#damnweapon

     ‘ When I mentioned subtle, that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. ’ 

       ❝   don’t — shit. shit! didn’t you read the instructions?   ❞   frantic, panicked hands wave a pamphlet in the air in wynonna’s periphery.   ❝   don’t cross the streams !!   ❞   //   @damnweapon​.

      His expression softened as he looked over at her, noting the frustration in her furrowed brows, the way her shoulders hunched upward and sighed. “All right, I’m listening...”

     Looking back at her, feeling the warmth from her hands where they frame his face, he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do. Usually a master at weaving words, he suddenly found himself at a loss for the right ones to express how he felt in that moment, deciding only that actions do speak louder than words sometimes as he leaned in to kiss her. 

     When she spoke, low and husky, flirtatiously even, he didn’t need her final words to know that she enjoyed that part of him. He could read it in her eyes as easily as her body language, and had the very first time he’d stepped in between her and someone wishing her arm...beneath the anger at him over stepping the delicate boundaries they’d placed around their respective lives. “And here I thought I’d be the one to be a bad influence on you,” he mused playfully. Her enjoying that vengeful part of him would only lead him to indulge in it more often, despite all the headache it had given him in the past. But Wynonna was nothing like Belle, she wouldn’t hold it against him for giving people what they deserved. Wouldn’t hold it against him for being himself.