Ford nods, “I drank a whole pot of coffee right before we left. I’m prepared to continue searching until the sun rises as long as that’s what you want, Y/N.”

Stan looks back at you, “How about it? You wanna keep going or you wanna throw in the towel for tonight?” With the newfound encouragement, you make the decision to push onward. To pass the time, Ford and Stan would share stories about their adventures this past year as well as a few adventures they took when they were kids to help pass the time.

Stan stood up to reach for a box that contained more of the gold capsules. His hands wrapped around the wooden box, slowly lowering the box that was filled to the brim. One of the capsules fell from the pile, hitting him straight in the nose. “Son of a-” Stan winces, placing the box down to rub his nose before snatching up the capsule that fell to the ground. His eyes widened at the text on it.

Before Stan can speak up, your voice cries out excitedly, “I found it!” In your hand, you hold up a capsule that reads ‘Y/N L/N Memories’

Ford puts down the tube in his hand and rushes over to your side of the room at your announcement, “My god, it actually is here. I was starting to worry that my theory that it may be here was completely off base.” He mutters, taking it from your hands to assess it.

Once the high of finding the capsule has worn off, Stan watches you and Ford look at each other, knowing what lies ahead. Stan decides it may not be the best time to mention the capsule he discovered and pockets it for now, joining the two of you in front of the monitor that displays the memories.

“I’m not sure what lies ahead in these memories… but words cannot express how truly sorry I am for everything that unravels moving forward.” Ford sighs, “I know you may not want comfort from the person who hurt you deeply, but if you need any clarity in what you see, I will give you those answers.”

You look down at the capsule, looking back at the twins before letting out a sigh, “Here goes nothing.”

Your hands place the capsule inside the holder, the screen flickering on the moment that it is inserted. You sit on the floor, knowing you’re in for a long viewing. Ford and Stan follow suit, sitting behind you to give you space.

Memories flicker onto the screen like a tape, playing back every single interaction you had with Ford.

Your first meeting in the library.

All-nighters you pulled together.

Reading under the trees in the quad, Ford’s head on your lap.

Tender kisses exchanged, his six fingers intertwined with yours, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Ford carrying you on his back as you wear your graduation attire.

Stan glances over at his brother who watches on with a bittersweet smile.

It’s such a strange sight to see such tender moments between you and Ford when the two of you weren’t talking to each other just this morning.

There’s a tinge of something else there that stirs within Stan as he watches on.

‘Now’s not the time, Stan. Pull yourself together.’ He thinks to himself, trying to push down the emotion that he did not want to admit.

The memories from college that were still quite murky were becoming crystal clear, everything unraveling in front of you. You could almost feel the feelings of affection towards Ford come back, the butterflies in your stomach stirring.

They suddenly drop at the sight of an offer letter to the National Parks in your hands.

You were about to knock on Ford’s door before he suddenly burst out, grabbing you and spinning you around in excitement. “Ford, put me down! What’s with all the commotion?” You chuckle, still clutching the letter in your hand.

“Y/N, my grant proposal got accepted!” Ford shared the news excitedly. Your eyes widened, and you embraced him in response, “That’s amazing, Ford! I-” Ford cuts you off, “I’ve decided that I want to study anomalies, the oddities of the world like myself… There's a sleepy town in Oregon that is a hot spot for them!”

“Oregon…? That’s so far away from here… but I suppose we could do long distance while you’re doing your research.” Your voice wavers, clutching the paper in your hands tighter.

“Well… we don’t have to.” Ford pauses, holding you by the shoulders, “I would love for you to accompany me on this journey. Oregon is chalk full of geological findings, I’m sure you could find work out there.”

“Right…” You trail off. You had to make a decision right here and now - pursue your dream job or follow the man that you loved to support him. You knew if you shared the news with Ford, he would insist on you taking the job.

“Is everything alright, my star?” Ford asks with a furrowed brow, seeing the conflicted look in your eyes.

“Yes… I’d love to join you in Oregon.” You say, crumpling up the offer letter.

Ford watches in awe, guilt washing over him. He was not aware that you had been offered your dream job right after finishing school. He wonders in his excitement that he took away that moment for you to shine. That you shrunk back into his shadow, like you had always done.

Your first year of Gravity Falls flies by, showing your adventures with Ford hunting anomalies, several nights of attempting to get Ford to go to bed at a reasonable time that seemed routine, and Fiddleford’s arrival to help with the portal.

Shortly after a clip of you, Fiddleford and Ford building a snowman in the front yard of the Mystery Shack, the beginning of your dream from the night prior plays on screen. Ford’s figure whips around revealing those vibrant yellow eyes and face-splitting grin characteristic of Bill’s possession.

Stan reaches over to place a hand on your shoulder, “Maybe we should take a break…”

You shake your head vehemently, “No, I want to keep going.”

“Y/N, maybe Stanley’s right…” Ford chimes in before being silenced at the sight of you turning your head around to face them, a look of determination etched across your features.

“It’s going to be painful. I know that. I know what I’m getting myself into.” You snap at the two before looking over at Stan whose gaze acts as a silent plea, “I promise.. I’ll tell you when I need to pause.”

Stan and Ford back off, allowing you to continue watching the memories that play out in front of you.

You wince as the screen plays out your nightmare before your eyes. Your hand clutches your necklace tight to your chest, almost wanting to rip it off as it feels constricting, your breath picking up in pace. Your body was stuck in freeze, unable to fight or fly your way out of the scene before you.

Ford watches the screen helplessly, watching Bill use his body like a puppet. Anger and sadness washes over him, wanting nothing more than to comfort you, but knowing it may only make things worse. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Stan scooch forward to take a seat next to you.

Perhaps if he couldn’t comfort you, at least Stanley could.

After all, Stan was much better at reading people’s emotions and offering comfort than Ford ever was.

Stan notices your tense posture and places a gentle hand on your back, “Deep breaths, you can look away if you wanna.” His deep voice coaches you through it, feeling him rub gentle circles against the material of your top. You look away briefly to focus on evening out your breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly, “Atta girl, you got this.”

“Is it done? I think I might need a minute.” You ask, peering up at Stan, finally ready to tap out for now. Stan nods his head, his hand lingering on your back before looking back at his brother, “This thing got a pause button?”

Ford’s gaze lingers on his brother’s comforting hand still resting on your back, and Stan takes notice of it immediately, pulling away.

Shit.

“I believe so. It’s 3 AM so we still have about an hour or so before we have to absolutely be out of here.” Ford says, standing up and tinkering with the machine before pressing a button on the side that pauses the video on a still-frame of you sleeping with your back turned away from Ford.

‘How fitting.’ Ford muses to himself.

You look around the room, trying to distract yourself from the image of Bill’s hand around your throat. Your mind is still racing at a million miles an hour, blurry images in your subconscious slowly coming into focus. Your shaky gaze ends up landing on the statue that towers before you, staring at the daunting symbol of the Society of the Blind Eye.

An X through an all-seeing eye.

Your pupils dilate as the symbol suddenly conjures up a memory that was shoved deep in the back of your head.

The symbol glaring back at you, etched atop a red hood that cloaked its wearer’s face. Staring down the barrel…. though it was more like a bulb… of the memory gun. The cloaked figure’s hand trembling, the finger on the trigger slipping off every time it tries to pull it.

The constant shaking causes the hood to fall out of place, revealing the holder of the Memory Gun to be Fiddleford before a flash of light clouds your vision.

The sleep deprivation over the past few nights mixed with the overwhelm of all these memories flooding back, caused your body to begin to slump over, your vision blurring and making the room hazy.

‘Y/N!’

One pair of hands keep you up right to prevent you from falling over, while the other cups your cheeks, slapping them lightly to knock you out of your stupor.

“Come on, don't pass out on us now.” Stan’s voice rasps. Feeling five fingers against your skin tells you that Stan is the one in front of you holding your face.

Your eyes flutter open to see Stan staring back at you with concern before he looks over your shoulder to address Ford, “We’re calling it a night, let’s head back to the Mystery Shack.”

“Wait… I’m okay… please, let’s keep going.” You say shakily, your hand grasping his forearm. After that memory resurfaced of Fiddleford erasing your memories, you’re now more than ever desperate for answers. Desperate to make sense of the voices ringing in your head.

‘I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone!’

‘Stop being a distraction.’

‘You’re useless.’

‘I thought you of all people would understand what I’m up against!’

Stan shakes his head, “Kid, you nearly passed out just now. You just got at least three years worth of memories back in one night, they’ll still be here tomorrow.” He tries to talk you down but you’re persistent.

“I don’t have any more time to waste, Stan! I can’t keep waiting every single night to sneak back down here and uncover maybe another few months of my memories! I don’t have time to take it slow like you did!” You argue, hitting your breaking point and irritated from the lack of sleep.

Stan’s expression falters, and you immediately wish you could take back the last few words that escaped your lips.

His expression shifts after that brief moment of vulnerability, practically unreadable, a blank poker face as he looks past you to address his brother, “Ford, is there a way to take this hunk of junk back to the Mystery Shack with us?” Stan gestures back to the machine that displayed your memories.

“Yes, let me see if it’s connected to anything. Otherwise, we should be able to just pick it up and go.” Ford says, standing up to check if there were any cords keeping the monitor tethered.

His eyes flick over to you and Stan, “You two can head back to the car, we’ll reconvene back upstairs.” He figured it might be best to give you and Stan some time to talk, it’s clear to him now that Stan must have shared with you that he lost his memories as well.

Making your way back up to the museum and wandering through the dark halls, the two of you walk next to each other in absolute silence. You’re not sure what to say to the man that you just attacked with your words. The man who had gone out of his way to help bridge the gap between you and his brother, comforted you these past two nights.

A gust of wind hits your skin the moment you push the large oak doors of the entrance, the moon still high in the sky. After holding the door open for Stan, you lean against the pillar, pulling out the journal of your dreams you had brought along and a pen. You skim through the pages, marking off on each page each dream that you now had the full memory of. Stan watches you, rummaging through the pockets of his leather jacket.

The first words that come out of his mouth aren’t what you are expecting.

“Mind if I smoke?” Stan asks, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a worn-out lighter with the Mystery Shack logo etched on the side. You look up from the pages of your journal, “Yeah… sure.”

The sound of the lighter clicking and a deep exhale follows, the heavy scent of smoke filling your nostrils.

It was a scent that lingered on Stan’s jacket when he had lent it to you a few nights ago, mixed with some form of woodsy cologne. Pine-scented, fittingly enough.

Closing your journal and slipping it back into your bag, you break the silence finally.

“Stan I-”

“Save the apology, toots. You’re right.”

Stan’s response catches you off guard.

“I hit below the belt though. I didn’t mean to minimize the journey you went through getting your memories back. I mean I’ve got what… maybe five-six years of my life to recover? You had to get back a whole lifetime’s worth, the fact that you were able to get most of it back already is a feat in itself.” You spill out all your feelings, worried that Stan may cut you off if you don’t get it all out in the open now, “God, I can barely handle one night of memory recovery, how the hell did you survive months of this?”

“If you think that’s below the belt, you should hear me and Ford’s fights back in the day.” Stan scoffs, taking another hit from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from your direction. “Listen, I get it, you’re on a tight schedule and I don’t want you leaving here with half of your memories of my brother still missing. That’s why I asked Poindexter to bring that machine back to the Shack with us, that way you can watch back the memories whenever you want.”

“That’s why you asked Ford?” You ask in alarm.

“Yeah, of course. Why else would I ask him to do that?” Stan stares at you as if his intentions were glaringly obvious.

“I dunno… just thought you wanted to wipe your hands clean of this situation. Leave it up to me and Ford.” You mutter, rubbing your arm.

“Hey, you can't get rid of me that easily, toots.” Stan chuckles, “I dragged you into this mess, picking you up off the side of the road. Now I’m invested in helping ya get your memories back as much as Ford is. Also, I would very much like to get my sleep back and I don’t feel like baby-sitting you and Ford from killing each other every single night.”

“I could probably use the sleep myself.” You admit.

“Ya think? Thought you were gonna bite my head off in there from how sleep deprived you looked.” Stan teased.

You both let out a chuckle, just in time for Ford to walk into the scene, the gold monitor in his arms, with a sense of relief. He wonders how you and his brother seemed to have worked things out in the brief amount of time, he can’t help but envy how Stan seemed to have gained your trust and comfort so quickly.

To be fair, though, you did not have the same history with Stan as you did with Ford.

“Shall we head out?” Ford pauses, seeing the cigarette in Stan’s hand.

“Seriously, Stanley? What did I tell you about smoking?”

“Oh, get off your high horse, Stanford! I know how bad smoking is for you, I don’t need the three hour lecture about carcinogens again!”

The light-hearted bickering between the twins distracted Stan enough to completely forget about the capsule that weighed heavy in his pocket.

‘Y/N L/N Memories 2.’

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanfiction #stan pines #stan pines x you #stan pines x reader #stanley pines x you #stanley pines x reader #stanley pines

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zepskies · 2 years ago

Text

Break Me Down - Part 11

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Happy Father's Day and early Juneteenth! In honor of the holiday weekend, here's an early chapter update. 😘

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Part 11: The Lion’s Den

“Where is she?” Ben asked, once he and Frank were loaded in the car.

Loco and his team had to stay behind as their distraction for escape. If they weren’t slaughtered, they’d be taken into custody.

Ben knew he could’ve wasted all of them, Butcher, his team, the CIA, but the nuclear power in his chest had refused to cooperate…

Anyway, Black Noir hadn’t been there. So it was all the more useless to stick around. The real plan was with you, and he was very surprised that you’d stuck to it…but maybe he shouldn’t have been.

“She was brought to the Tower,” Frank informed him.

Ben smirked. “Good. But pretty fucking stupid of Stan to stick around there when he knew I’d be coming.”

He looked over and noticed Frank’s frown as he drove.

“Unless he’s not at the Tower,” Frank said.

Ben’s smirk fell. Why would that prick take her there if…

“We have to be open to the possibility that his Chief of Security is taking the matter of his daughter into his own hands,” Frank said. “Or she’s improvising.”

Ben frowned.

That didn’t change when they arrived at the Tower, and attempted to use the entrance through the back garage to avoid attention. But it didn’t matter.

The entire squad of Vought security, included what looked like some added muscle (hopped up on what smelled like V24), met them when they reached the lobby of the building. Now that the Seven had been disbanded, there was no pretense of “good guys vs. bad guys.” It was just defense and siege.

And in front of them all was Black Noir.

“There you are,” Ben said, but the other supe didn’t even tilt his head in greeting. He was a still statue, an attack dog given a single mission.

When Noir surged forward, Ben ran to meet him. It was a clash of blade to shield, fist to fist, grappling and reflexes that only Compound V could endow. The match tore through the lobby, then up the large staircase as Ben continued to fight his way up to Stan’s office.

Frank was already on his way up to you, but it would take him time with Vought security crawling all over them. He was good, and temporarily a supe, but he was still just one man.

Meanwhile, Ben and Noir’s fight spilled into the upper floors, through walls and offices and screaming employees trying to get out of their way.

Once they reached near the floor below Stan’s office, Ben got an arm around Black Noir’s neck, and with his free hand tried to unmask him. He wanted to know for sure what lied underneath it, if it was actually the Noir he knew. Or if it was something else entirely.

But Noir twisted with superior reflexes and flipped Ben hard over his shoulder. In the process, he ripped off Ben’s helmet. His brown hair hung over his brows as he pushed to his feet, deliberately taking his time.

When he turned, Noir was standing there with the helmet crunched in his hand. Rolling his neck, Ben prepared to jump back into the fight, but a new sound reached his ears.

He heard you on the floor above. And you were fighting someone…

Ben pressed a finger to the comm in his ear.

“Frank, you got eyes on her?”

V24 had endowed the man with x-ray vision. A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this.

Right fucking now.

That resolve helped him take a deep breath, then summon the energy inside him. He focused with the aim of blasting a clean stream of power at Black Noir; not enough to take out the whole building, but enough to take out just him.

His insides felt molten when the power collected, and finally released at his target.

Noir covered himself at the last moment with a piece of fallen debris (a half-crumbled wall), but it only created a small buffer. The force of the blast itself pushed him down the hall and through the side of the building.

Meanwhile, you were holding your own…but you were also getting beat to hell.

You were battered, with blood dribbling down the corner of your mouth from a particularly bad hit.

You were still standing though.

“You’ve gotten soft,” Jon remarked. He’d broken a sweat, had some bruises, and was panting for breath just like you. But he was more in control as he swatted a well-aimed, yet ultimately weak fist as your strength waned. He used his own to smack you down again.

“I gave you time to come around, and this is what you did with it,” he said, shaking his head. “Disappointing.”

When you tried to stand on shaking legs, he kicked you in the dead center of your chest. You felt your ribs crack as you fell back into the glass coffee table.

You gasped for breath, turning onto your side as glass pricked at your back, your sides, your arm. You coughed, wincing at the agony of knife-like pain near your lungs. Blood flecked from your mouth onto your arm, and for a moment, you stared at it in a daze.

But then Jon was above you. You tried to swipe at his face, but he bat your hand away, his brows furrowed angrily. He turned you back onto your back and wrapped a hand around your neck. Your eyes flew wide with panic.

He squeezed with enough pressure that it wouldn’t crush your windpipe, but it was sure to knock you out eventually. You slapped and clawed at his hand, but he only shushed you.

“What you need now is what you’ve always needed. A firm hand,” he said. “But I’m going to help you. I promise, I will.”

The fight drained out of you as it became impossible to breathe, and harder still to block out his words from entering your brain.

But then, the vice around your throat was gone. Oxygen poured back into your lungs as you gasped, then coughed again when your fractured ribs protested.

Your eyelids fluttered open in time to see your father thrown hard into the far wall. You heard the sick crack and breaking of bone as he landed.

Still, you struggled to breathe.

Tears leaked from your eyes when you looked up and found Ben. His helmet was missing, and he wore a furious, steely frown. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except for more coughing, and more blood.

To your surprise, he tucked his shield on his back and bent down to scoop you up into his arms.

You cringed, uttering an agonized sound when he tried to move you.

Ben hesitated. Looking down at you, some of his anger drained. He made a slower ascent as he straightened to his full height.

And without a word, he carried you out of the room and down the ruined hallway. All the while, you stared at the side of his face. His jaw was still clenched, his brows knitted, his eyes set dead ahead.

You wondered why he had to wait for moments like this to show you who he truly was.

“What are you, some kind of hero?” you managed to quip, offering a small smile.

Ben glanced down at you, and gradually smirked. “Something like that.”

When his foot slipped on a piece of debris, he righted himself quick. But the jerking movement jostled you, eliciting another pained whimper. Your hand gripped at his chest, digging into the grooves of his suit.

“Hold on,” he murmured. His lips briefly pressed to the crown of your head. “We’re getting the fuck outta here.”

Your eyes closed at the tender touch, and a few more tears spilled down your cheeks.

“He…knew,” you managed to say. “Knew I was lying.”

“I know,” said Ben. “I should’ve fucking known better.”

You marveled at that near apology. Your lips trembled as you rested your head against his chest. You just couldn’t help it anymore.

“Was my idea,” you admitted.

“Yeah, well, evidently not all your ideas are aces,” he said.

You could’ve gotten angry, but you saw the way he moved with care, trying not to slip again for your sake. You tried at a smile.

“Guess not,” you said, though you bit your lip at the pain that seemed to radiate through your entire body. Ben seemed to notice.

“Just relax,” he said, a deep rumble. But there was a soothing note to it, you thought. Or maybe, you just liked the sound of his voice.

Then silence fell between the two of you, both comfortable and tense as Ben focused on potential threats in his surroundings.

All the while, you continued to rest your eyes. Instead of your pain, you tried to concentrate on his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“It’s about fucking time,” you eventually heard Ben grouse.

You opened your eyes and were relieved to see Frank exiting the stairwell to meet you and Ben. His face and black tactical gear were splattered with blood, but he looked fine, more or less. His gaze roamed over you with his usual stoicism, but you thought you saw a glint of concern.

“I take it Stan Edgar isn’t here,” said Frank.

“You could fucking say that,” Ben snarked. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Sir.” Frank saw something ahead, behind you. Ben turned to find Black Noir silently standing in the middle of the hall, with a large, suspicious-looking gun in his hands.

Without taking his eyes off Noir, Ben gestured to Frank. He came up beside you, and Ben passed you into Frank’s arms.

“Get her out of here,” Ben ordered. With a nod, Frank carried you back the way he came, towards the staircase. You tried to peer over his shoulder.

“He shouldn’t face Noir alone,” you said, even though every breath was a challenge with the sharp pain in your chest.

“He’ll meet us after,” Frank told you. But as soon as he started down the stairs, a fresh team of Vought security and police came to meet you.

Meanwhile, Ben stared down the hall at his opponent. Black Noir activated the strange gun, which lit up with a blue energy.

“You can bring out any kind of fancy artillery you want, but it’s not going to stop me from killing you,” Ben taunted.

Noir remained silent, of course, but he aimed the gun and fired. It shot a potent, crystal blue beam of energy that ate through Ben’s shield, and eventually hit him in the chest before he could finish revving up his own power. The blast from the gun, it wasn’t hot.

It was ice cold. So frigid that it extinguished the heat that had been building in his chest, but it wasn’t diffusing his power completely…it just made it even harder to control.

And the resulting backlash was overwhelming.

Ben woke slowly, like wading through molasses. Usually his mind was sharp, even when he woke from a booze-induced coma. Now he felt groggy, and it was hard to focus or even force his body to sit up on the hard cot he was laying on.

Glancing down, he realized he’d been changed out of his suit. He was dressed in a plain gray shirt and matching pants, no shoes. He knew a prison outfit when he saw one, just as he now knew where he was: a white padded cell.

Fuck.

At least it was better than a frigid coffin…but in his mind, not by much.

He slid his legs over and managed to push up onto his feet.

Why’s it so fucking misty in here? he thought, waving his hand through the smokey air. And why was he so tired?

He soon got his answer when he realized who stood at the large window at the front of his cell.

Stan Edgar.

The man himself, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, was watching him with crossed arms.

“We did hope you would remain on sabbatical,” said Stan. “But I had a feeling you would return, and come directly to us.”

Stan gestured to the large cell. “This was our contingency plan.”

Ben made his way, with difficulty, closer to Stan, who pointed at the air vents above that were pumping in a gas of some kind.

“A light mist of Novichok,” Stan explained. “Enough to keep you docile.”

“And if I’m not?” Ben asked. His voice was edged with grit, and the promise of retribution.

“We can up the dose, put you to sleep indefinitely,” Stan replied. “But you have my attention. What would you like to discuss?”

“The conversation I planned on having was…a little different,” Ben said darkly. “But first, let’s start with what you used to clone Black Noir.”

“I suppose there’s no real harm in telling you,” Stan said. Even his voice was grating on Ben’s ears, the smug prick.

“We kept some of Homelander’s blood as an insurance policy. But, we’ve learned from our mistakes.”

“Right,” Ben scoffed. “How’s that?”

“This Noir is not a carbon copy, but nor is he a megalomaniac. He’s under our control,” Stan said.

“Until he isn’t,” Ben snarked. If he thought about it, that was something you would say. Maybe your penchant for smart-ass remarks had gotten into his head.

“And that new gun?” he asked. “Don’t tell me your little lab rats put that together just for me.”

Stan’s lips made a wry turn.

“It was a breakthrough project. Temporarily destabilizes the energy you generate when you charge up like a Power Puff Girl.” Stan thought for a moment, then inclined his head. “A reference, I realize, which may be lost on you.”

“So what’s the play here?” Ben said. He was getting impatient. “You know, when I break out, things aren’t gonna be pretty.”

Stan didn’t seem bothered by the clear threat.

“In the meantime,” he said, “you won’t be alone.”

Stan stepped back and revealed the cell right across the hall. Through the window, Ben could see you, lying unconscious on a shitty cot in similar gray pajamas. His brows crunched as he narrowed his eyes, trying to peer in closer. You looked like you’d been bandaged up, at least.

“You also managed to put my Chief of Security in Intensive Care, but his daughter should be fine…if a bit worse for wear,” Stan informed him.

Ben glared back, his lips curling. Sloppy of him. He should’ve made sure that bastard was dead.

“That’s cute, considering he’s the demented fuck who beat her to hell,” Ben said.

Stan rose a solitary brow. “And at whose behest did she enter the lion’s den?”

Ben had nothing to say to that.

You woke with a pained groan before your eyes even opened. Your body felt like a walking welt.

Your brain pounded like bongo drums, your chest felt tender with every infinitesimal movement, but you realized that you’d been seen to medically, at least. Your head was bandaged, and you felt that the blood had been wiped from your face and arms.

You looked up and found, with a sigh, that you were indeed in a cell. But you softened when you found Ben through the large glass window, in a cell of his own. He was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, with his back against the wall. His eyes found yours, and his lips twitched.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He sounded off. Tired, you thought. And you noticed a steady mist being piped into his room.

Shit. Novichok, you surmised with a frown.

“You okay?” you asked.

Ben chuckled a little. “You’re the one who looks like hell.”

“Why, thank you,” you replied wryly.

There was a pitcher and a cup of water on a tray, a small paper cup of what you assumed were painkillers, and an ice pack next to you on the cot.

You hesitated on the pills, but in light of your incredible pain, you had no choice. You took the pills, drank the water, and grabbed the ice pack, pressing it against your sternum. You sat up all the way with a slow gait and a pained groan.

“Go slow,” he warned. “Bet you’re missing that Temp. V right about now.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“How’d you get caught?” he asked.

That succeeded in dimming your mood. You explained that Frank had been forced to set you on your feet when you were confronted by more security and a police squad.

The man had been a one-man weapon; hopped up on V24 as he was, he managed to fight his way down to the garage, where you slowly, painfully crept down there.

You and Frank had almost reached his car, but you held him back. You were stubborn about waiting on Ben, even considered going back for him.

That was when the shot rang out, hitting Frank point blank in the chest.

Before you could even bend to help him, you were taken, dragged back into the building, and knocked out before you could take your captor’s gun.

You tried in vain to wipe away fresh tears while you retold the story.

Bottom line: Frank’s death was your fault. Though while he frowned in disappointment, Ben didn’t seem to hold it against you.

“Good on ya, Frank,” Ben murmured. “You went down fucking swingin’.”

“What about you? What happened with Black Noir?” you asked after a moment. Sniffling, you met Ben’s eyes.

He eventually told you about the strange gun Vought had commissioned just for him. And the more you listened, the deeper your frown became. It sounded impossible.

“Makes you wonder what else they’ve been cooking up in that lab,” you muttered.

“Other than Noir?” Ben quipped. He told you about that too.

“We can figure this out,” you said. “If nothing else, my team, the CIA, they’re looking for both of us…if for different reasons.”

Ben scoffed at that. “A silver lining there. Make no mistake, we’re getting the fuck out of here. Just…need a minute to think.”

But he was starting to wane. It was taking all his energy to concentrate on your voice, to even keep his eyes open. The steady stream of gas being pumped into his cell made it damn near impossible, and it was frustrating beyond belief.

Because if he fell asleep now, there was no telling when he’d wake up. And fuck if Ben would ever admit to the panic he felt welling up into his chest.

“Aaah, fuck!” he growled, pounding a fist against the wall.

You noticed, biting your lip in concern…until an idea made you smile. It was something you used to do to distract your sister when she was little.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” you asked.

Ben just blinked at you. “What?”

He asked not because he understood what you were doing, but because he was genuinely confused.

“Because they’re easy to catch,” you said, making a drumming motion with your hands. “Buddum-ch.”

Your neighbor just stared back at you, unimpressed.

“Okay, not a fan of that one. Let me see…okay,” you raised a finger. “What does a baby computer call its father?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t tell if you were serious.

“Data!” you said, biting your lip at an embarrassed smile. It curved Ben’s lips, but he was stubborn.

“Why was 6 afraid of 7?” you asked.

“Jesus Christ, enough…” he muttered.

“Because 7’s a dick, that’s why,” you said. And your straight face lasted for all of three seconds before you ended up giggling. It hurt your bruised body, but it lightened you to see the reluctant smile tug its way onto Ben’s face.

“All right,” he said at last. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember a joke he’d heard Loco tell. “How do you make a pool table laugh?”

You smiled. “How?”

“Tickle its balls,” Ben said. Your answering snort deepened his smile into a smirk.

“Playing bridge is just like sex,” you said. Ben shook his head. His grandmother used to play fucking bridge.

But regardless, he took the bait.

“How’s that?”

“If you don’t have a good partner, you better have a good hand,” you said with a smirk.

Ben made a sound of amusement, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. You traded these back and forth, each trying to make the other crack with progressively dirtier jokes (though you suspected Ben was just trying to disgust you).

You considered yourself the winner when Ben finally chortled a deep, belly laugh that showed his charming smile.

It made you smile in return.

Ben rested a hand on his chest, but when his mirth died down, he realized just how tired he was. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of this. His connection with you tethered him to reality, even if reality sucked dick right now.

His gaze met yours. “Why don’t you sing something, crooner?”

You bit your lip once again. “Like what?”

Ben’s eyes closed.

“You know the one,” he said. A softer smile graced your lips, though he couldn’t see it.

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” you teased. He chuckled.

“Just sing, for fuck’s sake.”

His brows were knitted, like he was trying all he could to stay awake. You took pity on him.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…” you began to sing softly. “If I didn’t care…would I feel this way?”

Every extended note was painful, but it was worth it to see his face relax.

Stan Edgar’s lips pursed, and he set down his cell phone on his desk. Victoria was screening his calls.

Disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected. He surveyed the cleanup crew wiping up debris, glass, and blood from the lounge area with a dispassionate gaze.

This was going to take a while.

So after drumming his fingers on the mahogany surface, Stan decided to push up from his desk and head downstairs via the elevator. It took him all the way down to Level 0, the home of one of Vought’s most secure R&D labs.

There his most trusted scientist, Dr. Tonya Baker, was at the helm with her team at work on various projects. Most of which were not sanctioned by the government.

Stan folded his hands behind his back and reached her side, and she set down a beaker filled with a green, buzzing liquid.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted.

“Tonya, you know what I’m about to ask,” he said. She bobbed her head and turned to face him in her rolling desk chair.

“We’re still working on solutions. Without his cooperation, safely extracting Soldier Boy’s DNA is a tricky thing,” she said.

“You don’t say?” Stan said dryly. “What are our options?”

“Well, needles will only break, as you know,” said Dr. Baker. “The scientists in Russia found that only Soldier Boy is strong enough to break his own skin.”

“And I doubt he’ll open a vein for us,” Stan said, “even if we threaten to put him to sleep.”

He didn’t even think leveraging with the girl would aid, more than complicate their goals. While it was something to consider, Stan would rather find the path of least resistance here. Soldier Boy was…volatile at best.

“How much of Homelander’s blood remains?” he asked.

“None,” the doctor replied. “We used the last of it to clone Black Noir. And a hair sample is not enough to create additional subjects…at the very least, a urine sample. Even Dr. Vogelbaum managed that.”

Stan sent her shrewd look. If only he still had Dr. Vogelbaum in his employ. If only the man were still alive.

What a waste of a talented, resourceful man.

“That will be a problem,” Stan said.

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Baker adjusted a monitor screen at her desk. It displayed the feed from Soldier Boy’s cell.

She pointed to the toilet in the corner of the cell. Then she called over one of her assistants.

“Tell Maintenance to cut the water, and then a section of the pipes.”

AN: Okay. 😅 I know I'm gonna get some mixed reviews on this one (Let me know what you thought!).

But despite the teaser, I think you'll enjoy where the story's headed next...

Next Time:

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted.

Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

#The Lion's Den #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 11 #zepskies writes

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ilikekidsshows · 7 months ago

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A lot of Marinette stan always said that "she doesn't aware she did something wrong because Cat Noir never tells her" and this statement just feel funny when in Glaciator 2, Tikki told her "how strange it is for him to be out there when nobody akumatized" and when Cat Noir speak about his concern regarding the treatment he get by the start of the episode (the whole trash can thing) she shrug it out BOTH TIMES because she just couldn't be bothered enough when her love life is the only matters.

What's your opinion on this take "Marinette didn't do anything wrong because she didn't know that there was a conflict and she also didn't know that her behavior was hurting Chat Noir. everything is just a misunderstanding, like two cultures colliding because of differences in mindset."

I'm combining these asks, cause the top one basically says what I think of the question in the latter one. Marinette being willfully ignorant is not the same thing as her not knowing, the former is something she actively does and latter is something that happens to her. When it comes to Marinette being unaware of Cat Noir's problems, she actively avoids asking important questions or any follow up questions when she sees something is up, and she shuts down all of Cat Noir's attempts to bridge the gap or be more open. She's been doing this since the early seasons, just look up my "Fae Cat Noir" tag for how Marinette refuses to see Cat Noir as a real human being with emotions. She doesn't "not know", she actively avoids knowing.

Frankly, the wisemen of the groupchat think Marinette is benefiting from the secret identities rule. I agree, because she wouldn't be brushing Cat Noir off half as much if he could show up at her house to complain about being treated like a second stringer while she calls him her partner. And she'd be far more considerate if she had to go to school and look Adrien in the face after implying he's egostitical for hinting that future Bunnix constantly badmouthing him was making him feel bad.

Marinette is part-timing being Cat Noir's friend, and even the part of time she's his friend, she acts like his feelings don't exist. The rest of the time she acts like he as a whole doesn't exist. No, I don't think "she didn't know" is the defense people think it is. Marinette remains willfully ignorant, she chooses not to know, and actively avoids finding anything out. Those are choices and actions, and their consequences should be hers to deal with instead of her getting coddled because she "didn't know," like she was some kind passive victim of circumstances.

#ml salt #ml critical #ml fandom salt #fae cat noir

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the-insomniac-emporium · 10 months ago

Text

tale of woe

ARTICULO MORTIS- the moment of death

(Reblogs/comment are appreciated, I read every tag! :3 See under the read-more for an alternate version without the lighting effect, notes on details, as well as a copy of the final sketch)

The constellation is one of the two mentioned during Cassandra's stargazing scene, Ursa Major. The other, Orion the Hunter, was already featured in my previous piece, Stargazer.

Having a 'halo' of red around her head was one of my earliest concept points for this piece, in reference to her cult ending.

In Romeo & Juliet, Juliet's decision to end her life isn't just about her grief over Romeo, it's the knowledge that her only real options are either to die or to be sent off to live as a nun. When so much of her story is already about trying to choose her own fate, to avoid the life that has been planned out for her, it's easier to understand her final decision. Anywho, the real point of this paragraph is that this is why the left side of the piece features a church building.

The circular window in the church has 8 slices, each with a color representing one of the 7 routes, plus a bonus one for Mia. The colors are all eye-dropped from the character sprites, minus Miranda's, which I selected from the piece I did for her.

The three graves on the left are for the Stans. One of them literally says STAN, one is blank, and the last one has the initials R.S. (Rebecca Stan). On the right side we have a grave for the MC, partially since they die in the cult ending, partially because the right side is more symbolic of the play's canon ending, so the MC's grave is really Romeo's grave.

The main color for the curtains was taken from Cassandra's default sprite, specifically her shirt, because why not? Similarly, the color for the boards/stage at the bottom is taken from her pants. Because why not?

technically the flowers in her hand are supposed to be roses, but I realized about halfway through this piece that over the years my simplified way of drawing roses has gradually turned into just drawing tulips. oops. seriously tho, oops. also realized that this one pan I use for cooking, which I always thought was an 8x8 pan, is actually a 9x9 pan. which explains several recurring difficulties with some of my favorite baking recipes. guess I'm just a silly goose

this had so many layers holy fuck. I used the same file for the original pose sketches, as well as a bunch of reference photos, but even with that in mind it's crazy that this had over 70 layers. by the end there's still, like, 20 active ones. each section had a separate layer for the outline + the color, another couple layers for the banner on bottom, one for lighting, and then the constellation was it's own layer.

Final outline sketch:

Version without the lighting effect (which is intended to mimic the way stained glass looks when hit by sunshine):

#j does art #resident lover #resident lover spoilers #cassandra dimitrescu #this. is kind of. technically r&j fan art.#BUT I ONLY DID IT FOR CASSANDRA OKAY

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pines4thetwin · 2 months ago

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shower sex with any variation of pinecest is so funny to me b/c mabel/stan is the only version where it’d work out in the sweet and fun way it’s been imagined. half the group just doesn’t want to fucking shower and actively fights against it. it would effectively be like wrangling cats

So very real!! (Theres a lil bit of all the flavors of pines family ships in here so....pines4thewin?)

Dipper avoids water like its his lifes mission and Ford doesnt even know what a shower is atp.

I can see stan seducing Ford into the shower but also they're old and any attempts at (satnding and doing) shower sex are short lived. I can see them soaking in the tub and getting their freak on. Ford would still be reluctant to be in the water.

Mabel can and will try to coax each and every one of them into taking a bubble bath with her but she'd be too busy make sure they (dipper and ford) wash their stinky asses to have any soft of fun.

Stan will wrangle dipper into a shower himself cause he refuses to let that boy get as bad as Ford is. He has got bitten more than once and there are scratches on his arm cause dipper acts like a feral cat if you put him next to water but if it takes him stripping down and getting in to wash dipper himself, he will make sure that boy is clean.

Dipper and ford, when left alone together, will make eye contact, shrug and ignore how bad they smell. Science is more important or smthin like that. Like dipper could be sitting in fords lap, whole basemant humming while they work and both of em can smell it but they just dont care (fucking weirdos)

Sometimes stan and mabel have to tag team them/divide and conquer. They both have diferent methods. When it comes to her own twin, theyre mathing energy. And by that i mean, if dipper starts acting a fool and hissing at her she's going to hiss right back and wrestle him into the tub kicking and screaming. (Imagine warrior cats kids) With Ford shes just gonna wear him down with puppy dog eyes till he agrees to take that bubble bath (even its just so she can shut up about it. He definitely doesnt end up enjoying it every time)

With Stan... if Ford wants to stubbornly refuse to take a fucking bath? Stans going to stubbornly carry his twin right into the water. Dipper's just gonna get grabbed like a baby cat everytime. And it works so...

As for Stan and Mabel, they get up to the most elaborate bathtime fun. They're cracking jokes, singing, playing with the bubbles, acting put scenes from their favorite shows. The whole nine. They are having all the fun (and are the only pair that would ever regularly get to enjoy show sex) they get to be sweet and loving and take their time. The end!

(I might actually have to write some pinesot4 shower antics lol)

#pintesot4 #stancest #standbel #fordbel #standip #pinecest #dipstan #pines4the(t)win #tagging em all cause theres a bit of everything #Sorry if this isnt what you wanted with this ask #this is what ive got to offer

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 10 months ago

Text

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 2

AO3

Summary: During a party at the officers' club, DeMarco gets the chance to smooth things over with Susie, and she shows her true colours when defending one of her friends

Warnings: Language, smoking, harassment, misogyny, violence

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

Susie jolted awake to the sudden bang of a door swinging shut, squinting in the unbearable brightness of the light which she assumed to be morning. "Susie!" Charlotte's voice hit her ears, and she folded her arms tightly over her head to block everything out, inhaling the smell of cigarette smoke. That was strange.

"What?" She groaned.

"You fell asleep in your uniform. Get up."

Blinking slowly, Susie looked down at herself, and sure enough, she was dressed head-to-toe in her dress greens, her shoes still on her feet, one leg dangling off the side of her mattress as she lay on top of the crumpled blankets. "...Oh shit. Is it morning?"

One of the other ATS girls let out a bark of laughter, and Charlotte shook her head, a smile curling her lip. "No. We just got in from the pub, it's been... what, three hours since you left?"

"God, no wonder I feel like shit."

"You look like it too. Are you sure you're alright? Not like you to call it a night after only one pint."

Susie's hand fell to her pocket, and she felt the cool metal of the money DeMarco had given her against her fingertips. She nodded weakly. "Yeah. No, I'm just tired."

Charlotte raised a brow discerningly, sitting down on the edge of Susie's bed. "Right. Get up, get out of that uniform, and tell me what's wrong. I'll iron your stuff tomorrow, I have to do mine anyway."

Her brow was furrowed in confusion but she obliged nonetheless, rising to her feet as she began to peel away her uniform, the inhabitants of their hut far too familiar with one another to be embarrassed about any state of undress. "What, you want to... listen to me talk about my feelings?"

"Yes, Susie. You know - like an actual human."

"Sounds terrible-"

"Susie!"

"Right, yeah, ok. Well... I think I'm frustrated."

Charlotte's mouth hung slightly agape, as if watching a baby giraffe learn to walk for the first time. "... you think?"

"No, no. I am," She nodded firmly. "... Yeah. There was a bloke I thought might've been my friend but it turned out he was pissin' me about."

"What a shit."

"...Yeah." Susie agreed, a distinct air of uncertainty lacing her voice. Charlotte stared at her like she was encountering alien life for the first time. The cold night air stung her bare skin as she hurried to pull on some pyjamas, uniform laid out as neatly as she could upon the bed. Even inside the Nissen huts, it was never fully warm - on particularly nasty nights, the women would pass around thick, wool socks so that everyone could double up on layers, the thin army-issue blankets doing little to keep them insulated. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Y'know, I don't think you're mean, Suze," Charlotte pointed out as she gathered the crumpled clothes. "Just... socially incompetent."

"Noted," Susie nodded, collapsing face-first onto the bed, the spring mattress shrieking its objection as she bounced up and down a few times below slowly settling to a halt. In her mind, it didn't matter why people didn't like her - they just did, and she wasn't very interested in changing herself to avoid it. Everyone had always liked her sisters growing up, and it mostly seemed to mean that they never got left alone. But Susie liked being left alone.

Or at least, she managed to convince herself that she did.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had long since set, a warm glow and the echo of brass music echoing from within the officers' club, a steady hum of conversation carrying on the breeze. Standing out in the darkness, back pressed against the wall, Susie pulled her cigarette away from her lips, a huge cloud of smoke erupting before her. She and Charlotte sported matching lights, the small, burning embers flickering orange as they puffed away in silence. Charlotte smoked about a dozen a day, but she refused to do it inside, repulsed by both the lingering smell of her own smoke and the thought of men watching her do it. It always seemed hypocritical to Susie, but nevertheless, she accompanied her, waiting patiently until they were both done.

"Freddy's back in town on Wednesday," Charlotte stated, breaking the silence that hung between them. She had been engaged to the RAF pilot for over a year, but there had never been time or money enough to arrange the lavish wedding they both so desperately wanted. Susie had only met the man once or twice, but he seemed a good bloke to her, albeit excessively chipper. She never quite trusted optimists.

"Oh, give him my best. I've got a pick-up run to fucking Peterborough on that day - apparently, they've got a shortage of vehicles, so I've gotta go all the way to them. Bloody waste of a day, really," She complained, lightly kicking one of the old empty beer bottles on the ground and sending it spinning across the tarmac.

"You should get the truck checked before you go - you'd hate to break down somewhere. I can call Bevan or something, she'll give it a look."

"Nah. I haven't been having any problems, I won't waste her time. She's got enough on her plate."

One of their bunkmates, a young woman named Maeve, tore open the door to the club, the music splitting the air. Her hat sat lop-sided on her head, cropped blonde hair erupting in frizz from the sweat that beaded on her forehead. "Are you gonna come in or what? I've already danced with three Yanks, how long does it take to smoke one fag?"

"Alright, Jesus," Susie rolled her eyes, twisting her heel as she stomped hers out. The sudden noise was jarring as they headed inside, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the light after spending so much time outside. She couldn't quite remember what the party was even for, but the Americans didn't strike her as a group in need of much of a reason for one.

The women from her hut were all either crowded at one end of the bar or dancing with some of the men that filled the room, and Susie immediately made a beeline for the former, utterly uninterested in a bit of dull conversation or awkward flirting with a man she'd undoubtedly never speak to again. Her sister Beatrice often complained she had an un-romantic view of the world - she preferred the term 'realist'.

She had barely had time to take a sip of her first drink before she felt a tug at her trouser leg. Peering down, she met a familiar pair of dark eyes, Meatball's tongue lolling out of his mouth as he stared up at her, tail thumping against Maeve's leg as it wagged incessantly. The women were delighted by his sudden appearance, crouching down to scratch beneath his chin and rub under his belly, the dog revelling in the attention. But Meatball's presence meant one thing.

"Susie?"

Susie stood up straight, wiping a line of beer foam away from her lip as she found herself face-to-face with DeMarco, a stern frown creasing her expression. She'd managed to successfully avoid him for nearly a week, but with her back pressed up against the bar there was no escape.

She never dressed like she was supposed to be where she was. It was something Benny liked about her. Her hair fell uncurled down her back, her tie hanging loose around her neck, the top button of her shirt undone. Hand planted firmly on her hip, she appeared even more irritated by his presence than she had the first time they'd met.

"Look, can we-" He paused, an idea slowly surfacing. "... Will you dance with me?"

Maeve and Charlotte were both staring, expressions prompting her forward. DeMarco's friends were huddled nearby, clearly watching the scene, close enough to hear every word.

He's backed you into a corner. He's forcing you to answer. If you say no, he's made sure you're the one who'll look like an asshole.

What a dick.

"Fine." Teeth clenched, a bitter sweetness lacing her voice, she seized his arm, marching him towards the dancefloor and leaving the other women to fawn and coo over Meatball.

He stared down at the hand she had on his sleeve, frowning at the stiffness of her grip. Her shoulders were visibly tense, and he could feel the reluctance in every step she took. "... You look nice," He pointed out, flashing a smile.

Susie paused in the centre of the floor, taking his hand with about as much enthusiasm as if she were at a funeral. "Right. Sure."

The music had picked up, more than a dozen couples filling the room, dancing merrily. DeMarco liked this song. He'd danced to it countless times, with far more cheerful, willing partners. He could feel the warmth of her skin as he put a hand on her waist, and with a start realised that she was actually rather good at this. Staring down at the smooth movement of her feet, he almost forgot what he had come to say.

Clearing his throat slightly, Benny met her eye. “Susie, look. I know I don’t know you very well-”

“That is correct," She nodded firmly, and he fought the urge to scoff.

“Can you let me finish?! Jesus. I know I don’t know you very well - but - I can tell you’re not going to admit you were wrong. So I’m gonna do it for you. Susie, you were wrong. I was not trying to use you to get close to your friends - one of Charlotte’s friends had a date with one of my guys tonight, and I was asked to pass on a message that he had to cancel. That's why I needed to talk to her, you were just so-...” His mouth opened and shut as he tried to find the word, hand releasing hers for a moment to flail wildly in the air. “-You!"

Her gaze had begun to soften, and for a moment he felt a pit of guilt burrow in his stomach. "…But I’m sorry that’s happened to you before. Some guys can be real jerks.”

“Oh, really, thank you for the warning,” Susie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. DeMarco frowned flatly, and she cleared her throat. “Right. Yeah… Ok.”

"It usually helps when you let people finish their sentences," He shrugged, and she tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing. When he slipped his hand back into hers, she was noticeably less tense.

"Well, I didn't know what you were gonna say."

"Exactly, Suze. That's what the rest of the sentence was for," DeMarco pointed out, unable to restrain a chuckle, flashing a boyish, lopsided grin. She felt her cheeks heat up, and let out a snort of laughter herself, her stubbornness ridiculous in hindsight. After a moment, Susie couldn't help but laugh - a real, melodious laugh, erupting from deep within her throat, eyes squeezed shut as her head tilted forward, a single auburn curl slipping over her shoulder to hang in her face.

He paused, the shuffling of his feet slowing, falling out of time with the music. She seemed all hard lines and rough edges, far too much so to ever produce such a wonderful sound. It was the kind of laugh that made a person feel lighter just for hearing it, and DeMarco hadn't realised quite how much he'd been staring until Bucky's teasing grin caught his eye from across the room, and he snapped out of it before Susie could notice.

The song reached its end, and her steps slowed to a halt, prying her hands away from his. "Right, you interrupted me before I could finish my drink, so I'm gonna go find it," She nodded determinedly, Meatball wiggling his way through the crowd to nip at her heels as she walked, his tail wagging back and forth wildly. Accepting her departure, Benny drifted back over to his friends, accepting a drink as it was passed to him.

"Breaking that shell, huh?" Bucky asked, that same pleased smirk creasing his cheeks.

His eyes narrowed slightly, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "Don't believe everything ya hear, John."

Susie pried her shoulders through the press of bodies that had gathered around the bar, hands raised as she side-stepped between a few officers, watching keenly for her half-finished beer. She spotted Maeve, stood dutifully with a glass in each hand, and realised with a smile that she'd been keeping an eye on it for her. A pilot she didn't recognise was stood beside Maeve at the bar, talking her ear off, and by the uneasy expression on her face, she wasn't exactly enjoying it.

"Thanks, love," Forcing a smile, she took her drink back, purposely shouldering in between the pair, cutting off the pilot mid-sentence. He let out a frustrated grunt, but Susie didn't offer him a second glance, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on Maeve's arm. The newest member of her crew, the girl had been freshly nineteen when she arrived at Thorpe Abbotts only a few months ago. She was bubbly, blunt, energetic, and something about her seemed familiar to Susie, something that kept her tethered at her side. "I was just talking to Charlotte-" She lied, deliberately refusing to address the third member of their party. "-and we were talking about going down to the pub instead, find some better beer."

The pilot cleared his throat, speaking up. Something about his smooth accent rubbed Susie the wrong way. "Excuse me? Maeve, we should get on the dancefloor before the next song starts."

Shaking her head, Susie wedged herself even more firmly between the two, shouldering Maeve behind her. "No, she's not gonna be doing that."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Well, now you are."

The air itself had grown tense around them, drawing the stares of others just trying to enjoy their evening. Further down the bar, she noticed DeMarco and his friends watching with furrowed brows, sporting identical frowns as they slowly put down their beers in anticipation. She felt Maeve's fingers brush against her own behind her back, searching for her hand.

The pilot was growing more and more irritated by the second. "Listen, we're all just here to have a good time," He said tensely. "It's one dance, it's not gonna hurt anyone."

Maeve's hand squeezed hers, a wordless way of saying 'Yes it will'.

"I think we've established that's not happening, Yank. Now why don't you fuck off and bother someone else, before this becomes a problem."

He scoffed, clearly doubting Susie's ability to make this altercation any sort of problem for him. Over his shoulder, she noticed DeMarco making his way through the crowd towards them, frown darkening his entire face. "There an issue here?" He asked, voice sterner than she'd ever heard it.

"Yeah, DeMarco - why don't you come over here and put a muzzle on your bitch, huh?"

The moment the words left the man's mouth, DeMarco was lunging forward, Blakeley's hands seizing his shoulders before he could cause any real damage. A self-satisfied smirk curled the pilot's lips, but in the moment DeMarco had dove at him, he had failed to notice Susie, upturning her beer and pouring every last drop down her throat in a single gulp. By the time his head turned back towards the two women, her fist was already clenched and pulled back, and an almighty crack echoed through the officers' club as her knuckles collided with his jaw. Staggering backwards, his side slammed into the bar, undoubtedly leaving some nasty bruises as he tumbled backwards, landing flat on his ass on the polished wood floor.

A stunned silence had descended upon the room, every eye locked onto the scene, a few snickers rising from the crowd as the pilot gawped up at her, eyes wide and gormless. "C'mon," Susie uttered, taking advantage of the sudden stillness to worm her way through the crowd, tugging Maeve along by the hand, the girl staring slack-jawed at the scene as they passed.

Susie hadn't realised how stifling the officers' club was until they breached the doorway, stepping out into the cold night air, no light except for a single streetlamp, which flickered and buzzed intermittently. Her knuckles throbbed painfully, shoulder reeling from the sudden swing, but the pain seemed washed away the moment Maeve let out a laugh - a shrill, hysteric giggle, hands clamped tightly over her mouth to muffle the sound, eyes wide in shock.

"Holy shit, Susie!" She cackled, and soon Susie had begun to grin too, their expressions painted in sheer disbelief at the scene that had just occurred. "That was fucking cool! Quick - let's go back in there and kick 'im before he can get up."

"No, no!" Susie chuckled, grabbing Maeve's wrist to stop her from marching straight back inside again. "We're in enough trouble as it is, let's not, eh? Save it for next time we see him," She winked, making the younger girl giggle.

Suddenly Maeve gasped, a hand raised to her scalp. "Oh shit, I left my hat inside."

The sound of footsteps just inside the doorway caught their attention, and out hurried DeMarco, Major Egan tailing close behind, Maeve's ATS cap in hand. "You guys ok? You hurt?" Benny called, brow creased in concern.

"Oh, we are so great," Maeve laughed, accepting her hat with many grateful thanks. "I mean did you see that? One hit - bam! - down!" Susie nodded along, beginning to chuckle, her cheeks burning a bright red.

"Yeah, it'll be even more impressive if I manage to keep my job," She huffed, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"Well, I dunno about you, Benny, but I sure didn't see anything," Egan shrugged.

"Not a thing," DeMarco concurred, grinning. She met his gaze, and for a moment they both struggled not to burst into laughter.

"Right, well I'm not nearly drunk enough to go home yet," Maeve declared, glancing around at the group to gauge their reactions. "Pub? Pub anyone?"

"Not for me," Susie shook her head. "Even if everyone denies what just happened, I'm already on second chances. I'm gonna get some sleep before I have to deal with it tomorrow."

"I'll go," Egan nodded. "Keep an eye on the kid."

"Thank you," She smiled earnestly, taking Maeve's cap and tucking it beneath her arm. They'd all told the girl not to wear it out, but she'd insisted, and it was becoming burdensome. John and Maeve began making their way towards the village, their chatter muffled the further away they got. Turning on her heel, Susie began to return to her hut, before the sudden sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.

DeMarco was walking beside her, hands in his pockets. "Walk you back?"

"And abandon your dog? Shame on you."

He shrugged. "Meatball's been all over Buck, he'll be fine. That dog's a goddamn traitor."

She chuckled. "He's going through the rebellious teenager phase - wants anyone except his dad."

"No one told me parenthood would be this hard, y'know," Benny joked, a flash of teeth peeking through his lopsided smile. "Your hand feelin' ok?"

Susie lifted the hand she'd used to punch the pilot, a twinge of pain making her wince slightly as she flexed her knuckles. DeMarco reached out to gently hold it, peering down at the bruising already blooming across the back of her palm. "It was a damn good swing, I'll give you that," He admitted, and she let out a chuckle.

Neither spoke for a moment, until he broke the silence once more. "Hey, what'd you mean when you said you're 'already on second chances'?"

"Ah," Susie nodded. "Well, that's where the reputation comes from. A while ago, before you Yanks got here, I got in an argument with an RAF officer - headbutted him so hard I broke his nose. I nearly got fired, but now everyone who's been around long enough knows about it, they think I've got a screw loose or summat."

"No shit - are you serious?"

"As the plague."

DeMarco let out a long, low whistle. "Y'know, I just assumed it was 'cause you're..."

"A grumpy old bitch?"

"Yeah, that," He agreed, letting out a guffaw as she punched him in the shoulder. "Hey! You said it, not me!"

"Prick," Susie smirked, shaking her head. The officers' club wasn't far from the ATS huts, and it wasn't long before they reached her door. Pulling Maeve's hat out from under her arm, she placed it atop her head, jokingly tipping it to him in goodbye as she fumbled for her keys. "Well, if I still have a job tomorrow I'll see you around."

"You will," DeMarco nodded. "And hey, if they try to fire you, I'll tell 'em you're essential for dog-sitting purposes."

"Oh yeah, my main calling in life," She shook her head, smiling as the lock clicked and she swung the door open. "G'night DeMarco."

"Y'know, you're allowed to call me Benny."

Her expression contorted in a grimace, clearly not a fan of the nickname. "I think I'm good."

"Jesus Christ," He muttered. "Go to bed, Susie, just get outta my sight."

With one last laugh, she slipped inside, vanishing as the door swung shut behind her, leaving him alone in the darkness. Smirking to himself, he shoved his hands into his pockets, beginning the long walk back to his bunk.

#masters of the air #masters of the air oc #bernard demarco #bernard demarco x oc #mota oc #masters of the air fic #mota fic #fic | better off #oc: susie #john egan

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