Double Cross

Warnings: unprotected threesome, cnc, anal, oral, the works

JJ advances on me in the garage. I quickly scramble away and around the truck he’s working on as he gives chase. My heart raced in my chest as I dodged all the scattered tools and parts on the floor to keep from tripping. I should’ve ran back into the house. Now I was trapped out here with him and he blocked the only exit.

“Come. Here. Now.” JJ barks, jumping up into the bed of the truck and over the side. I scream when he catches my arm and shoved me against the deep freeze, pinning me with his body. I can’t hardly catch my breath. My adrenaline was pumping wildly and my pussy was throbbing.

“Tell me he’s lying.” JJ bites out, glaring down at me with those big baby blues. I stuck my chin out as I glared back up at him.

“You fucked my sister.” I state and his jaw clenched.

“I was drunk.”

“So was I.”

“Goddamn it!” JJ turns and throws his fist against the truck door. Again. And again. I flinch each time. He turns around suddenly and sits me roughly on the freezer then plants himself between my parted thighs, ringed fingers digging into my flesh.

“Did you like the way he felt inside you?” JJ snarls, smashing his lips against mine. I almost give in. Almost. I don’t kiss him back and I push at him instead.

“Yea, I did. He has a big dick.” I spat and JJ laughs, fumbling with his shorts.

“You can tell me how big my dick feels with it buried in your ass.” JJ growls, yanking me off the freezer and spinning me around. He yanks my shorts and panties down before slapping my ass hard.

“JJ, don’t!” I squeal but he shoves my chest down onto the top of the freezer, smashing my tits beneath me.

“Stay still or I’ll tie you up. Your choice.” JJ snaps, slapping my ass again.

“You’re not doing anything without lube.” I cry. He laughs, walking away and grabbing a bottle of baby oil from a shelf. He turns back with a wicked grin.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you.” My body trembles as he steps out of his shorts and pushes his boxers down. I feel the cold of the baby oil drip between my cheeks before he starts lathering himself up.

“JJ—.”

“Shh. Just shut up and take it.” I jump when his finger presses against my ass, little by little until he’s knuckle deep. I’m panting and whimpering. It’s foreign and it’s burn but my pussy is throbbing violently, begging to be filled.

“JJ—.”

“Take it, baby.” I cry out when he presses a second finger into my ass.

“Hey, J— whoa! What the fuck guys?!” I jump at the sound of Pope’s voice but JJ doesn’t stop.

“Shut up Pope and get over here and lick her clit.” My eyes nearly bug out. There’s a long pause before I feel Pope kneeling beside me. I meet his eyes but he just gives me a small smile before attaching his mouth to my clit. I cry out immediately, lifting up on my toes as JJ fucks me faster with his fingers.

“Don’t let her cum. Not yet.” I hear JJ say and Pope’s mouth slows on my clit, stealing my orgasm as JJ withdraws his fingers.

“Motherfucker.” I pant, my legs shaking with exertion.

“It’s okay, baby. Let me know if it’s too much dick for you to handle.” JJ pushes down on my back and starts to penetrate before I can comment back. It takes my breath away but just as quickly Pope is there taking the edge off. JJ could punish me all he wanted but I was going to enjoy the fuck out of it while he did.

“Oh, God.” I cried, my body trembling with the need to cum already. I started to shake harder and when Pope slid a finger inside my quivering pussy, I came with a scream.

“Shit!” JJ cursed, pushing inside me more. “That was just the tip. I’m not even in yet.” JJ rasps, spreading my ass cheeks as he pushes in more. I reach down and fist Pope hair, holding him to me as another wave quickly approaches.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Like fucking heaven.” JJ starts to ease in and out, making my eyes practically roll back in my skull. It was too much yet not enough.

“Pope.” I moaned his name and his eyes snapped open, looking up at me for a moment before adding another finger.

“Fuck, Pope I can feel you inside her.” JJ groans, picking up his pace. I reach back for something to hold on to and JJ quickly pins my arms to my back, fucking me harder.

“JJ—oh, fuck—JJ!” I cum with a scream, my knees almost buckling, curses filling the air as JJ cums deep in my ass. I sag against the freezer as JJ slips free of me. Pope stands as JJ finds something to clean us up with and wraps his arms around me to steady me.

“Pope, that was amazing.” I rasp, my heart beating wildly as he helps pull up my panties and shorts after JJ cleans me off. I needed a shower.

“You’re welcome.” JJ snaps, his jealous rearing it’s ugly head. I couldn’t help but want to push his buttons further.

“Do you want me to blow you? I’m sure you must need it.” I bat my eyelashes at him, almost laughing at his stunned expression. He looks from me to JJ and back.

“He doesn’t care.” I whisper, cupping Pope in his shorts and swallowing my surprise by what I find. His eyes widen as he swallows, looking to JJ again.

“Is that true? You don’t care?” Pope asks JJ. I don’t wait for his answer before tugging Pope’s shorts down to his ankles. I stay on my knees as they have a silent conversation and I pull his cock from his boxers. It’s slightly longer than JJ’s and just as thick. It would hurt like a bitch.

“I guess she owes you one.” I hear JJ say as I meet Pope’s eyes and swipe my tongue over his swollen tip. He hisses, bracing himself against the freezer. “But she doesn’t get to cum again. Her punishment isn’t over.”

The texts I will not be sending to my roommates because I’m an adult with self control to not be an asshole (god I hope I don’t send these that’s why they’re being posted on tumblr)

1. You may notice that we have a garbage disposal. The garbage disposal is one one side of the sink. Shockingly, this is not the side you bastards have been pouring food into.

2. If you drop an entire onion ring on the floor it’s really not that hard to pick it the fuck up.

3. This is my kitchen now. If you can’t put away your dishes I will be going through your cabinets and putting those dishes away myself. You have been warned. If your dish is in the wrong place I don’t give a fuck put it away yourself.

4. Turn the goddamn oven off I have adhd too I forgot this too but I unlike everyone else in this house am paying for my own electricity. I don’t want a four hundred dollar bill.

5. God FUCKING damn it why is the garbage disposal making metal on metal sounds. It’s not supposed to do that. Stick your hand in there and pull the spoon out and if you’re lucky I wont start the disposal on you.

6. You can throw away your own rotten milk or I’ll do it. Your choice.

7. Candles are not a substitution for hygiene. This kitchen smells like a tigers ass, which I have never personally smelled but I can imagine it.

8. Can someone please fucking buy paper towels I’m the poorest one in this apartment I just need paper towels please guys.

9. I’m always heavily judging people for putting pots and pans in the dishwasher.

10. You can wash your own GODDAMN cutting board you’re an adult and I’m not your mama nor do I want to be. If I have to load the dishwasher every morning and empty it again myself when I get back for classes I’m going to snap and stab someone in the head. The least you can do is unclog the bathroom sink as I am aware I have claimed the kitchen as my own. I will clean the kitchen but please at the very least rinse your dishes before leaving them in the sink! Are you children? Are you fucking children? Can you not keep four feet of space reasonably clean? My ice cream keeps defrosting because you bastard Heathens leave the freezer door cracked open I am begging you please at least put your clean dishes that I washed away they’ve been sitting on the counter for a week and a half and I’m going to take all these spare knives and stab you in the neck if these dishes don’t get put the fuck away.

Anger vented. I’m going to go put peoples dishes on the wrong shelves.

talk about tendershipping do it

My OTP For a loooong time was puzzle, and then tender hit me like a 36-mack-truck pileup on an interstate. It's gotten to where I cannot ship Bakura with anyone else - RYou can do as he pleases, I s2g, but Bakura? No. NO. That's Ryou's pet boyfriend. That's Ryou's malewife.

Every flavor is - well, except the woobie abused Ryou whom Bakura loves through his sheer taking of abuse, that's bullshit and gross and I hate it - every other flavor works great.

Requitted, unrequitted, requitted with consequences, unrequitted with tension, TKB or no TKB influence, unhealthy, inhumane, unreal, partners in crime, bickering married couple, 'UP the movie' style of sweet married couple despite Bakura's bastardness, Bakura as the beleaguered bitch to Ryou's battering ram of a personality (What do you want him to do? Tell Ryou no? That's never worked. Best way to deal with it is to do it), and so, so SO much more.

My favorite kind of relationships to write and read - and I've said it millions of time and I'll say it a million more - is my favorite flavor of couple is when they make each other better despite making the world around them worse. 'Our Love Is God', but Veronica is into it. And what's great about Tendershipping is that it can be that but, I've also seen that it can start to be that then... backslide. Into something that's not as destructive as well. That's Ryou's heart coming into play, that's his care for other people and his loved ones and when Bakura is locked in... he's not gunna neglect that. And he's willing to back down for the person who never backed down about him. Which is different from the abuse, because RYou's willingness to be by his side and lack of willingness to tolerate bullshit is kind of key to that sort of surrender that's so tasty to read Bakura do.

Anyway, they're perfect and married, you're honor.

mcytbers as subway workers because i work at subway and i said so

i wrote this all at like 1 am im sorry

subway terminology (at least where i work)

waste out -means an item cant, or isnt, being sold, like overbaked cookies or expired milk. gets written down on a list for tax returns or smth

freezer pulls -pulling items from the freezer to the walk in fridge so they can thaw for the upcoming days

POS system -the software used for ringing up food, has a bunch of options per type of sandwich

generally 2 shift rotations , each one has a shift lead which is ur main opener or closer

characters

dream 

makes sandwiches so fast. 

how ??? 

he wraps the sandwiches immaculately as well

definitely a main closer

george 

just. disappears during a rush 

only to be found two hours later STILL doing dishes

dream and sapnap are not pleased.

sapnap 

convinces dream to waste out bread for him so he can eat it

gives ppl he likes free cookies 

terrible at wrapping sandwiches

tommy 

always works with wilbur and tubbo. always. 

he HATES freezer pulls but if he has to he can be seen SPRINTING between the freezer and the fridge

also bad at wrapping sandwiches

does all the online orders for tubbo because he cant read them well

tubbo 

loves to bake the bread and cookies

got a complaint once because he read an online order wrong so tommy always does them

hates ringing people up but loves to make the sandwhiches

technoblade

only works like 1 shift a week but its the most goddamn productive shift of anyone.

always makes sure they are selling potato soup when hes working

another main closer

wilbur

always controls the radio in the store

always works with tubbo and tommy, drives them to work

bribes others so he doesnt have to do the dishes

main opener

philza

the manager

super chill about scheduling

turns a blind eye to people “accidently” dropping cookies and wasting them out

niki

a goddess at baking the bread and cookies

never burns anything ever

everybody wants to work with her shes so nice

fundy

is really good at ringing those ppl up with 28372 coupons

horrible at making sandwiches tho

the only one that knows how to fix the soda machine when it breaks

quackity

always gets asked to translate the writing on the boxes since its in spanish 95% of the time

loves stocking the milk cooler so he can take home the expired sodas n shit

always forgets to remind customers when stuff costs extra

schlatt

that one transfer from another store that does everything

slightly wrong.

its been long enough now that he should know better but nobody wants to correct him.

eret

has tons of pins on his hat, 10/10

really good at making the wraps

always says hello when customers enter

karl

the new hire

immediately taken under sapnaps wing, much to the chagrin of dream

much more bread is now wasted out.

bbh and skeppy

regulars that are just. always there

they know all the employee gossip and get discounts on food

phil is .5 seconds away from asking them if they want a job

normal shift schedules

wilbur, tommy, tubbo (day shift)

dream, george, sapnap (night shift)

eret, niki, fundy (day shift)

technoblade, quackity, schlatt (night shift)

karl mainly works with the dteam, but jumps around

random things

the cookie incident

once tubbo accidently overbaked like 2 dozen cookies

so he and tommy ate all of them during their shift

they did not come into work the next day.

dream and techno rivalry

dream and technoblade have a rivaly about who can close and leave the store the quickest

eventually they decide to time themselves and race eachother on their respective shifts

techno wins with a time of 3 minutes before theyre officially allowed to close.

they both get yelled at by phil

technoblade’s only mistake

the only mistake technoblade has made ever was accidently leaving the bread cabinet open overnight

wilbur, tubbo, and tommy find it in the morning and have to throw all the bread out

tommy and tubbo split the bread and each leave with a garbage bag full of subway bread

wilbur still wont let techno live it down.

hacker things

once fundy hacked the POS system to give him a 100% discount

used it for about a month before someone (quackity) accidently pressed the option and snitched to phil

luckily, he just sighed and reset the system

cookie dough

wilbur comes up with the idea to pop raw cookie dough in the microwave and eat it half baked

phil comes in one day only to make -direct eye contact- with tommy as he and tubbo lick cookie dough off of some deli paper

allows it to happen as long as they pay for the dough

subway garlic bread

on a really slow day niki and eret are goofing off and create

~subway garlic bread~

it instantly becomes a secret menu favourite among employees and regulars

the bet

once skeppy bet quackity and schlatt that they wouldnt start a fake argument during rush hour

skeppy recorded the whole thing

technoblade can be seen in the backround silently making sandwiches as quackity and schlatt scream at eachother about if quackity has a “flatty patty”

phil tries to be mad but sees all the tips they made and lets is slide

sacrifices

george is the one always sacrificed to deal with the crabby middle aged moms

its his punishment for not helping during the rush.

torture

sometimes for fun wilbur takes his meal break right before the dinner rush

tommy stares at him in fury the whole time.

betting pool

none of the employees can tell if bbh and skeppy are dating

its to the point that they keep a betting chart on a white board next to the “top failure of the week” spot

subway ghost

after a few freak instances wilbur is positive that the subway is haunted and convinces phil to let him do a séance after hours

he manages to convince half the staff that the store is haunted

(the ghost is drista or smth idk aksjdhajk)

top failure of the week

a tally on the white board in the back room of who dropped/wasted out thw most items

sapnap has the record top failure of the week, dropping a total of 42 loaves of bread in a week

schlatt got put on the board once. never again.

enamel pins

tubbo finds a enamel pin of a bee that he puts on his visor

its not technically allowed but phil lets him do it anyway :)

bandanas

tommy and tubbo take subway bandanas from the back room and initial them before trading with eachother

nobody comments that theyre not technically allowed to have a hat and a bandana

the war

at some point a rivalry breaks out between the day staff

wilbur, tommy, tubbo, niki, eret, and fundy

and the night staff

dream, sapnap, george (techno, karl, schlatt, and quackity stay out of it)

what starts out tame eventually leads to workers purposely messing up stuff for the next shift to deal with, like not stocking the fridge or mopping the floor 

at some point eret switches to the night shift

the day shift does not take it well.

 after about 2 weeks phil is forced to step in as the store quality starts to go downhill

he closes the store for a day and makes everyone clean it u

 techno watches from outside the windows with a bag of popcorn

pogway

tommy starts placing the stickers they use to wrap sandwiches everywhere with the words “pogway” on them

everyone can tell its his handwriting but no one can catch him placing the stickers

phil even checked the cameras, still no trace of him

subway gun

sometimes tommy goes around spraying others with a spray bottle full of water used on the bread

he calls it the “subway gun”

wilbur gets fed up hides it in the freezer overnight

thats all for now! if i come up with anything else i might add it lol

EDIT PART 2 IS NOW OUT

A Very Small Grease Fire (and Other Human Disasters)

(Thanksgiving ficlet for the Stony and Avengers fam; also on AO3)

The Avengers didn’t have the best track record with Thanksgiving. The first time the dinner had ended in disaster, it had been Steve’s fault. One rainy fall Sunday, just months after the Battle of New York, Steve had been picking at a bowl of mint-chip ice cream, feeling tired of getting looks of sympathy about the holidays and absolutely exhausted by feeling sorry for himself. If Bruce and Clint hadn’t chosen that particular afternoon to ask him whether there was anything special he wanted for Thanksgiving – raising the question with just enough gentleness to make Steve’s jaw tighten – he probably would have said, “I’m a sweet potatoes guy” and left it at that.

Instead, Steve had been seized by a spirit of mischief. Putting on his most morose poker face, he had proceeded to invent a series of Depression-era dishes, from “Hoover Rolls” to “Poor Man’s Potatoes,” the recipes for which he concocted out of the blandest ingredients he could imagine. By the time he was in the process of describing his third Crisco-based dessert, Steve was sure he had gone far enough to reveal the joke; but Bruce and Clint had continued nodding encouragingly and jotting down notes.

The results had been borderline inedible. And even though the sight of Tony doubled over with laughter when Steve finally fessed up had thawed out a part of his heart he hadn’t even known was still on ice, the experience of eating a holiday dinner in which half the dishes tasted like over-starched socks forced even Steve to admit that the prank had been a bit of a Pyrrhic victory.

The second time…well, Steve would have said the second time was his fault too – though he supposed the rest of the team would blame the extremists who tried to kidnap the governor. Clint had just started basting the turkey when the “Assemble” alarm went off, and the team had to pile in the Quinjet to deal with a hostage situation at the capitol. It should have been an easy job – in and out with plenty of time to take the butter for the piecrust out of the freezer – but then one of the extremists had pulled the pin on a grenade just yards away from a state senator’s eight-year-old son, and four hours later Steve was waking up in the burn unit at Walter Reed hospital with the anguished sound of someone shouting his name still ringing in his ears.

“You fucking idiot,” the same voice had greeted him, and Steve looked up to see Tony sitting by his bed, the lines around his eyes drawn tight over a surgical mask. “You’re supposed to be a tactical genius, and you haven’t learned a single new method for containing explosives since basic training in 1943? I’m going to equip your suit with goddamn ballistic plates.”

“Tony,” Steve managed, feeling a halo of pain radiate up his scalp. “Are you okay? Was anyone hurt?”

Steve thought he saw something mist across Tony’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. The more fully he became aware of his body, the more he noticed the pull of his skin cells contracting in uneven loops around the burns on his torso, and it was taking a considerable amount of energy to keep Tony’s face in focus.

“Everybody’s fine but you, Steve,” Tony assured him. “And the doctors said you should be able to move to the general floor in a few hours. So shut those baby blues and let the serum do its job, because there’s a whole team of keyed-up superheroes waiting to see you, and they’re emptying the hospital vending machines fast enough to cause a run on the Frito-Lay factory.”

Steve had drifted in and out of consciousness for a while after that, finally waking up long enough to eat a holiday dinner of contraband take-out, which Natasha had smuggled into the hospital using only Thor’s tendency to knock over delicate instruments and Bruce’s oversized jacket.

“When you sign up to be an Avenger, no one warns you about doing overtime as a falafel mule,” Bruce had mused, leaning back to let Natasha steal a fry off his plate.

“I still think we could have gotten that eighth kebab if you’d been willing to consider pant legs as additional real estate,” she told him.

"You should all be eating stuffing and pumpkin pie,” Steve grimaced. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here on Thanksgiving.”

“Listen, Cap,” Clint replied, waving a dolma at him, “if you’re going to apologize for anything, apologize for the purgatory potatoes you tricked me into making last year. At least this year we have food that doesn’t have the texture of fast-drying cement.”

“Those tubers had truly been abandoned by the gods,” Thor agreed solemnly. “But I maintain that the Big Band Banana Pie was actually quite delicious.”

“Just don’t make the third-degree burns and hypovolemic shock a holiday habit, Rogers,” Tony put in. “Some of us are trying to watch our blood pressure.”

Tony had leaned over to adjust the settings on Steve’s bed as he spoke, and by the time he finished, a dull tugging sensation across Steve’s chest had loosened – the pain subsiding almost before Steve could register that it had been bothering him.

So that was why, after two years of throwing wrenches in the Avengers’ Thanksgiving plans, Steve was determined to make sure that year three went off without a hitch. He’d drawn up an elaborate plan for maximizing the utility of the Tower kitchen’s two ovens and seven burners and for optimizing the team’s various culinary skills. The operatives had been briefed the night before, and by 10:30 AM on Thursday, Steve was fluting a pie crust, Bruce was stripping fresh thyme leaves into an herb blend, Clint was whipping up a roux for the mushroom gravy, Thor was mashing potatoes and parsnips in an industrial-strength metal vat, and Natasha was dicing carrots and celery with a speed and precision that felt vaguely unsettling.

After checking the team’s progress against his itinerary, Steve turned to the next task on his own list: bringing Tony Stark his emergency coffee. Bruce had just made a second pot, and Steve poured some into the largest cup he could find: a purple novelty mug, featuring a drawing of the Hulk and the words “You Wouldn’t Like Me Without My Coffee.” He paused to tuck a few biscuits into a napkin (Tony’s relief at sighting fresh coffee sometimes opened up a narrow window during which Steve could feed him breakfast without being noticed), and headed down to the lab.

He found Tony standing with both arms braced against his worktable, designs for what looked like the paneling of Steve’s uniform projected in front of him. Steve cleared his throat, and Tony whirled around, the slump of his shoulders morphing into a graceful lounge by the time he was facing Steve.

“I was just about to come up,” he said. “I have a few finishing touches left here and then I’m all yours, Cap. Give me everything that can survive being the tiniest bit overcooked.”

Steve walked over to put Tony’s coffee on the table and then felt his breath catch in his throat when Tony reached out and took the mug from his hand instead.

“There’s no need,” Steve responded to cover his reaction, flexing the hand that had brushed Tony’s as he let it fall back to his side. “We’ve got the schedule covered for now. I was actually hoping I could talk you into a snack break.”

He waved the napkin of biscuits experimentally.

“Are you cutting me from the Thanksgiving roster, Rogers?” Tony asked. “Just because one time I set a very small grease fire – which I contained almost immediately, by the way.”

“The vase I broke when I sprinted into the kitchen would beg to differ,” Steve smiled. “But it’s not that. I just wanted to do this for you: a big dinner and sitting down with family.”

“For me?” Tony blinked at him. “Why?”

Steve started to cross his arms across his chest before realizing that he would risk crushing the biscuits. He settled for clasping his wrist with his free hand instead, widening his stance slightly and taking a deep breath. Come on, Rogers. Take it on the chin.

“Because I wanted to tell you that I woke up in this century alone,” he said, “and that you were the first person stubborn enough to make sure I wouldn’t stay that way. Now I wake up to a kitchen full of people who tease me about my lists but who know why I need them – who will eat dinner rolls that taste like soggy chalk just to make me feel at home.” He paused. “People who stay by my side for eight straight hours at the hospital.”

Steve looked up and caught Tony’s eyes, his heart rate picking up speed as memories of those same eyes flashed through his mind in quick succession: tearing up with laughter over a plate of cornstarched bananas, pinched with fear over a surgical mask, narrowed in concentration over the remote control for an adjustable bed.

“Romanov has an awfully big mouth for a spy,” Tony said with a rueful smile.

“I think it was a tactical leak,” Steve acknowledged, “to motivate her mark. She knew I needed a push. Because I’ve messed up the past two years, and I needed to tell you: pretty much everything I’m thankful for in my new life is here because of you.”

Tony was staring at him, his eyes darting quickly across Steve’s face as if JARVIS were scanning it for data. Steve held up under the silent scrutiny as long as he could before letting out an explosive breath.

“Anyway, sorry to interrupt you,” he said quickly. “You’ve got work to do, and I’ve got to go make sure everything’s on track upstairs. I’ll uh – I’ll have Bruce come get you when dinner’s ready.”

He started to make an about face toward the door, but Tony caught his arm and held him in place.

“Give a guy a goddamn minute, Steve,” he said softly. “I’m having to do a major cognitive reboot over here. It takes a while for the operating system to come back online. Just…sit down? Let me show you the new flame retardants I’m adding to your uniform.”

Steve complied. And as he watched Tony run through the specs, gulping coffee and nibbling absently at the biscuits, he realized that he knew what Tony was saying even before Tony finally spoke the words: “I’m thankful every time you wake up.”

Don’t Wanna Get Caught

1/2 giveaway fics for my 1k follower celebration! This one is for @harringrovewhorexx​ who requested possessive!Billy.

There’s smut at the end.

Read on Ao3

Steve knows Robin doesn’t like him.

That very first day at Scoops, he had held out his hand, put on his sweetest smile, and said Hi, Steve Harrington.

“Yeah, I know .”

“Well, uh, it looks like we share most of our shifts.”

“Yippee.” She wasn’t looking at him, was only speaking in full monotone.

He didn’t really know what to do with her rejection.

He knows he’s fallen from grace, knows no girls have really spared him a second look, let alone owe him a conversation. But if they’re gonna work together most days, he wants to be able to talk.

Nothing implied.

He’s already got someone, of course. Not that he can tell anyone.

So he and Robin skirted around one another. And his shifts were long and boring, and went on forever while he passed time organizing different sized cups, practiced making perfectly round scoops, and thinking about Billy at the community pool, strutting around in the short red shorts he had picked up from Steve’s floor and shimmied on this morning.

He found out how to really crack her about three and a half weeks into their time together.

He was carrying in a load of plastic spoons, ready to set them out in the designated holders, when he tripped.

And 800 red spoons went everywhere .

She laughed at him so hard he thought she was gonna collapse.

So he figured it out. She likes to watch him make a fool of himself.

He leaned into it.

He had nothing left to lose anymore, didn’t have any more grace to fall from.

Bombing with girls hadn’t really been on purpose.

He wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing, and had spilled a cone down some chicks shirt, getting rocky road all down her cleavage.

“God, you dingus. Aren’t you supposed to be good with the ladies.”

“Just lost my touch, I guess.”

“ I’ll say . You made a complete fool of yourself.” Steve smiled sheepishly at her.

It was easier than Steve wanted to think about, making a complete ass of himself, flirting so shittily with the girls that came through Scoops, they would walk away when they knew he was working.

But it’s not like he was trying to get laid anyway .

He had Billy, who would be waiting in his sitting room when he got home, shorts on the floor, and hard cock in his hand. He’d say, well c’mon sailor. Got something nice for ya . He did it almost every night .

-

Billy was beating on the steering wheel, singing along loudly to the Judas Priest tape he had picked.

He was picking Steve up, had planned to take him out for his lunch hour, maybe take him to the diner, maybe just fuck him in the backseat of the Camaro for about fifty minutes, and give Steve some time to wolf down a hotdog-on-a-stick before returning to his ice cream.

He twirled his key ring around one finger as he made his way to Steve.

He had one foot in the threshold when he saw Steve leaning over the counter, flirting with some fucking girl .

He felt like his vision was shorting out. His blood was rushing in his ears.

Steve, his Steve , was giggling at this blonde chick, talking out his ass about something . Something Billy didn’t care now, not when it wasn’t directed at him .

He ground his teeth as Steve finished the transaction, practically throwing the girl’s change at her. Fuckin’ eager little beaver, ain’t he?

She turned around, an odd look on her face as she left with her ice cream.

Steve brightened like the fucking sun when he saw Billy, who just glowered at him.

He stomped up to the counter.

“Hey, Bill.” He reached out to tug on Billy’s shirt collar. Billy knocked his hand away.

“Who the fuck was that ?” Steve’s face crumbled.

“Who?”

“That fucking girl you were having the goddamn time of your life with.”

“Um, the customer before you? I don’t know. I don’t know her name.”

“So you didn’t even bother to learn her name before trying to get in her pants?”

“I wasn’t, wait what the fuck ?”

“No. You don’t get to do that . You talk all this shit about us ,” he lowered his voice, talking through gritted teeth. “Us being together , and you fuck around with girls .”

“Billy, I wasn’t ! The only time my coworker doesn’t hate my fucking guts , is when I’m making a damn fool of myself. So I, on purpose , bomb with girls because she thinks it’s funny. It’s just that.”

Billy huffed.

Ultimately, he does trust Steve, knows when he’s telling the truth.

And in retrospect , Steve’s been hurt before, he wouldn’t cheat on Billy.

But picturing him with someone else, anyone else, well it was making Billy’s gut burn .

He took Steve by the wrist, tugging him into the breakroom.

“What the fuck ?” Steve’s coworker was at the table, drinking a milkshake, Walkman headphones over her ears.

“It’s Steve’s lunch. You’re on.” She threw Billy a dirty look while she pushed past him.

“Billy, no need to be rude-” Steve’s eyes were wide when he slammed him against the freezer door.

“Wanted her gone . So I can have my way with you.”

“Billy, we can’t-”

“You know, you got me thinkin’ . Thinkin’ about you , with other people . And I really fucking hated that idea.” He ghosted his breath over Steve’s neck. “Wanna show you who you belong to .”

Steve whined as Billy ground their hips together.

He started sucking bruises on Steve’s neck, making him gasp.

“You gotta be quiet , Baby. Don’t wanna get caught .”

Steve bit his lip as Billy went for his belt. He turned Steve around when he got it loose, just enough to shove his shorts down, expose his ass.

He sucked on two of his fingers, circling one around his hole.

One went in easy, Steve had ridden his dick just this morning before work. Steve was panting, trying not to make all his usual noises, his mewls and cries.

Billy’s body was so fucking hot behind his, and he could feel his cock, hard as a damn rock through the denim of his shorts.

He pushed in another finger, Steve whined in his throat, biting his lip to try and keep the sound down .

Steve arched his back, trying to fuck himself on Billy’s fingers.

“ Greedy , aren’t you?” Billy was pressed against his back, rasping right into his ear. “What do you say, then? You ready for my cock?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, wanting to stay quiet , wanting to stay good . “I’m ready.”

Billy’s fingers were gone, the weight against his back disappearing.

Steve stayed where he was, back arched against the freezer door, ass sticking out.

He heard Billy zipper, heard him spit into his hand.

Billy’s cock was hot against him, the blunt head pressed against his entrance, just teasing .

“Want you to remember who you belong to.” He shoved his way in, pulling Steve’s hips, forcing him to take his cock in one go.

Steve slapped one hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the whine that had forced its way out of his throat.

“Dingus? You okay?” Billy leaned forward as Robin called out to him.

“Go ahead, Pretty Boy. Tell her you’re fine .”

“I’m fine, Robin. Thanks.” Steve tried to keep his voice even, but it shook a little as Billy slowly pulled out, working his way back into Steve.

“The rush is picking up, so come out here when you can.” Billy’s dick was stretching him out, a little dry as he moved in and out of Steve, moved so fucking slow .

“Sure thing.” Steve rested his forehead against the freezer door, taking ragged breaths.

“ Good job. She doesn’t suspect a thing .”

Billy picked up the pace a little, didn’t want Robin to come looking for Steve at any point.

Even if the idea thrilled him a little.

He plastered himself to Steve, holding onto his hips as he fucked into him, pulling Steve back towards him with every thrust.

Steve turned over his shoulder, looking darkly at Billy before his eyes flutter closed, leaning as close as he could, pressing their lips together gently. Billy took one hand from his hips, bringing it to the back of Steve’s head to deepen the kiss, guide Steve just where he wants him.

He kissed his cheek, down over his jaw. He kissed his neck, letting his tongue lave against pale skin before pressing his lips to it.

Steve reached down, stroking his cock with one hand, the other bracing him against the freezer.

“Billy,” Steve trailed off. Billy knew he was close, knew by the sharp gasps he kept letting out that Billy was hitting his sweet spot , bringing him closer and closer and closer to the edge.

Billy bit him, sucking in the skin, leaving a red, angry mark on his neck, above the little collar of the sailor shirt, where everyone would see that Steve Harrington was claimed .

“You’re mine .”

Steve came when Billy growled into his ear, his legs shaking as his brows screwed up.

Billy fucked him through it, pulling out when Steve stopped clenching around him.

He turned Steve around, pushing on his shoulders to get him on his knees, little shorts still pulled down, spunk all over his hand.

He took Billy into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he let Billy fuck his face, relaxing into it.

Billy was panting, staring down at Steve trying not to choke on his cock, staring at the bite mark , blossoming so pretty and red against his skin.

He pushed Steve down firmly, cumming right down his throat, making sure he takes it all , swallows everything up.

He released Stev, let him take a few shaking breaths as he tucked himself away.

He got a napkin for Steve’s hand, cleaning up the drool on his face while he was at it. Steve smiled softly up at him.

“You comin’ over tonight?” Billy helped him stand up, did his shorts and his belt back up for him.

“‘Course I am. Wanna see how nicely this develops.” He pressed a thumb into the bruise on Steve’s neck, making him hiss.

“Did you leave a mark ?” Steve scrambled to find something reflective, settled for the glass on the back door. “You asshole .”

“Wanted all the girlies that come by to know you’ve already got someone.” Steve slapped his chest.

“Jackass.”

Apex Legends: The Top Predator Part 2. A Rampart’s Heart

Colonel Braxton and Dr. Traxler are standing in the center of a large metal room going over the footage of the recent experiment on the Legend Loba. They stare intently at the monitors as they watch the ship's recorded footage of her heart pumping in her chest, the speakers exploding with her beats "Thoom-thoomp...thoom-thoomp...thoom-thoomp". "You did very well, Traxler" states the colonel, mesmerized by what they were able to capture and observe, the life giving pump of one of the strongest hearts on the planet. "The experiment went more than successful I presume." He turns his head to the doctor, noticing he has a large, almost unsettling grin on his face as he takes pride in his accomplishment. Dr. Traxler lets out a sigh as he takes off his glasses, gives a breath, wipes and returns them to his eyes. "It was more than successful, Colonel Braxton. We got record and manipulate the very lifeforce of a human being all in the pursuit of study and creating our own person". "We are very well on our to being Gods, my dear Colonel." The doctor wipes a tear from his eye. "It was beautiful." Braxton lays a hand on the psychotic doctor's shoulder. "We must not get too ahead of ourselves, Doctor. We need to move onto our next legend. This time we will have two ships ready in light of the recent success" explains the war veteran. The hand on the doctor's shoulder goes from a reassuring to a slightly unsettling grip. "I want two done this time. Any cost, if they die they die." His steel grey eyes reflect the stern tone of his voice as his aged features are stonefaced. "Get ready, Doctor. I'm counting on you" says the Colonel as he loosens his grip and pats the doctor's shoulder before turning and heading out of the room. As large metal doors whine open before clasping shut again, Doctor Traxler returns his gaze to the monitors. The booming beats of Loba's pulsing heart can still be heard from her tachycardic spasm *BOOMTHUMPBOOMBOOM*. The doctor once against lets loose a sick smile as he observes monitor screens of the other Legends. "Now...which ones are next?" *Thoom-thoomp..thoom-thoomp..thoom-thoomp* "Hmmm" sighs Lifeline. She transitions the bell of a stethoscope to the left breast of Loba and puts it firmly against the tanned flesh of the woman, the steth rocks which each beat. *Thoomp-thoomp..thoom-thoomp...thmpBUMPthmp...thmph* "Tch" winces the aristocrat as her heart gives a hard stumble before returning to a normal rhythm. "Ya heart's still a bit tender. You need a bit more rest, girl" says the young medic as she pulls the stethoscope from her chest and hangs it around her neck. "Whatever happened to ya did a number on ya body". Loba pulls the sleeves of her white silk robe up over her arms, covering herself up. "I can't just sit here, Ajay. Someone tried to kill me" Loba retorts as she flips her orangish-red dyed hair back before pulling a section to start to braid it. "And what makes ya say that" questions Lifeline as she puts her hands on her hips. "Because nothing like this ever happened. My father was a conman, a rich one at that, and I myself am the most infamous thief in the Outlands now turned legend. I very much have plenty of enemies and if the demonio didn't do it then someone else must have" She finishes winding one of her braids before fully tying it down. She grabs the other half of her hair and starts on that one. "Okay then where and how woulda someone done som'tin to ya?" "I'm trying to figure that out" Loba's eyes soften, knowing full well she avoided her end. "Ajay sighs as she sits down on the bed next to her temporary patient. "Turn, sista" she orders her as she grabs the partially finished braid from Loba and continues doing it yourself. "You're a strong woman, Loba, we all know dat. And with the stress we do on our bodies doin' these games is harsh. Maybe ya ticker just didn't have it dat that" she says in a soft tone to comfort her. "Look, I had Doc run a diagnostic scan on ya, and he'll get tha results later. Relax now, go get a drink or sumtin' but ya need rest" Ajay finishes the braid and puts it behind Loba's head. Lifeline gets up and starts heading for the door. "I left some meds on the dressa, take two a da pills in an hour, they will help with the healing" she says before leaving. Loba looks in the mirror and the softness on her face turns to a harder, fiercer look. "Hmph" she scoffs before getting up and heading downstairs to the bar. The light clank of a setting spoon rings as Loba picks up her cup of tea and takes a sip. She puts it down on the her plate and  puts a palm under her chin before letting out a slight groan. "WHERE IS MY BLOOD WRENCH, YA PLONKER"? A scream is heard from one of the back rooms along with a heavy thunk of something being thrown. "I TOLD YOU I PUT IT BACK! AND CAN YOU STOP THROWING SCREWDRIVERS AT ME!?" retorts a second voice. "Ugh, that's the last time I let you borrow any tools. You owe me a new wrench!" The door bursts open as Rampart storms out. Mirage follows right behind her, rubbing a fresh bump on his head. "I...put...ow that hurts...your wrench back" stutters the legend. "Then where is it..hmm??" questions the young, Indian girl, arms crossed over her chest. "I let'cha borrow it for your holo-tech, and now it goes missing. Is this a prank? Did'cha turn it invisible on me?" she continues her interrogation. "I put it on the table when I was done. Maybe Path took it" Mirage fires back. "Speaking of, YO, PATH!! CAN YOU GET ME SOME ICE?" he yells out to the MRVN robot. "I'm coming, friend" a cheery voice is heard as Pathfinder runs in from a back room of his own. He leaps behind the bar counter, opens a freezer cooler and grabs a massive chunk of ice. "Like this?" He questions. Mirage groggily sits down on a chair. "Wrap it for me" he shakily waves a finger towards a drawer. Path opens the draw and dumps the large ice rock into a cloth before running towards Mirage. The ice chunk falls out of the rag and Pathfinder steps on it. "Uh oh" the robot slips forward and falls, hitting the ground. The shock sets off his grappling hook as it fires directly at Mirage. *SHNK*, the blunt end hits him square in the head where he got pelted from Rampart and he falls back out of the chair. "OWHOWWW..why...me" he groans, dazed. Ram bursts out laughing "OHHHAHAHAHAH" she bellows. "You deserve that one, mate. That's what'cha get for hiding my tools" Mirage slowly gets up as Path reels in his hook and hands out the ice chunk to him. The Duke of Dupes holds it to the now even bigger bump to his head. "I ....still didn't you cocky little .."  "ENOUGH!!" screams Loba as she tried her best to ignore the commotion. "You are like a horrible married couple. Take it out in the firing range or something" she angrily suggests. "Winner buys the other a a goddamn wrench." Mirage and Rampart look at each other for a split second. "You know, that's not a bad idea" Mirage shrugs before tossing the ice chunk behind him. It hits Path in the face and breaks apart. "I hope that helped, friend" he gives a thumbs up and switches a smiley face on his chest screen. Completely ignoring him Mirage puts his hands on his hips "Let's do it" he grins his smug grin and Rampart returns the same smile "You bet your bloody behind on it" she cockily fires back. They both head out and run towards the teleportation station. Loba turns back to towards the bar before returning to her tea, completely bewildered by the craziness of the situation at hand being over a wrench. She sips her drink and enjoys the quiet. But unknown to every one, amidst the commotion, two microships float through the air and tail Mirage and Rampart to the teleporters. Rampart's fingers clack along a keyboard as the whirling of portals fires up. "Okay, mate. Destination is set and prepare to get your butt kicked" mocks the weaponsmith. "Pft, as if. I won't lose to a noob like you. I am the face the Apex Games after all" He smiles that smug smile again and puts his hand to his face in like a checkmark across his chin and jaw. Rampart rolls her eyes "Do you just wake up like this" she half sincerely-half serious questions him. The ships that were following them fly in close. "Alright, men. Get ready to enter the subjects. We couldn't have asked for a more pristine opportunity here" a voice can be heard inside the ships, it's Doctor Traxler's as he sits at the monitors of the shadow base, not attending this trip but rather commanding it from afar. "3...2...1" the voice inside the ships counts as well as the legends and they enter the portal while the ships enter their bodies through the nose. "ACHOO" Mirage lets out a  sneeze and wipes his nose as the duo teleport to the firing range. The ships float through the lungs of the subjects with a booming sound echoing in the background, it gets louder and louder as they approach their destination, the hearts of Rampart and Mirage. "Perfect..simply perfect" states Traxler as he sits back in the chair, watching the camera feed...hearing the sounds of their hearts beating. The ships reach the pulsing organs and set themselves on top and begin their readings. *Thoom-thmp...thoom-thmp...thoom-thmp* beats echoes the slow, steady, powerful beats of the male legend's heart. *Bmp-bmp..bmp-bmp..bmp* thuds the slightly faster and smaller heart of 21 year old Rampart's heart, deeply in her chest. "Hmmmph" groans the doctor, once again loving the sight and sound of the very life giving organs of the subjects..but more so loving the fact he gets to observe as almost God once more in his mind. "Ok...rules" says Mirage. "We get red shields, one battery, an RE-45 automatic pistol, a wingman revolver and first to crack the other's energy shield wins. Sound fair?" he suggests. "And whatever else we have on our person" adds in Rampart as she pulls out a piece of bubble gum, unwraps it and pops in her mouth before giving a couple obnoxiously loud chews and smacks. Mirage looks at her with a slightly disgusted look on his face "That's gross. You chew like a cow, but fine" he replies. She pops a bubble and giggles. "Ok then, get ready to lose..loser" she cracks her knuckles before heading to the weapon and armory racks and gathers her equipment. Mirage heads to the other side of the training ground and grabs his gear, loads up his guns and dons the energy shields. "He yells across the field...10 seconds!! Let's go!!" He flicks the strands of hair to the side, while Rampart tightens her side ponytail and pulls her black-brown hair taut. *Boom-boomboomboom-* Both their hearts begin to thunder in their chest with anticipation. Traxler sits in his chair and smiles. "Here we go" Rampart throws down two cover barriers as they grind up and post up their energy shields. She begins to take aim from behind the energy screen "EAT LEAD YA BLOODY SISSY" she yells out in joy and begins firing from the RE45. The rapid fire bullets shoot through the energy screen and fly faster due to the property of the shields. "Oh...I forgot she could do that" says Mirage aloof before running and ducking under a nearby rock. "And bam..to the bam.." he yells out and snaps his fingers as a holotech dupe emerges and runs towards Rampart. "Not gonna fool me, mate" she fires and takes out the dupe as it fades. "Gotta get behind my amped covuh" she gloats and waits for Mirage to emerge. Inside their bodies their hearts hammer, and Traxler looks on in glee. "Ok, boys...we begin with the first misfire. Level one current, go. The ships charge up and release a small electrical current against the hearts of the legends. *BOOMBOOMBOOM..THUDBMPBMP* a painful skip hits the already hard beating hearts of the two. "Gck" Mirage clutches his chest. That was..weird "Hrk" Rampart grabs at hers as she feels the thundering muscle beneath her jacket slam into her ribs as a wave of pain emanates from it. "Must've been the coffee I drank this morning...or 9 cups I drank last night looking for that bloody wrench" she says to herself. "No matter, time to beat this blockhead." Mirage makes a break for it and sends out another two dupes as he rushes Rampart's cover. He pulls out his wingman and begins to fire, the heavy duty bullets hit the energy screen of Rampart's cover as they begin to spark. "Gonna need to do better than that, mate" she yells out over the gun fire before weaving behind another shield and throws up a third wall. "Not this time" Mirage shoots at the expanding wall before it can pop up the energy screen, it smokes and explodes. Rampart pops her gum and furrows her brow before firing switching to the wingman and fires off the heavy rounds, the screen propelling them faster. It hits the dupes and Mirage himself. "Uh oh", he slides behind another nearby rock, checking his shield at it is still holding strong. Rampart smiles and waits, feeling her confidence begin to grow. *BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM* back in their chests, their hearts thunder and pound harder, Mirage especially spiking in his heart rate due to the bullet hitting him. "Hit them again, but raise the level" commands Traxler as the ships begin another shock. The ships release the current, causing the  flailing organs to skip and flop frantically. *BOOMBOOMTHUMPBOOM...BTHMPTHMOBOOM..BMBMBMBM* "GAH...again!?" Mirage puts his hand to his chest and feels the pounding heart beneath, and feels his breath begin to run ragged. Rampart's chest jerks up and forward as she drops the gun..."the bloody hell is wrong with me?" she sweats and pants heavily. They both know something is wrong but their pride and competitive nature keeps them going. Rampart picks up her gun and sets up against the cover. Mirage composes himself and gets ready. Both think to themselves they need to finish this quickly. "Time to bamboozle" Mirage heads out in a dash once, hitting his multiple dupe button. He goes invisible for a brief second before multiple copies of himself appear. "Dammit" Rampart says under her breath. She switches to the 45 and fires the spray of bullets, the Mirage dupes duck and weave as best as they could. Some get hit before Rampart runs out of bullets. She drops it and switches to the wingman and fires the remaining couple of bullets before reloading another six. Amid the reload, Mirage closes the distance as the final dupe disappears and jumps over the cover wall to tackle Rampart. "You plonker!" she yells as she kicks him back off of her. Mirage lands hard on his back and he slides. He aims the wingman and fires off a couple shots, the bullets land and begin to shatter Rampart's actual energy shield. She gets knocked back from the recoil and squirms around one of her cover walls. "I'm out of ammo...damn" she curses as she grabs a handful of sand and waits for Mirage. He charges again and sends a dupe to one side, Rampart doesn't fall for it. Just as he is about to pull around she throws the sand and kicks him, the shield takes the damage. He reels back before gaining some composure gain. He throws a punch and she ducks, grabbing his arm and throwing him down. He lands partially on his feet in a bridge and pulls his wingman up, firing a shot. She thrusts her head back as it takes a chunk out of her side ponytail. "My hair, you bastard" she stomps down at him. He grabs her foot and throws her down. He straddles her and holds the wingman to her. "Say uncle" he chides. "You wish" she says before spitting her gum at his face. "Ew" he squeals as he wipes his face. With the momentary distraction, she kicks him off and steals his 45. She turns and fires a spray, he snaps a dupe and she falls for it. He tackles her once more, using his strength to pin her down and holds his wingman to her chest, barrel rattling with her violent heartbeats as her chest rises and falls while she guzzles down oxygen. "How about now?" He asks, panting heavily. "How about you?" she retorts back as she holds the 45 to his chest. Both smile as they pull the trigger, bullets fire, and both shields crack. In that moment "Full power, charge and go" Traxler commands as the ships release a final and deadly current. *THMTHMBOOMBOMM...THMBUMPBUMPTHOMM..THOOM....THOOM...thoomp...thmp..boomp...thmp....thmp*. Mirage and Rampart both stare at each other wide eyed...they gasp...clutch their chest...and fall on their backs. Their hearts go into full cardiac arrest. *THMBMBMMPPTH...THMBBOOOMBOOM..THMP..THM..BOOMBUMBOOM..BOOM* The ships inside them ride the misfiring hearts. "YES...YES..THIS IS WONDERFUL" the sociopathic doctor lustfully chimes in his chair. "This is beautiful...absolutely beautiful" he revels in the life and death control he once again is in charge of. Back at Mirage's Bar, Pathfinder is picking gum out from under the tables and attached to one of the tables is Rampart's wrench. "Oh boy! My friends will be glad to know I found the wrench" He cheerily says to himself. He runs to the teleporter station and enters the portal. "Friends!! Look what...I ..found...friends?" Pathfinder looks confusingly at the motionless bodies of Mirage and Rampart on the ground. He rushes over there and pokes them. "Friends?" He solemnly questions again. He scoops them up and dashes to the portal, returning to the bar. "HELP!" he yells out as both of them drape limply over the robot's shoulders. The other legends rush from their rooms down to the main room of the bar to see the sight. "They aren't moving..." Path states. Bangalore grabs Rampart's body and Path still holds Mirage. "Path, get them to Lifeline's room. NOW!" He nods and they both rush to Ajay's room and burst the door open. "What happened?" Questions Lifeline as the bot and soldier lay Mirage and Rampart down. "I just found them motionless in the firing range...I don't know" explains Pathfinder. "DOC, get a reading, now" yells Ajay at her med drone. It scans them and shows faulty and shakey heart spikes...like a bunch of worms wriggling in a bag. "Alright, men. Time to make your exit" says Doctor Traxler. "The ships detach from the near useless pumping hearts of their victims and leave out of their lungs and up through their noses before flying off. "Wattson, I need ya!" yells Lifeline as the Shock Princess steps forward. "Rememba Loba? Dis is da same ting" she explains. Wattson nods and begins to charge up her hands, preparing a shock. Lifeline grabs her shock sticks and charges them. They both touch the chests of Mirage and Ramp as both of their bodies jerk up, convulse and lay back down. No movement. "Doc, keep a read" commands the medic, both charge again and shock their patients. Again, the bodies convulse up and land flat. "GUUUUUH" gasps Mirage as he chokes and coughs laying there. "The...hell?" He questions and turns to see Rampart getting defibbed right there. "RAMP!? RAMP!" He yells at her, she gets shocked again, her chest jolting in the air before landing. Her eyes weakly open. "Why does my everything hurt?" she questions, coughing and breathing weakly. "Ya hearts were damn near stopped. Path found ya, something about a wrench and he pulled ya guys back here." Rampart slowly turns her head and Mirage joins her. "I'm glad you're ok, friends" he folds his hands together. They both weakly smile at him. "We're glad you got us, friend". The smile face appears on his chest screen. "Alright you two...get some sleep. I'll check on ya in a bit. Everyone else...go on, wit'cha. Give'm some room" Ajay shoos the rest of the legends and leaves them with Path. She hooks DOC up to them to help give some healing energy and she turns to Path "Keep an eye on em, Path" she nods to him. He nods in response as both legends pass out. Lifeline shuts the door and starts walking down the hall, sighing. Loba stands in her doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, a stoic look on her face. "It was the same thing...wasn't it?" She questions. Lifeline nods. "I tink sum'tin ain't out just for you, Loba. We all are targets here...just need to keep our guards up. "Loba nods before turning around and shutting her door. As she looks out through the window into the dark sky of night, she can see the visage of Revenant standing on a rooftop some buildings away. The piercing golden eyes can be seen clearly through the veil of the moonlit sky. She tightens her face as the silhouette disappears.  

on my mind

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; you’re trying to have a peaceful night in when javier brings home yet another informant, and while you brace yourself to hear the noises all night, you’re surprised to hear something else. rating; t warnings; strangling, medical inacurracies probably, some angst? idk it doesn’t feel super angsty to me but y’all’ll probably think it is word count; 2.4k requested; by anon “You are his next door neighbor and friend. At night, you often hear his escapades through the wall. One night, things sound more like a fight than sex. You aren't sure what to do. You have a key to his apartment. You sneak in to see what is going on. Javi's informant is strangling him with his tie for real. She runs away, Javi regains consciousness, & tells you that he thought he was going to die and the only thing he could think about was that he never told you he loves you.”

Javier fucking Peña. You’re gonna kill the man since this is the fifth time this week he’s brought a girl home and it’s only Wednesday and it’s 8pm and you want to relax after a long day. You can hear them coming up the stairs outside the building, the loud Spanish obscenities spilling from their lips in the hallway, the jingling of the keys as they enter his apartment.

He’s been doing it since you got to Colombia all those years ago, but it never ceases to hurt. Doesn’t he know how much noise he and all the women he has over make? Doesn’t he know how thin the walls are, that if they and you are in the right rooms in your respective apartments, you can hear every last word they say?

You’ve been Javier’s partner for what now feels like forever. And at some point between hiding behind walls during drug busts and the thrilling car chases through Bogotá, you fell in love.

Sometimes you wonder why you haven’t made a move. There are times when he grins at you after breaking a case or finding a lead and your heart soars, nights out drinking at bars, days where you’re on the hunt and you have each other’s backs when you wonder if maybe he feels the same. 

But you have to be reminded multiple times a week that your job relies on him fucking multiple women for valuable information, loudly.

He’s even gone so far as to offer you a night in bed with him. Multiple times. Those days are the worst. You know it would only be a one night stand and if you said yes it would break your heart.

So you settle for loving him from afar. You respect him enough to know that your feelings would only ruin things. If how he is is what makes him happy, then who are you to stop him?

You walk over to your bedroom to grab your walkman and try to drown out the sounds that will inevitably begin, hope you’ll be able to curl up on your couch and read the book you’ve been trying to start.

It takes all of three minutes for the sound of whatever is happening to breach the weak plastic of your headphones and you groan.

This is really the last straw. It’s been such a long day and Javier only made it worse by letting his hand linger a little longer than was considered friendly when handing you your coffee this morning and taking you out to lunch just to get out of the building. And then he had the nerve to leave early so that he could meet an informant, and you were stuck finishing up the paperwork, only to return home to the same sounds you were hearing now, finishing up.

You throw your headphones off and stand up. You were going to storm over and give Javier a piece of your mind when you hear something that is distinctively not sexual. It sounds like they’re fighting, there are some thumps on the floor that cannot feel good and you think you even hear something shatter.

You almost lunge over your dinner table to grab your handgun, and exit your apartment, quietly slipping over to his door, hoping he left his door unlocked. You try the handle and it glides right open. Leave it to Javier to forget to lock it in the heat of things.

You thank everything working in your favor that Javier has an entry hallway and you’re able to enter the apartment, back pressed against the wall, unnoticed. You slide closer, and the fighting has quieted. There’s no longer any human noises, just the sound of grappling, and that could definitely be sex and you really don’t want to walk in on that, but you assume the worst, Javier could really be in danger.

You peak around the corner and you freeze up. Javier is on the floor, some woman has her hand gripped around his tie and is pulling, hard, from behind. His face is bright red and a bit puffy and you notice he is unconscious.

“Hey!” you yell, pointing your gun at her, and she startles, dropping the tie, and Javier’s body flops to the ground.

You stare blankly at the limp body of your partner, which gives the woman enough time to slip out of the open window to the balcony, and you watch as she jumps over the railing, only a few feet to the ground below from the first-floor apartment.

She shouldn’t have gotten away. You could have shot her. You know that. But your breathing is shaky and you still are holding your gun up at the window, seconds after she’s gone, staring at Javier.

You finally come to and rush to the ground beside him, kneeling by his head. He can’t be dead. He just can’t be. You let out a sob and your throat is tight and pained with the oncoming tears. If Javier is dead? You don’t dare to think about what you would do.

You pull his arm into your hand, searching for a pulse, and upon finding it, you let yourself relax for a brief moment, before peeling off the tie from his neck. His skin is red and marred with a thick ring of abrasions from the rough fabric, and there are some frantic scratches on either side, suggesting he had further injured himself trying to get out.

You reach out a hand to touch the wounds, gasping as you feel how hot his skin is.

Javier sputters under your touch, his eyes springing open and coughing a few times until he calms down.

“Javi!” you exhale, “Javi, holy shit, I thought you were dead.”

He’s gasping for air, and you help him up, dragging his body over to the floor beside the couch, propping his back up against it.

You know he’s going to need treatment for the wounds on his neck, and you jump to your feet, rushing over to the kitchen. You open the freezer and push things around until you find an icepack and then throw open some cabinets, searching for some sort of pain medication. There. Inside one of the cabinets lies a few bottles of pills alongside a pitiful looking box of bandaids.

You bring the two items back to the living room where Javier is taking shallow breaths, and you sink to the ground next to him. The bottle is placed on the coffee table and you grab his hand and bring it and the ice pack to his neck, helping him hold it in place.

“Javi, when you’re ready, these pills are on the table here, you should take them,” you say.

“Y/N.” It’s the first word he’s said since you entered the apartment and you exhale shakily while managing to break a smile. He leans his head back on the couch, looking at the ceiling. “If you hadn’t come, I’d be—I’d—”

“Javi, don’t say that,” you say, “You’re okay now. That’s what matters.”

He brings his head back up and turns to look at you. You can feel his gaze but you really don’t know what to do. What to say. You look at the ground, waiting for something.

That something comes after almost five minutes of silence.

“If you think you can swallow you should try to take some pain meds,” you say.

“It doesn’t hurt much,” he says, voice hoarse. You know he’s lying.

“Still.”

Javier reaches forward to grab the bottle, sets down the ice pack, unscrews the cap and pours a pill into his palm. After swallowing, he replaces the ice on his neck, wincing at the contact.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask.

You want to say so much. You want to be mad at him. Mad that he got himself into this goddamn mess. But you can’t. All you can think about is how lost you would be if he hadn’t made it. How scared you had been, seeing him unconscious on the floor. The last time you had spoken with Javier about him doing this, about sleeping with the informants, it hadn’t gone well, and after today? You regretted every word you had said.

“Javi, you can’t keep sleeping with people to get information,” you said, slamming your hands on the desk after he brought up speaking with a fourth prostitute that week who he said would have valuable intel on one of Escobar’s sicarios.

“It works,” he shook his head, continuing to pack up his things.

“It works, but at what cost?” you threw up your hands, hoping it would emphasize your point, but Javier wasn’t even looking. “If someone finds out?”

“Tell me our most valuable leads haven’t resulted from it?” he said and he was right. Most anything of substance had come (quite literally) from Javier fucking them. But that didn’t mean you had to be okay with it.

“What if one of them knows what you’re doing? They get paid to get close to you? Try to take you out or something?” you said, voice getting dangerously loud.

“God, Y/N, you don’t have to be such a stickler for the rules, we’ve broken enough already. And I only do it with the women I trust,” he said, now at the door to your office about to leave.

“Fine, go fuck whoever you like, just don’t come running to me for help when you get hurt,” you said.

It had been four months since you had that conversation, but the irony of it all didn’t escape you. You felt bad after saying it but you feel even worse now.

“Please stay,” Javier croaks out beside you.

You nod. “Okay.”

As much as it hurts to sit next to him tonight, you can’t deny him anything. Not tonight.

It’s quiet for a while. You bring one leg up to your chest and with one hand trace little circles into the carpet.

“I thought I was going to die,” he says. He drops the ice pack in his lap. “The only thing I could think of was that I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to tell the woman I love how much she matters to me.”

Now it’s your turn to throw your head back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. You blink a few times, realizing there are tears in the corners and you don’t know where they came from. You had gotten good at pushing your feelings away, but now, knowing that Javier had almost died? You don’t know what you would do if you had lost him. Life without Javier? It would probably break you.

And then there’s this woman he’s speaking of and you don’t know what to think of it, because Javier? In love with a woman? Singular? That wasn’t anything you had heard of. You couldn’t picture him falling for someone, wanting to spend a life with her. But you supposed it made sense. In the face of death, people realize exactly what they want in life.

It had happened to you, a couple times. Almost anyone in the field here in Colombia had those moments. Bullets flying inches from your face. Explosions where you’re caught only a few feet away from being fatally injured. Falls through unstable flooring in the apartments in the poorest parts of Bogotá. For you, those moments reminded you how important certain people were.

You didn’t have much family back home, no one significant enough to worry about, that’s why you took such a dangerous job so far from the States. But you remember waking up in the hospital a year ago, a bullet having grazed your side. Your final memories before blacking out were the feeling of warm blood pouring out across your stomach and Javier’s face. Javier, who was stuck in Bogotá for the week as you risked your life in Medellín.

“Maybe you shouldn’t waste any more time and tell her,” you say.

God knows you regretted not telling him. It was for the best, you knew. Javier wasn’t exactly the sort of guy to settle down. And the pain of rejection wouldn’t be as bad as the dull ache of seeing him every day afterwards. But if Javier loved someone? And she didn’t know? She deserved to know how much she mattered to him. That she was important enough to be the face he saw before he thought he would die.

“I don’t know,” he says, and you look over at him, brow furrowed. “She doesn’t think very highly of me.”

“How could she not think highly of you, Javi?” you say. You think the world of him, but there were plenty of reasons why someone might not. It’s not the moment to bring those up.

“It’s you, Y/N.”

You blink. Javier likes you?

“I know,” he continues, “I know you don’t—and you don’t have to—fuck. I don’t want to make this awkward”

“No,” you breathe, staring at him and shaking your head, “I—Me?”

You can’t believe what Javier had said. That all this time you were sitting on your feelings for each other, not saying anything.

“Yes, you,” he says, “Since day one, you’ve been the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And you’re 100% there for everyone we work with. You care about people. You came rushing in today to save me even when you didn’t have to, when I didn’t deserve it. You said all that stuff, and you were right, but you still came—”

“I had to, Javi, I—I care about to you, too.” you say, “I couldn’t let you get hurt. I couldn’t lose you... I love you.”

Javier reaches an arm up to cup your cheek. Every inhale and exhale feels slower than ever before. His face has softened, a faint smile crosses his lips, more than his usual stern expressions ever allow, and there’s a certain something in his eyes, a glistening, and you bite your lip instinctively. And that’s when he leans in to take your lips in his own, and you, sinking into him, climb to your knees so that you can wrap an arm around his waist and intertwine your other hand into his hair.

It’s perfect until it isn’t as Javier jolts away with a noise that sounds painful and you jump back.

“Are you okay?” you’re back into panic mode, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I, uh.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “I think I got too into it, moved my neck too much.”

“Do you need—”

“No, Y/N, I don’t need anything. I’m fine. I just, I need you,” he admits.

“Me too,” you say and sit back down next to him, leaning your head against his shoulder and reaching down, grabbing his hand, and interlocking his fingers with yours.

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @turquiosenights @el-lizzie​ @sparrows-books​ @dxxkxx​ @opheliaelysia​ (edit: i completely forgot to tag @letaliabane​ i’m so sorry my document with my taglists was all messed up)

I saw you mention that Jake is a lightweight, so here’s me begging that we get some drunk Jake content at some point 🥺😭💞 or at least get to hear what type of drunk he is, it’d make my friggin day

CW: Alcohol use

Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump

Takes place after the Safehouse Raid. Also features a fact about Chris that was mentioned on his intake paperwork but may have slipped your notice at the time!

Addie doesn't drink and she doesn't eat meat, so when Jake wants to chill with something to take the edge off before he has to really buckle down to study - and a giant burger with fries - he has to do that alone.

Well, not alone - he's never alone here, and wouldn't want to be. Antoni is responsible for the burgers and homemade fries, Leila is next door at Naomi's house watching some TV show and laughter drifts out Naomi's window loud enough that Jake can hear it all the way through theirs.

Leila’s probably going to move out soon, and they’ve gotten word of a bonded pair of rescues that might need to move into the space Krista and Leila have left behind. Might not be much longer they have this particular group together.

Well... Antoni and Chris probably won’t go anytime soon. Antoni has shown no interest, and Chris... probably wouldn’t last long. 

Nat's out at a group meeting, and Jake chose not to go with. He goes to fewer meetings, now, since the raid. He stays close to home, keeps his head down. Talks to a few people he knows really well, yeah, and meets up with the frat guy on campus for coffee and, like, talking shit out, but mostly Jake is pretty happy to just... stay here. Talk to the rescues, and Nat, and call his mother on the phone so she can disapprove of his life choices.

For now, Jake is eating, Antoni cleaning up from cooking, and Chris... Chris makes drinks.

"Did, um, did it for, for-for for Sir every day," Chris says brightly, as if talking about a trip to the zoo rather than the details of a daily horror. "Gin and, and tonic, cold as it gets without, um, without... being, being ice. Little, little bit of lemon, plus a, a, a a a twist of peel on the, the side. Or limes, he, he, he he he-he... he liked lime with gin a, a lot..."

"I don't like those, thanks, I don't even think we have gin." Jake puts his hands up in the air, smiling. He has a mostly empty Jack and Coke in front of him - second one, actually - and he feels mostly relaxed, a gentle warmth spreading through his shoulders and down his back. Less angry, and he’s angry all the time these days, not that he wasn’t before.

"Not a gin and tonic kind of guy."

Not like he'd drink the same thing as that goddamn asshole smarming up the fucking television anyway. The fucking Governor... Jake can’t even see him any longer, and unfortunately they’re going into an election year and the smug fuck’s all over the TV with his advertisements now. If Jake could just get ahold of that video of Chris... Jesus, he could end the Governor’s career, his whole life.

Maybe if he could find that video, it’d have some kind of identifying... something that could help them figure Chris out, more. His real name, whether or not he has any family... but no, the video had mentioned a legal guardian, and Chris - terrified and looking an inch from tears - had mentioned Aunt Jo, Joanne... Jake can’t figure it out. He’s missing something... something... important.

He hasn't told anyone else yet. Sooner or later, he'll have to. Chris first? Nat? Drive to an empty lot on the old factory district and scream to the fucking sky?

He hasn't decided yet.

He’d rather drink until he’s in a better mood, first.

"Well, well, well well well I trained Mixology, what do we have?" Chris asks, glancing back and forth between Jake taking a bite of his hamburger and Antoni leaning with his back against the counter, watching them with a slight smile in his slightly narrow face.

"You trained in-" Jake stops, his mouth is full, he needs a second. He chews and swallows, leaning on his elbow on the table. "You were trained to make drinks?"

Chris nods, green eyes locked on his, before he gives a little grin and bounces on the balls of his feet. "I, I liked those classes."

Jake and Antoni briefly meet eyes. Antoni shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I only took cooking classes and learned cleaning.”

“Well, maybe next you could make us something fancy you know how to do,” Jake says - the pride in Chris’s eyes, this is something he can do for them, is unmistakable and as uneasy as it makes him, part of him really wants to let Chris show off for once. “D’you know anything with vodka? Antoni keeps some in the freezer he thinks I don’t know about-”

“Don’t you dare,” Antoni says with a one-sided grin, pointing a finger at Jake. His barcode is visible in his T-shirt and jeans, in this one place where his arms can be bare without danger. Normally they’d have had it removed by now, but Antoni keeps refusing, not giving any reason. “I spent my money on good vodka, you don’t drink good vodka with anything but itself, Jasha.”

“Okay, okay. You’re no fun.” Jake pouts, a little, and Chris grins so brightly at the unfamiliar, rare expression of humor that Jake worries his face has to hurt. “I’d share my liquor with you, you know.”

“I don’t want it,” Antoni says primly, even sticking his nose in the air, and Jake laughs, shaking his head a little, picking up a fry and tossing it Chris’s direction. Chris catches it in midair and stuffs it in his mouth like it might disappear if he doesn't. “I don’t want your Jack Daniels swill, thank you very much.”

“My apologies, not all of us have your refined tastes.” 

“Apology accepted.”

Jake throws a fry at Antoni this time, and he only ducks to the side, the fry landing harmlessly in the sink. 

“You have terrible aim, Jasha.”

“You ducked! I’d’ve hit you right in you forehead if y’didn’t!” Oh, he’s starting to slur his words, pick back up the accent he’d had growing up, before he and his mom moved out here. Probably a sign he should stop drinking anyway - Chris made his Jack and Cokes stronger than he usually drinks them and being 6′3″ and made of muscle after working out since he was a teenager seems like it made him look like he can hold his liquor, but his liver never got that memo.

“Hey, Ant.” Jake clears his throat. “Antoni.”

“Yes?” Antoni grabs the bottle of vodka from the freezer, fogged and cloudy with frost, and slides into a chair, glancing over at Chris and patting the seat next to him, between Antoni and Jake. Chris grins and plops down into it so hard the chair creaks a little at the thump of his weight. He sits with his hands between his legs, palms resting on the wood of the chair, leaning slightly forward. It’s similar to and the opposite of his posture in the Contract Signing video, his eyes wide and bright, smiling slightly instead of crying, bouncing his feet off the ground in a constant blur of motion that allows the rest of him to be, largely, still. 

“What do I call you?”

“What?” Antoni blinks, confused, popping the corked top off the vodka bottle and taking a swig straight from it, not even bothering with a glass. He’s a little less refined with every week that passes, a little more casual in the way he holds himself, the way he sits, in the way an odd lilt has begun to seep into his syllables, harsher R’s but drawn-out, softer everything else. Jake wonders if he’s witnessing some kind of grand experiment, some days, in what it means to recover yourself and learn that you are something else entirely, in a way you could never have anticipated, than what you were made to be.

“What do I call you? Y’call Chris, ah, Chrisha-” Jake trips over the diminutive, his tongue struggling against the unfamiliar phrasing, and Antoni grins, taking another drink. Chris’s fingers skip up to the table, begin to sneak their way to the last bits of Jake’s second Jack and Coke. Jake catches him at it and puts on a stern face, shaking his head, picking the glass up and finishing the rest, watered down by melted ice to nearly nothing, by himself. He sets the glass down, the remaining ice clinking against itself. “No, man, you’re not 21 and I’m the closest thing to a responsible adult in this house right now.”

Chris drops his hand back between his legs again, but his smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider. “Oh, oh, okay, Jake. Maybe next, next time?”

“Turn 21,” Jake says, pretending for the moment that he himself wasn’t sneaking cheap beer behind the bleachers with the other guys back in high school. 

Chris is just testing, like always, but in different ways. Always testing to see if they’ll be like Sir in this way or that, learning about himself while he does it. Jake hasn’t let him down yet - and he has to hope he only ever lets Chris down in ways they can recover from. 

“... and you call me Jasha,” He continues speaking to Antoni. “So what do I call you?” 

“Hm.” Antoni thinks. “Ansha? I don’t know. I think...” His eyes go slightly distant, with the furrow of his thick eyebrows that suggests the pain that always comes with trying to consciously remember what was taken from him. “I think someone called me that once... Are we so close, you think?”

Jake shrugs. “I think so. Do you not?”

“I think we are, yes.” Antoni shrugs right back at him, then reaches out and pours a bit of the vodka over the remaining ice in Jake’s empty glass. “Jasha, what do I do if I don’t want to move out of the house?”

Jake blinks at him, taken aback. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave here. I like you, and I like our Chris, I would not want to leave him.” 

Chris bites down on his lower lip - not the practiced little nibble of teeth against sensitive skin he learned to weaponize, but a genuine attempt to hold back the surprised ecstatic smile trying to take him over. “You, you, you you-you-you-you-”

“I wouldn’t,” Antoni says softly. He reaches out to squeeze Chris’s shoulder, once, Chris leaning heavily into the touch. “I would not leave you willingly, Chrisha.”

Jake glances at Chris, bouncing in his seat, his head cocking back and forth in a kind of rhythm, feet tapping on the ground. Eternal whirlwind movement, he’d doing cartwheels on the lawn if they were outside. He won’t sit for long, he’ll be doing handstands in the living room or twisting himself in pretzels, getting out the energy that races through his muscles in any way he can. 

“I wouldn’t, either,” Jake says, thinking. He picks up the vodka Antoni poured for him and takes a sip - the vodka is weirdly smooth, runs down his throat with only the barest hint of fire. “Oh, this shit’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

“It is if you are you,” Antoni says, giving him a wicked little smile. “And not me.”

“Ha. Jackass.” Jake grins, to take the sting out, and catches the moment of worry fading from Chris’s face to be replaced with the smile he’s been wearing all along. “There's something I’ve thought about...”

“What?” Chris asks, cheerfully.

Jake looks at him, considering. Then he just shrugs on more time. “Nothin’. I’ll tell you later when I can talk about it without rambling all over the place. I’m too drunk for good conversation right now.”

“I, I, I liked this, this conversation,” Chris says, a little shyly. Jake bumps his foot against Chris’s under the table, and watches Chris toss his head with a smile, hair over his eyes falling to the side. 

“Yeah,” Jake says, taking another drink of the vodka, watching Antoni drink straight from the bottle and Chris sip the glass of Sprite and grenadine. Chris has only had a few sips, but the more he drinks, the bouncier he gets. “Yeah, I’m likin’ it, too. Like family dinner, except y’guys already ate and everyone but Chris is drinking.”

He holds up his glass, and Antoni clinks his entire bottle of vodka against it, and Chris clinks his Shirley Temple, and the three of them laugh. 

“To family dinner,” Antoni says cheerfully. “May it always include vodka.” 

Jake blinks, hearing the soft dip of the v into a different sound, almost a w. Vwahd-ka.

“To family dinner,” Jake says brightly, tossing another fry to Chris.

“To, to, to, to to to family,” Chris says, soft and nervous, as if he expects them to correct him, demand he take it back.

“That one is better,” Antoni says, pitching his voice low, too. “To family, Chrisha.”

Jake has an idea, but it might not be as safe for Chris as their situation is now.

He’s got one more year of school, and then he’ll have the education he needs plus three years of shelter life under his belt, and maybe... maybe he can ask Nat to help him pull off the one big dream Jake’s allowing himself to have. Let her use that fucking blood money she keeps in a bank account growing in bits and pieces each year since she left WRU to do something that’ll piss those fucking human traffickers off royally.

Maybe... maybe he can take Chris with him, and Antoni, too.  

“To family,” Jake says, louder than the other two, holds up his glass, and downs the rest of the vodka in one long drink. 

So like, here’s a part-angst-part-fluff Ponytail!Dib AU oneshot here ya go! I kinda imagined this lil scenario to be after but not-too-long after these Sad Idiots confessed their Undying Love to each other (I’m totally positive that’s the exact scenario reyna’s gonna take her au, trust me on this I’m a doctor).

Now the beginning of this is definitely more angst and Sad but it do get cuter at the end I promise VwV But anyways, here! *throws this on the ground and runs away*

=

Dib laid out all the ingredients on the counter, double checking he had everything the recipe called for. Flour, eggs, sugar, check, check, check. Getting everything without alerting Zim what he was up to had been more than a challenge but somehow he’d managed to get past the sneaky bug. All that was left to do was wait for Zim to be busy long enough to enact his plan.

“Alright, it’s a shortcake, how hard could it be?” He pulled up the recipe on his phone, mumbling to himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice taunted that he’d mess it up somehow. He mentally shoved it into a box and sealed the lid. It’s fine, he’d be fine. Just follow the instructions, he could do that.

With his best attempt at a determined nod Dib opened up the flour, pulling a large bowl out of the cupboard, giving a glance at the instructions.

“Mix strawberries with sugar and ffuh mhmm…” His sentence trailed off as his brain rewired itself to focus on the strawberries. “Alright, strawberries first, then.” He dumped the carton of berries in a little bowl of their own, scooping out a few spoonfuls of sugar and stirring. And put them in the fridge. Okay, step one done. See? Wasn’t so bad. A part of him felt kind of dump pep-talking himself, but he knew how much his self-deprecation bothered Zim, so he was trying to fight it. Most said step one was talking positively, even if you didn’t really believe it, so that’s what he was gonna do.

Dib pulled out the flour and measured it, pouring it in the mixing bowl once it was at the right level. Next was baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and heavy cream. Dib ran his eyes across the bottle of cream for not the first time. The store didn’t exactly have just “heavy cream.” “Heavy whipping cream,” it read. The names were pretty close and he was going to try and make whipped cream anyways. It was probably the same, right? He couldn’t find anything saying it was different (not that he found anything saying it was the same, either). Somewhere that voice trapped in the box whispered that he was already fucking up. He was probably fine. If it was the only one the store had it was probably the most common one anyways.

As he mixed the ingredients together Dib allowed his mind to wander. That cold winter in his car, being sick in his apartment, lunch after lunch of carefully crafted meals, all wrapped in hearts and flowers. He found himself thinking about those times a lot. A large part of him laughed, wondering how he was able to jump through so many hoops to explain why Zim would go through all that trouble, what nefarious plot they could possibly be apart of, when the answer was (quite literally) written in front of him. A larger part said he was stupid if he really thought this was real, that this wasn’t just some long con at his expense and the ball would drop soon enough.

It wasn’t surprising the lunches were on his mind now, anyways. It’s what spurred the baking adventure he was currently on. Zim tried so hard despite Dib’s bad attitude, his denial, even his blatant refusal to eat at times. He wanted to return the favor, at least a little bit.

Dib let out a sigh as the mixture was finally done, rolling his shoulder a bit. Somehow the mixing was surprisingly tiring. Sure, he could keep up with the plots of an alien invader with technology far more advanced than his own since he was 12, but mixing cake batter was the real test of strength. Repetitive motion, he supposed. He poured the mix into the baking pan and stuffed it in the oven. Oh, shit, he forgot to preheat it. Did anyone really even do that? Seemed like a waste of power, honestly. He set his phone timer for an extra 10 minutes than the recipe called for, hoping that’d make up for it.

Alright, all that was left to do was the whipped cream. He was breezing through this recipe! He could almost imagine the look on Zim’s face when he got back. Sure, Dib didn’t have fancy wrapping paper, and honestly, the cake would probably look like shit. But as long as it tasted fine that was the most important part, right?

Dib pulled a separate bowl from the upper cupboard, combined the whipped cream ingredients, and got to work on stirring. The recipe said to use a mixer but he didn’t exactly have one of those, so he was stuck using good ol’ elbow grease. He tried to make up for it by mixing faster but figured the speed wasn’t gonna be a huge factor in the outcome.

Or, so he thought, at least.

Five minutes of mixing later and the cream hadn’t taken on any kind of fluffy quality. Just the same white goop. It was supposed to get light and fluffy two minutes in. Did he forget something? He rechecked the recipe. Cream, sugar, vanilla, lemon zest. It was all in there. Was he just not going fast enough? Maybe the mixer was more crucial than he thought. He plopped himself on the ground and kicked his whisking up a notch. Another few minutes and the only significant change was that the goop was maybe a little thicker. That, and he definitely got a good portion of it all over his shirt. Great.

Alright, the recipe did stress the heavy cream needed to be chilled before mixing. Did he let it sit outside the fridge too long? He could leave it in the freezer for a bit, let the cold firm it up a little? He swallowed down the rising disgust at himself, he was such a fucking idiot, he didn’t even know how to fix his mistake. Yeah, that’d work. With a grunt he got to his feet-

SMACK.

“Shit, goddamn it!” Dib instantly recoiled, clutching at the back of his head where the open cupboard lovingly smacked into his skull. He slammed the door shut with bang, the loud sound satisfying his anger a little bit. Stomping over to the freezer he shoved aside the assortment of raw meats and frozen veggies (things Zim planned on cooking at some point), and stuffed the whipped cream in, slamming the door shut.

“It’s fine, you’re fine. Nothing’s ruined, it’ll be fine.” Wow you’re trying really hard to sell this, huh? Can’t even convince yourself to buy your own words without lying first.

Dib leaned against the kitchen counter, silently fuming at the throb on the back of his head. He could feel self-loathing spilling into his brain like a fog, seeping out from that mental lockbox he tried to shove it in. He shook his head and did his best to focus on the goal. Zim would be so happy Dib made him a present, he’d get to see that huge smile that had his heart squeezing funny, ruby eyes lighting up with appreciation. The idea soothed his mind a bit. He could get through a few hang-ups if he got to see that expression and…

Was something burning?

“Seriously?!” Dib yelled as he pushed away from the counter. He threw the oven open and grabbed the baking tin only to recoil back in pain as his hand came into contact with the hot metal. Dib cursed, shaking out his hand and grabbing the oven mitt staring him in the face. Sure, go ahead, just fucking break yourself while making your thank you gift. Nothing says “I appreciate you” like making him clean up your fucking mess.

The tin landed on the stove with a clatter as Dib quickly turned away to grab ice for his hand.

Only to be greeted with a freezer that had whipped cream spilled all over it. The half-empty mixing bowl clattered to the floor as the door swung open, a few splatters of not-quite-frozen whipped cream leaping to the floor as it did. No, it’s fine, it’s okay. They could always just buy whipped cream at the store. He was pretty sure Zim wasn’t allergic to normal whipped cream anyways. You can’t even put something in the fridge without fucking it up? Why are you even bothering?

Dib stuffed a few ice cubes into a plastic bag and clutched his fingers around it. With a grimace he turned off the phone timer that only decided to start ringing just now and looked over the cake. Honestly, it wasn’t even burned that much, they could just not eat the bottom. Geez, you’re really going for a record trying to screw up every stage of this project huh?

Was the cake… supposed to look like a biscuit? He tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth. Was it also supposed to taste bland as hell like a biscuit, too?

Despite the bag of ice pain stabbed through the skin of Dib’s hand anyways, only adding to the misery of his failed creation. Look, he couldn’t expect things to be perfect. It was his first time trying to bake something. Plenty of people probably messed things like this up. You couldn’t even make a damn cake. Honestly, why did you even bother trying? How many other things have you fucked up that were way easier than cooking and you couldn’t even do those right? What made you think you could get this right?

Dib slid to the floor, focusing on the quiet sting of his burned hand. He felt that urge to visit the nearby drugstore. He might’ve bought a bottle of something, too, were his wallet not thoroughly cleaned out from buying all the cake ingredients. Couldn’t get drunk if he wanted to.

And damn he wanted to right now.

Amber eyes glanced around the kitchen, taking in the few splatters of whipped cream on the floor, quickly melting into puddles now. He… could at least up the mess he made before Zim got back.

The frown on his face deepened.

Well, knowing you, you’ll probably find a way to fuck that up, too.

 =

 Zim slid the window to the apartment open, wasting no time scurrying in and ripping off his disguise. How Gir escaped view of his cameras long enough to floor half the base he’d never know. Computer wasn’t any help telling him what happened either. Zim suspected whatever started the whole “beach party” idea was both Gir and Computer’s idea.

Zim’s internal ranting didn’t have long to continue before his now-freed antenna picked up the scent of something burnt, as well as something sweet and almost… milky? Compound eyes were greeted with a less-than-clean kitchen, used and abandoned cooking utensils, and a few tiny puddles of something melted on the floor. Confusion buzzed around the Irken’s mind before worry crept up his throat when he realized he couldn’t see Dib in the small space around him.

Slow-creeping dread dropped like a rock in his gut as anxiety moved his limbs. “Dib?” Zim called, receiving no answer. As terrifying rooftop rescues were at least they were known. What was Zim supposed to do for this new situation? What was the protocol?

His panic didn’t last for long as he skidded past the kitchen and caught sight of his human’s familiar form. Relief quickly flooded over him and he ran to Dib’s side.

“Dib-beast, what happened, are you okay?”

Dib jumped a little, as if startled from sleep, and looked at Zim. “Oh, hey space boy, welcome back.”

Zim frowned. Dib had that… look in his eyes that he didn’t like. That faraway look he often had during drunken hazes, staring off into nothing like there was a storm brewing in his head with threats of nothing good.

The alien grabbed Dib’s face with both hands, turning him left and right to check for injuries, Dib scrunching his eyes as he did. Zim pursed his lips when he noticed the melting pack of ice in his human’s grip.

“Burned myself on the stove, no biggie.” Dib shrugged. Zim’s brow furrowed, giving Dib’s cheeks a squeeze before getting up to grab some first-aid things.

“So, were you going to tell me what happened here or do I have to check the cameras?” Zim plopped back down next to Dib, pulling the injured hand into his lap to treat it.

Dib snorted. “Ha, nice try, I already found ‘em all.”

“Mhm, yup, you certainly did. No use looking for more, they’re all gone.”

Zim couldn’t resist a grin at the glare and eyeroll he received. He didn’t know if Dib had actually found all his cameras yet, but no sense in letting the stinky know if there were actually more or not.

“Sorry about the mess,” Dib mumbled. “I was gonna clean it up before you got back. I got kinda...” A sigh. “Distracted.”

Zim finished wrapping up Dib’s injury with a band-aid and glanced around the kitchen once more. It seemed to have been some sort of… baking attempt, from what he could gather. But why wait until he was gone to do it?

“You are forgiven… only if you tell Zim was all this-” he gestured to the mess “-was about.”

Zim watched his human’s expression as he started back at him, seeming to debate whether he wanted to elaborate or not. Finally, he looked away with a sigh and Zim thought he saw the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“I was uh, trying to bake.” Zim could only just barely understand Dib through his purposeful mumbling. “A cake. For, uh, for you. To say thanks, you know. For all the food you’re always making me.” As he spoke his cheeks got redder and he started scratching at the back of his neck, a habit Zim noticed he usually did when he was nervous. “As you can see it didn’t really work out that well.” Dib gave a laugh but it felt so hollow to Zim’s antenna. The kind of laugh you did when you were trying to assure others you were fine but couldn’t really put any effort in it.

As the Irken glanced around he could spot all the different bowls, measuring spoons, and other utensils his Dib used. He… tried really hard, didn’t he? And now he was on the floor, looking like the entire world was crashing down and it was his own fault. Sad and warm feelings both swirled around Zim’s gut, a confusing swirl of emotion he wasn’t sure how to process.

Zim placed his hand on Dib’s leg and leaned up to press his lips to Dib’s, much to the human’s surprise. Zim felt Dib stiffen only slightly before relaxing in his hold, reciprocating the kiss. Zim’s antenna instinctively wrapped themselves around the untied scythe of hair atop Dib’s head. Hmm, it was getting long. They’d need to cut it again soon.

Zim pulled back from the kiss only slightly, resting his forehead against Dib’s as he brought up a hand to stroke Dib’s cheek. “Thank you, Dib-beast.”

Despite the slightly flustered look Dib managed to pull himself together enough to furrow his brows. “For what? The cake’s not even good. Trust me, I tried it. All I managed to make is a huge mess.”

One of Zim’s antenna bent down to lightly bop Dib’s cheek. “For trying so hard to make something special for me. For going out of your way to make it a surprise. For telling me you appreciated the things I did.” Zim leaned forward to nuzzle against Dib. “Thank you for all of that.”

Dib let out a sigh and Zim felt arms wrap around his waist and hoist him into Dib’s lap. His human easily nuzzled into his shoulder and Zim did the same, feeling long legs bending up and resting against his PAK. They fell into their embrace so easily, like they were supposed to fit together. Zim was sure he’d be perfectly happy just sitting like this with Dib for the rest of time.

The two stayed like that for a long while, Dib’s lanky arms wrapped around Zim in a tight vice, Zim content to breathe in Dib’s presence. Eventually they were interrupted by a low grumbling centered at Dib’s stomach. Zim let out a snicker at the very graceful noise, earning him a slightly embarrassed “shut up” from Dib. Zim gave a smell peck on the lips to placate his human and rose to his feet, offering Dib a hand to help hoist him up.

“What do you say we try and make a cake some other time?” Zim offered. “Now that I know I’m owed a gift, of course.”

Dib looked down with a rueful smile. “Not worried I’ll mess it up?” He said with a slight scoff.

Zim’s brows furrowed as he rose up on his PAK legs to be at eye-level with his human. “Not at all because I know how smart you are. Besides,” Zim said, running a finger along a glob of wet goop and popping it in his mouth. Hm, slightly sweet. “You know baking is like, level 20 cooking, right?”

“Hah?”

“Yeah.” Zim reached into the fridge, looking for some leftovers for Dib, his eye spotting the tub of strawberries soaking in sugar. Oh, those looked good, they could probably use those tomorrow. “If you’re going to try something new you’re supposed to start at level 1, stinky. Most cooking you can just kind of eyeball how much seasoning you want for things. But baking is very exact a lot of the time. You humans took cooking and decided to make it as finicky as chemistry for no good reason.” He pulled a tub of spaghetti from the fridge and popped it in the microwave.

“With both of us tackling it we’ll make a cake that rivals anything some dookie-brained ‘top chef’ could make.” Zim plopped himself on a clean section of counter, antenna sticking up as he boasted for the both of them.

Dib scoffed with a laugh and pulled the spaghetti out of the microwave once it was done. He pulled a fork from the sink of yet-to-be-put-away dishes and leaned against the counter next to Zim. “If you say so, space boy.”

Zim’s antenna quickly accosted Dib’s hair as he neared, tangling and wrapping themselves into place, vibrating with a happiness that said they were exactly where they belonged. “I know so,” he replied matter-of-factly.

=

The two made the shortcake later that week, despite Dib’s quiet protests. Zim even stole obtained an electric mixer just for the whipped cream. Dib complained that Zim was making him do all the work (Zim’s repeated answer to that was “it’s a present for me, why should I have to do the work?”) Once it was all done though Dib had to admit, it didn’t look bad. Granted, it didn’t exactly look magazine-worthy, but it was presentable. Better yet, it actually tasted pretty damn good. Good enough that he had to fight Zim over the last piece.

For once, that voice inside his mental lockbox had nothing to say.

=

How in-character is this oneshot actually? It’s a mystery, who knows, certainly not me. It’s been sent out into the world how in character they are is no longer my problem that’s a y’all kinda issue now 💅🏽

Go! Take! A gander! At! @reynaruina ‘s Ponytail Dib! AU! If! You Like! To Cry! (Though things have been looking up in those little blurbs and comics reyna’s making so hopefully there will be less crying soon 🎉)

Fun fact: a huge chunk of Dib’s failure to make a strawberry shortcake from scratch was based on my own failed attempt. I still don’t know if there’s a difference between heavy cream and heavy whipping cream or if an electric mixer mattered. No, stuffing the whipped cream into the freezer didn’t help make it fluffy either. RIP my shortcake 2019-2019 🤘🏽😔

Double fun fact: Did you know apparently classic strawberry shortcakes are actually gross disgusting lumpy buscuit-ass lookin’ mutherfuckers and not fluffy sweet cake things? Whoever the hell thought purposefully bland cake was what strawberry shortcakes needed to be should be forced to step on legos forever. They also owe me 20 bucks cuz I thought I was making the sweet fluffy kind of cake and instead of forced to eat a flavorless biscuit with strawberries on it. EVIL.

Nobody But You

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x plus size female reader

Warnings: sexual tension, cussing

Requested?: Yes by @tyferbebe​ regarding this post

Author’s note: gif by @pedroispunk; part 1 of ?; this alternates between first person narrative (reader) and third person narrative (Pedro); enjoy!

~   ~   ~

“What are you doing here?” I ask with a slurred voice.

I am lightly buzzed from the alcohol I’ve been consuming.

Pedro looks at me with his kind coffee colored eyes and smiles, “I was told you needed a ride home.”

I giggle. “I didn’t call you.”

Pedro motions towards the group of girls I’m with. “Kay called. Said something about you and Liam ending your friendship. Said something about you needing a ride home.”

“It’s New York City, plenty of taxis.” I look at him quizzically. “Are you sure she even called you?”

“She did,” Pedro sighs.

I look over at Kay. She’s looking straight at me. She raises her glass and winks. I begin to wonder what I’ve admitted under the influence of alcohol.

“I’m fine Pedro. You can go. I’m sure you have a date waiting for you.” A date who’s skinnier, prettier.

My size 18 figure with thick thighs doesn’t catch many men but when it does, they only want me because they’re chubby chasers. They don’t care about anything else. Like my feelings, and my heart.

“What happened between you and Liam?” Pedro asks as he crosses his arms.

I sneer, “it doesn’t matter.”

“We’re friends. Good friends. Come on.” Pedro huffs out.

Pedro and I have been friends for close to five years now. We met at a local café/bookstore near my apartment in Brooklyn. He thought I worked there. I indulged him, thinking I did. We laughed about it later over drinks. We’ve been friends since.

Friends, I think as I look at him now.

I take a drink of the Tequila Sunrise in my hand. “He just ended our friendship. Walked away.”

“There are other fish in the sea.” Pedro states.

“We had a friendship Pedro, we weren’t dating,” I think for a moment, “or at least I think we weren’t dating.”

“Maybe he needs to be taught a lesson,” Pedro implies as he reaches out and touches my cheek, “no one messes with you.”

A heatwave consumes my body at Pedro’s touch.

God, I think, what have I admitted to Kay?

I remember telling her about Liam, she suggesting we come here with a few other ladies from work. I had one drink, no two drinks. Kay had asked about Pedro and I had giggled. Uncontrollably.

Oh, fuck.

“I’m fine Pedro,” I sigh as I begin walking towards Kay and the other ladies.

“You are not fine!” Pedro hisses.

I turn and look at him. Anger in my eyes. “Am too!”

“Will you two get a room already,” Kay states as she walks past us.

I look at her retreating back, she glances back at me and winks.

Pedro must’ve not heard her because he says, “I’m going to go find Liam. Knock some sense into him.”

“Please don’t.”

“We’re friends.” Pedro repeats for the second time.

Am I to be picking up on something here? Because I clearly am missing it.

“If we’re friends Pedro then join me for a drink. Don’t go chasing and hurting some guy because he walked away from a friendship,” I remark.

“You deserve to be happy,” Pedro whispers as he cups my cheek.

His thumb strokes my skin and goosebumps cover my body. I pull away before he can notice.

“I’m fine Pedro. Go away,” I whisper before turning around and walking away from him.

My entire body aches to turn around and look at him but I can’t. I can’t face the man I have begun to realize I want to be more than just a friend.

-------

Pedro watches as Liam exits the office building where he works at in lower Manhattan.

Pedro stands tall as he walks towards the man, who is now looking down at his phone. Pedro bumps into him and mumbles out a “sorry.”

“Pedro?” Liam’s slick voice asks.

Pedro turns and smiles. “Liam! Nice to see you.”

Liam rolls his ocean blue eyes over the actor. “Y/N send you?”

Pedro raises an eyebrow. “Why you say that?”

“I told her I no longer wanted to be friends,” Liam says as he looks down at his phone.

“Why would you tell her that?”

Liam shrugs. His eyes still on the phone.

“She has a heart of gold and is the kindest person you could ever meet. She’s wonderful, amazing, beautiful.”

Liam looks up at Pedro as he talks. “Then maybe you should date her.”

“You hurt her Liam. Tell me why?” Pedro hisses.

Liam begins to open his mouth but Pedro swings and clocks him right in the face.

Some people stop and look but move on, others keep walking. This is New York City, things like this happen every day.

Liam stumbles back and holds his face. “What the fuck man!?”

Pedro shakes his hand. He’s never punched anyone in his life. He’s never gotten this angry before.

“Y/N’s been my friend for years. You don’t have the fucking right to just walk away Liam,” Pedro seethes.

“I can and I did Pedro,” Liam hisses. “I don’t care if I broke her heart. I have better things to do, more appeasing women who are willing to have me between their legs.”

Pedro punches Liam again without hesitation.

Fuck, Pedro thinks.

Liam’s phone drops to the ground as he holds his face with both hands. He looks over at Pedro. “If you’re this goddamn protective of her, you should be with her Pedro!” Liam hisses as he picks up his phone and walks away.

Pedro groans as he shakes his hand, trying rid himself of the pain.

Pedro begins to walk the sidewalks of Manhattan. He thinks of Y/N.

Before he realizes it, Pedro is standing outside her apartment building.

-------

I place the ice cream container back in the freezer as my apartment doorbell rings.

“Hold on,” I shout as I close the freezer door.

I walk through my apartment towards the front door, which I open wide.

“Pedro?” I ask as I take him in.

“Hey,” he sighs as he walks in holding his hand.

Come on in. “What’s with the hand?”

“I hit something hard. Twice.”

“Auditioning? Acting?”

“Neither,” Pedro sighs as he walks into my kitchen.

Pedro’s been here enough he knows where a few things are.

I watch as he opens the freezer and takes out some ice cubes from the tray. He rubs the cubes over his fingers and knuckles. I watch as the ice melts against his warm hands. I have to keep my moan in as I begin to wish I was the ice melting against his warm touch.

Goddamn it!, I think as another heatwave rolls over my body.

“What you hit then?” I ask, finding my voice.

“Doesn’t matter.” Pedro replies.

I raise my eyebrows. “Pedro.”

“I hit the man who hurt you.”

“I told you not to do anything!” I nearly shout.

“He hurt you!” Pedro nearly shouts back.

“We were friends Pedro. Liam and I were friends. Nothing more.”

“It seemed like he wanted more when I spoke with him!”

“Liam is a flirt.” I say. Like you, I think.

Pedro throws the ice cubes into the sink then turns and looks at me.

I watch as he walks towards me and stops only a few feet away. I smell the blend of citrus and cedar of the cologne he always wears. If I was ever asked what my favorite scent is, it would be his cologne.

“Pedro,” I whisper.

Pedro dips his head and brushes his plump lips across my mouth.

His mustache tickles the skin of my upper lip as my hands itch to reach up and run through his chestnut color hair.

I feel his arms wrap around me as he pulls me in closer. My hands travel up his arms and rest atop his broad shoulders. I don’t want this to end.

Pedro pulls faintly away and looks at me with those coffee colored eyes. I was never one for coffee but those eyes…

“Y/N,” Pedro whispers.

My heart thumps loudly inside of my chest. I’m too afraid to say anything. Afraid my voice will give away how I’ve come to lust and love this man.

I love him, yes. As a friend. But my heart? My heart yearns for this man like no other man I’ve been with while I’ve known Pedro, and even before Pedro and I became friends.

Yes, my heart yearns for his love. My body aches for those strong hands to touch me. My core begs for him to be between my legs as he gives me pleasure from his hands, mouth, and his cock.

Fuck, my mind screams. Why me?

Pedro presses his forehead against mine. I feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Y/N,” Pedro whispers.

I hear the slight lust in his voice. I want him to repeat my name that way for the rest of my days.

“Pedro,” I whisper back as I smile.

“Go out on a date with me.” Pedro states as he pulls back and places his hand back on my cheek.

My heart skips a beat, but I don’t as I say, “yes.”

Tags: @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @pascalisthepunkest, @knight-of-heart44, @jokersdoll, @mandadl0rian, @longitud-de-onda, @caitlincat-95, @random066, @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead, @cosmo-bear, @earl-01, @bonkybaaarnes​

Gratuity

(Not a true story, but based on a real person and a real diner. Published in Voices of Rosewood  with her blessing.)

~

It was Mardi Gras Monday—Lundi Gras—and it was busy. I work at Tim’s. It’s a shithole. But it’s a job. And I should be grateful. My momma ain’t even got a job no more. Laid off. Fuck that.

~

So the regulars are there. College girls up from LSU with skinny legs and zebra hair in the front booth. The old homo and the tan boy that lights his big stinky smokes in the corner of smoking. The dykes are in the back of non-smoking. They’re my dykes. They listen to me bitch about work and they always tip good. Dolores at the counter, talkin’ trash about her neighbor’s kid. (He in jail now and his baby-momma took up with the trash man. Steady pay, smart girl, mmm-hmm, cher.)

~

In other words, it’s like every other Monday—except busy. The cook never rings the goddamn bell so I don’t know when my fuckin’ order’s up. I got whatever flu is goin’ around because I sat my runny-nosed nephew for my sister last night. So I’m dropsy and shit from the Sudafed. Ain’t had a smoke in eight hours. Been here goin’ on twelve. Ain’t had lunch. I’m startin’ to get that twitch on my left eye and Eileen can do the bathrooms her own damn self. I ain’t her slave.

~

He walked in, caught Angela’s eye, but she went to the back. She got the asthma bad and we ain’t had air for like a week now. So anytime someone come in that she don’t like, she go to the freezer, all wheezin’ and crap. That’s some shit, man. Cause I know she was hotboxin’ a fuckin’ Parliament not fifteen minutes ago. Goddamn cheap smokes.

~

I know why she did it. We all hate this motherfucker. Especially me. He always wears the same tweed suit with those stupid patches on the elbows. (And you know he’s only wearing it to look smart. He teaches at Delgado, for chrissake.) He’s got a bad case of face pubes, which makes me wonder what he’s trying to cover up. His glasses are always lopsided, and he always smells like cabbage and his stank smokes.

~

But all THAT would be okay if he didn’t send back every order cause the cook can’t speak enough English to know how pink to make the damn meat. But THAT would be okay if he didn’t expect to be comped cause Jose can’t do med-rare. But THAT would be okay if he didn’t blow his stanky cigar smoke in my face when he ordered. But THAT would be okay if he didn’t touch my fucking ass every time I pass his table. But THAT would be okay if he didn’t tip me with pocket change.

~

It is NEVER okay to tip less than fifteen percent—understand?

~

I got my twitch goin’ when he order—steak medium rare, eggs over easy, toast and coffee, both black. Yeah, I got it. Fucktard. Okay, I didn’t call him a fucktard. He had his hand spread out on the table, stumpy-ass fingers. I saw the fork there and I wanted to go all Manson-family on him. Just stick a fork in the motherfucker’s hand and say I am fucking done with you.

~

But I didn’t. So I had a spoonful of Oreo crumbs when I passed it on the sidebar.

~

Jose doesn’t ring the damn bell. Doesn’t like the way it sounds.

~

I get the college girls their dessert. I used the same spoon that I ate Oreos with to make their sundae. I hope you all get my flu and die. Suffer bitches, and tip more than five percent. Especially if you’re gonna make me split the check eight ways. Cunts.

~

Then I remember the steak-and-eggs. It’s fucking cold. Thanks Jose. And I can see that the damn steak is well. Not medium. Not med-well. Fucking well. I usually just hand it back. Tell Jose, “More pink, and ring the damn bell.” Eileen says don’t do that anymore. It’s wasteful. The customer might not send it back.

~

What a load of shit. The customer didn’t pay for cold food and a bad steak. But they might not complain because they’re too nice. So fuck that. But I ain’t getting fired, and I don’t even like this guy. So I bring him the food.

~

It’s cold, he says. And the steak’s overdone. So I bring it back to Jose, and call him a fucktard. Then I ring up Angela’s table. Bunch of tourists. At least they tip—in cash. And I sure as hell ain’t given Angela a dime. She’s still hiding in the freezer.

~

I start my sidebar. Got to leave everything pretty for Alex. His shift’s in a half-an-hour, and I can go home, sleep. So I’m cutting strawberries. I hate the strawberries. They slip and I cut myself. Every time.

~

The dykes sit near the bar. So I’m cuttin’ and I’m bitchin’ and I’m twitchin’. I just want a nap before Zulu, for chrissakes. And they listen and nod. The strawberry slips, I cut myself. And I cuss. Eileen hears and I know she’s gonna cream me as soon as I get back to the register. Fuck it, I’m bleeding. So I go to the back and get a band-aid. My order’s up. Jose didn’t ring the bell.

~

I take it to the guy, who thanks me and slaps my butt to send me on my way. Twitch. Eileen calls me over to register, so I can’t even bitch to my dykes.

~

She’s on the phone. She covers the receiver and says “Alex is on the line, he can’t come in. His baby’s sick.” Yeah, I’m sure. The only thing his baby’s got is Zuluitis. Fucking bitch is bailing on me so he can go to the parades. You have to stay until eight, Eileen says. I remind her that I’ve been here since four this morning, but I know it won’t do any good at all. I don’t want to get fired, and they know it. So I’ll stay. Fuck. There goes my Zulu coconut.

~

And there’s the motherfucker, waving me back to the table. Turns out the eggs are overdone. Fuck, that’s never happened. And it’s cold. So I call Jose a fucktard again and tell him to get it right this time and ring the damn bell.

~

Back to the strawberries. I’m still bleeding a little, but I don’t care. I’ll rinse ‘em. My dykes are quiet. They stay quiet. So I start bitching anyways. Cut myself again. Damn.

~

One of the dykes tells me that my order’s up. I go to the little window and throw the bell at Jose. It hits him square in the back of the head. Eileen pretends she didn’t see it and goes to ring up the homos.

~

Angela seats seven ripped guys dressed as sailors. Why are all the hot guys in New Orleans gay?

~

I get the steak-and-eggs to the table, and cabbage man says they look alright, but he’ll expect to be comped for the inconvenience. Motherfucker. Doesn’t he know that shit like that comes out of my pay?

~

And everything is quiet for the next half an hour. I fill drinks. I serve the eight emo kids some ice cream and water. My dykes keep talking. I know they’re killing time until Zulu. They say they’ll get me a coconut. That makes me happy.

~

Motherfucker waits at his table for the check. He can’t even be bothered with going to the register. He lights up. He signs it. He gives it back to me—no tip—and breathes a fog of stank around my face. But I just smile, because I know he’ll leave.

~

And he does…but he doesn’t even leave a dime on the tablecloth for me.

~

I caught him halfway to the door. I told him he forgot to tip. Eileen was on the other side of the restaurant and really, I could care less anyway.

~

He said he wasn’t going to tip me for two bad plates. Twitch.

~

But if you wanna earn some easy money, he said, and he touched my hair. Twitch.

~

Mother. Twitch. Fucker. Twitch twitch.

~

So I grabbed the chair right next to me and hit him with it. He went down pretty easy. I guess teaching at Delgado don’t make for much in the way of muscles and them stank smokes ain’t good for reflexes, neither. I kicked him in his fool head a couple of times—hard as I could. I wasn’t wearing my good boots, just Keds, but I could see the bruises welling up under his liver spots. He still had his cigar in his stupid teeth, which surprised the hell outta me. He must have bit down hard on it when he fell. So I yanked it out his mouth and stubbed it out on his forehead. Then I kicked him some more. He wasn’t moving, so I whipped out the pen I take down orders with, and wrote:

~

15%

FUCKTARD

~

around the burn on his forehead. I stomped on the bridge of his glasses. The glasses snapped in half and fell off his face. I finished it by putting my pen right through his neck.

~

It didn’t bleed anymore than I did when I cut my hand. That kinda surprised me. But I found out later that he died of a heart attack before I even hit him with the chair. And that really pissed me off too, because…because…it’s just one more thing he didn’t give me, you know?

~

So I took a hundred out of his wallet and dropped my apron and went to Zulu. I didn’t get a coconut, and I got arrested that night. They brought me here, and it’s nice, I guess.

~

But here’s the best thing. Like a week later, I get this box. It’s from two chicks. I don’t know the names, and I’m like, what the fuck? And then I open it and it’s a Zulu coconut, smiling at me.

~

So the moral of the story is this: God bless the dykes, and everybody tip your fucking servers.

*

-- S. E. De Haven

forget me not

 stevetony, fluff, hurt/comfort, amnesia, 2.7k

Tony's smile is so goddamn bright, brighter than all the stars above them and the streetlights below them, all of Steve’s fears and doubts and anxiety dissipates into the clear night sky. 

The yes he whispers, floating out in a visible cloud of vapour, is the only thing Steve can hear, filling him with joy and pure, unfiltered love, Tony’s hands, calloused and strong, grip his shoulder and pull him up for a kiss that’s more smiles and teeth than lips and tongue and Steve doesn’t want it any other way. 

When they pull apart, smiling too much, too wide, to carrying on kissing, Steve slips the ring onto Tony’s awaiting hand, steady and sure.

“I love you,” he says, reverentially, as though the speech, hardly moments prior, hadn’t covered it, hadn’t truly encompassed the amount of love he could physically have for the man before him.

Tony leans up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

They take their time with each other that night, because they can, because what they have isn’t going anywhere. Steve knew from the start that Tony was it for him, the ring proves the feeling is reciprocated, that’s all. But he knows it’s so, so much more than that. It represents everything he thought were impossible at some point or another; it represents something he never thought he would have - permanence, unwavering, strong and steady. As constant as the skies darkening and as sure as the sun rising. 

There’s something gone, when Steve holds Tony that night, both exhausted, but in the best way, the way that makes you wish you were gods, never tiring and inexhaustible, just to carry on that minute, that hour, that millennia longer, Steve doesn’t miss the underlying feeling that what they had was a temporary sort of permanence. 

He’s not naive, he knows that divorce is a thing, he knows that, logically, they have a fifty percent chance of hating each other down to the very atom, a chance of all the love and fondness being replaced by sour bitterness and regret, but he also knows that nothing about them has ever contributed to the statistics, there’s nothing about them that went according to the universe, let alone conventional. He knows what the odds for them were. He knows that they were low, ridiculously, laughably so, but in the face of everything, in the face of the near-impossible (like throwing a million decahedron dice, one by one, and ending up with the digits of Pi. On the first try.), in the face of it all, they made it. They made it, together, longstanding and permanent. Officially. 

Tony’s lying on his chest when they wake up, the filtered, dimmed, sunlight, streaming into the room highlights their skin. It makes Tony’s hair look like silver and gold and the ring on his finger gleam and glitter. Steve can’t help it; he gently brushes a couple locks of silvering hair off Tony’s temple to press a soft kiss there, and then one more of his forehead, then his cheek, and finally, when he wakes, on his nose, just to see him scrunch his nose up, adorably, in confusion. 

It still gives Steve an insurmountable amount of nonsensical pride whenever he manages to confuse Tony.

“Good morning, beloved,” Tony says, voice low and thick, eyes still drooped as he blindly pushes his face towards Steve for a kiss.

“Morning, fiancé,” Steve replies, smiling and leaning into the kiss, humming softly.

Tony grins when they pull away, his eyes are still bright, but in that quiet way, like sunsets and sunrises, and still absolutely, without question and so far beyond doubt Steve can no longer remember it, breathtakingly gorgeous.

“I like how that sounds,” Tony admits, pressing a series of kisses to Steve’s collarbone, feathery-light and barely there; just a tease of what’s to come.

“Me too,” Steve says, taking in his appearance as JARVIS brightens up the room by clearing up the tint on the windows. Steve smiles as he sees more grey in Tony’s hair.

Tony, being both a classified genius and having known Steve for just about a decade, knows exactly what he’s smiling at, “Stop it,” he grumbles, burying his face into whatever part of Steve is closest.

Steve laughs, “You’d look good as a silver fox, baby.”

“I already look enough like your sugar daddy,” Tony says, as if he minds. He practically purrs as Steve runs his hands through his hair. Whilst he may be turning grey, he’s thankful that he’s not bald. Yet. 

“You are my sugar daddy,” Steve tells him, kissing his forehead, just on his hairline, again. “Keep it, just for a while, please?”

Tony pretends to deliberate and grumble some more, before he finally lifts his head from Steve’s chest, “You know I can’t say no to you when you beg,” he concedes, kissing Steve solidly on the lips.

At this point, the only reason Tony still dyes his hair is to keep up with public appearances, around Steve he doesn’t have to mask all that, hell, if it wasn't obvious already, Steve likes the grey hair. God, he’s lucky.

Steve rolls them over and it turns into a gentle push and pull for dominance, one that Steve easily succumbs to, moving so he’s gazing up at Tony, letting him work him, slowly, so damn slowly to orgasm, letting him use him for his own.

They have a good day, saccharine sweet, a day that goes on forever in the best way, but at the same time, it’s over in the blink of an eye, a day spent in their own bubble, riding the high that never seems to end.

The next day, Tony woke up with a kiss on his forehead and a promise to be back for breakfast. Steve’s an energetic guy, not the manic energy that Tony has; the one that comes and goes when it pleases, but the physical, tireless, near-boundless type.

Tony fully expected this. He can’t believe he’s going to spend the rest of his life with a morning person. Although, he supposes, it can’t be too bad when he gets woken up with kisses (and sometimes more if he can convince Steve to get his morning workout in some other form).

Tony also expected him to come back. 

Steve Rogers broke a promise.

A menial, mundane one at that, but it’s the principle of the thing. Steve doesn't believe in breaking promises, however menial or mundane. If he knew he was going to be back late, he would call, or text, or something, but when the clock turns past ten, it’s the first day in three years Tony’s woken to an empty bed, feeling entirely lost and confused.

Maybe he’s forgotten? Tony hopes, uncharacteristically naive, as he forced himself to get ready, quelling that rising feel that something is wrong, off, something greater than a missing text.

“JARVIS, when did Steve get back?” Tony asks, because it has to be a when, and not an if.

“Commander Rogers has not been in, or around the premises of the Compound since he left at six-oh-three earlier this morning," JARVIS replies, sympathetic. Because of course, Tony made a sympathetic AI. 

The uneasiness masks over whatever annoyance he had for his former self, and becomes even more potent when he crashes into Rhodey.

“Platypus! I didn--”

“Steve’s been kidnapped.”

Tony’s heart falls straight out the bottom of his stomach and just keeps falling and falling and falling.

The next few hours disappear in a chaotic blur of people telling him to go home, get rest, then him ignoring them entirely, because he’s not going to leave the life of his goddamn fiancé in the hands of SHIELD, then, once they finally realise that he’s not going home (and how can it be home anyway, if Steve’s not there?), hours in front of multiple 72” screens split god knows how many times, until they find where Steve is.

“You’re not going,” Fury says, blocking his entrance onto the helicarrier.

Tony just about resists calling for his suit to send a repulser to his face. “If I don’t go in the ‘carrier, I’ll follow it with the suit.”

“Nick,” Hill says, crossing her arms, “let him go.”

Fury grits his teeth. “We don’t have time for a psych eval,” he addresses the rest of the team on the helicarrier, “keep an eye on him.”

“What do you think we’ve been doing for the past five years?” Natasha calls from inside the carrier.

Fury moves out of the way, and gives them the go-ahead, watching them fly up, then tracking them on the screen in front of him when they slip above the clouds.

They find him in an industrial freezer, somewhere in Alaska, barely conscious, bloody, bruised and handcuffed by the wrists and ankles, muttering something over and over.

“...G. 98765420. Rogers, Steven G. 98765420. Rogers, Steven G. 98765420. Rogers, Steven G. 98765420. Rogers, Steven G. 9876…”

Tony rushes to his side, ready to laser off the handcuffs, but Steve flinches away and stops muttering, curling in on himself as best he can. They did this to him in mere hours. When he finds whoever did this, he’s going to leave them in a room with Natasha and a toothpick and not come back until the screaming stops. Tony immediately sheds the suit, “Steve, Steve, can you hear me?”

Steve still keeps as far away as he possibly can, but he seems to recognise him. “Tony?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re gonna get you somewhere safe.”

Steve knew that he was in the future, the HYDRA folk told him that much, and he remembers waking up before, he remembers finding out that all his friends are dead, he remembers the Battle of New York, he remembers the Avengers and he remembers moving into the Avenger’s Tower, previously Stark Tower, he remembers falling hopelessly, irredeemably, unrequitedly in love with Tony Stark.

But according to the bright red blinking, blurry numbers hanging above the door, he’s missed out on another couple years.

He hopes and hope and hopes that he hasn’t that all of that was just a hallucination or something, deliriously, as he feels himself being carried, being told not to go to sleep, not yet, because if he falls asleep, he might stay like that, he sees an older, grey-haired Tony, (well, two blurry versions of him), begging him to stay awake, slipping his hand into his and holding on. Steve tries to grip back, tries to curl his fingers around his, but he can feel himself lose consciousness, Tony’s already fading out, and he’s being manhandled onto something far softer than a helicarrier emergency bench.

Tony hates hospitals. To be fair, he’s never met anyone who likes them. Steve hates hospitals too. Does everything in his damn power to never go to them, to the point where, sometimes, in the beginning, when he still called him ‘Rogers’, he’d walk into the kitchen to find Steve digging out bullets with tweezers and bandaging the wound by himself.

He doesn’t miss that time, not really, he doesn’t miss not knowing Steve.

He’s lying in a hospital bed now, stable, according to the doctors, and it’s just a matter of time until he wakes up (if he wakes up). Steve looks so much smaller, weaker and vulnerable, so much more than Tony’s ever seen him, so much more than he ever should.

It’s almost unnatural and unnerving to see Steve with a breathing tube and an IV drip, and he’s not a particularly god-fearing, or religious man, but he finds himself making all sorts of bets, with God, with himself, almost selfishly, just so he’d never have to see Steve like this again.

He wakes up, because of course he does, because he can’t not, because Tony thinks the world can’t live on without him, because he knows that he himself can’t live on without him, because it would be a damn unfair fate for someone like Steve to predecease him.

“Congratulations,” Steve says, a little after he’s woken up, after they’ve established that the last thing he remembers happened in 2013, after Tony’s been warned, outside the room, by Fury, to take it easy with him - in 2013, they had just started becoming closer than just teammates, nowhere near to what they are now, and even though the doctors had said that he should regain his memories in the next week (turns out, HYDRA aren’t as good at memory wiping as they one were).

“On the marriage,” he confirms, quietly, in that voice that meant he’s just barely keeping down his emotions to save face for everyone around him, even if he’s down to subatomic particles, kept together by only forces that operate by the indisputable laws of the universe.

Tony doesn’t know what to say, so he thanks him, and watches over him as he sleeps.

He’s up and about in less than a day, back in the tower, going through routines that would have felt familiar to him years ago, but Tony has to root around in his own mind to recognise the way he goes to his own room at night, because why would he go to theirs when he doesn’t even know they’re together?

It hits softer than it should, really, because Tony knows that he’s going to be back to normal after a week, or because he’s so damn foolish that he thinks something irrational as love, something so irrational, the root of negative one seems positively simple in comparison, something like that, will pertain to guarantee that he gets his memories back.

He finds Steve smoking on the balcony the day after, another thing he doesn’t do as often anymore.

“I don’t know how close we are now, but may I confess something to you?” Steve asks, and it’s taken Tony all this time to realise just how lonely Steve had been at the beginning, and just how careful he’s been, even in his manner of speech.

“Of course,” Tony replies, like he always will, unbeknownst to this Steve.

“I missed another chance,” he starts, so utterly heartbroken Tony’s helpless to anything but wrap his arms tightly around him. It takes too long for Steve to drop his cigarette and respond, but Tony doesn’t let go.

“What do you mean?” Tony asks, quiet.

“I… when I woke up, the first time, everyone I knew was dead, Peggy had moved on, and I’m not-- I don’t resent her for that, or for everyone else, but I.. I lost a life and a chance at happiness, and all this, I know that we’re not… you don’t think that way or it was probably all in my head… but seeing you married and moved on… I know that I had been-- I had missed something…” Steve trails off, letting go of Tony, but not moving out of his space.

“I… Steve, you haven’t missed out on any more years,” Tony reassures.

“I hate this,” Steve says, filled with venom and bitterness, “I hate… I hate…” all his energy falls away, lost to the wind.

“I’m sorry,” he finishes, lamely, mouth barely forming the words.

It’s not a week. Steve’s back to him the next day, kissing him awake, the way he should, the way they’ve been doing for years now.

“I missed you,” Tony admits, leaning on his chest, even though Steve was with him, Steve gets what he’s trying to say.

“I love you,”  Steve says, and even though it wasn’t even a week, he’s still… he can’t tell Tony that he loves him enough, if not to show his love, than to prove it to himself: he’s allowed to love him, he didn’t lose everything, not this time.

Tony pulls a Solo, declaring that he already knew, and it makes Steve laugh, then kiss him, again and again, and again, reassuring and proving over and over until their lips are red, and they’ve whispered enough promises to fill more lives than they’ll ever lead, enough to satiate them until the sun rises again.

-

masterpost

Worth her ring – Part 2

Summary: You were Steve’s best friend and more until you chose neither Tony’s nor Steve’s side.

Pairing: former Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader???, Thor x Reader ???, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, complicated friendship, heartbreak, sad reader, a hint of fluff, arguments, tension, pining (a hint), violence and language

Words: 2962

Worth her ring Masterlist

Two pairs of blue eyes stare down at you. Still keeping Steve in place Bucky looks at you full of hope while Steve tries his best to break free to get to you.

The ultrasound picture still in your hands you shake your head.

“Are you kidding me, Steve? You tossed me away after I said no for the first time. I never said no to you before…never…not a single time. I gave you all I had to give, and it meant nothing to you. You are engaged with your perfect groupie, ignored me for over a year and now you come to my room and try to order me around, Captain? Fuck you! I hate you with every fiber of my body. Get out of my room.” You spat and Steve flinches at your harsh words.

“Y/N, please…we could try to work this out.”

“Work this out? How…huh? Do you want to end your engagement with her?”

“I didn’t think that far…” He whispers and your eyes widen.

“Then why are you here? To use me as someone to get off - I’m not a whore nor a homewrecker.”

“It’s complicated, Y/N. Can we not talk in private?”

“About what Steve? Do you want to leave her or not? Why did you come here to win me over again or only to make sure I will keep my mouth shut?”

“You think so low of me?”

“You didn’t give me a reason to not think low of you. Five years Rogers. We were a pair for over five years, and you gave me the boot and then I see your mothers ring at her finger after you knew her for three months. Classy.”

“I thought we are over, and I desperately tried to find someone…”

“Dumb as bread?”

“Someone who will stay at home and give me children.” Steve blurs out before he can stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. “Y/N…I’m sorry…god…I didn’t want to…”

“Didn’t want to what? Blame me for losing our baby?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbles as Bucky presses him harder into the wall.

“Doesn’t change the fact you never gave me your mom’s ring. I wasn’t worth it; she is worth it. This is what hurts the most. Not that you found someone new after you ended us, no, that I was never good enough for you to give me the ring. I was never worth it…”

“Y/N…let me explain.”

“What for? What could you possibly say to explain this fact?”

“I was not sure we match, okay. I didn’t want to give you my mom’s ring to regret it.” Steve says and more tears well up your eyes. 

Feeling dizzy at the new wave of hurting you sit down onto the floor and Bucky let go of Steve.

“Figures…I was always the second choice. Sharon left and you were looking for a cheap substitute. I’m such a fool…so stupid. Pitiful girl not seeing the truth right in front of her.”

“You got it wrong. I wanted to give you the ring after I was sure, but then everything went downhill, and I never had the chance.”

“But you gave it to her right away. After three months you were sure she’s the right girl, but you didn’t want me enough, not even after five years. I’m just done. Go and please your model. Leave me alone.”

“Y/N, I was a fool, okay. Just let me make it up to you, make it right. I know we can do this, can be something special.” Steve tries once again.

“That’s the problem, Cap. I thought we are something special, I thought I’m someone special to you. I had the feeling we could be like my parents. They loved each other their whole life, they still love each other, no matter what. Even if someone made a mistake, a huge mistake they forgave each other. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Steve gasps as Bucky moves his metal hand around his throat.

“As their love is stronger than anything else. Stronger than anger or stupid mistakes. Stronger than other people trying to get between them. I had hoped our love is as strong as my parents, I was wrong. If love is one-sided it can’t work out.” You whisper and Steve’s eyes fill with tears.

“I loved you, I still love you.”

“But not enough to give me your mother's ring. Not enough to stand by my side after I made what was in your eyes a mistake. I tried to talk to you, to explain but you just cut me out of your life as if I never existed. That’s not love, Steve. The only reason you try to win me over is as you saw James kissing me. Kissing what used to be yours. Now go to your groupie and leave me alone with my grief.”

“Grief?”

“Today is the day…but you forgot, right? The day at the airport? The day I lost my baby, my only hope left…go away.” You sniffle glancing at the ultrasound picture once again.

Finally letting go of his friend Bucky rushes to your side to take you in his arms. Your head pressed into his chest your start crying. Letting all the pain and disappointment out you barely recognize Steve left the room.

“He’s got no right to come here and think he can have you back. I’m sorry that I kissed you, I mean not for the kiss but for forcing you into it.” Bucky whispers gently stroking your back.

“It’s okay. No one gave me attention for a long time, James. No hug or kiss at all. I was alone with my grief. Natasha and Tony were the only ones knowing about my loss. I didn’t want Rhodey or Sam to feel guilty, Rhodey has his package to carry.”

“No one else knows?”

“My parents and my sister, of course, the doctor and nurses taking care of me. No one else.” You sob. “I thought I’m over it by now by today it all came crashing down on me once again. Especially after Steve forced me to tell him the reason I didn’t want to fight.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help you?” James asks softly.

“No…I mean you already helped me by keeping Steve at bay. Could you look for Natasha and bring her here?”

“Of course, just give me a minute, Y/N.”

“Thank you.”

“We are friends, no reason to thank me for helping you.”

“I’m no used to have a friend for a long time.”

“What about Nat?”

“She’s a girl, ya know. Steve and I used to be best friends before we…before I gave in. I guess he only needed a rebound girl after Sharon left to move to Washington.”

“You’re more than a rebound girl, you could be the one,” James says smiling down at you.

“I never was ‘the one’ for someone.” You sniffle and he uses his thumb to wipe away some tears.

“You could be the one for me…uh…I’m going to get Nat.” Bucky stammers running out of the room.

“The one – huh?”

----

“I swear I will kill him and make it look like an accident or worse,” Natasha yells pacing around your room.

“James already kept him at bay.”

“Why did you never tell me it was Steve’s baby?” Natasha asks.

“He wanted to keep our relationship a secret, and I agreed. He told me it’s for my safety but now I doubt his words.”

“Goddamn asshole!”

“Agreed.”

“We need to kick his ‘golden boy’ ass for sure. He wants to marry this stick on legs and even gave her his mom’s ring. I should throttle him for sure. I guess Bucky will help me with pleasure, just like Tony. He still feels guilty as he was the one shooting at Sam…”

“It was not Tony’s fault. Rhodey doesn’t blame Stark either.”

“Doesn’t make him feel better. I mean I only trust him as far as I can throw him, but I see the guilt and regret on his face every time he looks at you.”

“Nat, what shall I do now?”

“Kill Steve and marry Bucky…maybe kiss Thor.” Natasha chuckles and you start laughing.

“Seriously? You want me to play this stupid game?”

“Well, Thor is hot. I guess he wouldn’t mind you kissing him.” Your friend shrugs.

“I already kissed Bucky. I think this is enough for one day.”

“You did what? Tell me everything, give me details, girl. I need to know!”

“He kissed me as I was sad. Don’t know if that counts as a real kiss.”

“Damn it counts, Y/N. Was he good? I mean with tongue and all?”

“Natasha Romanoff you little pervert!”

“Hey, a girl needs all the information to help you make a decision. You really should kiss Thor to decide…or Sam. I bet he’s a good kisser too. But keep your hands of Bruce…he’s mine.” Natasha cackles and you shake your head. 

A grin on your face you start relaxing. Natasha always makes you forget about your pain.

“I’ll give it a thought.” You tease and Nat nods eagerly.

“I could tell them to form a row.”

“Nat!”

“What? It’s easier that way…but we need to keep Tony away. He would try to get a kiss too.”

“He is with Pepper, Nat.”

“But he would stand in a row too.” Nat insists.

“Damn, yes. I’m a goddess.” You chuckle.

“You are, girl. Don’t let anyone tell you something else. Now, how about we eat a huge bunch of ice cream and steal one of Tony’s favorite bottles of Scotch?”

“Great idea. I’ll get the ice cream, you the drinks.”

“Deal. We meet at our favorite spot to share stolen stuff.” Nat says giving you a wink.

“Count me in.”

----

Checking the freezer out you grab two boxes of ice cream. You want to get the whipped cream out of the refrigerator too when Thor enters the kitchen.

Only wearing a pair of low hanging jeans, he beams at you with a wide smile.

“Lady Y/N, a pleasure to see you. Hungry?” He asks looking at the ice cream in your hands.

“I need some soul food, you know.”

“Soul food? I don’t think I understand that reference.” The Asgardian says confused.

“It’s…uh…when a woman is sad she tends to eat ice cream. It’s a cliché but in my case it’s true.”

“You are sad, my lady? Why? Can Thor help you?” He asks seriously and you start laughing.

“You already helped me.” You chuckle staring up at the tall man. Standing there confused he doesn’t recognize the way you drink his muscles and tanned skin in.

“I helped you. That’s good, Lady Y/N.” 

“Can you stop calling me Lady? Call me Y/N.”

“I can do that my l…., Y/N.” 

“Great. Do you want something to eat too?”

“I wanted to grab a beer.”

“Wait.” Placing the ice cream onto the counter you open the fridge to steal the whipped cream and a beer for Thor. “Here, have fun.”

“Thank you. Why are you sad, Y/N?” He asks now seriously looking at your puffy and red eyes.

“It’s…”

“Did the Captain do something wrong? I can punish him if he did.”

“No, please don’t.” You whisper placing one hand onto his large bicep. Realizing what you just did you take your hand off his arm.

“You can touch me, my lady. It’s a pleasure if you do.” Thor rasps looking down at you with a different look on his face.

“He just…it’s nothing…” 

His index finger lifts your chin, so you are forced to look in his blue eyes. “Tell me what’s hurting you.” He whispers.

“I lost something important one year ago…”

“Something important? You mean your child.”

“You know.” You gasp.

“I saw you stroking your belly and the tears. I remembered the look you had in your eyes. One of my friends had the same look after her baby died in his sleep.”

“I lost it during a fight. Please don’t tell anyone else.” You sniffle.

“I would never betray you my flower,” Thor whispers before he leans closer to capture your lips in a soft kiss. Your eyes widen but you dare not to move a muscle. 

“Thor?” You stammer.

“Not all men are like the Captain. There are others available, my flower. Others waiting for your consent to court for you.” The Asgardian says looking at you.

“I…need to go, Thor.” You stammer grabbing the ice cream to run out of the kitchen.

“I’m waiting for you, my flower,” Thor calls after you.

----

“Wait – what? Thor kissed you in the kitchen?” Natasha asks.

“I got no clue where this was coming from. He was always nice and attentively, but this was… What shall I do now? He called me his flower by the way.”

“Flower?”

“And he wants to court for me, Natasha.”

“Damn, girl. You got three guys standing in line for you.”

“Two…Steve doesn’t count. Also, I’m not ready for something new. I’m not over all the crap that happened last year.”

“Take your time, my flower.” Nat chuckles and you punch her arm.

“That’s not funny, Nat! He was completely serious. How shall I turn a half-god down or Bucky?”

“Uh…take both? I mean the nights in the tower can be lonely.”

“Natasha Romanoff sometimes I think you are worse than Stark.”

“Just saying…”

----

“You kissed her! I saw you Asgardian!” Steve yells pushing the tall half-god against the wall.

“I just offered to court for my flower. She’s beautiful and my heart beats faster close to her. You will make this other woman your wife. Now it’s my turn to get Lady Y/N’s hand.” Thor replies not even flinching when Steve raises his fist.

“Punk! Let go of Thor! What the heck is wrong with you?” Bucky yells storming into the room.

“Steve?” Sam asks running toward the room after he heard someone yell.

“He kissed her. He kissed my girl!” Steve yells narrowing his eyes.

“Thor kissed Stacy?” Sam asks confused.

“No! He kissed Y/N. She’s my girl.” 

“Wait…uh…since when?” 

“He was hiding their relationship for five years, Sam. Then he gave her the boot after she didn’t choose his side and after he saw me kissing her he believes she’s his again,” Bucky explains, and Thor’s eyes widen.

“You kissed my flower too! That’s the reason she was so confused.” The Asgardian says and Sam prefers taking a step backward as Thor starts clenching his fists angrily.

“Uh, I didn’t know she’s your flower, dude. I don’t think she wants us to decide whom she will choose.” James tries but Thor shoves Steve away to storm toward Bucky.

“Calm down, Thor. We are a team. I can understand you two are into Y/N. She’s nice, smart and pretty but we shouldn’t forget we are not cavemen. Damn ask her out or something but stop hitting each other.” Sam mutters shaking his head.

----

Talking to Natasha you hear yelling and the sound of a fight coming out of the kitchen. Your eyes went wide when you get closer to the noises.

Thor is pressing Steve into the wall as Bucky is lying on the floor, trying to get back up. Sam is yelling at all three men to calm them but then Bucky swings his fist, almost hitting Sam on the way.

“Stop! What are you doing?” You yell and all men stop in their tracks.

“I tried to stop them, Y/N. But damn they are like cavemen right now.” Sam mutters walking toward you and Natasha.

“What’s going on Sam?” Nat asks glancing at the scene. Thor is pressing Steve even harder into the wall while Bucky clenches his metal fist.

“There are fighting over Thor’s flower or Steve’s ex-girl…Bucky’s future girlfriend…whatever. I mean they all decided you are their girl and now a fight has broken out about you.” Sam sighs pointing his finger at the men.

“Sam, thanks for trying to stop them. Nat, can you and Sam leave me alone with the bunch of idiots?”

“Sure. I’m around the corner if you need my help.” She says. “Same,” Sam adds.

----

“What do you three think you are doing? I’m not a prize to win. I thought you two are better than Steve, but you are not!” You yell and Steve smirks at Thor.

“Why are you smiling, Stevie? You won’t get her back either.” Bucky mutters relaxing his fist.

“I’m sorry, my flower. He was attacking me first as he saw me kissing you. Then Sir James got mad, as he kissed you too.” Thor says letting go of Steve.

“Steve attacked you first as you kissed me?”

“Correct. Stevie thought he has the right to hit Thor as he kissed what’s his…” James mutters.

“God help me…” You curse.

“I’m going to help you, my lady. What can I do?” Thor asks not understanding you didn’t mean him.

“To clarify some things. I’m not yours, Steve. This is over and you brought this upon yourself. You chose her, not me. Live with it or not. I don’t care.”

Avoiding looking at you Steve sighs and the other men start smiling.

“I’m not done. This is…” Raising your hands you shake your head. “…exactly what I do not need. You two fighting over me. I’m not over what happened a year ago. I’m not ready to be with someone else. I don’t know if I ever can trust a man again, so just shut down your hormones both of you.” You state and Thor nods, just like James. 

Only Steve stares at you with wide eyes…you are not over him…maybe he still got a chance…

All Works Tags

@meganywinchester​, @shikshinkwon​, @idioticsky, @miraclesoflove, @officialmarvelwhore, @guardian-tn

Worth her ring Tags

@evanstush, @mischiefsthings​

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove, @thedoctorscamanion

A View To A Winchester (Part 6)

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Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. No idea how long it will be, but I’ve got time on my hands. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. I’m thinking it will go the fluffy route, with some angst, and maybe some smut down the line. Not sure yet.

Section Word Count:  3,787

Section Warnings: fluff, angst, R-rated language, drunk-dialing, Dean flirting/arousing/drinking

~~~~~

“I’m going to be a big tub of lard if this goes incredibly bad, really quickly.” Julie mumbled to herself in the kitchen bright and early the next morning. “I’ll eat my rejection in calories.”  

She had not slept well, despite Dean wishing her a good night. And, it had been all his fault. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. And pie.

There had been numerous Pinterest searches late into the night for tips and tricks on how to make the perfect crust. The barely used pastry cutter had been dug out of her wedding gifts box in the basement at about four am. At what was now six am, she was using it to cut the cold fats - a not-yet-tried-by-Julie mix of shortening and butter recommended by one blogger - into the flour.

Next came the slow addition of ice water and another novel ingredient, cold vodka. She had to wait an hour before even starting the dough that morning, placing a bottle of vodka in the freezer to chill. The alcohol apparently inhibited gluten formation which should, in theory, promote a tender and flaky crust. She was not a chemistry gal but she did enjoy learning how to use it to her advantage when it came to food. Forget Bill Nye the Science Guy. She was an Alton Brown, Good Eats fan.

What the hell am I doing this all for? Desperation? Thy name is Julie. What happened to telling Mr. Winchester you had lots of time to get to know him? Hitting the accelerator, baking a pie because you know he loves pie? It’s like exposing Superman to kryptonite. But is Dean Superman, and pie is the kryptonite in this analogy? Or am I Superman and Dean is my kryptonite?

“Fuck. I need sleep.”

She turned the dough out onto the floured counter. The folding was always the part that made her nervous. Her mind wandered to Dean again. Focus, don’t overwork it. Dimpling the soft, crumbling dough with her fingers brought her back to the feeling of his, dancing over her skin.

A weird, tweaked out bliss washed over her. She understood the enjoyment mom got out of cooking for others, even if she wouldn’t admit it. For Julie, it came from baking up treats for co-workers that made their eyes double in size and the occasional dinner parties with friends that ended with a multitude of compliments and full bellies. The parties I use to throw with Steve.

A flour cloud billowed from her continued kneading. Her nose tickled at the dust entering her nostrils. 

She’d lost a lot of their shared acquaintances over the past few months. Julie didn’t have it in her to compete for a mutual friend’s attention. Steve always needed the camaraderie more than she did anyway. She didn’t have the strength or inclination to work that hard for friendships that had already begun to dissolve or become distant over the last decade. The choice to not have children had put them both on a decidedly different path than all their married friends. In her honest opinion, the patriarchal society created a more obvious division between her and her female peers. It didn’t help that she was not one to offer to babysit. Let Steve be the fun uncle. Asshole.

Julie backed away when she realized the folding motion had gotten aggressive. There was no need to take her anger out on the innocent pastry. She separated the dough, formed two balls, covered them in cling wrap, and whacked them in the freezer to prepare for rolling out later. The Great British Baking Show is goddamn addicting.

But Dean. Dean’s lascivious, pornographic attitude toward food had set something off. If a cobbler or a cake could get the kind of a reaction she had witnessed from that man, she really wanted to see what a pie could do. She imagined those green eyes melting her with a gaze of adoration after her pie passed his lips.

I don’t think we’re talking about apples anymore. That mouth. Sweet Jesus. She had picked up on his affinity for lip licking and how his gaze lingered on her own mouth. Oral fixation. He has to be an amazing kisser. I bet he knows how to use that tongue. Everywhere. 

Julie shivered. She poured her second cup of black coffee and strolled to the tiny foyer. The reflection in the hall mirror under unflattering light only magnified the suitcases replacing the bags under her eyes. Her two sizes too big tattered pajamas reminded her of a potato sack. Dean is certainly going to want to get all up in this. Inhaling the aroma first, she then blew in the mug and took a languid sip. So, pie would be a good deflection from your appearance. But the friggin’ pie won’t be ready for hours. And, anyway, it might turn out horrible.

She still had to peel, core, and chop up a ton of apples for the filling. Christ, the sun isn’t even up yet. A yawn overpowered her, despite the injection of caffeine. I should try and take a nap. Her body slipped into her favorite sofa corner. Just a quick one. The mug steamed on the side table. Her lids closed.

~~~~~

Julie’s eyes shot open. Sunlight filtered through the golden sheer curtains covering the sliding doors. The mug was no longer steaming. It was quiet outside.

“Shit.” 

She unfolded out of her seat and rose to stand. Her body creaked in resistance. Discomfort in her muscles delayed their response with a stab of pins and needles. She cringed and cursed under her breath. A swish opened the curtains. Her mouth dropped open.

Lawn’s mowed. Her gaze shot up to Dean’s backyard. Impala’s gone.

“Shit.”

Phone. Julie flew to the kitchen. The phone had been used to look up the crust recipe. She swiped at the flour dusted screen. A groan. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. She groaned again at the notifications. Four messages. All from Dean.

“Shit.”

Knock, knock.

Anybody home?

Hey, Sleeping Beauty. All done with your scheduled lawn service. Was going to drop off your cake. Text me when you wake up so I can make a delivery.

Julie, I had to take care of some business. Be gone until tomorrow. I’m holding your cake hostage. In fact, I’m bringing a few slices with me for the road. Might not be much left. But, seriously, let me know you’re okay. Or I’m knocking your door DOWN when I get back.

“I missed him.” She whispered, in total dejection. She hit reply and began talking out her text. This new tick was happening every time she had a virtual conversation with Dean. “I’m so sorry I didn’t hear you. I teeter between an insomniac and coma patient lately. You can have ALL the cake.”

Her heart skipped a few beats when the phone rang, displaying Dean’s name.

She answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“I was thinking you dropped the phone and ran away after your text message.” Exasperation threaded through the bass of his voice. He sighed, faraway, on what sounded like his phone’s speaker. “Are you trying to play hard to get?”

“I’m still waking up.” It wasn’t a total lie.

“Hm. Pretty impressive. You slept through me knocking on the front and back door.”

“I slept through an earthquake and two aftershocks once.” She offered.

“Bullshit.” Dean stated without hesitation.

“I did.” Her defenses were up. “I was in California.” She didn’t bother to say she had been on her honeymoon.

“You should get that checked.”

“I did. I’m good. Just a sound sleeper when I actually get some needed rest. I take it you’re a light sleeper?” 

“Pretty much. I’m programmed to wake up at the slightest noise.”

“Work took you away again, huh?”

“Yep.”

She waited. “Is this where you tell me what you do?”

He chuckled. “It’s not as exciting as you’re probably imagining.”

“Try me.”

Without missing a beat, he responded, “Bail Enforcement Agent.”

“Wha-?”

“Bounty Hunter. Even though my colleagues don’t particularly care for the term, I’ve found.”

She gave it a few seconds to sink in. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Her mind replayed the conversation she overheard Dean have with his brother on the phone. He mentioned coming back from a hunting trip. “Is that the business you were in with your brother?”

“No.” He paused. “Let’s say it was bounty hunting adjacent.”

“That’s all I get, huh?”

Another chuckle. “Yep.”

“Now who’s playing hard to get?”

“Not I, sweetheart. You’ll never know what you would’ve been in for today... if you’d heard me knocking.”

She swallowed. A swooshing sound filled the absence of his voice on the line. He’s driving.

“Give me a hint?” A breathy whine escaped along with the question. She bit her lip at the accidental slip.

“Hell. I’ve got someone on the other line. Give me a minute and I’ll call you back.” He hung up abruptly.

She cringed at her reaction. Sexy. Ugh. You are so out of your league with this one. Well, no need to finish working on that pie now. She waved a hand and marched upstairs to change out of her pjs. The crust will keep.

Minutes ticked by. He got busy with work. Bounty hunting? She finished changing and pounced onto her bed, landing on her stomach. Her head shook. It’s an actual thing people do. But he could be lying, leading me on with some absurd and inflated story to see what he can get away with. She’d been that naive with men before, believing what they said at face value. Because, if she wouldn’t flat out lie, why would someone else? Life experience was a hell of a teacher. It turned her hard and cynical and untrusting.

Ten minutes turned into thirty. She browsed through social media apps on her phone. Every second increased her agitation. My window of opportunity has passed.

Over the next half hour, she applied some makeup and gave herself a pep talk in the mirror. “You are channeling all of your pent-up energy, attention, and sexual frustration into this one man. Not healthy. I mean, yeah, the sexual frustration part is totally understandable. But…” she trailed off and stared at her reflection.

Don’t want to get your mind off a messed-up relationship with a quick hop in the sheets. Take care of you. Remember? That was my mantra when I signed the divorce papers. Christ, the single hardest thing I’ve probably ever had to do. And, I added my name to that document like John Fucking Hancock. 

She nodded.

“Go out. Get some air. Run some errands. Just be. And be okay with that.”

Julie attempted to make herself believe her words as she went about her day.

~~~~~

Her mom had called to check in while she was out. So had her brother. Kelly, her co-worker, had texted about a project due the next day, bright and early Monday morning. Julie had taken off that upcoming week and wouldn’t be in the office to help. Kelly needed a pep type. Julie didn’t have the strength for a talk. 

Nothing major was planned for her staycation. The only thing she’d sort of been forced into by her old friend, Karen, was to host a mini belated housewarming that Friday night. Aside from the food prep and cleaning, nothing was on her to-do list for days. Now, she debated if she should just hop in the car and go somewhere. Anywhere, to get away from the temptation that was Dean Winchester. With her mother back home, she didn’t have anything keeping her tied to the house. Except the possibility of a very bad decision clad in plaid.

She returned home with a bottle of wine and a bottle of bourbon, the latter item she never drank. Wandering down the aisle of whiskeys in the liquor store made her think of Dean. He seemed like a bourbon guy, or a man that would appreciate the drink. The clerk had recommended the bottle with an unassuming label filled with a beautiful amber liquid.

Not depressing at all. It was six pm when she strolled up the steps to her bedroom. Her hands balanced an open wine bottle and foil wrapped hazelnut chocolates stuffed into her drinking glass. She tipped the glass and dumped the chocolates onto the bedspread.  Let me not be that pathetic and put some clean pjs on at least. The plan was to settle in for an 80s comfort movie marathon. She’d started with “The Goonies”, then “The Dark Crystal”. She had polished off all the chocolates, wrappers littering the bed, and was almost through “Labyrinth” and the wine when the phone lit up.

U up?

Ten o’clock and Dean was messaging. The alcohol buzz and trippy Henson atmosphere contributed to her out of body feeling. She watched her fingers tap the phone icon and dial his number. 

“Sorry about not calling you back earlier. Got a lead on my skip and had to jump on it.” His voice was super close, husky and low.

“Were you on a stakeout?” A throaty laugh in response to her question ignited a full body tingle. It started at the top of her head and worked its way down to the tips of her bare toes. She muted the television, sank into the pillows, and focused on the ceiling. And Dean’s voice.

“Not quite. I found out he was backtracking to visit his girlfriend. I beat him there, talked to her, explained his situation, and how bad it could really get if he kept running. She convinced him to turn himself in.” 

Julie’s tracking was fuzzy on the details. “Is he handcuffed in your backseat now? Or, your trunk?”

“No. Already dropped him off at the police station.” 

“Where?”

“Poconos.”

That was well over two hours from Pike Creek. “Long way for a fugitive.”

“Not really. Just another Sunday drive for me.”

It sounded too quiet on Dean’s end. “On your way back?”

“I was.” He sighed. “But then I decided to stop at a bar. Had a few too many. So, I’m crashing at a classy motel, stone’s throw away from said bar.” 

“Hm. I should be crashing soon, too.” Julie slurred.

Another long pause. “Have you been drinking?”

“Yep.” She popped the “p” out of her mouth with pursed lips.

“Huh. Sounds like you’ve been at it for a while.”

“The almost empty wine bottle would agree.”

He tisked. “Drunk. And I’m missing it.”

The back of her hand pressed against the warmth of her cheek. “You’re partaking in this event virt-,” the train of thought left the station without her. “Not missing it. Did you take the drinking party back to your room?”

“I did. Always keep a bottle of Jack in my trunk.” 

“We should toast, then, to drinking alone… but, not.” Julie sat up and took a swig, even if Dean wasn’t going to do the same.

She didn’t know how much time passed before he asked in an even, steady tone, “You wanted a hint, earlier, didn’t you?”

Silence.

“Julie?” His voice teased out her name, soft and slow.

She battled to focus. “Yes. A hint would be nice.”

“How about a confession?”

Electric currents pulsed under her skin. “A confession would be even better.”

“Okay. I should’ve told you this that first day. But... I’ve been watching you… spying on me… for a while.”

Her posture straightened, bolting upright from her reclined position, now stiff as a board. “I-I…”

“Don’t try to deny it.” Silence. “I noticed you one morning, a couple months back. I was in the kitchen, fixing some coffee. When I looked out the window, you were staring into my backyard, then over toward my house. I just chalked it up to you being a hot, nosy neighbor. And, honestly, I didn’t mind the view. Business casual looks very good on you.” 

A distinct sip filled her ear, followed by a smack of his lips. Those perfect lips. Julie chose to focus on the fact that he used the word “hot” and not “creepy”.

“But then, you did it again the next morning. You were wearing that dark blue sweater. I was jealous of that sweater, the way it hugs those curves of yours.”

In the effort to stifle a swoon, her mouth let out, “I’d trade places with that red plaid flannel of yours any day.” 

He cleared his throat after her admission. “Should I keep confessing?”

“Please. Go on.”

“I could tell you were looking for me, in particular, not just inspecting my property for things to complain about. Call it a hunter’s instinct. You’d seen me before, hadn’t you?” 

“Yes.”

He didn’t exactly chuckle that time. It was a short, almost sweet little laugh. “So... every morning when I was home, I’d wait for you to do your search. I’d batted around the idea of coming out one day to say hi…”

“Why didn’t you?”

“What was I going to say? Hi, I’m Dean. I’m a low-rate bounty hunter with a couple hundred dollars to my name, a shitty little house, and a drinking problem?” He sighed into her ear. “You saw something that interested you. But I do better sticking to the surface level, remember? I know how to work with what I’ve been given. Not much beyond that.”

She wanted to berate him for talking about himself that way. But all she could manage was to ask, “So, you have been playing hide and seek with me?”

He chuckled. “I guess.”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with all of that ridiculous behavior. I can usually keep my voyeuristic tendencies to a minimum.” Words tumbled out, sarcastic and apologetic.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. My backyard view was made much nicer. And you gave me the opportunity to get to know you.”

Julie scoffed. “How could you get to know me that way?”

“This is where you’ll probably get irritated.”

She waited.

“I used my skills and resources to do a little digging on you.”

She laughed out loud. “Did you bounty hunt me?”

“Kinda.”

“Interesting. You’re lucky I’m drunk right now, because I find it highly amusing.” And pretty damn hot. She sipped. “What’d you find out?”

“Basic stuff. You’re an accounting manager at a bank in downtown Wilmington. No speeding tickets, pretty straight and narrow. You went to school at University of Delaware - nice GPA. Got married about ten years ago…” his voice trailed off.

“You found out all that stuff even before we met?”

“Yes. And I apologize. But I wanted to get to know my pretty Italian neighbor that liked me, too.”

Too. He could have just ended that sentence with “liked me.” “Those are just facts. You don’t get to know someone from a distance.”

“I’ve gotten to know some things. I know when you’re deep in concentration you bite the inside of your cheek. And, when you get frustrated, you scrunch up your nose. You do that a lot when you’re on a work call, heading into the house after a long day. I’ve even seen you skip, sometimes, when you come home on a Friday. Just a few feet or so, when you don’t think anyone’s looking. When you leave the house every morning, you test the handle of the sliding door twice to make sure it’s locked. Your hairstyle of choice is a ponytail. But, on the rare occasion when you let your hair down… well, I’m glad you wore it down last night. And, that I got the chance to touch a few strands. Soft as I imagined.”

He’s imagined that. She had no witty retort for his monologue. He’d knocked every ounce of air out of her lungs. Her entire body was hot and charged from his confession. He’d examined her, been allowed access to her quirks and habits in high definition, and this Adonis of a man sounded downright intrigued by all of it.  Holy shit. The stalkee has become the stalker. And, I’m finding the table turning extremely hot right now.

“Julie, I know you’re not perfect. But whatever asshat of a man let you slip away… I don’t think he had any idea what he had to begin with.” He cursed under his breath. “I shouldn’t be saying all this. Making more of a mess of things.”

“No, you’re not.” She swallowed. “How ‘bout that hint?”

“About what I was going to do if you opened the door earlier today?”

“Yes.”

“Give you back half of your cake and ask you out on a proper date. Whatever the hell that is.” It almost sounded like a low, throaty growl escaped his lips. “But that was earlier today. If I had come home tonight and knocked on your door… I don’t know if I could’ve behaved myself. I would have slammed back too many shots when I got home to work up the nerve. Plus, the adrenaline from the hunt has me riled up.”

God. That voice. She crossed her legs to restrict the pulsing in her core. “What does misbehaving look like?”

The silence stretched out to an excruciating span. “We goin’ there?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her head was spinning. She didn’t really know where “there” was.

“Loose lips...” He mumbled. A noisy gulp of liquid followed. The faraway slam of a glass came next. “Well... my misbehaving hands would end up all over that rosy skin. Every inch.”

She bit her lip and held her breath.

“God.” He groaned, his voice not as close now. “I’d like to say I’d be able to take my time. But it might have ended up hard and fast on the floor.”

An instinctive, quite loud gasp escaped from Julie. She slapped a hand over her traitorous mouth.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Dean fumbled over his words. “I shouldn’t have… first, I’m telling you I’ve been investigating you… then, I’m talking about ways I’d… it’s just... it’s been a while.”

Julie exhaled a breath. “I pushed you into sharing. When you say ‘a while’...”

“Since I moved to Delaware. Two years.”

The statement woke her from the orgasmic lullaby. “Bullshit. 

He laughed. “Not exactly something I’m proud to share.”

“What the hell are you saving yourself for?”

Without a beat missed, he responded, “You, apparently.”

He stunned her again.

“This has been… well, I don’t know what this has been… I’m going to let you go before the conversation crashes into the point of no return.”

“Dean…”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“I’ll expect the rest of my cake returned… as soon as you get back.” 

He laughed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Part 7

Series Page

home for the holidays (& home is where the heart is)

summary: declan and patton spend the first night of winter break vacation together.  words: 3,300 / ships: romantic moceit  warnings: sympathetic deceit, slight panic, very brief alcohol mention, accidental burn injury. let me know if there’s anything else! author’s notes: ok this is the first thing i’ve managed to write in a month and i’m kinda proud of it?? it’s a human/college au in which the sides + thomas are on winter break, visiting and staying at a cute cabin in a small town near school. this is the snowed in prompt from @sanderssidescelebrations!! check the end for a few more author’s notes :) i hope you enjoy!!

read on ao3 / @fandersfic-patceit 

This was all going exactly according to plan.

Scowling out the window and at the storm outside, Declan huffed in frustration. His breath fogged the glass and he rolled his eyes. What was he supposed to do now? Not only was the snow supposed to have waited until tomorrow to come through, he wasn’t supposed to have been trapped in this cabin when it did. It wasn’t like they were at a loss for heat or supplies; everything was in working order and the kitchen was well stocked. It was that it was “they” to begin with.

Quite suddenly, the cheerful notes of a Christmas song he was only vaguely familiar with began to play from the entertainment center. Declan turned to face the sound to find Patton beaming at him, hands fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.

“I thought it was a bit quiet!” Patton chirped, gesturing to the speakers. “It was a little eerie with just the wind and well, uh, you know how I am with… uhm. Silence.” Patton’s voice trailed off as he looked away and the air in the room grew thick with tension.

Declan, despite his slightly foul mood and the unfortunate circumstance they were in, found himself gazing at Patton with an expression that Roman would call “twitterpated.” Shaking his head to snap himself out of it, Declan closed the distance between them, and threw an arm around Patton’s shoulders. He tugged Patton along towards the kitchen, gesturing with his free hand as he did so.

“If we’re going to be stuck here alone for the night,” and Declan prayed it would be just the one night and that the others would make it back by tomorrow afternoon because he was so sure he could handle any more than that, “we might as well make it worth it, right?”

Patton brightened instantly, nodding with fervor. “I was going through the pantry! There’s all the fixings to make cookies! Oh! There’s pizza in the freezer, too!”

Declan watched fondly as Patton slipped from his hold and hurried around the room, throwing open various cupboards to retrieve everything they’d need. Sure enough, the counters were soon covered in various containers of flour, sugar, and chocolate chips as well as enough mixing bowls to make four different kinds of cookies. Declan wouldn’t be surprised if it came to that.

While Patton got together the baking station, Declan prepared a frozen pizza (Hawaiian and Declan supposed he’d allow pineapple on pizza this time around since it happened to be Patton’s favorite) for when the oven finished preheating. Patton was going on about what a bummer it was for just the two of them to end up stuck at the cabin. This had been a winter break getaway for their group of six but the tragedies struck one after the other.

Roman forgot an entire suitcase worth of clothes at school and so he’d had to go back for it, insisting that Logan join him because his phone was low battery and what if it died while he was on the road, and he couldn’t find his way back without GPS? Logan knew the quaint little town like the back of his hand, having grown up in it. He hadn’t complained, claiming that he’d like to grab a few textbooks, anyway, so that he might get some studying in during their down time. Patton had, of course, insisted that there would be no school work during vacation and made Roman pinky promise he wouldn’t let Logan go anywhere near his own dorm.

Virgil and Thomas, on the other hand, went out to buy a few bottles of various cream liqueurs to mix in with their hot chocolate and coffee. None of them were heavy drinkers but just the right amount of alcohol in a warm drink sometimes made the difference, especially after finishing finals. Every time they’d nearly been ready to leave the store, a message would be sent to their group chat, asking for them to get this or that as well, which prolonged their trip just enough.

The storm hit so suddenly, the entire town seemed to go on lockdown in minutes.

Virgil was rapid fire texting them, panicking on whether or not Logan and Roman had made it back to campus in time, and asking if the cabin still had power. The pair weren’t finished with their drive just yet but they’d cleared the inclement weather by quite a few miles. Patton and Declan still had electricity but the snow was coming down far too fast and heavy for them to do much. Besides, there were only two cars and it wasn’t like they could get anywhere better.

For the next half hour, Thomas kept them updated on the fact that it seemed they would be stuck at the grocery store until morning, when the streets could be cleared. Virgil had argued with the store owners that they couldn’t just stay there but when a police officer arrived and deemed it too dangerous to be on the road, Virgil had finally relented. Besides, their car didn’t have snow chains on the tires, and after some coaxing from Thomas, it was decided. Thankfully, the proprietors were ridiculously prepared for such a dilemma, and had blankets to go around and keep their customers warm.

“Dee. Sugar?” Patton spoke, pulling Declan from his wandering thoughts.

Warmth spread along his cheeks as he gaped at Patton. “Pardon?”

Patton looked up from where he was pouring flour into a bowl. “The sugar?” He asked, tilting his head. “Or am I making these cookies on my own?” His tone was light and teasing and Declan wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take and it had barely been two hours.

“You’d burn them without my help,” Declan said, eyebrows raising in what was sometimes a pretty good tell that he was fibbing. Not that it would have mattered since Patton seemed to have a sixth sense in knowing whether or not Declan was telling the truth. This was obviously a blatant lie to anyone who would have heard, anyway, because Patton was literally majoring in culinary (pastry) arts.

Declan assisted where he could, even if that just meant cleaning up the dishes and workspace as they went. The pizza went in the oven while Patton was mixing in the chocolate chips. Declan leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely over his chest, and watched. The playlist Patton had turned on earlier was blaring Mariah Carey, because of course it was, and Declan let the sappy song wash over him. Patton hummed along, tapping his feet and bobbing his head.

Before Declan could tear his gaze away, Patton spun to face him, holding the wooden spoon to his mouth like a microphone.

“Make my wish come true,” he sang, throwing one arm into the air. “Baby, all I want for Christmas is you~”

Declan couldn’t believe this was how he died.

Patton sashayed and shimmied around the kitchen. He certainly wasn’t coordinated when it came to singing and dancing but he was having so much fun and Declan felt very much so like he needed to stab something to earn back his cool and aloof exterior. His phone, thankfully, chose that moment to start ringing.

Patton looked to him curiously but Declan waved dismissively as he headed to a quieter part of the house to answer the call. The moment he was out of view, Patton returned the wooden spoon to the bowl and grabbed his own phone so quickly he nearly dropped it into the cookie dough. Opening Facebook messenger, he found his direct messages with Virgil, and started typing.

snow angel: ajskdfkjlhsf snow angel: viRGIL HELP snow angel: he’s so CUTE i dont know whAT TO DO snow angel: please can you mAKE IT BACK TONIGHT

For thirty agonizing seconds, the texts went unread.

Until they suddenly weren’t and a bouncing ellipses appeared as Virgil began to reply.

ghost of xmas present: oh my god ghost of xmas present: pat, seriously?????? ghost of xmas present: we have talked abt this. like… a LOT

Patton worried his bottom lip between his teeth and glanced in the direction Declan had left. Who knew how much more time he had??

ghost of xmas present: PLEASE just tell him already snow angel: WHAT snow angel: i canT DO THAT snow angel: i dont even know if he likes me back!!!!!!!

(Thomas watched, half amused and half intrigued, as Virgil slapped a palm against his forehead.)

ghost of xmas present: ok patton. listen. are you listening. snow angel: linda, listen ghost of xmas present: … ghost of xmas present: if you confess and declan doesn’t like you, then i will literally buy you all the ingredients to make your own cookies for the rest of our lives.

Patton was going to open his own bakery. This was a pretty big offer. He paced back and forth a bit, debating. Even if he told Declan how he felt and the feelings weren’t returned, Patton knew they could continue to be friends. Their group was too tight knit to let something like that tear them apart. Sure, it’d hurt for a little bit, but Patton could handle that. … Right?

ghost of xmas present: oh, speak of the devil

Patton jolted, rereading the message three more times just in case.

snow angel: virgil???? what do you mean?????

It remained unread.

ho ho homicide: this had better be good dec the halls: he’s jusT AWFUL what do i DO ho ho homicide: you goddamn disaster gay dec the halls: i absolutely hate him dec the halls: i can definitely handle this ho ho homicide: ok slow down dec the halls: everything is great dec the halls: the building is on fire and this is fine ho ho homicide: DUDE ho ho homicide: shuT THE HELL UP ho ho homicide: lisTEN TO ME dec the halls: linda ho ho homicide: wow you two are made for each other

Declan tripped over the rug in the bedroom he was currently pacing and nearly slammed face first into the corner of a dresser. He hated when Virgil said things like that, it wasn’t fair. He threw himself onto the bed and buried his face into a pillow until his phone buzzed, alerting him to another message.

ho ho homicide: i will let you have one of my most prized records if you confess to patton and he ends up not liking you back.

Declan thought about the Fall Out Boy vinyl Virgil had scored during Black Friday, the last of its kind without spending money (that no college student had) on shipping.

dec the halls: deal

He pocketed his phone and returned to the kitchen. Patton was rolling the cookie dough into balls, all perfectly sized and placed evenly on the baking sheet. His hair looked a little messier than it had when Declan left; there was flour in it that had not been there before. Patton paused and smiled at him. It was the soft smile they all knew he had reserved for things he was especially partial to, like cats and dogs and… Declan realized suddenly that he caught Patton very often looking at him with that grin.

“The pizza is done,” Patton said, gesturing towards the oven with a nod of his head.

Declan blinked out of his daze and pulled on a pair of oven mitts before turning the oven off momentarily, taking their dinner out from it, and setting it aside to cool.

“Important call?” Patton asked as he adjusted the oven’s temperature.

“Just Roman,” Declan answered, “he’s very excited about being back at school already.”

Patton giggled. “Poor thing. I think he was the most excited about this trip.”

“I don’t know,” Declan countered, dipping a finger into the bowl and scooping a bit of cookie dough out. He popped it into his mouth and let his eyelids flutter shut at the taste. When he opened his eyes, Patton was staring rather unabashedly at his lips. Declan smirked. “All this quality time together sounded terribly unappealing, if I’m being honest.”

Patton’s gaze snapped up to meet Declan’s. “Are you ever?” He asked quietly, shifting closer.

Declan hummed, brushing a hand against Patton’s forearm. “When it matters most.”

The oven beeped, re-preheated, and the two leapt apart as if electrocuted.

“These cookies aren’t going to bake themselves!” Patton exclaimed, grabbing the tray and, with movements far more uncoordinated than usual, went to open the oven door. Declan was no stranger to disaster (as Virgil had just so kindly reminded him) and so while he anticipated what would happen next, he wasn’t quick enough to prevent it.

The tray clattered to the tile as Patton yelped in pain, lurching away and shoving his thumb into his mouth. The balls of dough went rolling across the floor and the oven door slammed shut as Patton recoiled from it. Declan had an arm around him in seconds, guiding him towards the sink.

“Hurts,” Patton whined from around the digit, tears gathering in his eyes.

“I know,” Declan reassured, “I’m sorry. Here.”

He turned the faucet on, testing the water before tugging Patton’s hand down towards the stream. Patton hissed as the liquid first came in contact with the burn but only a moment later, he was half slumped against the counter and half into Declan as the pain lessened.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Patton said, looking up at Declan, who had him wrapped still in one arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I could’ve been paying less attention,” he disagreed. 

“We were pretty distracted,” Patton offered, hesitantly.

For a moment, nothing followed but the sound of running water and Perry Como singing about how there was no place like home for the holidays. Declan thought that home is where the heart is a silly notion but Patton was notoriously referred to as the heart of their friend group and he actually liked the sound of that quite a bit—

Patton had looked away. He turned the faucet off and pulled from Declan’s embrace.

“I’m going to check the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for something to put on this,” he murmured, leaving before Declan could say anything else.

The playlist came to an end and silence fell once more over the cabin. Declan, almost mechanically, used the remaining dough to make another batch before carefully putting them into the oven. He set the timer for less time than probably necessary (better safe than sorry). He cleaned up the mess off the floor and set the dishes in the sink to soak.

Wandering out of the kitchen, Declan found the outlet in the living room that Patton seemed to have planned to plug the fairy lights into. He’d brought them from his dorm, hoping to make their stay feel cozier, and had strung them up when they first arrived. It hadn’t taken long with Roman’s help. Declan turned them on and they bathed the room in warm yellow.

“Oh,” came a gasp from behind him.

Declan looked to find Patton, hands clasped beneath his chin. His thumb was bandaged.

“It looks beautiful.”

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

Patton, eyes wide in awe and mouth parted slightly in surprise, truly did make quite the vision. His curls were messy still with flour and his cheeks glowing just rosily enough. The purples and blues of his sweater complemented him nicely and Declan couldn’t take it anymore. If anything, he’d get that Fall Out Boy record out of this.

“I like you.”

“I like you!”

Spoken within the same breath, Declan and Patton stared at one other in disbelief.

“Wait.”

“What??”

Another moment of stunned silence before Patton began laughing.

“So much for never having to buy my own stock,” he said between giggles.

Declan would ask later.

“You…”

“Yeah!” Patton answered earnestly, swooping so quickly into Declan’s space, it made him dizzy. “Yes! I do. I have! For… oh, it feels like ages. Do you remember sophomore year when they set up that event in the quad with just, like, all the dogs in the world? And they were letting any student that wanted to play for as long as they needed? To relax?”

Declan nodded.

“I saw you there with the smallest little yorkie and even as I made sure to meet every pooch I could, you still gave the most attention to her, and I was just… drawn to you, I guess.” Patton paused, before adding jokingly, “or maybe it was that she was the last one I needed to pet.” 

Declan nodded.

“You were kind of closed off and even when I did manage to get something out of you, I couldn’t make heads or tails of what you were saying. I remember thinking that you had the prettiest eyes…”

Declan blinked. He’d grown up with kids thinking his mismatched irises were weird and while that certainly wasn’t the case any longer, it tended still to be a sore subject for him.

“Eventually, you just handed me that pupper and walked off. I thought I’d never see you again.” Patton frowned. “Until… well, you know the rest!! Roman invited us to an after party for that year’s show and… there you were.”

“Here I am,” Declan whispered, feeling a bit like he couldn’t breathe.

Patton chuckled, glancing down long enough to find one of Declan’s hands and take it in his own. When he looked back up, he kept his gaze somewhere just over Declan’s left shoulder.

“I guess I sort of wanted something to happen on this trip but I didn’t wanna get my hopes up…”

A particularly strong gust of wind rattled the window panes and Patton flinched at the noise. Declan fully snapped out of his reverie. He pressed his free hand against the small of Patton’s back and pulled him closer, tucking Patton’s head underneath his chin.

“We were juniors and we had the same free time on our Tuesday-Thursdays,” Declan said, shifting so that it wouldn’t be as awkward to talk given their position. “Logan joined you sometimes in the library to study but… usually you found the sunniest spot and every time I walked by, you just…” Declan paused long enough for Patton to pull back in concern and look up at him.

Declan floundered. “You were just hideous, all radiant in the light and so relaxed and focused, it was the worst, my stomach flipped at the sight… Because I was just so. Nauseous.”

Patton snickered, using their still connected hands to lead the way to the couch. They settled into it comfortably, sitting closely. It took some time but they talked about their feelings and what they’d do next and how soon they’d tell the others. It was a bit of up and down, what with Declan’s penchant for lying, and Patton’s tangents, but they got there. Were it not for the oven reminding them of the cookies, they might have stayed curled up together forever.

Eventually, however, they were settled again with a plate of cookies and pizza, some Netflix original holiday movie on in the background while they flirted and teased. A selfie was sent to the group chat towards the end of the night from Patton and followed with a few winking emojis from Declan. Had they not silenced their phones and returned to their movie, they would’ve seen just how many messages came through afterwards.

(merry bitchmas ⛄️: aksjdfhlkdsjfhksjdfh jingle hells 🔔: FINALLY merry bitchmas ⛄️: i’m sCREAMING oh chemistree 🎄: He really is. thomistle toe 💋: !!!! congrats guys!!! merry bitchmas ⛄️: i thi nK I’m go nNA FAINT oh chemistree 🎄: Please do not. oh chemistree 🎄: Oh, and congratulations, you two. It is about time. jingle hells 🔔: this is absolutely thanks to me btw. yw.)

shout out to @purelyanxious, @nopartyuntilanxiety, and @moon-of-the-stars for the words “stab, gay, beautiful, lovely, fairy lights, yellow” and picking deceit and patton as characters for this fic ;) 

virgil’s nickname in his chat with patton is “ghost of xmas present.” patton gave it to him because he considers virgil and their friendship a gift. 

group chat in order of appearance goes: roman, virgil, logan, thomas. thank you to @moon-of-the-stars for logan’s nickname! 

this was intended to be background romantic logince and you’re free to see background romantic thvi as well, if you like! i’m also kind of imagining logan and virgil are brothers. 

“ho ho homicide” snatched from this art by @poppiesss

and finally, this moceit fluff is for @do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them <3