Hey all! Though I'm not that active on tumblr, kinda fluctuating between school and other apps, I've decided to develop this request list! Just know that I will not be doing sexual NSFW prompts so if you want that: this blog is not for you. However, I do allow gore in my prompts if wanted, explicitly explained or vaguely. They'll be appropriately tagged and warned.
The fandoms that I'll write for are:
Rick and Morty
Sanders Sides
Little Demon (FX)
Supernatural
Lego Monkie Kid
ROTG
Outlast 1 and 2
My Chemical Romance
And, if you'd like, my personal ocs!
*Any sexual requests will be declined, full stop.
*Pr0sh1p nonsense will also be declined.
However, characters I will not write for among these fandoms are:
Unity, Jessica, Jessica's friends
I forget his name but his dick got shot
John Winchester, Mary Winchester, Asmodeus, Azazel, Gordon (When it comes down to this series, there's tons of characters so obscure ones aren't being accepted)
Yellowtusk and that fuckass bird I forget the name of, Syntax, S5 introduced characters, Zhu Bajie
Manny and Tooth for oneshot prompts.. idk how to go about them outside of headcanons so sorry 😭
Trager because I need to look way more into him and Weinecke cause I just have no clue how to write him ngl. Chris Walker is set to everything but oneshots as of now. I also won't do anyone but Blake and Lynn from Outlast 2 for that set game cause holyyy shit bro 😭
Mikey Way 💔 sorry y'all I'm not confident in depicting him as of now, but I'm reading up n watching interviews to get a feel for it
Things I will do are :
One-shots/Two-shots/Three-shots
Headcanons
Imagines
Playlists
Relating characters to songs
Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort
AUs
Things I will not do are :
requests including p///philia, n////philia, som//philia, in//st, etc.
smut (no! no smut!)
a/b/o
My ask box's status is currently : Open!!
By the way, sorry if this looks messy, first time doing one of these lmfao
michael and you play-fight on a summer's day. that's it send tweet
word count: 1.7k
Michael and you share a pear on the porch. It's ridiculously sunny yet the two of you remain in your three-piece suits, ties, shiny shoes. The telephone hasn't rung in over 20 minutes which is cause for celebration.
" . . .Funny thing was, she wasn't even a blonde." Michael shrugs one shoulder.
"So, she was a fraud?"
Michael grins at your statement, canine-like. "Exactly." He points at you with his slice of pear. "If she lies about her hair colour, what else will she lie about?"
You nod with him, licking your thumb of pear juice. "Did you sleep with her?"
Michael physically recoils at your statement. "No, no. I can't stomach liars."
Your lip quirks up in a smirk. You polish off your half of the pear, wiping your sticky hands against the fabric of the outdoor couches. Looking up into the sun, squinting and bringing your palm up to shield your forehead, you shrug your suit jacket off. Underneath it you wear a pale blue dress shirt and grey vest. Navy blue tie. Tom Hagen had at some point come through, floating at the edge of your couch, waiting for Michael's attention.
Michael sticks the pear in his mouth. "Alright, Tom?"
"Alright," he greets in return. "Anything I can help you with?"
"Are you bored?" Michael smiles up at him. His cheek bulges where the pear was lodged.
Tom smiles back. "Not much work to do."
"Nice weather," you interject, "puts criminals off."
Tom chuckles at your statement. Michael turns to you. "You saying we're criminals?"
You frown sarcastically in reply, "no, never."
Michael looks back up at Tom but not before locking in your gaze, eyes sparkling. "Read a book. Learn an instrument. Or, even better, bring us some wine."
Tom smirks. "With pleasure." He disappears back behind the patio door. The sheer drapes move with the slow breeze.
Michael nudges you over the arm. You scoff at him, shaking your head adoringly. He too removes his suit jacket and settles it over the backrest. He wears suspenders instead of a vest. He nudges you again once the action is finished.
"You're picking fights, boy." You accuse, kicking him lightly over his calf.
Michael throws his legs over the edge of the couch to fold them beneath himself. "Oh yeah?" He bounces. Often, when it's just the two of you, he'll get enthusiastic, as though something has reminded him that he can feel.
Michael bounds up to throw his arms around you, one against the handrest, other up on the backrest, pinning you in. You flinch slightly with a laugh lumped in your throat. You look up at him to see his eyes boring into yours. You throw yourself up, grasping Michael around the shoulders, pushing him into the couch cushions. Now you tower over him.
"Nice," he compliments with raised eyebrows. He locks his leg around your waist and rolls, sending the two of you tumbling onto the cement tiles of the ground. You yelp like a wounded dog when your back hits it.
That makes Michael sit up. "Too far?"
You smile evilly. "You goin' soft on me?" You use the chance to slither out from beneath him and skip over from the cement and into the glowing grass.
Michael scoffs at your statement in disbelief. He scrambles to his feet, jumping and getting himself fired up. You look over his shoulder and he quickly turns to do so, too, finding Tom staring in the doorway. "Tom," Michael says again, sounding slightly crazed.
"I forgot to ask which type of wine. We have an abundance." He asks.
"Red, obviously," Michael waves an arm. The romantic choice.
"Okay," Tom smiles. "You can keep doing . . .whatever it is you're doing."
Michael doesn't lose any time. He slowly walks over to you. You push back him by the shoulder blade. He takes another step back with the momentum.
"You wanna fight? Come on, fight like a man!" Michael hollers, throwing his arms up into fighting stance, rolling up his sleeves, bounding backwards and forwards as if this were in the ring.
"Fuck you," you laugh, rolling your own hands into fists. "You first, doll."
Michael pounces at you, ducking and going straight for your waist, wrestling you unto the lush grass beneath the two of you. Caught off guard, you can't do anything but let it happen, toppling over. The grass is freshly mowed, so it doesn't offer much cushioning for your fall. When you collapse with him on top of you, you expel a little 'oof'. You're wondering whether tackling really is this man's favourite move.
You smush your open palm into Michael's cheek, trying to push him off. He clings to you like a koala, laughing wildly, muffled by your suit he grapples into. You kick at his back with your heels digging into him, struggling to unwrap him. Wound so tight, you try to slip him off by leveraging yourself against the line of his shoulders, but nothing gives. Instead, you roll your right into a fist.
You punch Michael's side and he recoils, finally giving you wiggle room. You make a break for it, stumbling upward, running off before turning back. "That all you got?" You taunt.
"You're dirty," Michael purrs, standing, clutching his rib.
You pout mockingly. "Thought you wanted to fight."
Michael stomps forward with a wide grin. You get your hands up again. When Michael throws a punch to your stomach you block it, thankfully, but then leave your side open, allowing Michael to clock you in the ribs, too.
Grasping at your side with your left, you swing at Michael with your right. He blocks it this time but no matter, because he's going in for the hit, too. You catch his fist in your left hand, clasping it, making Michael fight for his weapon back. You throw a punch and it hits Michael bullseye. He clutches his eye.
You hadn't noticed, but the two of you had been progressively covering more ground in the lawn as you moved back, lake scarily close behind you, now.
"Hope you still have the guy who did your jaw," you shrug, triumphant.
Michael laughs at your playful brashness. "Knew there was a reason I liked you," he insinuates.
"For my dazzling personality?" You wink at him.
Michael, calculating, breathes a little laugh. Then, he pushes you with all his might put into his two palms. You trip over your feet and fall back, back over the edge of the lake.
"Michael!" You shout, but not before grabbing him by his tie. He falls into the water with you.
Two quadruple figure suits were ruined that day. The two of you flailed around in the water a while, squawking like rowdy animals, calling each other profanic nicknames like two kids who just learned to curse. You laugh like wild. Michael kicks water up to hit you square in the face and so you can't help but dive for him, grappling his shoulders, pushing him back underneath the water, drowning him. After a few seconds filled with only the static of rumbling water, Michael taps you twice over the upper arm. You let go.
"Tapping out already?"
Michael is breathless when he treads water looking straight at you. "I could've held out for longer."
You grin evilly. You launch yourself for him again.
The two of you spar in the water, tugging at hair, kicking at legs, trying to drown one another. But you still laugh crazily. At some point you untangle yourself from Michael's limbs and quickly paddle to shore, having to leverage yourself with your arms, throwing yourself over and into the lawn.
You splay yourself out into a starfish position and breathe wildly, your chest refusing to catch up with your stuttering heart. You smile into the blue sky.
"Giving up?" Michael quips from within the water. He kicks over to you. "And the all-reigning champion is . . .!"
You nudge his face away with your palm, standing up. When you turn, it's to Katherine Adams (formerly Corleone).
Mary and Anthony stand at their mother's heel. You're dripping wet and grinning like a madman though you can't bring yourself to care. "Kay," you expel in breathless greeting, "didn't know you were coming."
Kay nods maliciously and stays straight-faced. Your smile slowly diminishes. "Yes, Michael isn't the best at informing his men of my arrival," she bites, "still have to get Connie's clearance."
"Sorry, honey," Michael spits back. You can't remember when they started talking to one another again. The words shared weren't very polite, though at least they were shared. Michael hobbles out of the water, only just getting used to his sea legs.
Kay sighs and grows rigid in her posture, defensive. She gives her ex-husband a once-over, his flooded suit, his damp hair. Watching her do this, you get slightly territorial, it's embarrassing. Nevertheless, to quash that feeling of yours, you shake your hair off of lake water, splashing Kay, Anthony, Mary, and Mike. Kay throws her hands up to block it. Anthony and Mary laugh at you.
"Why were you guys in the lake?" Anthony asks between shy giggles. He was always much like his father. You crouch before him, shoes making a disgusting squelch as you go down, the action practically wringing water from the knees of your dress pants.
"Your dad and I went for a swim," you explain plainly, shrugging one shoulder.
Tom Hagen crosses the lawn behind the five of you. He meets you at the plateau. "Right after fighting like teenagers," he mumbles. He sports a bottle of red wine and two glasses. You'd forgotten about that.
Mary speaks up, quiet, "in your suits?"
"Look at the shiner he gave me," Mike accuses you, leaning down to his son and angling his head to show his cheekbone. The underneath of his eye is red—not exactly bruised, yet. No shiner.
Kay looks unamused. "Okay. Here are your kids. I'll be back next week for them."
"Bye, mom," Mary goes to hug her mother. Michael turns away and to Tom instead, helping himself to the wine bottle.
"Dad doesn't let anybody fight him," Anthony states. "Anybody who fights him doesn't end up well."
You laugh at Anthony's confidence. Michael shakes his head adoringly from your side. "Maybe I'm an exception, then."
michael corleone x male!reader. somebody within the family is feeding your every step into enemy hands. step by step, you become more and more terrorised. nobody knows who the family's traitor is. michael worries for your safety.
tws: canon-typical violence, mafia violence, descriptive violence. just your run-of-the-mill tgf warnings
word count: 1.2k
"Don Corleone," Tom Hagen bounces into the room without knocking. Usually, he'd get an earful. It's his crazed expression and lack of composure that tells Michael a different story.
Michael looks away from the client across from him—Marty? Monty?—and disregards what he says for a moment, interrupting, serious-faced and voiced, "what happened?"
Tom swallows his turbulent breathing, catching in his throat. "It's Y/N. His house was just hit."
Michael looks as though he's about to crumble over his desk like ash. Marty/Monty gives a look of consolation his way. "Is he alright?"
"He's intact," Tom says and hates himself for his word choice. He's intact. "I mean, he wasn't hit. He managed to get out of there."
"Where is he?" Michael asks with a heavy heart and gaping soul.
"Got a cab and went straight here. He's in our living room."
Michael sighs heavily and slowly regains his togetherness. He waves Tom off, dismissing him, and turns back to Marty/Monty. "Marty . . ."
Marty/Monty clears his throat. "It's actually Montrell." Okay, so he was halfway there.
"I'm sorry. As you can see, my head is elsewhere," Michael excuses diplomatically. Montrell nods sympathetically and doesn't seem too hung up.
"I'll get out of your hair, Godfather."
"Please, do come back. I'll have Tom Hagen contact you."
Montrell smiles dutifully and nods, standing from his seat and moving off. Michael stands, too, reaching the door before Montrell can and leveraging it open for him. Tom stands guard outside. He turns to Tom, into his ear, and whispers, "send Y/N inside. I'll be right back. Get somebody over to his house. And send someone for his things. Take them to the address Fredo is about to give you. Alright?"
"Yes, boss," Tom nods jerkily, hopping into a rushed gait.
—
You'd been sitting on the Corleone couch for what felt like hours, staring mindlessly into the fireplace. Then Tom Hagen got you. Now you're in Michael's office and you do a fidgety lap around the room. Your heart has stopped pounding erratically. All things considered, you believe you're taking the attempt on your life very well. You had no valuables in the house. Just yourself. Everything else was in a safety deposit box in Georgia. The rest could easily be replaced.
Michael crosses the room after having shut the door oh, so quietly so not to disturb you. You nearly jump when you feel his presence pass you by, heading for his desk. "Feeling alright?" Michael asks, pulling his chair out from under his desk. You turn away from the window you'd spaced out into. "Shaken?"
You shake your head. "Feeling alright."
"Good," Michael lets himself breathe as he sinks down into the leather of his seat.
"My fifth time moving." You agonise, shaking your head again. You take a step to get out of the sunlight. Feels weird to enjoy the warmth of the sun when you'd imagined your body cold and inside a morgue just mere hours prior. "Fifth time."
"Once for every family," Michael corroborates, tapping two fingers over his knee.
"I liked this house, too." You imagine the halls of your big home littered with glass and the walls defaced with bullet holes. The picture frames. Your bedroom.
Michael smiles pitifully, which you hate though enjoy the comfort of. You blinked lethargically to convey your exhaustion, adrenaline having run itself dry, leaving you hollow and achingly tired. It just makes you miss your bed worse.
"We've found you a motel," Michael provides at the sad sight of you. "Nothing fancy. To keep a low profile."
"I wasn't born fancy," you reassure. "Nothing I can't handle."
Michael smiles at you. "Good. Knew you could handle it."
"How long until I get my house back?" You ask, picking up Michael's envelope knife and fiddling with it.
He watches the action, eyes dark beneath his lashes, iris going back and forth, back and forth as the knife spins. "Soon, doll. I've got people cleaning it up for you." He kicks his leg up, squares it over his ankle, leaning back. "Nobody's been able to dethrone the Corleone family before."
You blink up at Michael, pricking the point of the blade into your fingertip. It stings as you mull his words over. You smile at his pompous display of familial pride, though. "Ain't that right,"
"Right," Michael parrots. "Don't worry too much."
"You kidding?" You grin, all canine. You set the knife back over Michael's desk, drop of blood painting the blade if only slightly. He watches you step over with mischief in his eyes. "I'm cool as ice."
"Sure you are," Michael grins back your way, eyes never leaving you, like an anchor. You don't remember any of the Five Families' leaders making you feel this appreciated. Loved. You come up to his chair, causing him to tilt his head up to look up at you from beneath. Silence is riveting in moments like these, where your hearts hang between the two of you. Beating together. Exposed together. Michael, with a dry mouth, breaks the moment, "Tom has arranged for your luggage to be sent to the motel."
Your lip quirks. "Do they at least have room service?" You chuckle slightly. After many years working under the late Don Vito, you got to know Michael pretty well. Then he distanced himself after McCluskey went boom. Michael, before the army and after the army, was a charming young man. Humorous. Loved a joke and loved a good time. He hasn't had a lot of good times since he became Don.
Michael lets himself laugh. It's a tiny breath of laughter through his nose, his shoulders jerking once. You celebrate it, though. The smile hasn't left his face.
Two hours and a bottle of wine later, Michael and yourself stand out in the driveway, car idling behind you, packed with enough things to last you a while at this motel.
"Stay on your guard," Michael tells you before the farewells start.
You smile at him. "Of course." There's no way you couldn't be.
"And call if you need anything," Tom then says.
"Absolutely," you agree.
"And take my gun." Michael holds it out and grips it by the barrel, the taped handle facing you.
"I couldn't," you say. "I have my own guns."
"This is untraceable." Michael continues convincing, jutting the gun towards you. "If, and God forbid, you need to protect yourself, take this."
You stay silently eyeing the weapon, vision fluttering between the pistol and Michael's kind, almost begging eyes. Begging for you to take this as a bargaining chip for your life.
"If not for you, then . . ." he continues, unrelenting, "then take it for me. I'll feel better knowing you have an out."
You nod, the slightest jerk of your head. "Okay." You take the gun carefully into your palm, an oppressive weight. You tuck it into your waistband and pull your blazer over it.
"Call when you get there. You know the number."
"Okay," you say again. Michael reaches out and opens the car door for you.
description: navigating emotions wasn’t agent cooper’s strongest suit. confronting his growing feelings for you, even less so. but jealousy can be a powerful motivator at times — and your close friendship with sheriff truman might have him just a little bothered. [based on a request for jealous!dale]
warnings: none really, jealous!coop though, death mentions — no major spoilers for TP plot, unlike my usual jealousy fics this one is soft n not so angsty (cooper is just quiet and mopey lmao)
author’s note: SURPRISE! i restarted twin peaks and was reminded of the severe lack of dale x reader fics so am here to help remedy that thanks to a jealous!coop request 🫡 (on that note… sheriff truman fics anyone?)
———
When Agent Cooper had agreed to come for one drink at The Roadhouse, it had been almost entirely with the intent to get you off his mind.
Of course, the Laura Palmer case was draining and tiring and left him in need of some relaxation when he could get it too, but today it had been you plaguing his mind all day, ever since his run in with you at the diner this morning.
It wasn’t unusual to bump into you as he ordered his morning coffee, nor was it unusual to find himself conceding and letting you have the last slice of pie of an evening when you gave him your best puppy dog eyes.
In fact, he always looked forward to the extra-wide smile you seemed to reserve only for him — routinely basking in your honey sweet voice and eagerness to converse with him more than anyone else in a room.
At first he’d not known how to react to your keenness, his usual air of professionalism extending to make awkward formulaic small talk with you as you tried to get to know him.
But now he revelled in his conversations with you, and he’d been as enthusiastic as ever when he saw you skip into the Double R with a grin on your face.
That was, until Sheriff Truman trailed in right behind you with an equally large smile and waving your scarf in his hands.
“Two coffees please, Shelly,” you singsonged, snatching the scarf from Harry’s hand with a laugh, “Sorry, I’m terrible with leaving things in the wrong places.”
He shook his head with a chuckle, his eyes catching Dale’s as you began gossiping with Shelly across the counter, “I’ll just be over there with Agent Cooper.”
Cooper nodded back at him in acknowledgment as he wandered over, but something in his expression told Harry he wasn’t happy to see him this morning.
“You got some bad news on the case?”
“No. But I have got something I have to—ah yes, I left something back at my hotel room,” Cooper was doing an uncharacteristically terrible job at lying, “I’d best be off. Please excuse me.”
Without a further word to either Harry or you, he fled the diner with such urgency you’d have thought the building was about to collapse in on itself.
You watched him leave with furrowed brows, his usual warmth nowhere to be seen as he dared not even look at you while he left.
You were utterly perplexed — entirely unaware of the impact that turning up with the Sheriff, all smiles and evidently having driven there together, would have on the man.
Your car hadn’t started this morning and, in a frantic panic, you’d called Harry — with whom you’d been good friends since you were in diapers, for goodness sake — and asked him for a lift to the diner where you could meet a colleague.
He’d obliged, of course, and you’d been looking forward to another morning of idle chatter with your very favourite FBI agent.
Unfortunately, even as Dale Cooper now sat contemplatively beside his friends and swirled his drink around his glass, a friendly ride to the diner wasn’t how he pictured the encounter.
His mind was abuzz at all hours anyway with all of the stress of the case, but it seemed that it was when it came to you that all sense of reason and rationality flew entirely out of the window.
After all, if you had just been in need of a ride, could you not have called him?
He liked to think you were close enough for that now. Perhaps not.
Perhaps he’d been wrong to assume the sheriff was romantically attached to Josie. Hell, perhaps he’d gotten a lot of things wrong in his time in Twin Peaks.
And then as if on cue, into The Roadhouse you waltzed.
You, all bright eyed and smiling. You, looking somehow more radiant than he’d ever seen you. You, waving in his direction as Harry stood up to hug you and pull out a chair for you to join them.
“Y/N. I didn’t know you were joining us?”
He hadn’t intended for his tone to sound so disappointed. Of course not. But watching you lean in to hug Harry left a bitterness on his tongue.
“Oh, sorry,” you looked down at your feet for a moment, now reluctant to take the seat, “Harry said it would be alright. I can—,”
Dale shook his head, “It’s perfectly okay.”
You swallowed thickly, nodding with a shy smile as you sat down and shimmied your jacket from your shoulders, “Oh, uh, thank you.”
Harry took your coat from you, hooking it over the back of your chair as you placed your purse down on the table and tried to make eye contact with Dale.
Everyone was watching him with bemused expressions, confused by what on earth could be bothering him so much.
He normally lit up when you entered a room, but today your entrance seemed to dim his mood even further.
The agent said nothing for a moment, instead opting to take a large swig of his drink, before standing abruptly.
“Well I’m dry and off to get another drink,” he said, tight-lipped, “Does anybody need another?”
The others just looked between each other, baffled by his unusual behaviour. Even for a man so often talking of crazy dreams and visions, this behaviour was curious.
You bit your lip, taking this as your chance to talk to him about whatever was on his mind, “Not another, but I need my first. I’ll—I’ll join you at the bar.”
“Alrighty then,” he led the way, his coat swishing behind him, because for some reason he’d still not relaxed enough to remove it, “What will it be?”
“Oh I can get my own drink, Dale,” you smiled, elbows propping up against the bar as he waved the bartender over, “But thanks. That’s kind of you.”
You both ordered your drinks, and you were acutely aware of how hard he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact.
“Dale… Have I done something to offend you? I can go home if you’d prefer.”
He shook his head fervently, “No, not at all.”
He finally seemed to look at you now, his eyes dead set as he pondered his next words.
“If I did, you can tell me. I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just that earlier, Harry—,”
“Are you and Sheriff Truman dating?”
His words almost winded you — what on earth made him think that?
You giggled, “Absolutely not! He’s just a friend. And anyway, he’s dating Josie and I’m not interested. Hold on, is this because he drove me to the Double R this morning?”
He gulped, and you were sure a blush began to tinge his cheeks, “It was the first time you’d arrived together and you seemed closer than I’ve seen you previously. Forgive my intrusion.”
At this you chuckled again, one hand curling around your glass and the other resting atop his forearm comfortingly.
“My car wouldn’t start and I was meeting someone I work with, so I needed a ride quickly,” you explained, eyes crinkling as you smiled across at him, “Would it bother you if we were? Dating, that is.”
Despite the inevitability of the question, he still felt taken aback by it.
“No, I suppose it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“That’s not the question I asked,” your voice softened only further, and you felt him tense as the hand you’d rested on his arm moved atop his hand instead, “Would you be bothered if we were dating?”
“I—,” he paused, analysing the way you were looking at him right now, “I suppose I would, yes.”
“And why might that be?”
At this point, you seemed to be on the same page.
It was evident you were goading him towards being honest with you — but quite clearly only because the feelings he so obviously was trying to conceal were reciprocated — and the weight of confession seemed to have lightened a little now.
“Jealousy, I’d say.”
There was very nearly a hint of a smirk on his lips now as he looked away for a moment, before lifting his drink to his lips with his eyes still fixed on yours.
“Jealousy? Why ever would the man I so clearly dote over at every opportunity have any reason to be jealous of someone else?” you teased, tongue in cheek as you leaned in a little closer.
It was his turn to chuckle lightly now, “Perhaps it has something to do with that someone else being the person you asked to drive you to work in a pinch, and the way you were practically glowing with joy when you walked into the diner together.”
You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head a little as your fingers interlaced with his now, “For an FBI agent, one might question your observation skills at times. The diner in the morning is, like, my happy place. And as one of the main reasons why that’s the case, I wouldn’t have expected you to come to such a wrong conclusion. I only asked Harry because he lives right by me!”
“I’ll ignore that first comment,” he tutted, placing down his drink for a moment to run his hand over his hair, “The first thing you did when you got here tonight was hug him, which as you can imagine didn’t do much to suggest I was wrong to believe your affection for him.”
“Friends hug, Coop,” you laughed, “He’s just been going through some stuff lately with Josie and I’ve been trying to be a good friend.”
He nodded, opting to say nothing for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.
You licked your lips, sipping your drink quietly as his gaze continued to cascade over you.
“Someone as… attractive as you can hardly be surprised that I’d expect anyone to jump at the chance to be with you?”
You smirked now, “Would you then?”
He cleared his throat, his eyes dragging from your head to toe again not to aid him in constructing his answer, but just because he couldn’t help himself from admiring you.
“I’m in Twin Peaks, ahem, on important business. So it would be unprofessional of me to do so,” he swallowed as he watched you pout, “But that certainly does not mean that I wouldn’t want to.”
In the time you’d gotten to know each other, he’d for the most part dropped his positively professional demeanour around you — instead finding himself more relaxed, more comfortable.
But it was clear to you in this moment that this was unfamiliar territory for him; Being open and honest about romantic feelings wasn’t easy, even if he was comfortable around you.
“So what does that mean for us?“
Dale drew in a sharp breath, his thumb rubbing over the side of your hand where you were holding his.
“I don’t—Well, I certainly don’t want to keep pretending I don’t have feelings for you,” he seemed to be battling inwardly over what to do, “And I’ve been, forgive me for being so bashfully honest, but I’ve been feeling this way for long enough without it impeding my work to suggest that… Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Gee, so romantic,” you joked, watching his face briefly drop before registering that you were joking, “Honestly, I don’t want to cause any problems but… I mean… you surely can’t be expected to just never be happy with someone because of your job.”
He shook his head, “It’s not that. I’m here to keep you safe and a relationship might just compromise your safety instead.”
“The killer isn’t out to get you, are they?” there was panic in your eyes as you asked this, “Surely I’m no more at risk than I already was?”
Dale didn’t even like to for a moment think about you as the next victim — not when he still felt so far from finding the killer and preventing that.
You were, however, probably right.
“D’you know what, Y/N?”
Your lashes fluttered, a twinkle in your eye as a smile fully graced his face again now.
This was the Dale you were used to, smiling from ear-to-ear just looking at you.
“Mhm?”
“How would you feel about a late night slice of damn fine pie?”
You leaned in tentatively, your own smile matching his now too, “I’d love that, Coop.”
He pulled your intertwined hands closer to his chest now, aware of prying eyes but wanting to seize the moment.
“Perfect.”
He dipped his head to kiss you softly on the corner of your mouth, hesitating to do so initially until you nodded to indicate that you wanted him to.
You smiled, kissing him back briefly before pulling away to shoot him a cheeky smile.
“And, if you’re lucky, I might even share the last slice this time.”
———
thank you for reading!!! agonised over how poorly i felt i wrote coop for ages but thought i’d send it out into the world anyway … i hope you enjoy.
pleaaaseee let me know what you think & feel free to send some requests in (especially for dale or harry hehe). in the meantime — here’s my masterlist for more of my work!
↳ ❝ Hi can I request Aldo with the prompts 16 is that how much you missed me and 27 because you always go where I go please? ❞
: ̗̀➛ Aldo isn't so sure about the latest mission, as it's too risky and there's too much of a personal toll that he might have to take.
trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, jealousy
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spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Help Abd Al Rahman and his family
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Aldo wasn’t sure about it as he clenched his jaw and stared at you from across the table; the plan was simple and it would have been effective, especially with the use of shock troop tactics, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that it would all go so very fucking wrong, and he couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you.
His favourite Basterd, his second in command ever since he had made the fucking group; you were smart, a great tactician with a slight speciality in using the same sniper skills as Francis Pegahmagabow used to during the first world war.
You were proud, loyal, and there was no word for the amount of bravery that you held within yourself; you had the nerve and you had the blood, and Aldo almost couldn’t believe that you were fucking real.
After all the time you had spent together, and Aldo still found himself enamoured by the way that you managed to roll a cigarette with one hand.
But he wasn’t sure about the plan, and when he looked at you, he knew that he wouldn’t - couldn’t - risk it; maybe he was being foolish, maybe he was letting personal attachment get in the way of the mission, but he knew he wouldn’t do it.
Even if the General chewed him out and spat him on the floor, he wouldn’t do it. He would not fucking do it.
He sniffled, and took a drag from the cigarette that you had rolled him, daring to shake his head.
“We ain’t fuckin’ doin’ this bullshit,” he all but huffed out, the words accentuated by the light grey smoking falling between his lips. “Too much fuckin’ around and it’s too fuckin’ risky. We ain’t fuckin’ doin’ it.”
You frowned a little as you licked your lips and let out a shaky sigh, rolling a cigarette. “It’s too much fucking around. Me and Wicki can be in, get the ranks dishevelled, and be out before you can see the clock strike five past midnight.”
Aldo shook his head, adamant. “Nah. Ain’t doin’ it.”
“Aldo-”
“You’ve already been gone for too fuckin’ long,” he pointed out with a sharp growl. “Ain’t ya?”
You hoped that he would not bring up your little side mission with the S.O.E., but couldn’t say that you were surprised either as you rolled your eyes. “You’re not still jealous of that Major.”
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Maybe you shouldn’t’a been fuckin’ gallavantin’ off with a bunch o’ fuckin’ Brits the minute they fuckin’ asked for ya.”
“Is that how much you missed me?” You asked, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. “Enough to make you jealous?”
Aldo glared at you, and shook his head slowly as he sucked his teeth for a split second. “Nah, it’s because you always go where I go, and that was the fuckin’ deal, weren’t it? We made the Basterds, we fuckin’ came up with doin’ all this so we could fuckin’ kill Nazis - and you’re fuckin’ off with some fuckin’ blue-eyed Major because… what?”
“Because he knew my history,” you pointed out with a sharp hiss. “He knew my expertise and he needed it. That ain’t never his fault, and you fucking know that, Aldo. You know that, so stop acting like a cunt and get the fuck over it.”
He chucked his cigarette aside, and crossed over to you; in a quick swoop, he had you sat on his lap as he kept your body as close to his as the position would allow. “I know your history a little bit fuckin’ more than he ever did, and it don’t change the fact that you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
You put your hands on his shoulders, and scoffed as you did your best not to smile at him brightly. “Fine, alright. So what do we do instead, then? Sit around waiting for them to come and find us and fucking kill us?”
“If that’s what it means to not risk ya,” Aldo nodded curtly. “Then yeah, fuck it.”
You wanted to scowl and to knock some fucking sense into him and make him see that the mission was the only way that the Basterds were going to get out and to make it safely to the next point; but Aldo was stubborn, and you couldn’t do anything except laugh softly as you dared to lean down slightly and kiss him.
He kissed back, all but melting into it until you pulled away and shook your head.
“You are the most stubborn fucking man on this planet, Raine,” you told him with a bitten back laugh. “You know that, don’t you?”
Aldo shrugged as he patted your lower back and leaned back slightly. “And you fuckin’ love me for it, don’t ya?”
“Against my better judgement,” you agreed. “You can’t keep doing this, you know. I’m a soldier, Aldo. Killing Nazis is exactly why I’m here - you can’t keep pulling me away from the bullets just because I might get hurt.”
“Killed,” he corrected. “Maimed. Murdered. Tortured.”
“Still,” you sighed, gently running a deft finger across his jaw. “You can’t keep pulling me away and refusing to let me do my duty.”
“But-”
“You can’t,” you glared at him, but even he could see the sadness behind your eyes. “I joined the war to make sure those cunts stop committing genocide. I will fight to make sure that they fucking stop. You can’t keep pulling me away. It’s my duty.”
Aldo frowned as he nodded. “You’re right. I know you’re fuckin’ right, baby, but… what if I lose ya, huh? What the fuck am I gonna do? Go home and wake up every night missin’ you? Fuckin’ remember all the shit we used to get up to together til I’m cryin’?”
You licked your lips, and swallowed thickly as you allowed a shaky sigh to push through from your nose. “You might have to, baby. You may have to.”
(Platonic!Inglorious Basterds x Male!Nurse!Reader)
For the lovely anon, really hope you enjoy! All credit for the gif goes to the owner!
When you first heard about the war, you thought it was just a passing dalliance. There was no way that in this century, a war could have happened.
But now, as you patched up another cut and stitched another, you had never been more wrong. Donny hissed as the alcohol met his wound, the stinging being both a pain and a comfort. A pain because it burned and a comfort because Donny knew that infection was evaded.
"That should keep you for a while, Sarge." You said, adding the finishing touches to the bandage. Donny grinned, clapping a hand against your back. The gesture made you gasp slightly, it catching you off guard. Donny let out another boisterous laugh. "Seriously, (L/n), you gotta stop being so jumpy. We're in a war for God sakes." Donny expressed.
And while you didn't like to admit it, you knew that he was right. Among the Basterds, besides being the youngest, you were also the scaredy cat. You chalked it up to the fact that it was your first time in something like this and reasoned that any normal person would be just as afraid, if not more.
"You caught me off guard. That's all."
"Whatever you say, kid. Me and Aldo are gonna head to an old encampment not too far from town. Aldo said he found some supplies we could use." Donny informed, stretching his good arm.
"Need me to come with you?"
"Nah, you're more useful here. The rest will stay behind anyways." Donny said, rising to his feet. You were mindful of his movement, ready to stop any that might endanger the wound.
But none came.
"I'll see you around, (Y/n)."
"You too Sarge."
—
The night came and you began to pack up your supplies. Balto laid next to you, tail wagging.
The bloodhound was your closest and oldest companion. He was with you when the war started and he was going to be with you when it ended. You still remembered the day he was given to you, wrapped in a fleece blanket. As a child, his importance was only in the form of play and run, while today, you counted on the hound to protect you.
Donny and Aldo had yet to leave, while you were getting ready to head into town. Medicine and bandages were in abundance there and you could use some more for your kit.
"(L/N) come ere' boy." You heard Aldo call. The Lieutenant was a stout man, standing tall and proud at the center of the camp. You had grown to admire him, possibly more then your other comrades. Perhaps it was the age, or his unabashed wit that made you admire him so. Either way, he was a man to watch.
You walked to him, Balto hot on your heels.
Aldo crouched, giving the dog a hefty pat. "Me and Donowitz are gonna head to the encampment site soon…the night is gonna provide much needed cover." He said. "I called you here because I need you to promise me somethin'."
"Anything, sir."
"I need you to promise me that you're gonna be careful. I can't have you gettin' hurt out there." Aldo stated, his hand resting behind your head now. Aldo knew war, he knew it well. From the moment he left Tennessee, he accepted the uncertainty of ever returning.
But he couldn't ask the same thing of you.
You had something to live for and he was going to make sure that you get to live for it. "When this war is over, you're gonna go home and leave all this behind you." Aldo expressed. You nodded. "I will sir…but…will it ever end?"
"That's what we're here for, aren't we?"
Balto agreed with a hearty bark.
—
"You are there isn't anyone here Lieutenant?"
"You questioning me now, Donowitz?"
"Call it a solder's concern, Lieutenant."
"Well you put those concerns to bed, Donowitz cuz we hit the motherload." Aldo retorted, jumping down to a crawling position. Donny followed. The encampment was just over the small hill they were perched on.
Aldo peaked his head over, seeing the ruins and the empty ness. It made a smile grace his worn face. "We gotta be slow and be prepared go beat any Kraut that tries to get in our way."
"I don't believe that will be necessary, Lieutenant Raine."
The duo jumped back, Aldo being met with the barrel of a shotgun. "Well shit." Aldo said, eyes gazing between the gun and the Kraut standing above him. Donny swore under his breath, his bat now in the hands of another soldier.
"It's an honor to finally meet the Apache. Though, you are shorter than I thought you'd be." The Kraut uttered, his eyes jumping to Donny. "And the Bear Jew, you exceed expectations."
"What can I say? I live to please."
"I'm sure you do. Now, I can't have you sneaking around my territory and taking my supplies." He said, turning to his men and barking orders in German. The soldiers took to drag Aldo and Donny toward the camp, where they were forced to their knees. Under normal circumstances, this bid an early execution.
But it never came.
As the soldiers stood watch, Donny and Aldo began to think of how to escape.
They could take the two keeping watch but the general, or whatever he was, was a problem.
All they could do now was wait.
—
The town was lively, something that you were thankful for.
The drap, eerie woods were beginning to get to you. Even during war, when liveliness and beauty were in short supply, these moments were to be cherished. You walked the street as discreetly as you could, Balto walking at the same pace.
You had yet to hear from Aldo and Donny.
The pit of worry in your stomach only grew, even through the comforts that Wicki and the others offered. Seeing them alive would be the greatest comfort of all.
You passed a group of soldiers, entering a pharmacy and taking what you needed. The soldiers laughed and began to speak. Your German was beginner at best but Wicki had taken good care of teaching you as much as he could.
Little brother, he would call you.
You listened in as much as you could, desperate in your attempts to not cringe at the words they were saying. Unsightly things they wanted to do with the shopkeeper and how many kills they managed to get in. But, through the disgust, something caught your ear.
"The General caught two Americans at the abandoned site. Tried to steal supplies." The soldier said and you felt your blood run cold.
They had to be talking about Aldo and Donny.
You continued listening, getting more and more information until the soldiers walked away. You placed some money onto the counter, before walking out. Balto waited outside, much to your chagrin. "Come on boy." You said, moving towards the woods. You made sure no one was following and got out of town safely. The woods enveloped you, the sun peeking through the leaves and passages of the trees. The encampment was close to town, Aldo had said.
Shouldn't be too long now.
Your skin erupted into goosebumps, your palms becoming clammy. How were you going to go about this? You had no experience with fighting, never the less rescuing people. Balto barked next to you, his tail wagging in tandem. Your eye brow creased.
It was as if the dog was trying to tell you something. Balto barked again, jumping up and down. "What's the matter boy?" You inquired, crouching down and patting his head. It was then that you had an idea. "You're a genius, boy."
"Woof!"
——
As Aldo and Donny laid on the tree, his eyes caught sight of a familiar head of hair. Aldo smirked, nudging Donny to look at the hill. The Jew did as instructed, seeing you and Balto peak out. Deep down, he knew that someone would come.
And it just so happened to be you.
Aldo began to whisper something to Donny, making the guard turn to quiet them down. They both stopped when the other come to check.
The guard nodded to the other, silently letting the other know that all was well. Aldo and Donny exchanged knowing looks. By what he was able to figure out, only the guy that caught them spoke English. The other two were beginners at best. "Listen, (L/n) is gonna let that dog loose, he's gonna get to this fucker over here." The southern whispered, earning a nod from Donny.
"You think you could get to your bat?"
"Kinda tied up here, Lieutenant."
Aldo swore under his breath. "Alright, once the dog gets on one of them, I'll deal with the other." He said. "Sounds like a plan." Donny grinned, quickly shutting up when the guard gave him a look. The Bostonian had to admit, he hadn't felt so alive in ages. Sure, it was a war and boredom was easily avoided but even wars had a standstill.
Those moments where peace comes and stays too long.
His train of thought was interrupted when Balto was seen running toward them, his teeth barred. The poor schmuck didn't notice until the bloodhounds teeth were deep into his neck. The man screamed and before the other could react, Aldo tackled him. You came running, knife in hand. "Boy am I glad to see you, kid. Hurry up and untie me. We got some Krauts to kill." Donny ordered, moving so that you had access to his hands. Once the rope was cut off, Donny made a bee line for his bat.
Aldo was busy trying to not get stabbed, moving and dodging as best he could while being tied up. Balto made quick work of the Kraut, before going to help Aldo. "What is the meaning of this!?" The general yelled. It was the first time you had laid eyes on him.
He was your typical Kraut, though possibly scarier than you had imagined.
You hadn't had the pleasure to encounter the enemy much, despite being right in the middle of occupied territory.
"I think you underestimated us, general." Aldo chuckled, motioning for you to untie him. "That's an understatement." Donny added, his bat sporting fresh blood on the head. The general gulped. "We…we can make a deal." He said and you had to fight the impossible urge to eye roll.
A coward will always look for a way out.
Honor knows no Kraut.
"What kind of deal?"
"Sir, you aren't actually considering-"
"Quiet there, (L/n). This is what being a leader is all about." Aldo chuckled, sending you a wink. It was Aldo's way of keeping you at a safe distance and actually teaching you something. "Alright…now, you got two choices." Aldo spoke, his voice now void of that Southern charm that it always possesed.
The tension was so thick between the three of you, you could cut it with a knife.
Balto returned to your side, letting out of a low whine as he began to clean himself.
"And what are these choices?"
"One, you let us take what we want and you send no one after us…"
"Or…?"
"I let Donny here beat the shit outta ya'."
Donny grinned, swinging his bat for good measure. A silence passed over, leaving the General ample time to think over his choice. Though, that choice was more than obvious.
"Take what you want, just let me go."
"Oh we will. (L/n), go get Wicki and the others. We got a lot of boxes to haul." Aldo ordered. You walked toward him, the Lieutenant bringing you close. "Stick to the tree line and don't show yourself unless you really have to. Be safe, ya hear?" He said.
You nooded, Balto barking next to you. Aldo laughed, giving the dog a pet before sending you off. Donny called out to you, making you turn. "You saved our asses kid! Don't forget that!" He bellowed, waving his hand. You gave him a thumbs up, your face etched with a prideful grin.
You walked until you reached the others, retelling the story and all that unfolded. Soon, boxes were hauled back to your position and the night was spent eating and drinking. Aldo and Donny had returned as well, with their own plunder.
"Gotta say kid, you got way more guts than I give you credit for."
Balto piped up, as if saying that he too was rather brave. Which he was. Donny chuckled, giving the hound a pat and scratching behind the years. "And Balto too." The Bostonian laughed. "Thanks sir. Though I can't say I wasn't scared."
"You and me both, kid. But you did good and the Lieutenant and I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."
You smiled, carrying on conversation until the end of the night. Perhaps you weren't the bravest, not even the strongest but the care you held for these men was enough to drive. It was like your own band.
