The brain worms continue to infest my brain.
Posted on Ao3, but posting here as well: Here's my contribution to the Stan x Reader genre.
Tags: Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, porn with mild plot, c'mon you guys know me at this point.
Know When to Fold 'Em
"Thanks for all your help, you're doin great, dood!" Soos's voice is full of pride, contentment as you hand over small zipped bag, the profits of the day. You smile, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Soos, you've told me that every day for the past two years."
"And I mean it every time! Can't imagine runnin' this place without ya," he beams at you, his crooked smile making your own smile grow a little larger. Despite him being a few years younger than you, he makes a fantastic boss. "Can't believe Mr. Pines thought you was gonna be useless when I hired ya."
Well, that makes the smile drop.
You met Mr. Pines, well, both Mr. Pines when you got a job here at the shack, cashier and handyperson. A little odd, yes, but you needed the job and for a tourist trap? The place paid well enough, you could afford a small house and just about everything else you needed. You tap your foot, pressing your lips together. "Soos, not that I don't appreciate the words of encouragement, but you don't have to be up here." You throw a thumb over your shoulder and gesture to the shack. "I'm sure Melody could use your help with the baby."
"You sure? I feel kinda bad leavin' you here with all the clean up and restocking." Just as you're about to assure him that you're more than capable of restocking bobble heads and putting out minimally designed bumper stickers, the doorbell chimes and another voice breaks in. "Don't worry about it, Soos. I'll make sure everything gets put back in its place." The old Mr. Mystery poses in front of you. He stands tall, a rather tacky Hawaiian shirt with luau girls and surfboards plastered on it, a pair of khakis completing the look. He stretches his arms out in a flourish, making his entrance more grand.
You roll your eyes slightly, it's the same every time he comes into the shack, which...has been quite a lot, recently. "I haven't had a complaint once," you remark as Stanley begins to look around the place.
"That's cause Soos is too nice of a boss," he says, running his finger along the underside of the checkout counter. "See all this dust? Unbelievable!" He sticks out a finger towards your face, which you squint at.
"There's nothing there."
"To the untrained eye, maybe! This place may as well be covered in mud." You grumble an unhappy sound before Soos speaks up again. "Ah c'mon, Mr. Pines, they're a great worker!" Soos' arm comes around you in a one sided hug, squeezing you tight against his side. "Say, you been around a lot." Soos relaxes his grip on you, which lets you take in a deep breath. "You miss runnin' the shack?"
"What? No, no." He waves a hand dismissively. "Just makin' sure my life's work is still up and runnin', you know. Plus, the kids loved this place."
That was true. You had the pleasure of meeting the twins at the start of this summer. The girl, Mabel, was charming as all get out - she even made you a sweater, which you promised to wear in the colder months. The young boy, Dipper? A little surly. You swore he was running tests on when you weren't looking, or was trying to, anyway. At least by the end of the summer, whatever anxiety he had about you seemed to wash away.
"Okay! I'm gonna trust this place to yous guys. Lock up!" Soos waves his goodbyes, disappearing from the gift shop and somewhere into the house.
"I can handle this, you know?" You make your way to the small storage closet, taking out a box and ripping it open.
"I'm sure you can," he shrugs his shoulders. "Just makin' sure you do it right." Stanley then makes his way behind the register and takes a seat. You stand, blinking.
"What?" He asks.
"Aren't you going to help?"
"Huh? Oh, no, I'm not helpin' like that. I'm supervisin' ya," he laughs, slapping his own knee before propping them up on the counter.
You don't know why you expected anything different. You've known Stanley for the better part of two years and while he certainly has his redeeming qualities, being extra helpful isn't one of them. You sigh, and begin unpacking the restocks.
To your surprise, Stan is the one who strikes up the conversation. It's simple questions at first, how the shack has been, the types of tourists that've been coming around, and how Soos has been running the place. Whenever you think you finish with an answer, he probes for me, and you notice, his eyes stay on you a large majority of the time.
You feel your face flush a little with that.
Finally, the restocking is done, and you get the broom. Minimal housekeeping; the weather has been dry, so no mud. "You got any plans tonight?" The question catches you off guard, making you turn completely around to face Stan.
"Uh, other than eating a frozen pizza? No. Why?"
"Wanna play a couple round of cards?" He stuffs his hands in his khaki pockets, shrugging, as if he doesn't care how you answer the question. The way he shifts his attention to the floor, however, makes you think otherwise. "Ford's out on a nature hike, or whatever it is that nerds do in the woods, so I got no plans myself."
"Sure." You answer. "Sounds like fun, and beats eating the pizza alone."
By the look of quick surprise, he clearly wasn't expecting you to say yes. He shrugs it off fast enough, shooting a finger gun at you. "Perfect! What's the address? I'll be over at seven." You grab a pen and paper, scribbling it down and passing it over.
Huh, this'll be the first time he sees your house. You think that you better clean up a little bit, not that you think he'd particularly care, but still.
It takes very little to actually clean up your house. A few stray pieces of clothing that make it to the hamper (you missed each time you threw it in, but who's here to see?) and washing a few of the dishes. Just as you finish putting the pizza in, there's a knock at your door.
You hurry up, stopping at the mirror in the hallway just before the door, and look at yourself. You smooth out your shirt, nodding and opening the door.
Stanley stands on your porch with a twelve pack in one hand and two bottles of liquor, held precariously by the neck, in the other. He's still in the same outfit from earlier, but the top few buttons are undone. Were they like that earlier? "Figured it'd be impolite if I only brought it for myself," he shrugs the pack in his arm a little, the bottles clinking together. He glances around. "Nice place."
"Thanks," you say, stepping to the side and letting him in. "Just set it on the table." You watch as he strides through your house, the pack of alcohol landing with a thump while the bottles settle down nicely. He pulls out a chair, easing into it as he props up a foot on one of his knees. The way he leans against the table...
"Where's the cards?" You clear your throat, sliding out a chair across from him and taking a seat. You need something else to distract you.
"Right here," he sticks a hand in his pocket and pulls out a rather beat-up-looking deck of cards and slaps them on the table. "You shuffle, or me?" You eye the cards for a moment, reaching out and grabbing the deck.
"I will." The cards are pleasantly worn, and you can't help but wonder how much use these things have gotten. "Go easy on me? Been a while since I played."
"First rounds are on me," he nods. "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes." He playfully points an accusatory finger at you.
"I know, I know." You cut the deck, shuffling them thoroughly before dealing them out.
It's...pleasant. You didn't expect it to be unpleasant, to be fair, but aside from the one off times of drinking, there's a handful of times when the two of you have been alone together. Stan takes the time to tell you a wild tale of when he was a "much younger buck," when he managed to steal a shipment of some undisclosed items from a smuggler. It's amusing, even if it isn't real. You can never tell with him.
Eventually, the oven dings and the pizza is ready. It's served, and you bring two glasses out as well. Before the beer, Stan reaches for the liquor and twists off the cap. "Want one?" You press your lips together, thinking for a moment.
"Hit me." It's a guesstimate on how much a shot would be. Or maybe two.
Either way, you wait until Stan pours his before clinking your glasses together and downing it. Whiskey may not be your go-to, especially when it's warm, but the burn in your throat has a familiar comfort. You cough a little, shaking your head and nodding. "Strong." You comment.
"That's the point." He says. Stan sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers as a sign to hand the cards over. You do, still reeling from the shot as you fish out a bottle of beer. It goes down much easier than the whiskey.
You try very hard to not stare at his hands, but it's difficult. It wasn't something you noticed immediately, but Stan's hands are.... big. Large. Pretty much every synonym for big is how you would describe them, and you vaguely recall the one time you touched them as you passed him something in the shop. They were rough, calloused, but also incredibly warm.
You're not drunk enough to blame that thought on the alcohol right now, so you just push it from your mind as he deals the cards.
Once again, things go back to being pleasant. You nurse your beer as the cards continue to get played, one bottle quickly multiplying between the two of you, along with the cash piling in the center of the table. The conversation steers to him telling you about the adventures he had with the Twins, an endearing tone in his voice that you can't help but smile at. The pizza gets devoured, and when you glance up to the clock, you realize that it's almost eleven o'clock. Have you really been here this long?
That's when it clicks in your alcohol muddled brain.
Stan is lonely. He's been in the shop almost every day for the past week, since the twins left, and even before then, he and the twins were around quite a bit. It would make sense, he went from being around them, his brother, Soos's family, and you for almost three months straight. You look down at the cards, your focus fading for a moment before he speaks.
"Think I mighta run you outta money," he gestures to the table. Your attention turns to it and yeah, there's a decent pile of cash on it. You're pretty sure there's also monopoly money in there, but you're a little too drunk to really notice. "Got anything else to bet?" You think for a moment, tapping the table.
"M'clothes." You answer, plainly. He stares at you.
"Uh, didn't quite catch that?"
"M'CLOTHES." You say it in a louder tone, making sure he can hear it this time. "S'all I got, I'm not up for bettin' my appliances." You point at the blender that sits atop the counter.
"C'mon," he rubs at the back of his neck. "That'd involve me takin' my clothes off too, you don't wanna see that."
"What if I told you that's why I suggested it?" holy shit, why are you saying this? Why are you suddenly so bold, what the hell is in this drink?
"I'd tell ya, you should stop teasin' an old man." You grab the deck of cards, shuffling them in the absolutely worst way ever before slamming them back on the table and pushing them over to him. "Deal 'em."
"You're too drunk for this." The rather sincere reply catches you off guard.
"No, I'm not." You say, stern in your rebuttal. "Look." You jump to your feet, a little wobbly, and begin putting one foot in front of the other, walking a line in the linoleum of your kitchen. While you're not walking perfectly straight, you're doing better than expected. You think so, anyway. "See? I'm f-" just as you're about to finish your sentence, you perform the miraculous feat of tripping over air. You fall a freshly logged tree.
You expect to crash to the floor in the most painful crash since the last time you went to the roller rink, but you never meet the ground. Slowly, you open your eyes, staring up at him. You must have spun in your fall, his hands tucked under your armpits. "What were you sayin' about bein sober enough?" Oh, he's so fucking smug about this.
"I trip on nothin' all the time, drinkin' doesn't have anything to do with this." you weakly shrug your hands, but this close, you catch the smell on him. Mixed with the alcohol, you can catch the scent of cigar smoke, but something faintly woodsy and earthy. It takes everything in you to not sniff at the air. "Uh-huh." he chuckles.
There's a brief moment of silence that passes over the two of you. He doesn't make a move to pull you up, but you're not making a move to get up, either. Instead, you raise a hand and gently press it against his cheek. "You're handsome." You mumble.
"Oh, you're fuckin' wasted."
That makes you twist in his grip. You manage to push yourself to your knees, putting your face just a few inches away from his. "Stop talkin' like I don't mean it."
"You don't mean it."
"I mean this." You grab the sides of his tacky Hawaiian shirt and pull him forward. Your lips crash against his, not realizing how hard you pulled him into you. The scrape of his stubble burns against your chin, a slight shiver running through you. There's the faint taste of tobacco that lingers on him, the chapped skin of his lips. It isn't how you expected this to happen, but to be quite frank, you didn't think this was ever going to happen.
It's only a moment later that you realize he hasn't made a move to kiss you back. He hasn't done anything. You quickly pull back, embarrassed. Why did you do that? God, you're never drinking again. You're not even an alcoholic, and you're planning to go to a 12 step program the second you get sober enough to drive. Your mind races - where else could you move? Maybe the Arctic, right? That's far enough way, that way you c-
You're actually not even far away from him before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his broad chest. You squeak in surprise, hands resting on his thick thighs as he deepens the kiss.
Even through the clothes, he's hot, almost like a furnace. He's burning against you, and this kiss. It makes you dizzy, head spinning. There's a hunger in the kiss, a desperation that you don't think you've ever felt when you kissed other people. His hand holds a tight grip on you, squeezing your side, and you practically melt right into him.
It's a little awkward at first before you two manage to change your positions; neither one of you is keen on breaking the kiss. Eventually, you end up sitting on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, he sits on the kitchen floor. Shifting, you can feel the hardness of his cock beneath the fabric of the khakis.
Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt. They don't make it far, Stan's hands gripping your wrist. He's somehow even stronger than you expected, your stomach flipping at the pressure. He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, panting. You're expecting him to say something filthy, something that's going to make you squirm in his lap.
"Say your alphabet," is what he says instead.
What.
"What?" You ask.
"Say your alphabet," he repeats. "Not sleepin' with ya if you're not in the right state of mind."
"I walked, didn't I?"
"You fell."
Okay, fair enough.
So, you recite your alphabet. It's deliberate, and it's not too slow to cause any concern. As soon as you finish, he releases your wrists and grabs your shirt. It's the fastest your shirt has ever been removed, Stan's face immediately between your tits as soon as he's able. The stubble scratches as your skin, laughing slightly as he plants kisses against your chest. His hands reach around to your back, and you expect him to have trouble with it.
It's off before you can even blink.
"You're suspiciously good at that," you say.
"Aww, you jealous?" He laughs, sliding the bra off and tossing it somewhere behind him. "Don't worry, ain't nobody else gettin' the treatment you are."
"That's what you tell m-" you're cut off, Stan's tongue flicking against your nipple.
"Sayin' somethin', sweetheart?" He glances up, not giving you a chance to speak before he presses his mouth against your left nipple. You grab his shoulders, squirming against him as his tongue swirls around the hardened flesh. One arm wraps around your waist, grinding you against him while his free hand finds your other breast, kneading the flesh in his hand.
Your body feels like it's on fire under his touch. He plays with how much pressure he can put on you, rolling a nipple between his fingers while he sucks mercilessly on your other. Sweat beads on your brow, bucking against him while whimpering sounds escape you. "C'mon, sweetheart." He takes his mouth away from you, the cold air assaulting wet flesh. He playfully bucks his hips up, his cock grinding against you for just a moment. "Wanna hear what a good job I'm doin," he changes the arm that holds you against him, his other hand rising and brushing against the spit slickened skin.
Between the cold and his rough, calloused hand, you feel like you're already on the edge. "You aren't done already, are ya?"
"N-no," you mumble, tilting your head back and moaning as his mouth closes around the other nipple. Judging from the way his tongue flicks against your skin, he certainly appreciates the reaction. The way he sucks against your skin is greedy, teeth nipping at the skin. You're going to have bruises, you've accepted that. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair, running through the gray, surprisingly soft, hair.
Using everything you can muster, you grind yourself against him. He groans against your skin, the grip on your skin tightening. He pulls away from you with an obscene sound, the words practically a growl in his throat. "Where's the bed?"
"Down the hall, last door on the right."
He gives pause for a moment, thinking. "Too far." He decides, aloud. Before you can process what he says, you're suddenly scooped up. You wrap your arms around him, tits bouncing as he hoists you around him. You leave the kitchen, and in a few feet, you're tossed unceremoniously on the couch. Your hands find the button of your jeans, getting them half way down your thighs before Stan takes over. They're off before you can even blink, Stan settling between your thighs. He picks one up, hooking your leg over his shoulder while he presses a thumb against your soaked panties.
You're already trembling, and your entire body jumps as he presses his thumb against your clit, rotating it in small painfully slow circles. He leans over you, grinning. "You want somethin'?"
"You know what I want," you breathe, fingers gripping the couch cushion.
"'Fraid I don't, sweetheart. You're gonna have to tell me." He lets up on the pressure, eliciting a whine from you. "I want your fingers," you reach out, gently touching his arm.
He's happy to comply. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" There's that smug fuckin' tone in his voice again. You expect him to pull off your underwear, but it doesn't seem like he's patient enough for that. Instead, he pulls them to the side, his middle and ring fingers sliding up and down against your wet cunt.
"W-wait!" You sit up some as he presses against you. "It's, uh..." you clear your throat. "It's been a while." You feel almost embarrassed to admit it, but with how thick his fingers are, and two of them? You don't wanna run the risk of getting hurt. He pauses, offering just the middle one to you in compromise. You make a face, and he laughs before he raises the finger to his mouth. He presses it against his tongue before dipping it back between your thighs. "Don't think that would've been an issue," you murmur as you feel him begin to slide into you.
You tilt your face against the couch arm, moaning as he buries the finger inside of you. "Bein' careful doesn't hurt," that's true, and you do honestly appreciate the sentiment. He moves his hand in a steady rhythm, the other hand keeping your legs spread apart. You bite your lip, and after a few minutes, he judges that you're ready for another and adds the ringer finger inside of you.
It's thick, and stretches you in the best possible way. "Feels good, don't it?" He leans over you, his face just a few inches away from yours. You don't know why it slips out - maybe you lapse back into what you were taught when you were younger. "Y-yes, sir." You pant the words out.
Stan's fingers stutter for just a moment before he thrusts them back into you, a moan immediately muffled by his lips against yours. He curls his fingers in the same way as before, the way that made your body shake like a leaf in his hand. "Like the way that sounds comin' outta you," he says the words against your neck, pressing kisses against your rapid pulse.
You can't handle it anymore. "Stanley," your voice teeters on the edge of breaking, fingers twisting in the Hawaiian shirt fabric. "F-fuck, Stanley, I-I.." the words die in your throat as he suddenly removes his fingers from your cunt. "W-what?" The words come out a whine, grabbing the shirt tighter and moving your hips to try and find his hand. "Stan," you groan.
"I can't have you all tired out before we get to the good stuff," he tells you. His hands move to the belt, making quick work of it. He slips off the khakis, positioning himself between your legs again before pressing the shaft of his cock against you, sliding against the slickness. You look between your legs, the head of his cock dipping in against your cunt before his hand tilts it up, bumping against your overly sensitive clit.
You're dizzy, just like before. Your head swims, biting your lip as he teases you constantly, angling himself and barely pushing himself in before pulling out. "You're lookin' desperate, sweetheart." He does a poor job of concealing his own desire, unable to take his eyes off your body. "Fuck, you're drippin'." He grins at you. "Still got it, huh?"
You suddenly brace your arms against his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch and straddling his lap. "You talk too much," the words come out in one rushed breath as you reach between your legs and grab the base of his cock, holding him steady as you bury him inside of you. A stifled moan escapes you as your body adjusts to his size. One hand grabs your waist, stilling any movement you might make, while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "You alright?" You nod your head, your lips slightly pursed from how he squeezes your face.
"Good," he breathes, releasing your face. His hand drops to your chest, holding your breast. As soon as you roll your hips forward, Stan can't keep his mouth shut. "Shit, fuck," his eyes are half-lidded, head resting against the back of the couch as you ride him. "You're tight as a fuckin drum, and hotter than hell." You smile, bracing your hands against the couch as you snap your hips forward, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Both of his hands are on your tits, thumb brushing over the nipples. "Perfect," he mumbles out. Sweat beads across your body, Stan's hand eventually traveling downwards and finding your clit again. The moan rips from your throat as the calloused finger pads press against you, an almost aggressive rub against you - but it's exactly what your body wants. "There ya are," he practically purrs the words out as you lean down.
Your lips catch his, sloppy kisses without much care, as long as you can kiss him. Your burning in every sense of the word, body and nerves as Stan grabs your ass, timing your movements with his own thrusts. He somehow manages to go even deeper inside of you, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Stanley!" His name is barely above a whisper as he suddenly pushes you back against the cushions, back on top of you.
He takes a leg, hiking it over his shoulder and leaning over you, your body curling slightly. His pace is merciless, whatever words you had before devolving into incoherent moans of pleasure as they spill from your lips. It's when the orgasm wrecks your body that you swear to God, you see literal stars in your vision as you cum. Your body tenses, nails digging into his forearms so hard that you're a little worried you may draw blood. Stanley, somehow, has enough sense to pull himself from you, his cock sliding against you before he cums.
Thick, milky ropes land on your stomach and tits as he slows his thrusts, breathing heavily before slumping down over you. You're catching your own breath, a hand raising to his back and gently running up and down the now sweat soaked shirt.
"You good?" He asks, his voice somehow hoarser than before.
You can't really respond, offering a thumbs up in response.
"Huh, fucked you so good you lost the ability to talk huh?" Weakly, and playfully, you slap him.
"Asshole." He snorts, removing himself from you and sitting back against the couch. He looks at you. Then the mess on you. "Where's your shower?"
"Bathroom, which is in the bedroom." You yawn. Stan picks the boxes out of his khakis, sliding them on before bending beside you. "Put yer arms around me," you stare at him a moment. "C'mon, before I change my mind." You do as he says, looping your arms around his neck as his hands slide under your sweaty body, hoisting you up.
"Not too much for you, is it, old man?" You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.
"I can still drop you, ya know?"
"Mhmm." You mumblr. He feigns the drop, your grip tightening on him.
"Gotcha." He winks at you, but at this point, you're too tired to really fight back. Stan manages to open the door to your room and find the bathroom, setting you on the closed toilet. He reaches into the shower, turning the knobs and keeping his hand in for a moment. "You want it on the hotter or colder side?"
"Uh, hotter." The question catches you off guard.
"Figures, every woman wants it hot as hell." He adjusts the knob behind the curtain, taking it back and shaking off the water. "What?" He asks, raising a brow as you make a face at him.
"Just, uh..." again, you're trying to avoid sounding like an asshole. "Didn't expect aftercare?
"I may be a lot of things, and one of those things may be an asshole, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He sets his hands on his hips and you can't help but snort a giggle. "Up." he tells you, offering an arm. You stand on wobbly legs, leaning against him.
"Not sure how this is gonna work." You admit. "Kinda feel like a newborn deer."
"I'm gonna help you," he says. "Also, get a new metaphor."
"That's a simile."
"Oh, look at me, I paid attention in English." He mocks in a joking tone. "Just.. stand here." You do as your told, watching as he unbuttons his top and shakes it off, revealing the sweat covered girdle that's still wrapped around his waist. "You kept that on the whole time?" That's...kind of impressive.
"Done a lot more uncomfortable things, sweetheart." He says. He drops the girdle on your bathroom floor, gesturing for you to get in the shower. You do, Stan offering his arm for support as he follows you in shortly after. He keeps an arm around you, just below your breasts, in case you slip.
It does make you feel safe. You take the washcloth, soaping it up and slowly begin to scrub your body. The hot water feels amazing on your tired body, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo. When you're happily scrubbed, you turn in Stan's arms. "Your turn." You say.
"What?"
"You need to get clean too," you tell him. You don't let him protest, reaching over to your shampoo and squirting a pump into your palm and scrubbing it onto his scalp. There may have been a moment of protest, but it falls off quickly. His eyes shut, letting you work as you comb through his thinning hair. You take a few steps back, turning as carefully as you can so that he's under the stream of water. You work diligently, ensuring all the soap is off before you apply the conditioner and repeat it. He's strangely quiet the entire time, and yet you notice, he's relaxed. It's the first time you think you've ever seen his body this loose.
You grab the washcloth again, soaping it up again before pressing it against his chest. Now that there's no risk of soap in his eyes, Stan cracks one of his eyes open and looks down at you. "You're sweet, y'know?"
"Mhm." You hum in response.
"Seriously," he says. His thumb and forefinger catch your chin, tilting you up to meet his gaze. He leans down, the kiss tender, soft.
There's no intent behind it than affection. Somehow, it makes you feel hotter than what happened in the kitchen. You know you have the dopiest smile on your face, but at the moment, you don't care. You drag the rag over his body, his stomach, everywhere you can as he holds you close to him. When he's finally rinsed, he turns off the shower and carefully helps you step out. A few towels later, you're dry, warm, and exhausted.
You have a few oversized t-shirts that you used to clean the house in, and you manage to find one that fits Stan. There's no way he's making it home tonight. In your own pajamas, you climb into bed as Stan sits on the side of it. "Oh this thing is way comfier than your couch, no offense." He tests the springs, looking at you. "Maybe next time we'll make it to the bed."
"I'll hold you to that," you laugh. "Not tonight, though."
"What a shame," he winks. "You, uh, actually fine with me sleeping in here?" You're getting comfortable beneath the sheets, resting your head on the pillow.
"Stan," you start. "You were literally inside me. You can sleep next to me."
"You'd be surprised how often those two things don't go hand in hand," he remarks off-handedly. Your face creases in worry, about to sit up before he reaches out and pushes you back down. "Story for another day." He pulls the sheets back, sliding in beside you and staring up at the ceiling. A shiver runs through you, scooting closer to him and hooking a leg over his. He raises an arm, putting it behind you so that you're able to rest your head against his chest. "Don't get used to this," you know he doesn't mean a word of that.
"Goodnight, Stan." You stretch, placing a kiss on his cheek. You settle back down, shutting your eyes.
Gently, you feel the ghost of a kiss on the top of your head. "Goodnight."
You fall asleep to his heartbeat, something you think you'd enjoy getting used to
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Lessons on Intimidation
Author's note: More of Husbandry AU. Thank you to @c-u-c-koo-4-40k for letting me borrow Khopesh! Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric.
Summary: Olly is going to tell Cedric about the bullies, and the rest of the squad to warn them about Algret and his brother. Just in case they try to push the other's around. He also asks Kerubiel for mean-ness lessons and 'how to intimidate' people lessons from Khopesh.
Warning: uh... Discussions of bullying. Let me know if I need to add more.
Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams
Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog
Tagged: @felinisnoctis
Oleandros is going to tell the rest of the Primaris squad about the Apothecary Space wolf Algret and his friend and what they did. Also- he's going to be asking Kerubiel on how to seem mean. Keru's really good at spooking other people.
Oh! Khopesh is great at Intimidation as well. He's going to go ask Khopesh for lessons on intimidation. He sends Khopesh a message, who eagerly responds and they meet up near the Chaos base.
"Hey Khopesh. Uh. I was wondering if you'd teach me how to be Intimidating?"
"Sure!" Khopesh says, excited that one of the Primaris marines wants to be taught how to intimidate others. He's go so many different ideas, "Before that, I want to know the context."
"So ... there are a couple of Space Wolves," Olly explains what had happened, and how they had bullied him to send a message to Cedric.
"Tch, and they call Night Lords Cowards," Khopesh says shaking his head before grinning maniacally as he started talking about his favorite methods of intimidation and methods of torture.
Olly is grateful for his enthusiasm but says, "I ah...I don't want to Actually torture anyone...you Know that right? Its important to me that you know that."
'Ah sweet summer child still an Ultramarine at heart.' Khopesh thinks to himself fondly as he nods and replies, "Suit yourself, but I will Gladly teach you how to make people, think you're capable of such a thing."
"That after all, is the Root of fear. And that will be lesson one, what about you can you use to be Scary?" Khopesh trilled walking around the Primaris who followed with his gaze. "Intimidation is One thing, but to invoke true Fear comes from using what you Have to show you are Capable of inflicting what the fear predicts."
The Night Lord grinned showing off his maw of impressive sharp teeth.
Olly ran his tongue over his own blunt ones. "I don't think will work for me."
"Nonsense!" Khopesh chortled. "Think for a moment, what's something those nice chompers can do that mine can't?"
Olly seemed lost for a moment, before Khopesh sighed and pointed to the pouch he'd seen the Primaris store his rock snacks in. Olly grabs out one of his snacking rocks to show him, still a little confused.
"...I can...eat rocks??" Olly replied. "So can many others??"
"Yes! And do you know how Wild that is to witness??" Khopesh replied with a disbelieving laugh. "Just imagine it! Getting into your targets space, looking over them with your impressive height and Then!"
Oh right, one of the more minor differences between Primaris and First Borns, which while both of them can consume normally inedible to base line human items, Primaris marines have stronger bones, which include dental ones as well.
Khopesh prompted with a flourish. "You rip a chunk of rock from your environment, doesn't matter what or where just as long as you can chew it, and Bite it in Half right in Front of them!"
Olly listens and nods to what Khopesh is saying with a serious expression on his face. He looks around for a piece of rock that would look impressive enough.
"The first things their minds will go to is 'Gee what if that rock was my skull', better bother someone else." Khopesh elaborates, "and of course there are the more subtle ways to invoke fear but we'll get to those later."
"Oh," Olly says, "That's good to know. Thanks Khopesh!"
He looks around and then easily rips up a large chunk of rock, "Like this?"
And he turns to look over at Khopesh with the big chunk of rock and takes a few bite out of it. Making sure his expression was stern-neutral as he did so.
"Oh! This rock is rather- tasty," Olly says happily, breaking out of character, "And the texture is quite nice."
"… I shouldn't say that to the person I'm trying to intimidate, right?" Olly says a little sheepishly. He says after a moment or two of eating the moss covered rock.
"That will help with people thinking you are intimidating if you don't talk about the flavor and texture of the rock you are eating, yes." Khopesh says with a laugh.
Bullying is something that can happen between astartes some times, it happens and it sucks. But- Olly's doing what he can to fix it himself and warn other potential victims of bullying. If he wants more help, he hopes that Olly knows that he can come to him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What did you want to talk about?" Kerubiel asks Olly as he looks at his fellow Primaris marine curiously.
"Oh- so A couple of Scout Space wolves bullied me earlier today." Olly says, "Because the Apothecary in training was upset that Cedric beat the shit out of him for being an asshole. But he didn't go after Ced because he knows Cedric will beat his ass again."
"And they went after you, despite how big you are because your softer," Kerubiel says, "... have you told Cedric yet?"
"Oh... yeah..." Olly says, "As soon as I find a way to phrase it so that Ced doesn't go all Wrath of Dorn on them."
Kerubiel snorts, "ha- oh, I want to be there to see his reaction."
"It's not funny!" Olly says frowning at the Dark Angel, who continues to laugh, "No- but those flea bitten dogs deserve the Karma they'll get for fucking with you."
"I'm hoping telling Ced that I'm taking mean-ness lesson from you, if that's okay, and you want to - you don't have to-" Olly rambles.
"Meanness lessons?" Kerubiel says with a chuckle, a fond smile pulling at his lips. Some might grow offended to what Olly was babbling, but he knew what Olly was really intending to say. "Sure- I can help with that Olly."
"Oh- thanks, Keru!" Olly says.
"Provided you give me the names and descriptions of those to shit heads." Kerubiel continues.
"... You're going to do something to them, aren't you?" Olly says with a frown, "I can fight my own battles."
"Yeah- and they involved an innocent third party," Kerubiel says with a scowl. "We both know what happens when shitty first borns go after Primaris. How Bad it can get, and how fucking little recourse we have."
"That... that was back in M42," Olly says, "The- the First borns- and Cedric and the other Primaris Marines say that... that things are different on Ancient Terra."
"Yeah sure," Kerubiel says rolling his eyes, "Just because their punishments are lighter, don't me that the protections that the First Borns and Terran born Space marines get doesn't mean it applies to us. It never did, not really in M42, why the hell would it be true here?"
Olly goes quiet and wilts a little at that. "... we could have Claude as Khopesh or Anrir about that."
"Eh, if that's necessary, maybe later," Kerubiel says with a shrug, "And Anrir only cares about Claude, not much about the rest of us. Which I get why. Claude can be adorable and he's adopted him. Good on Claude for getting such a fierce mentor."
"Albeit an unstable one," Olly mutters quiet, "... but then again. He's Terran born, and has survived from the Unification wars to After the Heresy. So."
"Holy Stars," Kerubiel swears, "He's old."
"So old." Olly replies.
Kerubiel and Olly are quiet for a moment, it shows just how dangerous he is. An old man surviving as long as he has in the type of career they have. It's rare and means that Anrir is exceptionally dangerous and good at what he does.
Kerubiel teaches him different ways to move and certain phrases to say, also reminds him of certain kinds of situations and the build up for them so he can realize what he's potentially getting set up for before it happens.
"Alright," Kerubiel says, "I think that's enough for now. Cedric and a couple of the others are going to be visiting Atlas and the other wounded Primaris. Good time to go let a whole bunch of the others know about those shit heads."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Olly and Kerubiel are in the section of the med bay were Olivar, Pallius, Atlas, and Cedric are. The ones who are wounded Cedric is fussing over. Ramiel, taking a break from Chaplain training is quietly speaking with Olivar about something.
Jophiel is happily bouncing from person to person, while Catius is working on some paperwork- occasionally talking to the others about this and that.
Claude is helping Cedric- by carrying some medical supplies from the closet to where he needs them put down. Olly drifts over and watches the situation with a small smile on his face.
Atlas and Catius look over at him, "Something on your mind Olly?"
"Huh?" Olly murmurs, "Oh, just have a message to give to Cedric from an Apprentice Apothecary Algret of the space wolves."
Cedric's face shifts a little and he sets down whatever it was that he was holding and came over to Olly. "What did he do?"
"Uh, he says that 'we're even now.'" Olly says to Cedric.
Cedric's face darkens, "Olly. What. Did. He. Do?"
"Him and a friend pushed me into some mud." Olly says, "And dumped a bucket of disgusting smelling goo that hardened and stank. It took me hours to clean my armor of the stench and mud."
"That bastard." Cedric hisses upset.
"Ced," Olly says gently reaching out to try and calm his sometimes over protective brother cousin, "No really harm occurred. I just wanted to let you and everyone else know. Just in case he decides to escalate his behavior."
"What did the others say when you were covered in mud and stench?" Atlas asks.
"Oh well- the space wolves had planned a head and sent a message saying that I had tripped into something." Olly says. "The Sargent is apart of their Renegade war band. So... Even though I have video proof that it wasn't me being clumsy. You know how First Borns tend to react to their Scouts being 'harmless pranksters' to primaris."
"... Have you told anyone else besides us?" Catius asks.
"Just Khopesh, when he asked why I wanted lessons on intimidation." Olly says, "So- I'm working on not being such an... easy target. Sorry about that guys."
Olly knows he can cause his brothers a lot of stress, and he tries not to. He looks down and scuffs his foot on the ground a little self consciously. Not noticing the expressions on the others faces.
"They lied to a superior officer?" Claude asks, as a clarifying question, a frown on his face.
"Yeah," Olly says, "And they wouldn't let me up until I repeated their words back to them. The mud was... they had prepared that involuntary mud bath ahead of time for it to... be as effective as it was."
Cedric growls a little and his hands clench into fists. Olly gives Cedric a hug, that just so happens to also potential restrain his temperamental brother-cousin.
"No permanent damage happened." Olly informs him, informs all of them.
"Cowards," Jophiel says with an angry hiss, "They didn't go after the one that had smacked them around, I'm surprised they didn't go after me or one of the smaller of us."
"The rest of you are either too intimidating, have psyker powers. too wounded, or too loveable," Olly says in a no nonsense tone, he gestures to the ones with special powers, the ones who are more intimidating (and they know who they are), same with those who are still wounded, and the ones who are easily lovable.
He's not jealous, its fact, some brothers and cousins are far more palatable, far more lovable, and easy to love. While others are less lovable, less palatable.
Part of him wondered if he was a Pariah, or hand the genes, even if just a little bit. But- if he did then he'd have had the training for it, or would have been culled. At least he thinks that is what the Magos on Trainers would do.
But no, he's not special, not like how his brothers and cousins are special. The psyker and non psyker ones. They are so clever, so witty, so strong, and only will grow more so as they get older.
He'll just continue to fall behind and stagger like a clumsy ox after them and try not to drag them down. Try not to be too much of a burden.
"Oh- yeah they are Space wolves, didn't want to go after the 'witches' in case you gave them 'witch cooties' or curse them or other such nonsense, I think." Olly says rolling his eyes, "And they... likely thought it dishonorable to go after the wounded. And I was ... in a place for them to grab. So."
Olly shrugs, he's unfortunately used to be used as a 'messenger' of that kind of nature for his brothers and cousins. And as much as it sucks, at least it's him and not one of the others.
It's something he can do as a way to shield the others from... stuff and things. Especially since all of them do so much to help him. Why not return the favor? Besides, even if those First Borns had hurt him, Pain is temporary and it would heal up quickly.
"I've had bullies use me to send messages to others that had a lot worse than being stuck in mud for a bit." Olly says as a reminder, "So really. I'm fine. Cedric. Everyone. And since Algret and his buddy say that 'we're even now' going after him would only... escalate the situation."
"Have you told Captain Ash'val or one of the others?" Claude asks.
"No, why?" Olly asks, "such squabbles between Scouts are to be kept between Scouts. Besides, the First Borns will most likely side with the First Born Scouts, and then I would have to do punishment for being a 'whiny little bitch' who doesn't know his place."
"Who told you that?" Cedric growls.
"Who told me what?" Olly asks.
"Don't play dumb, what you just said," Cedric grounds out.
"Oh, some asshole back in M42," Olly says, "He's not here, so it doesn't matter."
"Olly..." Catius says coming over and giving his brother a hug.
"It's in the past," Olly says simply with a shrug, happily leaning into Catius's hug while he still has his arms around Cedric as he gives big ol' 'please calm down' puppy eyes to Cedric.
It's sometimes really effective. Sometimes it just makes Cedric huff, puff, and even more protectively growly. "Perhaps talking to Captain Ash'val or one of the others might be a good idea. Or big Burders Arnault and Roland."
"Why?" Says Olly tilting his head a little, "the one that got bullied was me. Not you or one of the others they care about. So they won't give a shit."
"Olly!" Jophiel says with gasp.
"What?" Olly says with a confused blink and a head tilt. "The first borns care about you- and the others. Therefor it would upset them if you or the others were the ones that were bullied. But it's me. They don't know me. Not really. so they won't care. It's fine. It make sense."
Olly says with a shrug, "I'm an acquired taste, and most tend to not like me for being, well me. It's fine."
"... Olly." Ramiel says his voice wobbling a little.
"Oh fuck," Olly says, "I said that out loud, didn't I?"
"... Yes you did." Catius and Atlas say at the same time.
"Why do you think they wouldn't care?" Cedric asks, a complicated expression on his face.
"Because Roland and Arnault are Black Templars- of course they, understandably, prioritize you- and the other Black Templars over the rest of us." Olly starts, "of course the first born brothers and cousins that have bonded to the other primaris marines more care about them. But I'm just... in the back ground. Tied to you lot tangentially. They don't care about me personally, and that's fine."
"There is no way that they care about me, in any capacity, I haven't got the endearing kind of personality type," He shifts a little, stating all of this very matter of factly, he believes every word he's saying, "Besides- it's great that you all have found such people to help and protect you. I can manage. I have before, I will now. It's easier on Ancient Terra, not as many bastards to have to deal with. I know how annoying and difficult to deal with. I just have one of those easy to bully faces and personalities. Haha."
He's always been rather good at that- getting the ire of others directed onto him and off of the others. It's so hard trying to be good, to not be frustrating or hard to work with.
It's like everyone was given certain socialization lessons and he'd missed those classes somehow. And like everyone else was using a secret set of social rules that they all knew about, but no one would really explain them to him.
All that would happen is he'd get punished for unknowingly breaking those rules and punished for doing something when he had thought it seemed like a reasonable action. When he said or did something that someone else had done, but while they were able to do it, he was scolded for it.
That reminds him of one time, when he'd been a lot younger, back on Mars. When they were doing 'free play' sessions and Olly had asked one of their brother cousins if they wanted to play. The cousin had said that he wanted to play with him later. So he'd went away and had come back to ask that brother cousin a couple of hours later if they wanted to play.
Then that brother cousin had yelled at him, saying that Olly was being rude and that he'd already said that he hadn't wanted to play with Olly and that Olly was being rude.
Much to Olly's horror he'd started to cry a little and had tearfully explained that this was later, that he'd agreed to play with him later and later was now.
That same cousin continued to yell and scold that he didn't actually want to play with Olly at all, But he was merely being polite. That he should just go away. That Olly was far to annoying and intense. To just shut up and go away.
Superior officers didn't like questions, even when Olly wasn't trying to be rude. He just ... didn't understand the assignment he'd been given. That the training he had been given wasn't enough.
He wasn't trying to be rude or question there authority. He just ... wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. So no, he wasn't going to pester the older brothers here.
He was far too annoying. Far to difficult to handle for most. To be honest, he doesn't know why Cedric and the others put up with him when he can be way too much.
At least they are nicer about it and say "Olly shush!" at times. Which is helpful, and lets him know when he's being too talkative or is saying something that could potentially offend someone else or something.
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