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libraford · 4 years

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The short version: We had a serial thief at the flower shop. She’s retired recently and I think that due to Covid she really means it this time.

The long version? hoooo boy, here we go.

This story, and others, are viewable on Tablo

There are rules and there are rules.

In dealing with shoplifting in retail, there are rules on how one engages with a thief. The handbook, if there were one, would consist of a single word.

Don't.

Don't pursue, don't interrogate, don't accuse. Let them take the merchandise, let them get away. Let them return the Cricut machine for an equivalent amount on a gift card to be exchanged once again for drugs.

Let them.

There is no handbook on how to handle Flower Thieves. Prior to working in a flower shop, I never thought that this was a problem.

Life is surprising.

I'm sure some of you have figured that out by now.

The Flower Thief is notorious, and she has a system. There are days when you simply know that she's going to be in.

"Break the heads off the flowers before you throw them away," Grandpa will say. "She's going to be here tonight, I think."

And sure enough, she would be. At 6:45, a quarter til we close- the Thief would announce her arrival. Loudly.

"Heeeeey, baaaaaaby!"

The very first time I encountered the Flower Thief, she came in through the back door.

"Oh Hiiiii, Darlin'- ain't seen your face around here: you must be NEW! I'm Wren, you know- like the bird? Well, Kyle and I have an agreement that I come and work for y'all sometimes. You should take out this trash, it stinks to high heaven. Anyways, nice talkin' to ya, see ya later."

I may only be a little bit psychic, but I've spent enough time around liars to know insincerity when I see it. Kyle, at the time, was the manager of our store and I have it on record that he's tried to throw her out of the building once or twice.

While I was taking out the trash, her pile of purchase became so tall it towered over her. I watched Clark massively undercharge her for the sake of getting her to go away.

She has a pattern.

She comes in during the design classes because she knows that when there's twenty people in the store, there's not enough people to watch her and make sure she's not stealing. "There's a class today," she asks as if it's not literally every Tuesday. "Don't worry I know you all wanna get out of here on time."

The Flower Thief announces her presence in a grand way and then makes her way to the back to grab a trash bag or an empty box and then proceeds to bury any spare parts she finds in the cooler in the trash bag, hiding them under the things that she's actually buying.

After that, she checks the garbage cans for things we might have thrown away that will last another three days and stuffs them underneath her other ill-gotten goods.

Just when you think she's finished, she'll go through her pile of flowers and say: "You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus." And she'll go back into the cooler with it, stuff it in her purse, and walk back to the register.

And when she's all done being sneaky, she asks one of us to come ring her out.

This is the part that no one wants to do. Because ringing out the Flower Thief means haggling with the Flower Thief.

"Oh baaby, you know I don't pay those prices."

"Oh baaaby, I only pay $19 for roses."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaby, those carnations were on special."

She'll talk you down to under $100 with a sob story:

"Oh baaaaby, you know I'm donating this spray to the family. It's for that woman you know- you know the one. She got herself murdered a couple nights ago? Two children and she was pregnant too! Pregnant! Can you believe it? Who murders someone with child? What's the world coming to? So I need a good discount to make sure we treat this family right because they got a looooong road ahead of them."

"Oh baaaaaaby, you know this one's for that car crash over on Cleveland Avenue? I hear he was taking care of his dying father himself, so it's such a shame for him to go first like that."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaby, this is for that little boy that shot himself, isn't that sad?"

Thank you, Sister Mary Loquacious.

And you nod because you don't want to come off as an uncaring sociopath. And while you're nodding and adjusting the price for her sad, sad consequence and mulling over how good she is for donating to these people in their time of need, she steals some greens from the trash can and sticks them in her bag.

She hands you crisp $100 bills. You check them and she makes jokes about how she printed them this morning. They're legit. Counterfeiting isn't why she went to prison.

What she went to prison for was drug trafficking.

"Do you need some help," you ask, trying to be a good citizen.

"Oh no, I got it," she insists. "I'll make it in two trips. I'm stronger than I look!"

And don't you dare get caught looking to see what she put in the bag or she will give you one hell of a lecture.

By the time all of this has passed, the class will be over and there will two minutes left in the work day. She's spent thirty-seven minutes in the store. Your register is unbalanced because now you don't have enough small bills to balance it and only have one $100 bill to get you through tomorrow.

And that's why there are rules.

On occasion, a new person will break the rules not knowing that there's rules. One such occasion was when Clair decided to be helpful.

"You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus," Wren said.

"Oh! I'll put it back for you," Clair suggested. And before Wren could protest, it was out of Wren's hands and nowhere near her purse.

It was mentioned to Sage, who only worked for us one summer, that Wren had failed to pay for something and she immediately chased her out into the street.

Wren drives very fast.

If you cross her too many times, she'll make sure you never forget it. One day, she stomped her way in through the front door, angry.

"You ain't treated me better than a damn THIEF," screamed the Flower Thief.

Grandpa, who was helping Blue make a wedding bouquet at the time, departed from the desk. "Beg pardon?"

"A thief! You been treating me like a thief ever since they made you manager and I'm sick of it! I see you bringing in your henchmen, following me in the cooler, chasing me down the street. Treat me with some damn respect."

Words were exchanged. They were not kind. We thought we'd seen the end of her.

But she was back one week later, doing the same damn thing.

So now there are rules.

If you make something and there's an excess of flowers left over from the pack, you have to make something out of the leftovers or she'll pick through them and stuff them in her bag.

If you cannot make something out of them, you must throw them out.

If you throw them out, you must break the heads off first.

The trash cans must be emptied every night before 5:00.

We do not keep trash bags in plain sight.

Break down all empty boxes, or she will use them in place of trash bags.

Do not leave any food or drink where she can find it.

Do not leave any half-used rolls of floral tape where she can find it.

Do not let her know anything about you- lest she use it against you.

If you speak of a Thief, you summon a Thief- speak quietly, and never her name or you invite trouble.

The basic rules one makes when dealing with pests. Or fairy-folk.

There are rules and there are rules and there are rules.

If you want to keep a pest away, you make these sorts of rules. But if you want to get rid of a pest indefinitely, you have to remove their food source. And Wren's food source was her discount.

You start exercising your right to say 'no' to a customer in small ways.

She saw a bunch of carnations in the trash and said:

"Oh baby, these are still good! I'll take them off your hands for you!"

"They've been sitting without water for hours."

"They're still good!"

"They were out in the sun."

"Oh baby, I've been working with flowers for 40 years and I know that these will still be fine for a couple of days!" She picks a bunch of them out of the trash and shoves it in my face. "See, it's still stiff- it's still good!"

"Okay," I said. And before I could stop myself: "Full price."

Her eyes just about popped out of her skull. If it were just a little bit colder, I would have been able to see steam coming out of her ears.

We stared at each other for about a minute, waiting for the other to flinch. She took the bunch away from my face and threw them back into the trash. While she was in the cooler, I took the liberty of snapping the heads off of them and burying them further into the garbage.

And so began a war between the flower shop and the Flower Thief.

She came in: every single night. And each night, she got me.

Again.

"Oh no, baby! These carns are supposed to be 39 cents a stem. I can bring up the email."

"Sure." She brings up the email. "I see that they are 39 cents but... this was for Saturday."

"Yea, and I bought those carns on Saturday and you charged me full price!"

"Saturday."

"Yeah."

"You didn't buy these on Saturday. You bought them Friday."

"Well I didn't know that they'd be on sale, so I need them for that price because I didn't know they'd be on sale."

"The sales are one-day only. I can't adjust a sale from Friday to reflect Saturday's sale... on Sunday."

She made a noise that reminds me somewhat of a cement mixer.

And again.

"I got a bad banner last time, can you print me a new one?" She shows me the banner in question. It's white. The 't' and the 'h' in 'mother' ran together.

"Sure."

"Okay, I need it to say 'Beloved Mother' and I want it in pink."

"Sure."

I print it. I ring her up $5.

"Oh baaaaaaby, no, that one should be free."

"Grandpa said- banners start at $5."

"Oh, but you sold me a bad one last time."

"We haven't sold you a banner in three weeks. How long have y'all had that body sitting in your cooler?"

She grumbled, and paid.

And again.

"I swear you been workin' every night this week! You must be tired," she said, nerves plain in her voice. "When do you get a day off?"

"When the work is done."

"That ain't what I'm askin'. When's your next day off, baby?"

"I stop working when the work is done, Wren."

She narrows her eyes, which is a fun change from them bugging out of her skull like a fruit fly. "You don't ever get any days off?"

"When the work stops, I rest."

And again.

"I'll be in and out, I know y'all want to get out of here on time," she said- announcing her presence to the entire class. She piled her stuff across the register counter and Grandpa began ringing her up.

"Oh baby..."

"No. We're doing away with the discounts."

There are twenty people in the workshop for the class and Grandpa doesn't want to make a scene. She pulls her into the back, and I choose to make my instructions louder to mask the sound of them yelling.

"So you're going to take your hypericum berries and you're going to cut the stem to about ten inches-"

"How can you do this to me?"

"And you're going to slowly fill the vase with these berries to kind of set the shape of the arrangement."

"After all these years and this is how you treat me?"

"Fun fact- you might know hypericum berries as their more common name: St John's Wort! St. John's Wort has been used as a medication for depression prior to modern medicine." You see- I, too, have taken notes from the Chattering Order.

"You can't do this to me," Wren said, stamping her feet like a toddler.

"But I wouldn't recommend eating them. However, they do smell somewhat like baked brown sugar."

Stamp, stamp, stamp.

Wren threw herself into the cooler and began putting a bulk of her flowers back.

"This is robbery," I heard her say to Grandpa at the register.

"Is it now?"

And again.

She came in and immediately reached for a half-empty box of oasis bricks (the green sponge material that we use to hold flowers.) She said few words to me, few at all. She talked to Carrie about how she was going out to the country for awhile, to take care of her nephew's property. She needed to stock up. And oh- don't worry about it, she knows what she's doing. She's part of The Family.

She is in no manner of speaking, a member of The Family that owns this shop. Not even a third cousin.

I saw her beeline for a rose I'd set in the trash. I picked it up, opened my mouth, and bit the head off of it. She stood in the middle of the workshop, absolutely stunned.

Rose petals have the vague texture of arugula, by the way. Slightly sweeter, though. Tough to swallow in one go.

She ran back into the cooler and didn't talk to me.

I began taking down numbers.

27 bricks of oasis. One pack of roses. Ten calla lilies. 1/2 pack of assorted greens.

I punched the numbers in to the register. As if sensing something was amiss, she emerged from the cooler.

"$54? What do I have that's $54?"

"The oasis. They're $2 each."

"Oh no baaaaaby, they're $1."

"I can text Grandpa and ask her."

"... that won't be necessary. Why are you charging me $22.50 for roses? You know my prices by now!"

"22.50 is the price for a pack of roses."

"22.50 is everybody prices."

"Welcome to 'everybody.'"

"I ain't paid a price increase in 7 years!"

"The price of milk went up, Wren. So does everything else."

She was seeing red, I knew it. There's a vein in her forehead that pops out when she's angry and it's the same shape as the river that runs through my home town. She sized me up, as if wondering if she could take me.

I'm 256 pounds of 4H beef, and I have a knife. Try me.

"I'm gonna call Kyle on this."

"Do it." A lifetime of retail has made me immune to 'I'd like to speak to the manager.'

She grumbled and put things back. Carrie offered to watch her, I held up my hand.

"Can you do something for me on these carns? They're the last pack in there and they're lookin' kinda ratty."

"9.50."

"9.50's the regular price."

"Regular price is $14."

"No it ain't."

"Is today. You're taking our last pack and we need those for funerals."

She put them back.

She gave me a credit card. It seemed fake, but it ran. Every time I see here, she's got a different card. Did she print this one this morning, too? At least she stopped trying to sell me on Bitcoin. As you can see, it made her incredibly wealthy.

She gathered her things and left. "Guess I'm getting the rest of my flowers from KROGER!"

There are things you want to say. Like... I hope they enjoy your company just as much as we do. Or: Haven't graced them with your presence in awhile, huh? But at the time, it was better just to watch her leave with her minuscule bunch of flowers. I get a choice in where I loan my voice.

Not here.

Is it over? Nah. She'll be back for another round. But one day she'll finally retire in the way that she's always threatened to. And then? Then it can be as over as it ever will be.

It is shocking to come from a history of retail, where you're not allowed to even hint at the idea of a customer being wrong, where you have to override every single price change to get the scores up, where you have to just let them steal your things and pull the wool over your eyes...

... to flat-out telling someone 'no.'

"No."

It's such a great word.

There are rules and there are rules.

And there are thieves that the rules are made for.

And there are words like 'no.'

And all those things are magic in very human ways.

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uwuwriting · 4 years

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What did I miss? w/ Hawks and Dabi

Request: Okay so hear me out: Hawks’ and Dabi’s s/o (as separate headcanons, or you can just choose one) is also a pro hero/villain and the lads think she died or something and they just become enraged and they’re so distressed (and the ending is soft because she’s okay and maybe they cry) I love your writing, I hope you have a nice day! -🐍

Lol I had a similar request some time ago for our younger boys which I never got around to doing because I’m bad at fulfilling requests and following orders lol. This will be both hilarious and angsty. Well hilarious if you have my sense of humour otherwise I’ll have to add cricket sounds. Okay maybe its not that funny but oh well, it didn’t make me cry at least. Love ya. 💖💖💖

masterlist

rules

warnings: angst and fluff, mentions of injury and death, swearing.

Hawks/ Keigo Takami

-Having two winged heroes on patrol always kinda led to disaster.

-You both would race each other to your randevouz points or you would mock each other about your wing span.

- “You know what they say about your wing span? The bigger the wings well....the bigger the assets.”

-You had bigger wings then him just for a few centimeters but you rubbed it in his face all the time.

- “Why am I in love with you again?”

-It really bothers him bc you keep saying he has a smaller dick than you....and you don’t have a dick so.....yeah....anyways.

-You were on patrol once again, goofing around on a rooftop.

-It was late at night and you could be a little more handsy since there were’t many possibilities someone could walk in on you.

-Keeping your relationship a secret is hard and baby can keep his hands to himself for so long until he breaks.

-Suddenly out of nowhere you started hearing screams and cries for help.

-Keigo didn’t even get a chance to say anything before you were flying towards the building that was on FIRE.

-Dashing right after you he entered the building nad he was half expecting to see you there in the entrance, but he saw no one, only a large chunk of flaming wood etched into the mahogony floor.

-His mind immediately went to the worst scenario possible; it was like he couldn’t control his own thoughts.

-But right then, when his panic was beginning to surface, he heard you calling out for him.

-The rescue of the residents took around half an hour and it got harder and harder as time went on.

-The fire was getting out of control and was getting harder to locate everyone.

-One apartment was left in the end and you could here crying coming from inside.

-The fire was basically licking at your boots at this point but you weren’t about to let someone burn.

- “Get those last two outside and I’ll meet you at the rooftop across the street.”

- “Y/N-”

- “Keigo GO! I promise I’ll meet you outside.”

-And that was the last thing he heard from you that night.

-He did as he was told, he got the last two people out of the building and soon after them a toddler was carried out of the building.

-He waited for you to come out next but you never came.

-The flames licked at the sky, their tips seeming to be touching the moon.

-The roof collapsed in on itself making the rescue teams to back away as they looked in horror as the whole flat came crumbling down.

- “SHE’S IN THERE!”

-HE doesn’t remember much from that night.

-He knows he went back inside or at least tried to get past the debris.

-He remembers seeing the color of your wings, that beautiful white, peeking out from under a fallen beam.

-He remembers the upper floor almost crashing him as he tried to get you out and then nothing.

-He woke up in a hospital bed, dressed in one of those white robes his whole body screaming at him not to move.

-If he was being honest he forgot for a moment the events of the previous night and he was expecting to find you sleeping on the chair next to his bed, your hand in his just like you had done so many times before.

-But you weren’t there and then everything came pouring in.

-Frantically he got up and he reached for the door, yanking it open and coming face to face with a doctor.

- “Where is she?”

- “Sir you should be in bed, you injuries-”

- “goddammit WHERE IS SHE?”

-His outburst had attracted some of the nurses but he couldn’t care less about his image right now.

-Where you gone? But he remembers getting you out from under those fallen stairs. Maybe you were already dead when he reached you.

-No no no you had promised ot find him outside, you had told him so. That’s why he left, that’s why he did as you said. What was he supposed to do now? Without you here what is he supposed to do?

-Everything was muffled out, the ringing in his ears being to loud to allow him to focus on anything else.

-His breaths came out shallow as his head swam with thoughts.

-You couldn’t be gone you just couldn’t he had so much he wanted to do with you, so many things planned you couldn’t-

- “Keigo?”

-He turned around slowly.

-At first he thought he was dreaming, your voice always seemed to soothe him when he was destressed.

-But then his eyes landed on you all bandaged up and sporting crutches.

-You were hurt but you were alive, you were here, you were alright.

- “What did I miss birdbrain?”

-He launched himself at you bringing you flush to his chest as he silently cried.

-He let a few I love yous slip past his lips before you both entered the privacy of his hospital room.

-Neither of you spoke for a long time.

-You just held each other as tightly as your stitches would allow before letting all the tears fall.

- “I’m here, we’re alright.”

Dabi

-You had been sent out on a mission on your own.

-Dabi had tried to convince Shiggy to let him go with you but he refused.

- “I’m not sending you on this one with her. She is the best suited for this job and I’m not letting you mess it up just for your fuck buddy.”

-Shiggy really knows how to push Dabis’ buttons and if you ask me Dabi makes it easy at times.

-They were a pain in the ass.

-I mean you are going out on a mission let a girl get prepared in peace.

-Before they could set each other on fire and then dissolve into dust you dragged Dabi away telling Shiggy that you would be going soon.

- “Really Dabi at times I doubt if you trust me at all.”

- “It’s not that I don’t trust you dumbass. I just dontwantyoutogethurt.”

-Legit you didn’t hear anything he said but you had an inkling.

- “Oh what was that?”

- “I’m not saying it again.”

- “Here I am going out on a dangerous mission and you won’t even grant me one wish...how cruel.”

-He ended up saying it again but really really begrudgingly.

- “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

-You kissed his nose then his lips and let out a small I love you before heading down to the bar and getting the last info from Kurogiri.

-Now Dabi likes to see himself as a very heartless and stone cold individual.

-But you always were the exception to his behaviors so he couldn’t help but admit that he was worried.

-The mission was supposed to take three days plus one for you to return.

-It was still day two and he was ready to pull his hair out.

-But he promised you that he wouldn’t go out to search for you unless you have been gone for a week or more.

-So he just waited in agony.

-The moment though that you weren’t back in a week as you said you would be he went into a silent panic.

-He wanted to be nonchalant about it at first, just casually bringing up your whereabouts in convos with the league or asking Kurogiri of any mission reports from your end.

-Always came up with nothing.

-They had lost track of you two days ago and your last contact was yesterday.

-Now he was sure going to come after you.

-And no one could stop him.

-He knew you were strong and that you could handle yourself better than anyone in the league but he couldn’t stop himself from going after you.

-He had learned from Shiggy that the group you had targeted had a soft spot for torture if they caught someone in their territory.

-His mind of course went first to the worst case scenario, his pessimistc nature getting the better of him as flashes of you hurt on the floor of some basement ran throough his head.

-It didn’t take him long to reach your randevouz spot, mainly bc he was driving around Tokyo like a maniac.

-He entered the small house that was marked as you target and the first thing he was met with was blood.

-It was on the walls and on the floor and he couldn’t tell if this was yours or it was someone elses.

-Then he heard suffling from a closet nearby.

-It was a low scratching noise coming from the closet in the far back.

-He slowly approached it, his left arm letting small blue flames lick his fingertips as he opened the door.

-And then his heart dropped.

-Tumbling out of the closets’ interior was you, bloddied and bruised your arms barely keeping you propped up as you landed on the floor.

-He didn’t miss a beat.

-He scooped you up, moving stray hairs from your eyes as you barely kept them open.

-Your lip was split and you had a huge bruise right under your left eye.

- “Hey there baby.”

- “What the fuck happened Y/N?”

-You cringed as he moved his arms under your back, the pain being too much even for you.

- “They were waiting for me. I sent a message to Shiggy saying that I was coming back but he insisted I finish this. I managed to kill the leader but some of his rookies got to me.”

-He didn’t take you to the hideout.

-Oh no.

-If he had done that then there would be no Shiggy to lead them and there would’ve been a large fire in that area.

-He rented a room in a nearby motel.

-He let you rest while he went out and got you some disinfectants and bandages.

-Really when he was cleaning you up, if his tear ducts worked properly he would’ve cried.

-You woke up at some point while he was finishing up and you could feel his trembling and his silent sobs.

-You wrapped him in a hug, squeezing him as much as you could as you let your tears wet his t-shirt.

-His hands went up and down your sides and back, pulling you into his lap as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

- “I’m alright, see? That’s my heart beat.”

-You placed one of his palms over your heart in hopes that the subtle thud would calm him down.

-He really loves you and he won’t let anything happen to you ever again.

-Even if it kills him.

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y0itsbri · 3 years

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5 times Ian and Mickey eat ice-cream/popsicles together - shameless summer series 🍨🍦🥄

inspo from @ianandmickeygallavich's summer prompt list

moments from s2 - post-finale

words: 1.4k

the first time ian and mickey ate ice cream together was at the kash & grab. they had just finished helping lip stock up his ice cream truck with goods from the store. mickey focused on tuning out linda's obsessive ranting.

"you ever get anything from the ice cream truck when you were little?" ian asked out of nowhere, after a lull of silence had passed over them.

"the truck never ran in our neighborhood, numbnuts."

ian paused, considering, "oh, i guess maybe fiona took us to the parks sometimes. maybe that's where it was."

"probably." a pause.

"what would you get?"

"a joint."

"no, no, like from a legit truck!" ian rolled his eyes "i always got the bomb pops. carl always got the spongebob. he liked ripping the face apart."

"'course you would get the bomb pop, army."

"doesn't answer my question, mickey."

mickey flipped him off. "how about those little chocolate cones? those bitches always looked good."

ian smirked his dumbass smirk that mickey couldn't look at for too long without his cheeks heating up.

"what?" he asked, adverting his gaze.

ian headed towards the freezer. yeah, mickey could go for another round. he followed him until he saw that ian had stopped in front of the open door for a moment before turning around with two chocolate covered ice cream cones in hand. he handed one to mickey, cold fingers meeting hot for a brief second.

"i'll have to take it out of your pay check, of course," ian teased.

mickey simply glared his way, but softened when he realized the tone. "yeah? well i'd ring ya neck for even considering it, but it's hot as balls so i'm saving my breath."

"sureeee you are." ian smiled again.

it was quiet in the store except for their obnoxious slurping as the ice cream melted faster than they could lick it.

---

ian's been having a difficult time adjusting to his new med change. he was tired all the time, his usual go-getter motivation put on hold.

fiona usually only bought popsicles at the beginning of the summer. it wasn't the beginning of summer. it was almost fall. so no one knew how bomb pops were stocked in the freezer.

mickey knew.

carl wretched open the freezer, shaking the popsicle box upside down, the remaining three falling out. he took one for himself, passed one to a zombie-like version of ian sitting at the kitchen counter, and tossed another to mickey, who was reading a magazine at the kitchen table.

mickey furrowed his eyebrows. "i didn't ask."

"yeah, but you wanted one." carl shrugged and leaned against the fridge for a moment.

"thanks, kid." mickey mumbled after maybe somewhat of an awkward length of time. carl took that as a dismissal as he bounded up the stairs.

ian had been quiet, not even muttering a thanks. he managed to unwrap it, but not much else.

"'s your favorite, man," mickey nodded towards the bomb pop sitting idle in his hands.

ian half nodded and gave a sorry excuse for a fake smile. his popsicle dripped.

mickey frowned. patient, he got up from the table and sat next to ian, wiping the melted popsicle with his jacket sleeve.

they sat there quietly, eating their popsicles together, tongues cold and red.

mickey was trying.

---

ian and mickey had been in the car for hours now, heading further south with every passing minute. conversations fell anywhere from their past, their present, and their future. ian tried to keep his focus on their present.

"didn't you say there was some ice cream around here we gotta try?" ian wondered, memory flickering with something mickey had said a few hours ago.

"paletas de crema," mickey enunciated in a put-on spanish accent. he smirked. "yeah, man, we'll make a pit stop for it pretty soon. damon said it was to die for."

"wonder if damon's got himself arrested yet?" ian mused.

"nah, fuck him."

they stopped at some ma & pa shop down in texas near the border. somehow, mickey had a family discount.

mickey ordered pineapple, claiming to be a slut for piña coladas. he ordered a strawberry for ian, claiming to know what ian would like. he wasn't wrong. they switched ice creams for a couple licks and ian definitely preferred his strawberry.

mickey got a little on his chin and ian wiped it off without thinking, they both paused and stiffened for a moment, before acting like that didn't just happen. the uncharted territory scaring them both a bit.

---

"what's your favorite ice cream flavor?" franny asked, kicking her feet absentmindedly in the backseat of the new gallagher-milkovich van.

"really, kid? ya had a whole day of school you could be tellin' me about, but you wanna know about ice cream?" mickey argued with the six year old.

"mhmm," she nodded before staring out the window again.

"chocolate ice cream's my fav. what's yours?"

"strawberry!"

"'course it would be, strawberry shortcake. should we go get some, just the two of us?" mickey asked, pulling out of the school lot.

franny chanted for ice cream until the physical cups (not cones) were handed to them through the drive through. she frowned when she saw a third cup. there were only two people in the car, right? and this ice cream was green.

"what's that?" she asked incredulously.

"ice cream?"

"but it's green, uncle mickey!"

"'s pistachio. it's your uncle ian's favorite."

"we gotta wait for him before we eat ours then!"

mickey snuck a spoonful of his chocolate ice cream when fran wasn't looking.

mickey may have also broken several traffic laws to get them home before their ice cream could melt.

as soon as they were parked in the street, franny bolted towards the house, pink and green ice cream in hand.

"uncle ian, uncle ian! look!"

mickey slammed the car door behind him and picked up franny's backpack from the back seat. he glanced up to see franny nearly tackling his giant of a husband. he looked so enthusiastic about everything franny was telling him before he directed her inside.

mickey made his way over to ian's side, tossing franny's backpack at his feet with a thud before giving him a quick smooch.

"mmm," ian hummed. he smacked his lips together. a pause. "chocolate?" he asked, picking up the backpack.

"what about it?" mickey's eyebrows raised, somewhere between a threat and a tease.

"fran told me you were waiting for me."

"told ya i'm not good with rules," mickey smirked at him before following franny inside.

they all ate at the dining table while franny told both of them about her drama-filled day at first grade.

---

it was a hot ass summer and the AC in their apartment was on the fritz. they thought that moving to the west side would guarantee working utilities at all times, but apparently they were wrong because it was sweltering inside their bedroom.

ian couldn't help but lay on the bed and groan. he was shirtless, hair still a bit wet from his most recent shower, and he was utterly uncomfortable.

mickey had left to go to the corner store in a fucking jacket like a crazy person. so ian closed his eyes and waited it out.

he opened his eyes again to the sound of a wrapper being ripped open. mickey sauntered over to the bed, tossing his jacket in the corner. ian was distracted by just how good mickey's arms looked today that it took him a moment to realize what was in his hands.

a cold, cold popsicle in all its glory.

ian reached for it, but mickey moved it out of reach, instead dramatically teasing ian when he licked it.

ian didn't know if the heat or his taunting husband would be the death of him.

it looked like mickey finally had his share of fun fucking with ian. he brought the popsicle close to ian's mouth, hovering above his awaiting tongue. at the last second mickey dipped the popsicle below his mouth, messily dragging it down his chin, neck, chest. ian shivered at the chill, and then again as the sticky trail was covered with mickey's tongue, still cold from the popsicle.

ian would have to shower again, but he couldn't care less.

#my posts #shameless #gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey

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iboatedhere · 3 years

Note

Hi- I’m a lurker but a big fan. 👋🏼👋🏼

I’d like to request a ficlet, please and thank you. (First, I have to admit, I know nothing about sports the only reason why I’m requesting baseball is because Carlos mentions the Astros.)

But- I’d just like to see TK and Carlos hanging out watching their teams play against each other. Snacks, playful teasing about which team is better, maybe a little bet on which team is gonna win 😏 (maybe bonus points if they wear little team jerseys or something, idk). (Or heck, you can have them at the stadium instead of the house, that’s fine too.) thank you for your consideration 😁

Hopefully this fits your prompt!

“I still think he was flirting with you.”

Carlos rolls his eyes and offers TK a napkin to wipe his hands but TK waves him off and rubs his hands together, dusting the salt off his fingers before he dives back into the nachos that he’s balancing on his lap.

“He wasn’t flirting,” Carlos tells him, “he was just appreciative.”

“Oh yeah,” TK says as he pops another cheese covered tortilla chip into his mouth. He pats the side of Carlos’ face then runs his hand across his shoulder and down his chest. “Appreciative of all this.”

Carlos had no idea that the guy whose flat tire he helped change on the highway last week played third base for the Houston Astros until the job was done and free tickets behind home plate were being offered up.

Apparently the guy had a few days off and family in Austin and he decided to make the two and a half hour drive instead of the hour long flight and then disaster struck.

Carlos wasn’t going to accept but he was off duty at the time and therefore not breaking any ethics laws and he knew that TK had mentioned going to games with his father back in New York and they just….

They needed a break. A little vacation. So Carlos took the tickets and he and TK decided to make a long weekend of it, driving down and getting a nice hotel room only a few minutes from the park. They had dinner at a nice restaurant on their first night and tomorrow they’ll spend the day wandering around the city.

It’ll be fun. One last hoorah before they officially put the down payment on their new home and money gets tight for a bit.

“He has a wife and two kids,” Carlos says and TK scoffs.

“Like that means anything. Wait.” TK twists in his seat to look at him. “Did you Google him?”

Carlos blushes. “I had to make sure he was legit. What was I gonna do, just show up here and expect there to be tickets waiting for me without checking?” TK laughs and pops another chip into his mouth. “It’s okay, Carlos. I don’t care that you have a little crush on a baseball player.”

“I don’t have a crush,” Carlos mumbles as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and opens the camera app.

“Are you taking a picture of him,” TK asks, leaning in to see what’s on the screen.

“No,” Carlos snaps. “I’m sending a picture of the view from our seats to my dad. He’s gonna be so jealous.”

TK hums. “Mine will be, too. He loves baseball and all this Americana, favorite pastime stuff.”

“Should we have just...given them the tickets,” Carlos asks and TK’s quiet for a moment before he snorts and Carlos laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, no, definitely not.”

“They’re why we don’t have a house right now,” TK reminds him and Carlos nods as he drapes an arm around TK’s shoulders.

The game goes to extra innings so it's late and cool by the time they leave the park.

Their hotel is only a few blocks away so they never fully escape the sea of people making their way back to their own rooms so they’re not truly alone until TK slides the keycard into the lock and Carlos closes the door behind them.

“I feel sticky,” TK says, “and tired.”

“You’re sticky because you ate all that cotton candy and washed it down with two lemonades,” Carlos tells him and TK flashes him a grin over his shoulder. “I don’t understand how you’re tired after all that sugar.”

“You’re right,” TK says as he reaches for Carlos and tugs him forward. “I’m not tired and I plan on staying up for several more hours.” TK kisses him then grabs his hand and takes a step backwards. “Come shower with me.”

Carlos sways forward but doesn’t move and TK frowns.

“I don’t have a crush on that guy,” Carlos says, “you know I would never do that.”

“Carlos, babe, it’s okay if you find other guys attractive. I honestly don’t care. Don’t let this bother you. I was mostly kidding anyway.”

“Okay,” Carlos says, “but I’m not. There is no one else I’m thinking about or that catches my eye. It’s only you. It’s only ever going to be you. I’m not like--.”

“You’re not like him,” TK says softly as he wraps his arms around Carlos’ neck. They don’t talk about Alex often but TK had no idea that he was in the back of Carlos’ mind like this. “I know you’re not. First of all, Alex never would have stopped to help that guy in the first place. Second of all, I trust you--completely. In fact there is no one in the world that I trust more than you.” He leans up and kisses Carlos’ forehead. “Now c’mon. Come shower with me.”

Carlos wraps his arms around TK and pulls him tight against his chest, holding him as he presses his face into the curve of TK’s neck.

“In a minute,” Carlos says as he takes a deep, contented breath.

#911 lone star fic #911 lone star #tarlos #tarlos fic #ask #i don't know much about baseball nor do I want to know

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petersasteria · 3 years

Text

good 4 u || harry holland

sour masterlist || harry || sour taglist

1,589 words sorry for the shit ending ?? bc i didnt know how to end it lmao italics are flashbacks

* * * *

“Babe, you didn’t have to spoil me.” You chuckled.

“You deserve it, love. You deserve the world.” Harry looked at you lovingly before pressing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I really want to be a professional photographer and filmmaker, you know?” Harry told you one day. Both of you were lying wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Both of you couldn’t sleep, so you talked about random things.

“I believe in you, Harry. I believe in you more than anyone or anything. You can do just that. I support you.” You smiled as you turned your head to face him. He looked at you and grinned, “So, you think I’m really going to be those things?”

“Yeah. Why not? You’re an amazing photographer and filmmaker. Believe in yourself, Harry. My faith in you will be nothing if you don’t believe in yourself. Trust me.” You told him.

“That’s true. You’re right.” Harry said before yawning.

“I’m always right.” You curled up against him and rested your head on his chest. He chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

“Harry, where are you? I’ve been waiting out here for an hour now.” You said through the phone. Harry said he’d pick you up from your university, but he wasn’t there yet. Then it began to rain heavily, causing you to run to the nearest shade. You were cold, wet, and impatient.

“I’ll be there in a while. See you later!” Harry hung up.

After thirty minutes, Harry finally arrived. You quickly got in and sighed in relief when you realized the whole car was warm.

“What took you so long?” You asked him.

“My car’s acting up. I hate this old piece of shit.” Harry grumbled as he tried to start the car. After five tries, it finally worked.

“You need a new car.” You laughed.

“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your sleepover or whatever.” Harry said quietly through the phone. You were at your friend, Elouise’s slumber party because it was her birthday.

“No, you’re not. We’re just watching a movie and I’ve seen this movie a bunch of times.” You assured him. You walked out of the living room and went to the kitchen. You sat on the bar stool and asked, “What’s up?”

“Mum and dad are just being mean, that’s all.” Harry sighed.

“I know you’re about to cry, so just let it out. Talk to me.” You said softly. Harry started sobbing and telling you about his fight with his parents.

“Y/N/N, I got offered an apprenticeship in Dublin. That’s the biggest opportunity I’ve ever received and they’re stopping me. It’s like they don’t want me to succeed, but when Tom wants something done, they let him. It’s so fucking tiring. I never asked them for anything and the one time I do, they say shit. It’s unfair.” He sobbed and your heart broke for him.

“I feel you. I legit feel the same way, but we just have to prove them wrong, yeah? You’ll make it big and what they say won’t matter as much anymore. They love you and they just want what’s best for you, but sometimes they don’t exactly know what’s best for you. It’s weird, I swear. Just prove them wrong. You’ll get another opportunity again and when you get that, it’ll be bigger than that apprenticeship in Dublin.” You told him with a small smile on your face.

“You get me so well.” Harry smiled as he wiped his tears. “I’ll just go to sleep now. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. Harry’s face seemed to be everywhere you went, haunting you. After being together for two and a half years, Harry broke up with you because of reasons only he seemed to know. After he broke up with you, you spent the whole week just crying. You didn’t understand, but life was really cruel.

Three weeks later, word got out that Harry was dating some model and that surprised you. It surprised you because he moved on really quick and he looked really happy and healthy. He looked better compared to when he was dating you. You were proud of him, but it made you wonder why Harry chose to make himself better for this girl and not for you when you were together. It seemed unfair.

Unfortunately, you were still friends with Sam. You were Sam’s favorite and he actually preferred you instead of Harry’s new girlfriend. Wanting to hang out with you, You and Sam met up at the mall and just shop or walk around. You couldn’t really hang out at Sam’s house because of Harry and his girlfriend.

“She’s nice, but I’m on your side.” Sam said as he ate his ice cream. You laughed and shook your head. Sam looked at you and said, “I’m serious! She’s trying to make me her best friend or something. Like, she’s trying really hard.”

“Then try to be her friend. Maybe you guys might click and then you’ll replace me like how Harry replaced me.” You said. You were aware it was petty and pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. This time, it was Sam who laughed.

“You know, I overheard him the other day. He told her that she’s the only person who gets him and I’m just sitting there all confused because he said the same thing to you. In fact, it’s like he forgot all about you.” Sam said as he animatedly spoke with his hands. He seemed really annoyed.

“Okay, then.” You chuckled. “You seem annoyed.”

“Yeah because I thought both of you were it for each other.” He said with a sad smile. You returned it, but didn’t say anything.

At the end of the day, it was time for both of you to go home. Sam groaned in frustration as he texted while walking. “What?” You asked, turning your head to look at him.

Both of you stopped walking when you reached the mall’s exit. Sam was typing furiously as you looked at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” You asked.

He looked at you and sighed, “Tom can’t pick me up.”

“I thought you drove here?” You asked and he shook his head. “What happened to your car?”

“My parents borrowed it because their car is in the shop, getting fixed. Tom can’t pick me up because he has to use his car to go to an event that he forgot about. I’d call for an Uber or something, but I literally have zero money on me. So, I have no choice but to ask Harry.” Sam said, biting his lip.

“Well, shit.” Was all you said as Sam looked at you with guilt all over his face. He quickly sent a text to Harry and he smiled a bit when he immediately got a reply.

“He’s coming soon.” Sam told you. You snorted. You vividly remember Harry’s slow and beat up car. Sam was talking to you, but you weren’t really paying attention. Your mind went to all those times you spent in Harry’s old car and all the places you’ve been. Those were moments you’ll never forget.

“Y/N, my ride’s here.”

You were pulled from your thoughts as soon as Harry said that. You looked at the direction that Sam was looking at and you were surprised to see a beautiful, new car. It was charcoal grey and the windows were so clean, you could see the inside. Harry was driving and his new girlfriend was sitting on the passenger seat.

“Oh shit. I didn’t know she was coming.” Sam turned to you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N/N. If I had known he was taking her, I wouldn’t-”

“It’s okay. I’m mature and civil. I can handle it. Besides, I can’t avoid them forever. It was bound to happen.” You gave him a small smile.

Harry stopped in front of you both and he rolled his window down. His sunglasses were resting on top of his head and he looked really fresh.

“Are you getting in or not?” He asked Sam, completely ignoring you.

“Hello to you too.” Sam rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he took a few steps to the door of his backseat. “Y/N, do you need a ride?”

You shook your head, “No, thanks. I’ll call an Uber.” You turned to face Harry, who was already looking at you. “Your photography is improving.” You said.

“Thanks.”

“Nice car, too. I’m glad you replaced the busted ol’ thing.” You chuckled awkwardly.

“Yeah, I figured I should buy myself a new car. The old one wasn’t doing it for me. I need to upgrade, y’know?”

You held back a snappy reply because it wouldn’t do you any good. Plus, you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself. You wanted to ask him if he broke up with you because he needed a girlfriend upgrade, but you kept it to yourself.

“Yeah, that’s nice. Good for you, though… and congrats, I guess.” You gave him a tight-lipped smile and he returned it. Sam got in the car and rolled his window down. “I’ll text you, okay?” Sam said and you just nodded. Harry drove away and you stood there, watching.

You wished you could not care like Harry and you wished you could move on just as quick, but you couldn’t. No matter how hard you tried, you were still stuck on him. It sucked.

* * * *

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @celestialholland @alinastarkrovs @piscesparker @prancerrparkerr @spideyspeaches @givebuckyhisplumsnow @blueleatherbag @theonly1outof-a-billion @hollandbroz-n-haz @starlight-starks @webmeupspiderdaddy @studiesinspanish

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland x y/n #harry holland one shots #harry holland one shot #harry holland angst #sour album #petersasteria #k's works

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

Text

Surprising Finds

Summary- 1.7k. Ransom Drysdale x You. Bucky Barnes x You. Ransom said you could do whatever you want. So you decided you wanted to go antiquing much to his dismay. Warnings- probably a word or two. But honestly its fluff. Divider made by @firefly-graphics

A/N- I found out @sagechanoafterdark‘s birthday is coming up. As its a surprise, I didn't ask but I did take some inspiration from her personal series Held For Ransom and All Good Things. Both fantastic series and should be checked out. I hope you have a wonderful day Sage and thank you for reading all my rambles in your DM’s.

Ransom perched his sunglasses on the end of his nose as he peered over the frames to the quaint storefront you had him stop at. There was a couple tables displaying some nice dishes and other kitchen appliances, above them in the awning were hanging baskets of morning glories lifting to the morning sunlight and giving the whole store a welcoming feeling. “Here? This is where you wanted to stop Y/N? It looks abandoned.”

You were digging in your purse and pulling out a few bills to stuff in your pocket before pushing your bag to the floorboard and under the passenger side car seat. “It does not look abandoned. There is an open sign right in the door.”

“Is that even a legit sign? It looks like something someone plastered it there to draw in unsuspecting tourists so they can trap them and torture them. There is a Saks just another hour away we will be passing. You can find whatever you want there.” He tried reasoning with you, about to turn the car back on when you reached over and slipped the keys from the ignition and smirked at him.

“Nice try Ransom, but today was about what I wanted to do.” You slipped out of the car, leaving him there huffing at you and pushing his sunglasses back up his nose and following you. He did agree this morning to those terms. Of course you might have coerced him with playful kisses on his chest while straddling him, giving him the look.

That look.

The cursed look you could pull off whenever you caught him off guard. Fuck it Drysdale, you should have known better.

“Well if I had known you were going to drag me to the middle of some bum fuck town in the middle of nowhere to look at other people's junk, I would have planned out a trip for us instead.” He complained in a slightly accusing tone as you shrugged while pushing open the door with some effort, blinking in the sudden dim lighting that accompanied antique stores typically.

“Stay in the car then Hugh, you can't ruin this for me.” Almost flippant sounding, not caring. Oh that tone could drive him nuts.

“Don't call me that.” he snapped.

“Then quit acting like I'm forcing you to come with me against your will.” You shot back with a smirk, knowing that you could so easily get under his skin. Peering around now that your eyes adjusted. So far no one had come from the counter to greet them, so you just wandered into the building. Ransom was not far behind, picking up random things and rolling it in his hands before setting them back down. You hummed happily while lifting box covers and pulling out old records, reading titles and sifting through a few piles of magazines and books littering the shelves. “See, it's not so bad.”

Ransom, who was currently glancing in a glass case with some fine gold jewelry and coins yanked his sunglasses off and perched them atop his head. “It's okay, but it's still full of junk.” He made a pointed glance at a gaudy relic of a mime painting leaning against a wall.

“Sure, you have to seek out the treasures in here.” You countered while sidling up towards him, loping your arm around his waist while looking in the case before moving towards the painting he had so adamantly pointed out. “What do you say, we could always gift this to Linda?” You teased and Ransom moved beyond the glass case to stand in front of it, laughing.

“Are you saying my mother would enjoy that?” Ransom quirked a brow as you made a move to stand a bit away, holding it out at arms length and making you giggle.

“Hell I know she would hate it, but how funny would it be to see her attempt to say thank you while we are offering to hang it on her wall?”

“She wouldn't even try. She would flat out say hell no.” Ransom shook his head and pulled out the painting behind it, grimacing at the next one. Some portrait of a man, looking stoic in the portrait, it actually reminded Ransom of his Harlen's portrait that he was sure Marta still had hanging in memory of his grandfather. “Besides, it's probably haunted or some shit.”

You were about to point out why it was an even better gift then to torture Linda with when a male’s voice interrupted them. You both turned at the same time to see someone come out the back room.

Coffee colored hair framed around a warm face, dog tags bouncing off his chest as he grunted with effort dropping off a heavy looking box behind the cash register. “I can assure you it is not haunted. Not that piece at least.” The man brushed the dust off his hands as he came around to greet them. “But I'm afraid I can't tell you the story behind it. I'm just helping today. The store owner happens to be at an estate sale. But anything you have an interest in, I can have her call you. My name is Bucky, if you need any other kind of help.” He smiled warmly, holding his hand out which you shook, then Ransom afterwards, introducing yourselves as well.

You had to admit he had caught you by surprise. Your breath hitched a bit and you felt Ransom stiffen next to you, having heard it as well. “We are just here to look around, not for anything in particular. But thanks for the offer.” You mention while Ransom wraps an arm over your shoulder, you could feel him posturing slightly, a puff to his chest, a rumble of a “We are fine, thanks.”

Bucky retreated back to his project after you two moved away further into the store, looking over old knick knacks and vases that you had an interest in. Ransom loosened up once you two were alone again.

“What was that about?” You asked while moving to a clothes rack, picking up an extravagant hat and perching it on your head.

“What was what about?” he asked, grabbing a scarf and draping it around your neck, pulling you closer. A signature smirk on perfect pink lips upturned slightly. “You look dashing by the way.”

You narrow your gaze as he drops his head to nip at your lips, pressing your hands to firm pecs under his shirt. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” you whispered while he continued to tease you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulled away.

“I heard that gasp of yours.” He pulled the scarf off while you did the same with the hat, moving into another section of the store. “You think he’s cute.”

You paw through some random box of items, picking through mugs and utensils. “So what if I did?”

Ransom curled the tip of his nose at your response and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, seeing a moment of self doubt that you knew he dealt with, although you two have brushed on the subject a few times, you knew it lingered. You roll your eyes to yourself with a half smile and turn back to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Sure hes cute, but does he drive me insane and fuck me so good I’m screaming his name? Or bring me my morning coffee in bed? Do I wear his favorite sweater around the house to tease him? That's a hell no, only you get that Ransom.”

“You are a menace.” Ransom shook his head, that doubt melting from his eyes and turning sharp again with your statement.

“Hell, calling the kettle black their Drysdale.” You grin while taking his hand and leading him to the next table. Ransom was about to follow when he pulled up short, picking up a decanter made from cut crystal.

“Okay this I want.” He let go of your hand, admiring the rest of the set. You folded your arms over your chest, smirking at him.

“See, complain the whole time and look who’s the first one to find something they just had to have.”

You stood at your kitchen counter mixing together some dried tea leaves to pack into a tea ball when you felt a pair of arms circle around your waist and a broad chest press against your back. “Welcome home Doll.” came the Brooklyn accent that made you smile, looking over your shoulder with a quick peck to his lips.

“It's good to be back. I got some really nice items so that once they are cleaned up they will look excellent displayed in the front there. Did you have any customers?” You turned back to your tea, dipping it in a cup and pouring the steaming water over it. Soon the calming aroma of lavender wafted over you two while Bucky and you retreated towards the living room. He settled first and you curled into his side.

His fingers smoothed along your thigh while he recounted the day to you. A few small sales, some of the vintage dresses that so many loved finding in good condition, a rather nice dresser you had hoped would find a good home and collectible teddy bears that you guessed would go quickly.

“... then a younger couple came in. They had a whole mess of stuff they took with them. That decanter set you had laying around went. And the woman found herself a “I’m The Boss” mug she insisted on much to his dismay.” Bucky chuckled softly recalling the expressions. “They were looking at the paintings in the corner. Assuming that mime one was haunted, it is kind of creepy.”

You giggled while sipping your tea. “It is, I hate that thing, but people are really into that shit. Good thing they didn't take that one behind it. That one actually does have a spirit attached to it.”

“The old man portrait?”

You nodded while tugging a blanket off the back of the couch and cuddling into it, wrapping the two of you up while reaching for the remote. “Oh yes, he's been with that thing for years. Harmless really, you can catch him when you smell cigar smoke. He just likes to hang out. I offered to move him on, but he insists he's happy right where he is.”

Bucky was quiet a moment and tugged you in closer. “I can understand that.”

#amber writes #sweater writes #ransom drysdale au #bucky barnes au #happy birthday #knives out au

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introverted-sugar · 3 years

Text

Ugh 😑

Heads up, this is a minor rant! Proceed with caution.

I feel like such a shit friend for what I’m about to express but I have to get this off of my chest because I have no one else to complain to. Also, I know I’m a great friend but I’m very particular about how I do things and I need to be at peace when I’m somewhere

So, my birthday is in a few days and I’m going to Miami/islamorada/key west for 10 days. I’ll be in Miami for 4 days with my girl best friend, and then “Travel daddy” the remainder of the trip.

So me and my best friend are similar in the sense of us being laid back and chill, we don’t do too much, when we go out we’re not twerking on table tops or fighting or any of that ratchet bullshit (now don’t get me wrong, you put the right song on and I’ll shake these cheeks but i just don’t like that type of attention, I sucked as a stripper 😂) But we are also VERY different. I like to try new things, eat at kind of fancy restaurants (if I’m paying, VERY fancy on a “mans” dime 💁🏽‍♀️) , I don’t like to go to clubs and if I do I’m definitely leaving early, lounge by the beach/pool, swim, snorkel, bike ride etc. So I’ve been trying to plan stuff for us to do but it’s hard because I have to take her into consideration (I’m used to traveling alone or with some man that’s trying to please me so I’m usually able to just do what I want )

Here is a list of grievances & concerns I have thus far:

1: She doesn’t really like sushi. Yes, that’s petty but I have dinner reservations the night of my birthday at a sushi place with a tasting menu. She said she was okay with going but eh idk, and then is she going to be cool with the price tag of the tasting menu? Any tasting I’ve ever done all the people at the table had to do the tasting menu

2: Piggy backing off of the first point, her sister is flying in the same day we are to help her friend that’s getting a BBL down there (😑, I’ll explain why I’m not a fan of her sister later) but we arrive at like 12, she’ll be arriving around 8 pm..the time I made reservations at the sushi spot. So earlier we were on the phone and she said “oh yeah such and such gets there around 8 I told her WE would come pick her up from the airport” Pause! WHO? Not I! I said “that’s the time our reservations are for” she was like “oh well she can just meet us there” 🤦🏽‍♀️ now remember I said I don’t do too much, I’m quiet and reserved. Her sister, not so much. She’s not about to embarrass me and she’s DEF not chilling at the hotel with her loud ass. My thing is, how tf you inviting people to MY birthday dinner. I honestly don’t wanna see her sister at all while we’re there, but I’m willing to meet her somewhere for an hour or so and then leave ✌🏽

(I don’t like her sister because the very first time I met her a couple years ago on NYE she basically got us involved in a literal BRAWL at a HOUSE PARTY in the heart of west philly of all places 😑 long story short the whole party beat her sisters ass for walking in and tAlking shit, and then Her sister stole someones whole car at the party, I guess when they were jumping her someone’s keys fell out of their pocket so she took the keys and figures out which car it belonged to and stole it, like it was just a ghetto ass mess)

3: She keeps asking me the same questions over and over. We have had this trip booked for MONTHS, literally, I like to be organized and plan shit out, but every week or so it’s “so where are we staying again” “how much is it” “do you think my hair will last if I get a frontal” to which I replied BITCH NEVER, just get braids or locs, of course she just got a sewin/frontal earlier…okay but I warned you sis😖. now mind you this will be her first time in Miami so she wasn’t really trying to pay the price (half) for the hotel I booked. I’ve been to Miami plenty of times on top of actually living there and there’s no better deal we’re going to get on south beach, with all the amenities that the hotel offers, I’m very good at planning and booking trips and finding the best deals so I was highly irritated when just a week before our trip shes tryna find cheaper places. I told her she can look but it needs to at least •be in south beach •be on collins/ocean drive and •have a pool (unless she could find an Airbnb). Y’all she sent me all these bullshit ass links to places in HOLLYWOOD (which I actually love but I said south beach…), Miami Gardens 🤮, and ft. Lauderdale and they didn’t have any amenities and were MORE money. In my head I was like “bruh nevermind we’re staying where we’re staying, you don’t need to do ANYMORE looking” 🙅🏽‍♀️

4: she doesn’t like the water or swimming. That’s the main reason I even go to Florida so often for the water, like literally. I’m not a fan of most beaches up north (Giants neck beach In CT Is awesome though, Maine has some nice ones too but it’s just so cold even on a very hot summer day, jersey has a few as well but mainly I like clear waters) So anyway, I wanted to book this snorkel/boat tour/key west tour but she doesn’t want to do it because 1: she doesn’t wanna snorkel but 2: we would have to leave at 6:30 am and she doesn’t get up until like 12 🙄 I feel like I’m limited as to what I can do

5: She still hasn’t sent me her half of the hotel fee and we leave Tuesday…it’s Saturday. She’s been saying “imma send it tomorrow” for like 2 weeks now and telling me about her car troubles

6: As I mentioned she wakes up late, which means she goes to bed late. The latest I go to bed is like 12 but when I’m on “vacation” I tend to drink more than I normally would so I go to sleep early. Shit when me and travel daddy went to all those vineyards I legit took naps mid day to keep up 😂 I’m worried she’s gonna keep me up like she did last month when I spent the night at her house, I was HIGHLY irritated and it was only one night

I’m seriously pondering why tf I thought this was a good idea. Lowkey I didn’t think it was a good idea but we’ve never traveled together and she’s never been to Miami (she’s the reason we’re even going to Miami because I’ve BEEN over Miami, it’s packed and overrated but I thought it would be a cute thing for us to do)

It doesn’t matter how cool you are with someone you have to have the right travel buddy and just because you get along doesn’t mean you should travel together. Sadly, I can already tell you this is our last trip together

The irony is I was sooo hesitant and complaining about going on the WPB trip but ended up having a blast, but we also had a huge villa and everyone had privacy, and I only personally knew one person so at first I didn’t feel super obligated to be all chummy with his friends, but I loved all of them they were so much fun and liked to do the stuff I like to do, it really was such a bomb trip I wish I could show you guys all the cute pics and videos we took, REALLY great vibes

I love my best friend to death but I’m so apprehensive about this trip. We don’t even chill that often on the regular, mainly because we’re both just busy or live kind of far from eachother but I’m that friend that loves you…from afar, every now and then she’ll drag me out to some lounge and I’m always ready to go early it’s just not my scene, I wanna be in bed damnit! 😩

Am I just being a brat? What do you guys think?

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collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

Home - c. 14 - Georgia

Summary: With your dad home the house feels a little too suffocating.

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out.

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

You were home. You had driven home from Tara’s on Sunday, early so that you could go to pick up your dad. He was silent the whole way home and said little more when he got in the house, shutting himself in the garage. He didn’t come in again until your mom got home, annoyed from work and from your dad’s presence in the house. It took less time for them to get into it with each other than it did for dinner to be finished and you knew, as you snuck out your window, that your dad would be back on the bottle before the night was over.

Leaving the jeep in the driveway, you headed down the street and cut through the catwalks, only half considering where you were walking. You hadn’t been home a day and already you felt like you were losing your mind. Maybe it was stress, all the minute components of life piling up on you, making you feel like you were seconds from probably losing your mind and the one thing that had been keeping you sane through all the other crap was suddenly gone, vacant from your life.

You stopped at the familiar house, almost knocking on the side door but you noticed a light on in the camper and you went to it. The light flickered for a second as footsteps sounded, just a few to get to the door and it was opening, the spring creaking as you stood there off the step, Daryl standing in front of you.

“Ya don’t give up, do ya?”

“Sorry, it’s just...a shitty night at my house. I just wanted to go somewhere I’d feel better, figured here was the best place.” You replied.

Daryl stepped back, holding the door wide open for you to step up into the camper. It was small inside but cozier than you expected. You stood there for a moment, a little awkward, feeling like it was the first time you were around him again. And maybe that was because of what you’d said. You couldn’t erase telling him that you liked him, and you certainly couldn’t make him forget either.

“Ya alright?” Daryl asked, handing you a bottle of water and sitting back down at the table. You sat on the bench across from him.

“I picked my dad up this morning.” You replied, “he’s been in rehab.”

“So ya came here?”

“I didn’t want my mom to see I was gone so I walked.” You said, unscrewing the water bottle and taking a sip, it occurred to you only once the water hit your throat how thirsty you were. “I can’t go to Tara’s, she’s in Woodbury, and I can’t go to Maggie’s cause I’d have to tell her.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard for her, the Reverend was a heavy hitter back in the day.” Daryl replied, continuing to eat his dinner, seemingly unfazed. He’d never show you if he was though.

“What?”

“Ya ain’t heard about it?”

You shook your head, Maggie had never said anything to you about her father having a drinking problem.

“He quit the bottle when Maggie’s mom got sick. I remember, musta been nine years old at the time, my mama dragged me to church and he gave this long sermon about sinning and asking for god’s forgiveness. Load a bullshit if I ever heard it, but he changed himself around.” Daryl replied.

“How’d you know the sermon was about him?” You asked, your mind swimming with information. You’d known Hershel all your life, at times when you were feeling lost he always felt like a second father to you.

“Used to drink down at The Wharf with my dad. Told him I was gonna tell somebody about him once when I was real angry and he just said ‘you go tell Reverend Greene or the sheriff, I see ‘em every night’. My dad ain’t big on socialising and he only goes one place.” Daryl said, “it was a poorly kept secret but then he sobered up and everybody swept it under the rug for him.”

“I had no idea.”

“Didn’t mean ta ruin the Reverend for ya…just meant, he’ll be understanding, if nothing else.”

“My mom would lose it if I told anyone that my dad’s an alcoholic. I mean, it’s just you and Tara that know, everyone else just thinks he works a lot or if they don’t think that they just don’t ask.” You admitted. You could practically imagine the hellfire your mom would bring down on you if you told everybody that your dad was a drunk.

“What about yer mom?” Daryl asked, getting up from the table and going to wash his dishes.

You watched him for a moment, thinking this was what you had been missing for those few weeks apart. This was the thing you craved the most from him. To just be able to sit and chat with him, listen to him talk, edging away at his reservations until he was talking to you about anything. You wanted to tell him you missed him, you missed this. That you loved him and that probably you always would but you kept your mouth shut, knowing that you had to take what you could get if you wanted anything at all with him.

“What’d you mean?” You asked.

“Til she died, my mom always stuck it out. Knew no one else was gonna deal with her. She was angry and she could mean when she wanted and she damn near hated my brother, ruined her life the way she saw it. So she knew nobody was gonna want that…she stuck it out til she died.” Daryl replied, “if your dad’s the problem, why doesn’t yer mom leave him?”

“I think it’s the other way around.” You admitted, “my dad drinks so he doesn’t have to be there with her but he doesn’t have to leave either.” Sometimes you thought he might be trying for a slow death, trying to drink himself out of the life he’d been saddled with.

“Yer mom that bad?”

“She can be.” You replied, “what about your dad, I don’t really see him that much, only the one time he thought I was a prostitute.”

Daryl scoffed, that nearly invisible smile appearing, “we don’t bother each other too much anymore. I pay most a the bills and he leaves me alone.”

“You should be the one in the house then,” you teased, smiling when he scrunched his nose and shook his head.

“Nah, I’d have ta redo that whole thing top ta bottom ta wanna spend any time living it in.” Daryl replied, “ain’t the best memories.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, ya didn’t know.” He came back over to the table, sitting down opposite from you and leaning back against the vinyl seating. “Ya want me ta drive ya somewhere?”

“Can’t stay here?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t that I don’t want ya too…” he trailed off, “I don’t want ya doing something yer bound ta regret cause ya think ya feel a certain way.”

“Why do you think I don’t?” You closed your eyes for a moment to calm yourself down before looking at Daryl, this was not going to be like the last two conversations. “I came here because we’re friends and I needed a friend. If you just want to be friends then, I can respect that. But please, I don’t want to totally lose you because of something I said.”

Daryl nodded his head like maybe he was considering what you had said after all. “Fine, I ain’t gonna entertain ya though, I got things ta do.”

“Like what?” You asked, glancing around the camper. It was clean and the space was small, hardly looked like he could do much.

“I was headed down to the laundromat ‘fore ya came here. I got a bag a clothes ta wash in my truck.”

“Good, I’ll come with you.” You replied, standing up, all ready to go.

“I didn’t miss ya pestering me ya know, least I got a break from it.” He joked and you smiled, if he was joking about it then it didn’t bother him as much as he said it did. It wasn’t a far reach for you then, to assume that maybe he did really like you and he was only saying different because he was afraid of being with you.

“Yeah but I bet I’m way prettier than Rick,” you teased, following him out the door of the camper.

“Don’t know, he’s got his moments.”

“I’ve never been in the laundromat before,” you commented, holding the door for Daryl as he carried a hamper bag of clothing in. The laundromat was small, a little store front nestled in beside a law office and a psychic. You had suggested getting a reading, despite the late hour, and Daryl had scoffed at you. “Like, I always drive by but I’ve never been in.”

There were three vending machines besides the one that dispensed detergent. Coffee, snacks, and soda. You tried the coffee while Daryl threw his clothes in the wash. “It ain’t much.” Daryl replied.

“That’s what you always say.” You joked, setting your coffee down on the counter and sitting up on it beside the pile of dark clothes that Daryl was sorting through to throw in the wash.

Being here with Daryl was nice. It felt a lot like before you told him that you had feelings for him though you couldn’t deny the elephant in the room, knowing that Daryl knew you liked him, that you were in love with him, and that you knew he didn’t want to feel the same way.

“Will you still teach me car stuff?” You asked, handing Daryl your coffee to taste.

He took a sip, “ya always put that much cream in yer coffee?”

“To be fair, it’s powdered.” You replied. “I filled my own washer fluid the other day.”

“And yer car didn’t blow up?” He teased.

“No.” You huffed, kicking him with your foot. “So, will you?”

“Yeah.” He replied. He wouldn’t ever admit it but seeing you at his door had felt like a weight lifting off of his chest. Not seeing you or knowing that you were okay had driven him a little crazy. Daryl had considered going to see you at the diner and talking to you but he chickened out every time, convincing himself that you were better off distancing yourself from him. But maybe he had been wrong. Or maybe he just wasn’t better off being away from you.

taglist: @gigilame @enrapturedbythemoon @thanossexual @yespleasejayhalstead @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @mainokutan @twdeadfanfic @legit-emily @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @mainokutan @sabertooth-potato @solllaris @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @harpersmariano @guccicloudz @sapphire-angel @buzzybhee @alexbealee @elodieyung @its-evita-here

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sylvie-writes · 4 years

Text

Under-WHERE??

The title... I really need help coming up with titles.

Summary: This prompt- 20. “I have long since become desensitized to you walking around in just your underwear.”

Disclaimer: Sorry for my inactivity, I feel bad for not really posting, school has been hell and this one is kinda short (and bad) many apologizes but much love!

Warnings: none. besides a few swear words. This is a Chris Evans fic, I rlly can’t help it.

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Currently you and your brother in law, Scott, were engaged in an intense game of slapjack.

Chris had just returned home from a day on set and was currently in the shower.

That deck of cards on the counter seemed pretty enticing at the time and that is how you ended up here with Scott, trying to pass time.

Competitively.

Tonight, Chris’s siblings, their family, and his mother had invited you all out to dinner.

Scott lived closed by, so you figured that he could just hitch a ride with y’all.

“What time do we have to leave again?” - Scott

Checking your wrist watch, as you placed down a card, you replied that the time was ten till 7.

The reservations were at 8 and so far you all were sort of on time.

It was a good half an hour drive to the restaurant since it was in the heart of the city.

“We should leave in twenty minutes but you know how it is with the diva!”

You and Scott shared a few giggles before you broke the conversation by yelling slapjack.

“Damn. (Y/n) that’s the third time! Don’t tell Chris!”

Scott and Chris were sooooo competitive, you just stayed out of their games.

Last year, they were doing shots at a dinner party and let’s just say…you had to break the news to Chris that you were dating.

He was absolutely ecstatic (yet hammered)

That whole night he had been hitting on you, which was hilarious as you were already dating.

Now, the game of slapjack was over and instead you both decided to play War.

Scott shuffled the cards while you went to go check on Chris.

The bathroom door was shut and you proceeded to gently knock on it before opening it up.

As you walked in, your face was immediately hit with steam, making it a little bit more difficult to see.

“Oh hey darling! I’ll be out in a sec!”

You just smiled and shot him a quick okay, walking out the door, knowing by a second he most likely meant half an hour.

“Did you go check up on the little Princess?” The statement coming from Scott, true and absolutely funny.

“Yeah, he’s just now getting out of the shower.”

Scott dealt the cards and continued to talk with you.

“Well, we might as well go get the champagne so when the ball drops on New Years we can finally celebrate with him!”

You just playfully rolled your eyes and started the game.

Both you and Scott were already dressed and ready to go to dinner, having prepared a few hours ago.

Hell, you had gotten showered and dressed into a nice sweater and jeans before Chris even called to say he was coming home.

You loved the man, but damn did he take long showers.

Almost as if reading your mind, you heard said man’s voice ringing out, prompting you to turn in your chair.

“Hey honey, do you know where my black crew neck is—

His face immediately turned red and his hands shot to shield the front of his body, only being covered in a pair of boxers.

“Oh shit I’m so sorry.” - Chris

Completely oblivious to Scott you just gave him a confused look, tilting your head like an intrigued puppy.

“I have long since become desensitized to you walking around in just your underwear.” -You

“SPEAK FOR YOURSELF.” -Scott

And that’s when the two pieces in your brain clicked and you just full on laughed while Chris scurried back to the bedroom.

Turning around, you just looked at Scott who had laid his head down on the table, horrified at the sight he’d just seen.

You reached across the table and ran your fingers through Scott’s hair, petting him like a dog in a jocular manner.

“Oh you poor poor thing.”

“You can never unsee that!”

“Well, I mean, it’s kinda every man for himself in this situation.”

“It’s legit the equivalent to walking in on your parents doing—“

All of your little quips, prompting Scott to explode...

“OKAY I GET IT (Y/N). ADDING SALT TO THE WOUND.”

A small chuckle left your mouth as you cleaned up the playing cards.

You hopped up from your seat at the table and walked to your purse, which was resting on the kitchen counter.

From your spot in the kitchen, you tossed Scott the car keys, giving him instructions to go start the car, seeing as Chris was almost ready.

With Scott walking out the door, you went back to the bedroom to help Chris.

If there was one distinctive trait about the man, it was that he’d always overlook things.

This time, the disregarded item being his black crew neck, which you happened to have folded last week and put back in HIS drawer.

You came in to find him sitting on the bed, now deciding on two completely different shirts (that didn’t match the pants he had on).

“Oh thank goodness you are here! I need your help.”

He wasn’t wrong about needing help. For the most part, Chris was a very stylish man, but sometimes he needed your help, like right now.

Chris was holding up two different sweaters (?), puzzled when you walked away to the dresser.

A few seconds later, you came back, the missing shirt in hand.

It was like an angel had been sent to him. (You being the angel in his eyes)

“You have the eyes of a bat, mister.”

He just laughed and gratefully took the shirt you had set in his lap.

Walking away, you placed a kiss on his already styled hair, going to grab some socks for your boots.

A good five minutes had passed, since you left Scott, and Chris was now ready to walk out the door.

Chris walked from the closet that he had gone to change into, and came back to find you sitting on the bed.

With his hands out, Chris gently helped you up from the bed, escorting you out of the room, one hand on your waist, the other in his pocket.

Just as Chris went to grab his wallet, your phone buzzed having received a message.

Scott Evans: you two lovebirds ready?

The two of you reunited and smiled at each other like love sick idiots, walking out the front door, hand in hand.

Chris, ever the romantic, brought your intertwined hands to his lip, placing delicate kisses on your knuckles.

“You are the best thing to ever happen to me, honey.”

His little wink made your stomach flutter and you beamed at him with the brightest smile.

Tonight was gonna be a good night.

Taglist: @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @bval-1 @tonystankschild @turtoix

If you want to join, lemme know!!!

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #steve rogers #andy barber #ransom drysdale

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Light My Fire - CH02

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: Slow build, a pinch of angst, doubts, a little fluff too, maybe?

WC: 2975

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST

There’s a knock at the door in the afternoon and she opens up to Gabriel, Dean’s personal driver and handyman. She has known him for a while now, having started at the company almost at the exact same time. Gabe’s secretive — probably why Dean hired him in the first place — and he’s really easy to talk to.

“Boss said I should move your things to his apartment.” Gabe says and steps in.

“What else has he told you?” She closes the door and follows Gabe over to where her suitcases are.

“Nothing much. You’re married or something. But I signed a NDA, so, no worries,” He shrugs like it’s no fucking deal, which makes her wonder what else he knows. She wonders what else Gabe witnessed while driving around for Dean.

“Is that all?” He asks and points his finger at her two packed suitcases.

“Yeah, I travel light.” She smiles, feels a little embarrassed actually. But that’s how it is. Everything she owns fits into two lousy suitcases. It’s actually quite sad when she thinks about it.

“Damn, you could have taken the subway with them suitcases. There’s no need for me,” Gabe says it with an amused tone to his voice.

Gabe drives into the parking garage of the building Dean lives in. He tells her to call the elevator and take the one far left because that one will go to the top floor without making unnecessary stops. He then takes out her luggage and follows her.

As they are standing in the elevator, the stupid music starts to play and she hates that. Hates lame elevator music, because it makes everything so much more awkward. Dean even has his own elevator. It’s a little ridiculous when you think about it.

They arrive and Gabe shows her the way, which is probably not really hard because there’s only one door that looks like an apartment door. All the other doors had signs on them that say Keep out! or Private!

Gabe rings the bell and she waits behind him. She can’t lie, she’s a little scared. Like, he’s her boss and he’s so damn grumpy all the time and she’s afraid that he’s going to fire her even in his own home.

Dean opens the door, his hair’s ruffled, his jacket and tie are off, the top two buttons of his shirt are loose, and his sleeves are rolled up. The shirt has those crinkles on them as if he just took a nap. Maybe he did? He was complaining about a headache earlier.

“Hey,” He says and opens the door wider, for Gabe and her to step through, “Thanks Gabe, that’ll be all.”

“Right,” Gabe nods, “I’ll be in the car ready to leave when you are.”

Dean gives Gabe a courtesy nod before he closes the door behind him. He then turns to her. It's really awkward. She wonders if she’s made a mistake in agreeing to be his fake wife.

He has both his hands in his pockets when he looks at her and asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” She manages to give him a weak smile. She can’t tell him that she’s in fact, not really okay of course, that she’s in fact, nervous as hell.

“Come on, follow me,” Dean starts to walk through the penthouse and she needs to speed up to be able to keep up with him. His legs are incredibly long and hers are not, “I’ll show you around.”

They walk into a big open space. There’s a black sofa in one corner. It faces a ridiculously big screen tv. There are also two big comforter chairs which she frowns a little at. It’s not that they don’t look nice, they just don’t really fit into the setting.

Dean senses her confusion, “I bought them for when Sam’s over. Watch,” He grins and walks over, sits in one and reclined himself. When he settles, he pushes a button and there's a buzzing sound, “It massages your back,” He says, a smile on his face that’s brighter than the sun. She couldn’t not laugh at that.

“Right,” Dean says then, “Gotta get out before I let myself be sucked into it. It’s hard to get out once you relax too much.”

She can imagine and actually, she can’t wait to get in there herself.

He continues to walk ahead and they get into a kitchen area. The fridge is more than twice as big as the one she has at home and it’s stocked up, too. Either he went to the store before or he has someone to do it for him. She thinks it must be the latter. She just can’t imagine him walking through the aisle wheeling a cart in front of him.

After the kitchen, he walks along a hallway and points to the rooms.

“That’s my study, I don’t use it that much but there’s a computer and printer. If you need something, you can use it.”

The door next to the office is the guest bathroom. It’s bigger than the living room of her apartment.

They walk further along the hallway and come to stop at two doors on either side of the narrow hallway.

Dean opens up the door to her right, “That’s your bedroom,” They walk in and it’s spacious as hell. She thinks it’s even bigger than her whole apartment. Everything is kept in a warm mix of white and beige, “And that’s your bathroom.” He walks through to the en-suite and she can see that the tub is huge.

He looks at her, sees her mouth standing agape and has to grin.

“What?” She asks, feeling a little flushed knowing that he’s been watching her.

Pressing his lips into a tight line, he grins a little. There are teeny tiny dimples showing, “There’s a gym on the first floor of the building, you’re free to use it if you want.”

“Okay,” She follows him out again and wonders what is behind the door that he hasn’t mentioned, “And what’s there?”

“That’s my bedroom.” He says simply, and he’s already rushing back into the living area, and fuck why are his legs so damn long. She is glad that they’re bowed, he would probably be even faster if they were straight.

“Dean, slow down, I’m not that fast,” She has to call out because he’s already at the door to the balcony.

He laughs, “Sorry, I’m just so used to walking around with Sam and he never has a problem keeping up with me. I’ll try to go slower, okay?” He waits until she reaches him.

“That'd be great, thanks.”

“Come on, you need to see this,” There’s a boyish smile decorating his face. It’s nothing like the grumpy Dean she knows as her boss. He’s genuinely content, and it shows.

He opens up the door to the balcony and holy shit, it’s not a balcony. It’s a freaking terrace. There’s a hot tub on the far left side, overlooking the city.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” She agrees, “It really is. How often do you get to enjoy it, though?” It’s a legit question because she knows how much he works.

“Maybe I’ll get to enjoy it more now that you’re here.” His voice is a little soft when he says it. Before she can even ask what he means by that, he clears his throat, “Right, I really need to go back to the office now. Will you be okay? I’ll try not to stay too late, alright?”

“Sure,”

“Make yourself at home. It’s yours now, too.” He’s about to turn around but then he stops, “Really missed you in the office this morning. Ruby doesn’t know how I drink my coffee.”

“It’s not hard? You drink it black.”

“Yeah, but hers is different.”

She doesn’t really know if he’s shitting her. Dean’s so hard to read sometimes.

“Dean, the coffee is the same!”

“Fine,” He rolls his eyes, “But anyway, just so you know. You’re missed in the office. Not just because of the coffee.”

“Now you’re just kissing my ass.”

Dean snorts out a laugh before he turns around and picks up his tie and jacket. He walks to the door, turns around again, “Call me when you need anything!”

She can’t even say okay because she can already see that the door closed.

Two suitcases are easy to unpack. Half of her new closet is still empty. She didn’t even need more than an hour.

Walking out into the living room, she sees the comforter and decides to spoil her body with a massage.

She sits in, reclines herself and pushes the same button Dean did before, and immediately a buzzing sound fills her ears as her back starts to vibrate. She lets out a squeal at first but soon starts to relax and it does feel really good. She closes her eyes and almost drifts off when she feels another kind of vibration in the back pocket of her pants.

Taking out her phone she looks at her screen.

Dean.

D: What are you up to? Find everything alright?

Y/N frowns. Because she sees the time and knows for a fact that he’s in a meeting right now because she organized that meeting.

Y/N: Aren’t you in a meeting?

D: Yeah, but I’m bored.

She doesn’t even know that he’s a texter. Every time she saw him with his phone in his hand, he talked to someone. He never just has his phone in his hand and fucking texts.

Y/N: If you’re really interested, I’m sitting in the comforter and I’m enjoying a massage.

D: Jealous.

Y/N: Was thinking about taking a bath in the hot tub. I’m allowed to use it, right?

D: You are. But I would wait til the evening. The view is nicer then.

Y/N: Okay.

But he’ll be here in the evening and he’ll see her in the tub. Ugh.

D: Right, just wanted to see if you’re okay. Since you are, I’m gonna go back to listening to whatever Donatello has to tell me. See you later, Y/N.

Y/N: TTYL

D: TTYL?

Y/N: Talk to you later

D: Oh, TTYL

She snorts out a laugh, thinks that texting-Dean is kind of adorable.

After a relaxing massage, she decides to take a shower. Mainly because she still hasn’t showered after she poured coffee all over herself this morning.

The shower’s huge too, the water pressure is excellent. The nozzles (and boy are there many of them), hit her sore spots just right.

She dresses herself back in some jeans and shirt. Normally if she’s at her home, she’d walk around in only a shirt but she’s practically a guest around here — even if Dean insists that it’s her home, she doesn’t trust it yet — and she doesn’t really know how her boss would react seeing her walking around in his apartment in only her underwear and a shirt.

Taking her book that she didn’t get to finish this morning out into the living room, she grabs a cup of coffee before she makes herself comfortable and cozies herself up on the couch to finish her book.

Just when she reaches the second to last page, Dean walks in, his tie already loose around his neck, “Honey, I’m home!” He smiles when he sees her staring at him, “I always wanted to say that once in my life.”

“You’re early,” She says, pushes at the button of her phone to realize that it’s almost 6pm. Normally he’s still at the office.

Dean switches on the light for her and she doesn't even realize that it starts to get dark out.

“Yeah, I still have a headache. It’s been like that since I woke up after the night I married Amara. Didn’t feel like working longer and leave you alone either.” He comes to sit next to her and she catches the smell of his cologne mixed with his musk. He smells delicious even after a long day and that’s not really fair.

“Should I go get some painkillers? You just have to tell me where they are kept.”

“Nah,” He sighs, “I’ll just take them before I go to sleep. What are you up to?” He asks her, and she sees that he’s eyeing up her book that she’s still clutching in her hands.

Her face starts to flare up.

“Just reading a book.” She says it in an easy way, tries to sound nonchalant about it but she knows that she fails.

Dean catches the cover before she could hide it and he starts to grin, “You sap.” He stands up again when he sees that she starts to feel uncomfortable if they didn’t change the subject soon.

“What do you want to eat? Does Pizza sound alright? I’m not in the mood to cook tonight.”

That’s when it dawns on her that she’s playing his fake wife and maybe she should have cooked him something for dinner? Because that’s what wives do right? She doesn’t fucking know because she hasn’t even been in a relationship long enough to cook anything for anyone. Except that she sometimes used to cook for Jack. Oh my god, Jack! She still has to tell him what happened!

She gets up from the couch, abandons her book and walks to Dean who’s already in the kitchen leafing through take-out leaflets, “I’m sorry, I should have cooked you something,”

He stops in his tracks to look at her, one eyebrow raised, “What?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be your fake wife and I’m supposed to cook you something.”

Dean sighs, “Y/N, really. That’s not why I fake married you. You don’t have to do anything in fact. It’s okay alright? I’m a big guy and if I want something cooked, I can do it myself.”

“Okay,” She says, still feels a little guilty about it, though. And Dean seems to sense it because he drops the leaflets and walks over to her, places his hand on the back of her neck and she catches the whiff of his cologne. It makes all the hair on her body stand up and she gets light headed.

He lowers himself a little, looks her in the eye, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you understand? Hey, look at me.”

She does, looks straight into his green eyes. Dean Winchester has freckles. She never noticed them before, was always distracted by the green of his eyes.

There’s a moment of silence, and she doesn’t know if he feels it too. Feels a magnetic force that pulls her towards him.

“Are we good?” He leans in closer and she can feel his hot breath.

“Yeah,” She nods.

“Good,” He says, but doesn’t quite move away yet, if anything he moves even closer. He’s closer to her than he’s ever been, “Because I want you to feel comfortable around me, okay? I’m really not your boss when we’re together. I want you to be yourself, can you do that?”

“Sure,”

Dean smiles, showing his white fangs. Her heart races a little more. She would love to feel the teeth on her skin.

Y/N, what’s wrong with you?

He lingers a little longer, his hand still firm on the back of her neck and she feels like he’s staring into her soul. He licks his lips before he speaks, “Are you hungry?”

“Not really,”

She’s really not, at least not yet. She’s too confused to eat. Confused about the fact that she feels that she’s attracted to her own fucking boss. Someone who she’s faked married to!

“Right, how about you take that bath in the hot tube that you talked about? I’ll go take a shower and we’ll order later, huh?”

She looks out of the window and grins, because the sun’s going down and the view’s really is fabulous, “Sounds good to me.”

She slips into her room to change into a bathing suit. She doesn’t really have anything fancy, only a simple black bikini but she’s not really here to impress him, is she? She’s not really here to do more than being his fake wife, right? Right.

When she walks out to the terrace, Dean must already be in his room because she can’t see him but she did find the tub heating up and bubbling away. There’s a bottle of wine and glasses on the table next to the tub. She smiles when she thinks that he prepared it for her. She wouldn’t have guessed that he would do things like this. At least not boss Dean that she knows.

She steps into the tub and lets herself sink lower. Closing her eyes, she embraces the feel of floating outdoors.

“You didn’t pour yourself wine?” Dean’s voice suddenly jerks her back to reality.

Y/N opens her eyes to see Dean standing there, wearing a simple shirt and sweatpants. His hair’s still damp from the shower. She’s astounded, he looks completely different. Still good, but different. More casual, more relaxed.

“I was too excited to get in,” She smiles at him.

Dean mirrors her smile before he pours the wine for her, “You must have wine in there in order to get the full experience.” He walks over to hand it to her.

“Thanks,” She says, and thinks whether she should ask if he wants to join her? What’s the proper hot tub etiquette? “You want to come in?”

He chuckles, “Nah, maybe some other time, I’m enjoying the view from here.” He pours himself some wine and sits down, stretching himself before his face settles into a smirk.

She thinks it’s weird that he said he wants to enjoy the view but he’s sitting facing her.

CH03

#light my fire #dean winchester #ceo!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

The Prince and the Pauper (who drives an Uber) Ch. 6

(Prince Steve flees his wedding, and asks his Uber driver to take him bowling...and on a date. WIP) Part One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Billy’s phone rang seconds after the bell did, and he sat his books back down, checking to see whether it was Max’s school, and she’d finally decked that one kid that kept—but it wasn’t, it was Steve’s bowling picture, and Billy grabbed his books awkwardly and ducked around the people coming in for the next class, tucking his phone against his shoulder. “Steve,” he said.

“Tell me I’m not a moron,” Steve said. He sounded like he’d been running.

“You are a moron,” Billy said absently, crouching against the corridor wall to stuff his notebook and textbook into his bag. There was silence on the other end, and he bit his lip, considering. “I mean, uh.”

“...you’re such a help,” Steve said dryly.

“You’re into me,” Billy told him, and Steve groaned.

“No, that’s smart.”

“Then you’re smart! Ha,” Billy said, smirking, and Steve laughed, and blew air through his cheeks.

“...I have to sign a treaty today,” he said softly. “I had everyone else read it, all the smart people, but—but if it’s wrong, it’s still my fault.”

“Hey, hey,” Billy said, frowning. Somebody banged into him from behind, and he realized he’d stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. “Your Royalship—”

“This is why the people should elect their leaders,” Steve groaned, his voice hoarse. “I failed debate class! I—I’ve been reading so much about taxes, and—and water rights—the letters are blurring, and I don’t think I know any more than I did yesterd—”

“Breathe,” Billy told him, walking as fast as he could to the open balcony, and a blast of heat. “Babe. Breathe for me.” Steve took a shaky breath, and Billy bit his lips together hard against the need to curse himself for being such a fucking cunt. “Shit,” Billy whispered, and Steve started snickering. “You—you’re not a moron,” Billy admitted.

“I’m trying not to be,” Steve said softly. “Y’know they say royalty’s all inbred. Maybe that’s my problem, I probably have dumb royal braincells—”

Billy rolled his eyes. His skin shone with sweat already, and he let his eyes close against the glare. “Shut up, you’re not a moron. Did somebody say something shitty to you? ‘Cause I’ll fight ‘em.”

“I think if you punched the Minister of Agriculture, he’d die,” Steve said, laughing, with a sniffle. “He’s like a hundred years old.”

“Sounds like it’s time for me to punch him,” Billy growled, and smiled, listening to Steve giggle. “You tell me and I’m on a plane.”

“Maybe I should,” Steve said. “I’d get to see you.”

Billy shut his eyes tightly against the burst of fondness that rose and heated his cheeks, and when he could, laughed. “If you need me, I’ll figure it out,” he promised.

“I’ll be all right,” Steve said. “I just—” he sighed. “There just—there are some regulations that...somebody’s telling me they’re for safety, and we can’t let the corporations get away with, you know, giving people botulism—”

“Sounds pretty legit,” Billy nodded, biting his lip.

“But I’ve got somebody else saying it’s actually this new unnecessary process that wastes a bunch of food, and it’s just a way to drive the smaller growers out by making them adopt all this mechanical stuff—”

“...which one does that guy say?” Billy asked, leaning his elbows on the cement edge of the balcony. “The one that called you a moron.”

“Oh, he didn’t, he wouldn’t say it,” Steve laughed, sounding disheartened. “He just—”

“Do whatever he doesn’t want,” Billy hissed, and Steve’s laugh turned more genuine.

“No, no, he’s, uh, he is conservative, but he...he means well,” Steve sighed. “I don’t—”

“Okay,” Billy considered. “Who’s the most onboard with your unionizing?”

“What?”

“That isn’t patronizing at all. There somebody like that?”

“Ah,” Steve was quiet for a long moment, and Billy watched a lady down below unlock her car, climb in and roll down the windows, burn herself on the steering wheel, and scramble out to stand in the shade. “Maybe,” Steve said in a small voice. “But that’s got nothing to do with—”

“Go see what they think. They might at least know who’s in it for profits.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve said. “I lo—” he cut off, clearing his throat. “I’m so glad I met you, Billy Hargrove.”

Billy’s heart was pounding with what he’d thought Steve was about to say, and he drew a slow breath, wide-eyed. “I’m pretty fucking happy I met you too,” he said back, feeling a little choked.

“Miss you,” Steve whispered, and Billy laughed, wanting to cry.

“Get your posh ass back here then,” he said.

The next day when he got home there were no lights on in any of the windows in the whole complex, and no porch lights. In the light of the street lamps over the parking area, he could see extension cords going in through the windows in half the apartments, like they’d all suddenly forgotten about fire hazards, and blankets stuffed in the gaps. He usually sat in the car for a minute, finishing out a song, and soaking in the last of the AC before he had to walk through the late night heat to their apartment building, but he slammed the door and stumbled in the darkness of the street door to the apartment stairs. When he ran around and up, there were no lights on in the hallways, and the heat was so thick it had weight. He unlocked the door by the light of his phone, and yelled for his sister, walking into what felt like a refrigerator.

“It’s fine,” came her voice, shouting through a door, and then closer. “The landlord didn’t pay the electricity bill,” she said, in a familiar voice that meant she was grimacing. “I, uh, I got some dry ice like the um, like, uh, it’s in the freezer and fridge.”

“What,” said Billy, finding her in the dim light from the digital display on the A/C unit plugged in in the middle of the kitchen, and awkwardly touching her shoulder. “Where’d this thing come from? Max. Tell me what’s going on. How long has the power been off.”

“Uh,” she said again, making a face, and then folding her arms. “I thought...you were working late tonight.”

“...did you think I wouldn’t notice there were no lights when I came in?!” he hissed, stalking away to sit wrong-way-round on a kitchen chair, and lean his head on his arms.

“No!” She waved her hands, an orangey grey blur in the darkness. “No, no, uh—it’s—um. I just—”

The power came on in a chorus of hums from the fridge and the overhead fluorescent lights, and the usual AC clicked on over the window with a wheeze. “...they got it back on,” he breathed, his shoulders dropping. “Do—do we have to pay the—is the money just gone, the money we paid for utilities? I can’t afford to—”

“Legally,” Max said, stepping forward to touch his elbow, “—it’s on him. It’s not on us. We won’t have to move, unless he pays for us to move.”

“What?” Billy asked, lifting his head, but Max’s phone rang, and she waved him away as she answered.

“...yeah, it’s back on,” she said, glancing back at Billy, and grimacing again. “Um, yeah. Thank you. Yeah, that’s all—no, we’re okay. It’s only been off a few hours! No, we’re—we’re really—thank you. Oh, really?” She snorted. “What happens to people who live in her buildings, then? Oh. Haha, sounds like she deserves it. Thank you. Wha—?” She listened for a few minutes, as Billy’s suspicions heightened, and then laughed again, sounding a little disbelieving. “Oh. Oh, no, um, the air conditioner’s great, I can box it back up for—oh. Uh, really?” Her brows drew together as she stared at it, and Billy registered the box it had come in, sitting to the side.

“Shit,” he whispered, quietly, into his sleeves, and waited for his step-sister to get off the phone. She bit her lips together, avoiding his eyes, and he cleared his throat. “They turned the power off,” he prompted her, and she nodded. “...and you called Steve.”

She nodded again, hunching her shoulders.

“He’s in charge of a country—”

“Yeah, I thought maybe he knew some lawyers,” she hissed back, and Billy's stomach went into freefall.

“You asked him to hire lawyers,” he whispered, registering that as a kid, she’d thrown down the only defense she had access to. “—and he sent over an AC unit, jesus. ...why didn’t you let me handle it? Why didn’t—you didn’t even call me—”

“You were working!” she yelled. “You were working all last night—"

"The power was off yesterday?!" he shouted back, "—there's a heat advisory—there are people collapsing out there—"

"You were at school all morning," she screamed back. "—I thought—I thought you’d be gone all night—”

Billy flinched at her volume, his eyes burning. “Sorry! Jesus, Max, I’m—I’m fucking sorry, okay, but you can’t just—”

“I couldn’t even make cup noodles,” she shouted, sounding like she wanted to cry herself, and Billy clenched his fists around the back of the chair, instead of running back downstairs to work more hours, or stomping off to sleep in his room.

“I have to work!” he yelled back. “I could have brought you some food, you didn’t even call me—”

“You said you trusted him!” she said, a little more quietly, her clenched fists shaking, and Billy remembered the look she had, her jaw set, too wary to look at him. He remembered it from living at home, and felt worse.

“I did say that,” he said numbly. “...fine.” She flinched back as he stood, and he froze, his eyes blurring with tears. “Sorry you had to...do that,” he said through gritted teeth. “I—I’ll call the—them, so next bullshit she tries, you don’t have to...deal with it.”

“I dealt with it fine,” she muttered, and Billy’s hands strained on the back of the chair until it creaked.

“...sorry,” he whispered, turning away to his room.

“Shut up!” she yelled after him, and Billy shouted back a “You shut up!” before he slammed the door, and sank down against it, and fumbled his phone out. He’d dialed before he realized it was two am in Greece, and he frantically shut it off, letting his head thump back against the door, and then thumping it harder a second and third time.

He stopped as his phone rang with Prince Charming’s song from Snow White.

“Sorry,” he answered, in a weird uneven hiss, and cleared his throat. “I’m so fucking sorry, now I fucking woke you up, I’m such a fucking moron—useless—asshole—”

“Billy,” Steve said, authoritative, and Billy sat up straighter, closing his eyes and clenching his fingers in his jeans.

“Y-yeah,” he whispered. He wondered whether it was worth apologizing again, and tried not to sniffle as he felt his tears spill over down his cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, and Billy let out a sob before he buried it in his sleeves.

“Of-of course I’m okay,” he laughed hoarsely. “My sister called my boyfriend ‘cause she knew I was useless, and he—he probably skipped a fucking—UN meeting or some shit—probably peace-talking with Iran right now and we’ll go to war because my air conditioning got turned off, and I’m so fucking useless my sister called you—”

“Billy. Billy,” Steve said again, in the calm voice Billy associated with his kinder teachers. “It was forty-nine degrees there, malaka, I checked online. And it took like thirty seconds, I just told my PA to make a call—”

“Shit, I probably owe you a million dollars in—in legal fees,” Billy realized aloud, letting his head thud back against the door again as he turned the number 49 in his head. He couldn’t make sense of it until he remembered with a shaky huff of laughter that Steve was a prince where they used celsius. “Jesus,” he whispered.

“You—no you don’t,” Steve huffed. “What the hell are you—Billy.” He sighed, and Billy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, sighing into the warm fabric of his sleeves. “You don’t owe me anything, you don’t—” Steve started again, sounding annoyed, and Billy waited, shutting his eyes tighter. “I’m not that important, love, you’re not going to cause a war.”

“What,” Billy breathed, his comprehension stalling out in the middle.

“You can always call me,” Steve told him, breathing a little faster, and Billy pictured him pacing around his gold-and-marble room, walking over his bed in huge steps like it was steep terrain, and scrabbling at his hair. Billy took a slow breath, listening, as Steve repeated. “I love you. You can always call me.”

“Shit. I thought—” Billy took another deep, shaky breath, trying to focus his thoughts as he wiped more tears off his cheeks and relaxed, sliding sideways to curl up on his side against the foot of the door. “I get another chance still, huh?”

“...you thought I’d...dump you,” Steve said slowly.

“But you didn’t,” Billy laughed, giggling with relief. “Shit. God. You don’t—you don’t have to say shit like that, I’m not—I’m fine, jesus. Jesus.”

“Why’re you laughing?” Steve asked, and Billy laughed harder, wiping his eyes.

“Can’t believe you’re okay with this,” Billy whispered. “I figured—”

“You can ask for help,” Steve interrupted, and Billy smiled wider, curling around his phone.

“You just wanna strip show later, right?” he whispered, keeping his voice flirty when he wanted to snicker.

“...I seriously don’t know whether you’re kidding,” Steve said, and Billy sighed, pushing himself to your feet.

“...d’you want me to be?”

“I flubbed it and told you I loved you because you sounded upset, and you haven’t said anything, and now you’re laughing at me,” Steve growled, but he sounded a little whiny, and Billy wanted to wrap him in a soft sweatshirt again, and then unwrap him entirely, and kiss every square inch of his body.

“Uhhh,” he said to break the silence, his face heating as he thought of humiliating ways to reply.

“I’m going back to bed,” Steve sighed, and Billy spun to pace in his little room, hoping—like an idiot—that they were pacing in synch.

“No, no, wait,” he mumbled, then groaned. “I—I heard you, I thought—” he trailed off, and the silence lengthened. Finally, Billy forced out “What did you mean?”

“What?!” Steve laughed.

“What does that even—”

“Billy—”

“No, look, we—we fucked, right,” Billy said, waving his hand in a decisive chopping motion.

“...we fucked,” Steve said, real quiet, and Billy dropped to lay across his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“We fucked. A couple times. And—and now I call you sometimes when you’re flipping your shit—”

“Or when you are,” Steve put in, and Billy pulled the blanket over his head, groaning.

“I don’t—I didn’t that much, jesus. I flipped out a couple times, you—” Billy spoke louder, over Steve’s sputtering, “—you call me when I’m freaking out, asshole, you know you do that, Max fucking tells you, I didn’t ask for that, I don’t—”

“Why does this sound like I’m accused of a crime,” Steve muttered, and Billy stopped with his mouth still open, then closed it.

“No,” he said, thinking. “No, I didn’t—I don’t mean that, I mean...I just mean—you can’t—”

“I can’t what?” Steve asked.

“You can’t fall in love with a hot Uber driver you meet for like...a week,” Billy sighed. “Just because I told you some like...jokes. A couple times.”

“Billy. I have known you for months,” Steve told him, with the carefully articulated syllables of someone trying to sound patient.

“We haven’t even been able to talk much—”

“We talk nearly every day!” Steve laughed, sounding upset, and Billy’s eyes widened as he bit his lips, considering.

“...no,” he said quietly, laughing. “No fucking way.”

“...I’m going to hang up,” Steve said, and Billy sat up under the blanket.

“No, no, wait, you can’t—I’m not—it’s just—”

“I’m tired,” Steve told him, sounding kind of sad, and Billy scrambled for something to say.

“No, there hasn’t been a musical number,” he said, curling around his phone again to concentrate on Steve’s voice as he waited to see whether his prince would laugh.

“...what?!” Steve asked. “The hell are you—”

“I can fall for you,” Billy told him, feeling like the five short words took all his oxygen. “I—I can. F-fall in...but y-you’re a prince. Th-there hasn’t been a musical number.”

“...you saying you’re in love with me?” Steve asked, and Billy wanted to hide, his pounding heart telling him to say it, or Steve would be hurt, but also not to, because Billy Hargrove’s love wasn’t valuable enough to take up somebody’s time.

“...you tromped right the fuck into my—my heart when you tried to buy a plush winged buffalo,” Billy admitted, realizing he sounded a little pissed, which was truthful enough. “And I don’t need a fucking musical number. Even—even if you hadn’t called, y’know. Gotten in touch. Every time I hear your voice you’re a little more in here. I—I wake up thinking maybe I’ll hear from my prince today, try to—try to think of funny shit to say so you’ll keep calling…”

Steve made a noise like he was trying to laugh underwater.

“I reread your texts all the time when I need…” Billy trailed off, and took another deep breath. “You’re like a—a goddamn air freshener, I look at you and I—I listen to your dumb voice and it—everything’s—better,” he forced out. “Had to stop calling just to listen to your voicemail,” he admitted quietly. “‘Cause you kept calling me back. No matter what time it was, you’d call me back, and—and asking what—I-I there wasn’t anything I wanted, I just wanted...you.”

“Please keep calling my voicemail,” Steve laughed, sniffling. “I thought I scared you off, or—or maybe you were trying to leave bad news. How come you only call when you think I won’t answer?! I’ll always answer—”

“Don’t tell me this shit,” Billy hissed, “—I’ll take you up on this crap, I will, you’ll get fifty calls a day because I had to leave class—I was thinking about your dumb face today and I kept smiling at the professor and she thought I was high—”

“No!” Steve shouted back, laughing. “No, keep doing it! I want you thinking about me, you can—you can always—just call and tell me—”

Billy stuck out his tongue and blew loudly. “Oh, yeah,” he snorted. “Prince Steven, I’m horny. Ignore that—that ambassador, and watch me take my shirt off, your majesty—”

“Let me get somewhere I can unzip my slacks,” Steve laughed, and Billy snorted so hard he choked, coughing. “Make some requests, maybe.”

“What d’you wanna request?” Billy asked, letting his voice come out husky. “I’m in bed, by the way. Bring it on.”

“You got time?” Steve asked, and Billy could hear his smile. “I want video of you saying you love me.”

“Fuck you,” Billy mumbled, wide-eyed. “What the shit—”

“I’ll call you from somewhere public,” Steve whispered. “Somewhere nobody can hear me, but everyone can see me, and I’ll talk you off.”

“Holy shit,” Billy breathed.

“Send me video of you in a hoodie,” Steve said. “Tell me you love me,” and Billy’s face heated enough to be the sole cause of the current heat advisory.

“No!” he hissed back, muffled, because he’d buried his face in the pillow. He was fairly sure it’d combust. “Fuck you! No!”

“Don’t you want me telling you how to touch yourself in my sash and uniform,” Steve whispered, snickering. “I’ll wear my crown. You know you want me to—”

“Oh my god,” Billy wheezed. “Now I do. What fucking kink even is that?!”

“I’ll go out on some palace balcony,” Steve said. “Maybe I’ll wave. While you’re squirming around with your hand on your dick. I’ll say stuff like ‘god, you sound amazing, babe,’ and ‘good job’.”

“...you motivational speaker,” Billy muttered, meaning it to insult.

“Do I get my video?”

“I don’t know, how good a job d’I have to do to hear it,” Billy shot back, then realized what he said, and buried his face again.

“...you wanna hear you did a good job?” Steve asked, and Billy mumbled ‘damn it, damn it, damn it’ into his pillow. “I can’t tell you you did a good job on my video until I get it, but I know you will,” he said, and Billy shivered.

“I was just kidding—” he tried to interrupt, but Steve just got louder.

“—you do such a good job with your sister, you’re amazing, taking classes and working, you’re not even twenty years old—” Billy groaned incoherently into his pillow, but Steve didn’t stop. “You always know what to say because you listen to me, like you listen to Max, you’re so good at that, you’re so good for me—”

Billy squirmed, shifting in his jeans, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing his eyes would stop burning.

“I could have ended up in anyone’s car,” said Steve, “—I was—I was upset, and I didn’t know what I was doing, and—you—you were really good to me,” he mumbled, starting to sound embarrassed himself. “Say something.”

Billy took a deep, slow breath. “—walked in today and I thought—I realized Max got you to call us lawyers and I…” his breath gave out, and he shut his eyes tightly, pressing his lips together. Steve took a breath, but stayed quiet. “Thought you—thought you’d leave me hangin’,” Billy whispered, laughing. “Last, uh, last straw, this American slut dickhead who keeps taking you for more money.”

“I want to help,” Steve told him, hoarsely. “Billy. I want to help you.”

“You don’t have to!” Billy said, smiling into the middle distance, his eyes stinging with tears. “It’s not—that’s not what you’re for, your highness, you don’t always have to help.”

“I want to,” Steve huffed.

“You’d be perfect already if you were poor and stingy,” Billy told him, narrowing his eyes. “Stop overachieving. The hell am I supposed to say ‘love you’ to somebody like you. Whole universe just popped up an error window.”

“No, it didn’t,” Steve breathed, and Billy could hear him beaming through the phone. “Fuck do you mean musical number. You saying I have to write you a song? Because I—”

“No,” Billy interrupted, his eyes widening in horror. “No, I’m giving you shit, because you’re a prince—”

“Perform in karaoke? Should I rent some big venue, Billy?”

“No, no, no no no,” Billy sat up in bed, staring at the wall. “What?! No!”

“Tough crowd,” Steve said, laughing like a shithead, and Billy tried to resist snickering, his eyes widening in dread.

“No, no, it was a joke, you dumb fuck—”

“I’ll have to do both—”

“How do you even—” Billy roared, and Steve snickered.

“I better go get started,” he said, sing-songing it. “Did you know I can play the guitar?”

“Of course you fucking can,” Billy breathed. “You’re amazing. Stop, stop this right now—”

“Gonna write you a love song—” Steve sang, and to Billy’s horrified and charmed embarrassment, it sounded good.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

Steve made a kissy noise into the phone. “Love you too, babe. That’s just for practise, of course, ‘til I get that song done! Just keep saying I love you. Gotta get it right. Love you, love you, love you! Am I saying it right? It’s hard for princes to say these things without singing—”

“Shut up,” Billy croaked, like a frog.

“I need a rhyming dictionary for our musical number,” Steve sang, snickering, and Billy growled. “Maybe I’ll work my way up from limericks. Dick limericks. To dick sonnets. To dick epics—”

Billy hung up on him.

My other Harringrove stuff

#Harringrove #Billy helps his prince #Steve helps his Billy #They talk through some things #Fluff and angst #gooey idiots

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thefantasygirl3 · 4 years

Text

Negaverse stories: You're gonna have a bed time

Genre/warnings: Comedy, Slice of life, Action.

Word count: 5 287

Summary: The Darkwing Ducks are having a bit of a family dispute, with half of the team refusing to sleep at a proper time. An argument breaks out but is quickly interrupted by a villain attack. Now they will have to fight crime with only two heroes on top of their game.

Notes: I decided to continue writing some fun little adventures for my negaverse boys, because I refuse to let this hyper fixation go. I hope it’s a fun little read for you all. Edit: Gonna link my fanfiction.net as well, which might make it easier for some to find my stories.

Night was falling over all of st. Canard as people were already tucked in tight to sleep. Midnight was getting closer and closer. Quackerjack was fast asleep on the couch, snoring and drooling as he laid sprawled out cartoonishly. But as he was snoring loudly, a loud noise suddenly woke him up and he rolled off the couch and face planted on the floor. He let out a low groan and pushed himself up off the ground, his attention directed towards where the noise was heard, which happened to be the workshop. The duck headed over to the door and peeked inside. He saw Megavolt, sitting by the workshop table with the dismantled stereo he had started working on getting fixed earlier that day. Quacks gave away a soft yawn as he entered the room, walking up to the distracted man and stood beside him. "Hey, Sparky. How long have you been working on this?" He asked as he tilted forward to get a peek at his work. Megavolt gave his wrist watch a quick glance before he answered with "since 6 I think". "What?! You've been working for 6 hours?! When were you planning to go to bed?!" He huffed angrily and leaned in close to the rat, making him move away so he could see what he was doing again. He got angry that the stubborn rat just ignored him and kept working. "Sparkyyyy! You can't keep doing this! You need to go to bed at a reasonable hour and actually SLEEP!" He scolded him while he took the tools out of his hands and put them back into his tool box. "Hey! I'm busy, ok!? If I get into the zone, I can't just break my concentration! I need to finish it before I can stop!" He responded frustrated as he tried to take the tool box back, but Quacks moved it out of the way. "No! You need to go to bed! Now!" He demanded and put the tool box on top of his work shelf. "I'm not a kid! You can't make me!" He growled as he walked over and took it back down. "Wanna bet?" Quacks said with an annoyed squint, grabbing a hold of the box as well.

Meanwhile Bushroot was laying in his bed, sleeping soundly. Until he woke up, muttering under his breath "... I'm thirsty". He pushed himself up from his bed and wandered out into the hallway so he could grab a glass of water. That was until he noticed some light escaping the bottom of Liquidator's door. He cocked his head a bit and decided to take a peek inside to see what was going on. Liquidator was sitting by his computer, editing some ad he was tasked to make. Bushroot slipped inside and walked up beside him. "Hey. Bud. What… um… are you doing there?" He asked him softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. The dog turned his head around and gave him a tired smile. "Ah. Hey Reginald. I'm just finishing this ad before I call it a day" He explained as he looked back at the screen to continue his work. "You know it's almost midnight, right?" The plant asked and looked at him curiously. "... oh. Oops" He muttered as he saw the time in the corner of the screen.

Bushroot sighed and crossed his arms, shaking his head and muttering "Oh bud. We've discussed this!". "It was a mistake! I swear!" Liquidator tried to excuse himself as he turned around to the other man. "Liste bud. I know how you feel. You want to make sure it's perfect. You want to impress the rest of the guys so they will respect you. It's a totally legit feeling to have. But overworking yourself and tiring yourself out isn't going to solve anything" he told him as he put his hands on the other's shoulders reassuringly. "But… it needs to be good. I can't send in something bad" the water man replied with a frown. "You won't! You're too self critical. It was good the way it was, doesn't need 10 reworks" Bushroot sighed and gave his shoulder a light pat. Liquidator gave a small smile and muttered "you're right. Maybe I should get some rest". "There we go. Now, save your work and get to bed" the other man said with a grin and watched as his friend started turning off the computer, before he quickly added on "Oh! And I'll be taking the power cord". "WHAT?! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" He suddenly yelled as he turned around to face the still calm plant. "It's just to ensure you don't turn it back on in the middle of the night. And don't use the 'what if I need to start early' excuse. You're the only one who's putting that stress on yourself" he told him off with a stern voice, as if speaking to a kid. But they were then interrupted by a loud sound from downstairs.

The two rushed over to the stairs and saw the other half of the Darkwing Ducks pulling and tugging at a screwdriver. "LET GO OF IT! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME SLEEP!" Megavolt yelled as he struggled to pull the tool loose. "Oh yes I can, if I knock you out cold!" Quackerjack replied as he tightened his grip on it. Then the two noticed the other men by the end of the stairs, staring surprised. "... workaholic refuses to sleep?" Bushroot asked with one raised eyebrow. "Overgrown baby throwing a tantrum" The other duck answered as he got distracted enough for Megavolt to take the screwdriver back, making him give the rat a hard glare. "Alright guys. This is getting ridiculous! You two need to get a hold of yourselves and get working on a proper sleep schedule! These sleeping problems are going to affect our work!" He groaned and put a hand to his face, letting out a big sigh. "Yeah. I agree. You guys can't pull more all-nighters. You need-" before Bushroot could finish, a small alarm went off, signalling that something bad was happening in town. The dog and rat grinned and ran over to the couch that would get them to their secret hideout, taking the opportunity to escape the discussion. "Sorry! No time to discuss this! Justice awaits, chuckles!" Megavolt said with a satisfied grin, plopping himself down onto the couch beside Liquidator. The other two just sighed and walked over to sit down with them, pulling the lever that was disguised as a statue which spun the couch and transported the four to their base.

They emerged from a secret entrance, already dawning their hero outfits as they landed stylishly. Megavolt rushed over to the computer and started to tap away at it. "According to the drones, there is a big collection of police around the tool shop. Though on closer inspection, most of the officers have been knocked out cold. And there appears to be some sort of white smoke coming out of the entrance and windows" he informed the others as he tapped away at the keyboard. "I think those are clouds" Bushroot added as he walked over to get a better look. "Aha! That's it! This must be the work of King Dreamland! He's putting all those cops and security to sleep so he can rob the store undisturbed!" Quackerjack announced as he pointed at the light, soft looking clouds, already rushing towards the van so they could get going to stop the crazed criminal. Liquidator let out a yawn and dragged himself over to the van and hopped into the back, muttering "right. Then let's get dangerous!". Bushroot groaned as he stepped inside it as well, grumbling annoyed about how neither he or the rodent should be doing anything dangerous in their state. Megavolt sat down in the passenger seat beside the clown, glancing over as he got the car started. "You know I can still drive. You don't gotta-" as he tried to convince him he was perfectly fine to drive, the duck gripped the wheel tightly and hissed like an angry cat, shutting up any further argument. He then hit the gas and they drove off downtown.

They soon reached the store, parking right behind the cluster of police cars and unconscious cops, floating around on soft, fluffy clouds. "Definitely the work of King Dreamland" Megavolt remarked as he watched a sleeping officer drift by the car. "And it seems his work is almost done!" Bushroot exclaimed as he pointed at the figure inside with a big bulky bag of things in his hands. This caused the Darkwing Ducks to hop out of the van and rush the building while pushing clouds out of the way.

As they got inside, they spotted the hazmat suit wearing villain with cute cartoon stickers of clouds and stars on it, still loading up the bag with wire cutters and a sledge hammer. "We are the terrors that flap in the night! We are the alarm clock that wakes you up one hour late!" Liquidator started talking as purple smoke began to fill the store, causing him to swing around and stared at the cloud of smoke. "Ah! Darkwing Ducks!" King Dreamland yelled in surprise as he backed up from the voice. "Aw come on! At least let us finish our intro!" He groaned frustrated as he reeled back and launched his fist towards the villain, knocking him back into a shelf of nuts and bolts. Quackerjack quickly grabbed a hold of his toy wind-up teeth and threw them at him, causing them to bite down onto the suit sleeve and pinning it to the shelf. He started tugging harshly at the captured sleeve, grunting as he couldn't get it loose. "How dare you?! I'll have your heads for this!" He yelled while using his other hand to pull as hard as he could. "Zip It, snore fest!" Megavolt mumbled as he aimed his finger at him. His view suddenly got a little blurry and he let out a soft groan, feeling a bit of tiredness take over for a short moment until he shook himself back to reality and fired a bolt of lightning. Dreamland gasped and covered his face, but took a peek after he heard the bolt miss him, bounce off of a circle saw and shoot right back at the group and knock Bushroot to the floor. "GHA!" He yelled as he hurt his back upon landing. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry, leafy!" The rat exclaimed in shock as he ran over to help him up.

King Dreamland took this opportunity, while the hero team was distracted and reached back to his backpack tank and grabbed the hose nozzle on the side. He pointed it at the befuddled green man and whispered "night night" before he fired a white puff of cloud at him. Megavolt heard the noise behind him and suddenly shouted "Watch out!" And pushed his friend out of the way. The cloud then completely engulfed him, making him disappear within it. Quackerjack gasped and covered his beak in disbelief, shouting a weak "No! Megsy!". He soon came back out from the cloud, lying lazily on top of it with a big, relaxed smile. "Hey… this is… pretty nice" He mumbled with a soft yawn. "You terrible tired tyrant! Hope you enjoy the prison beds!" Liquidator growled and ran at the suited man, hardening his hand so it would give him a hard smash. But the villain noticed how slow he was seemingly going and swiftly redirected the punch towards the teeth holding him stuck. As soon as he was freed from the shelf, he hopped back and pointed the nozzle at him. "You seem tired, doggy! Isn't it past your bedtime?" He said in a cocky voice before he fired another cloud at Liquidator, capturing him as well. "Well this has been fun, but I gotta get going. The night is still young!" The villain yelled back as he ran out the door and left the remaining two heroes with their friends now out of commission.

Bushroot ran over to Liquidator and gave him a light shake. While laying on his stomach on the cloud, he curled up into a ball and murmured "just five more minutes please, Reginald". "No! Liquidator! We need to catch that guy! Don't give in to your sleepiness!" The duck yelled while trying to shake him awake. Quackerjack, on the other hand, gave the rat a curious look. "... how are you feeling, smart guy?" He asked with a twist of satisfaction to his voice. "Sooooo… good… I think I'll take a little power nap" he answered his friend as he closed his tired eyes and let his leg dangle lazily over the edge of the cloud.

"Quackerjack! We have to get them off of these clouds! Come on! You've got to have something in your pockets that will help!" Bushroot ran over and shook the jester's shoulders violently. "Oooor! We don't do that! Think about it for a sec, spuds! These two finally WANT to go to sleep! We just got our little domestic issue solved for us! King Dreamland just did us a favour!" He said with a smug grin on his face, removing the leaf hands off of him.

Bushroot lit up from that realization and glanced between the two sleeping heroes. "You're right! They're sleeping like babies! But… what now? How are we going to stop King Dreamland?" He asked with a worried expression. "Pfffff! We've taken down villains separately before! The two of us can take on this one weirdo!" Quackerjack said confidently and put an arm around his fellow duck. "Yeah! You're right! Let the sleepyheads rest while we handle the hard work!" The plant nodded and chuckled, grabbing his friend's arm and pulling him out of the shop, in the general direction of the villain.

King Dreamland was walking down the street, cackling to himself as he flung the bag of tools over his shoulder. "Wow! Those guys were having an off night!" He mused to himself while speeding up his pace. But he was soon caught off guard by a tree branch suddenly appearing in his way and knocking him over. "Good job, tree friend! Now, you better stop whatever you're planning to do with those tools right now!" Bushroot yelled as he and Quackerjack were rounding the corner, starting to approach him. The villain pushed himself up from the ground and rubbed his head, quickly reaching for his nozzle and firing it at the two. The clown duck pushed his friend back and pulled out a gun from his endless supply of toys, firing it at the cloud. It caused an umbrella to pop out of the barrel, blocking the white puff from consuming them whole. "Darn!" Dreamland yelled as he turned right around and escaped the two while they were distracted. "He's getting away! After him!" Jacky said as soon as the umbrella was closed, pulling his co-hero along to give chase.

King Dreamland ran as fast as he could from the heroes, making a sharp turn into the mall. The two chasing him were slowly catching up, spotting him as he dashed into the mall and quickly following after. As they got inside, they scanned the area to determine where he went. "... There!" Quackerjack yelled and pointed at the bad guy, just entering into a sports shop. They ran inside and started looking around for him. They didn't spot him immediately, so they searched around the place. After a second of looking, Bushroot bumped into him. He screamed in fear and began to run. The plant man yelped surprised and started to run after him. "What are you planning to do with those things, you fellon?!" he yelled after him as he was right on his heels. "You'll see! Once my scheme is put into action! Ahahaha!" he laughed diabolically and held up the bag triumphantly. "OOOH! When I catch up, you'll pay for what you did to my friends!" Bushroot growled angrily as he just kept running, starting to pant a bit as he was getting exhausted from running. Quackerjack just stood beside them both, giving a quizzical glance between them. "What are you doing?" he asked as the other two looked at him confused. They then glanced down and saw that they were just running on a treadmill. "Oh. Well that's embarrassing. Anyways, I'm off!" King Dreamland jumped off the treadmill and ran out the shop again. "We got to catch him!" Jacky said and pointed towards the door. "Get me off of this thing first!" his friend yelled as he was still running and panting. "Oh. Right" he muttered and reached over to push the first button he saw, hoping it would turn it off. It just sped the treadmill up and shot Bushroot back into a wall of jump ropes. He was dizzy for a second, until the other duck pulled him up off the ground and dragged him along.

They ran into the next store, which was a music store, and saw the villain trying to sneak out the back door. Bushroot extended his arms and grabbed a hold of an electric guitar, slamming it into the hazard suited man and launching him into a drum set. He emerged with a big, broken drum around himself. Quackerjack started laughing and pointing at him, finding the slapstick hilarious. Dreamland growled angrily at being humiliated. It was then he spotted where the hero was standing, right underneath a hanging piano. How cliché, but perfect. While bushroot approached to apprehend him, he wriggled his arm loose and sprinted over to the violins, grabbing one of the bows and using it to cut the rope holding the piano and sending it plummeting down onto the jester's head. Bushroot gasped in horror and stared at the broken mess of a musical instrument. The suited man took this opportunity to bolt out the front door with his bag and ran as fast as he could. "Quackerjack?! Are you ok?!" the duck ran over to the piano and asked worriedly, rummaging through the debris until he found him. He sat up straight and swayed slightly, spitting out some piano keys before he could crawl out of the wreck. "Just fine" he muttered before heading out with his friend and pursuing the villain again.

They were soon walking through a hobby store, looking through the isles to find the bad guy. They headed down an isle with different types of paint lining the shelves while darting their eyes all around them. They kept completely quiet as to be able to hear him. It made the entire place eerily silent, like a ghost house. King Dreamland was spying on them from the other side of the shelf, watching them draw closer and closer to his position. As soon as they were near, he gave the shelf a hard shove and made it topple over towards the two. Bushroot looked up at the falling shelf and gasped in shock, giving Quackerjack a push out of the way before he was buried in pain bottles. The other duck yelped surprised before he gave away a growl and looked up at the villain, who ran away and started climbing a shelf. He bolted after him, pulling out a yo-yo from his pants and swinging it around as he got ready to attack. As soon as he reached the bottom of the shelf, Dreamland had already made it up there and picked up a big jug of pink paint, dropping it right down on top of his head. It made a painful indent into his noggin and he fell back onto the floor, getting a thunk on his beak by his own yo-yo, just for some salt in the wounds. "Ha ha ha! Wow! You guys suck! Guess you're nothing without all your team! You better just give up, I can see the bags under your eyes from here! I'm off to blow off some steam… all over town! See ya!" He taunted the two, blowing a raspberry at them, which stained his visor with spit before he hopped down and rushed out the back.

Bushroot managed to wriggle himself out from under the shelf, being completely covered in different splashes of color. He rushed over to Quacks and helped him up off the ground concernedly, looking at the jug that was still lodged into his head. The jester pulled it off of himself and straightened himself out with a proper tug on his hat tails. He then looked over at the plant man, starting to giggle quietly. "Wow. You're looking even more colorful than Megavolt during June!" He joked and snorted into his hands at the rainbow colored duck, who just rolled his eyes and pulled his friend off the floor. "Come on, Quackerjack! We gotta go and find where he went!" He grumbled and rushed both of them out the mall. "But where would he go to "blow of steam", huh?" The other asked as he got no chance to even put back the jug of paint before they were off. "Blow of steam… hmm… all over town! He's going to release his clouds all over town! Probably from a wind turbine! We got to hurry!" Bushroot realized quickly as he pointed towards the nearest wind turbine and headed towards it at top speed.

They arrived at their destination after a bit, immediately noticing that the lock on the door had been cut. "So that's why he got tools!" Bushroot growled angrily and stared at the wide open door, thinking over what their plan of attack was. His head was a little cluttered at that moment, having received a real beating earlier and been running around a lot, so he just shook his head and tried his best to focus. Quacks, on the other hand, just walked right inside. But he then saw the long stairwell leading up to the top and stopped right in his tracks. "... UUUUUUGH! Why STAIRS!? I'm tireeeeed!" He whined and leaned back in defeat. "Come on. We'll make it up there. We need to. For our friends!" The other duck sighed exhausted and began climbing up the stairs, determined to get the bad guy.

A few minutes later, they had reached the top. They were both huffing and puffing heavily, eyes bulging out of their heads as they stopped to catch their breaths. "After this… I'm removing the top floor… of our house!" Jacky groaned and hunched over while leaning on his knees. Bushroot leaned back against the door behind him to rest his tired legs, but was surprised as it started to slowly slide open and make him fall backwards out of the doorway. He looked up with a surprised look until he saw their target a bit away, carrying and setting up a smoke machine. "Hey! Stop right there!" The jester yelled and hopped out beside his friend, pointing at their enemy with a pissed look, mostly because of the pain he had caused them.

King Dreamland turned around and looked at the two weary heroes, grumbling a flippant "geez, do you guys ever give up?". He then set down the smoke machine and pulled the nozzle from his backpack, aiming it at them both. "Alright. You found out my plan. So now what? What are you planning to do to stop me? I mean look at yourselves! You're going to pass out any second" he spoke casually to them as he lightly waved his weapon around, showing how nonchalant he was about all of it, clearly not taking the whole situation seriously. "Don't underestimate my stubbornness-" "determination" "DETERMINATION! We'll put a stop to you right now!" Quackerjack yelled at him and pointed a firm finger while glaring irritated. "Alright. Put a stop to this" he shrugged and shot a big cloud at them. The jester gave away a shriek and covered his face, preparing for the collision. Bushroot shot up from the floor and extended his arms, wrapping them around the other's waist and janking him out of the way.

King Dreamland growled in rage and stomped his foot. "Why won't you lay down and die?!" He shouted as he glared at the two with absolute fury. Quackerjack looked down at his pockets and started rummaging through them to find something he could use to stop the villain on a rampage. He then felt something in his pockets that he didn't expect to have. It gave him an idea and he looked over at the plant holding onto him. "You have to toss me!" he told him hurriedly. "Huh?" he just responded to the cooky duck's request, not sure he heard him right. "THROW MY BODY AT HIM!!!" he then shouted, startling his friend into just doing as told and throwing him as hard as he could. Quackerjack flew straight at the villain and before he could fire another cloud, he was tackled and had a crazy clown climbing and scuttling all over his body, like a racoon who was also an expert climber. He stumbled around while he was being jerked left and right from the whirlwind of a hero. "Get… OFF ME YOU TIRED LOON!!!" He shouted as he finally managed to rip him off and toss him towards his co-hero, knocking him to the ground.

Bushroot quickly pushed Quacks off and got up to rush at the king, ready to whoop his butt. He picked up a sledgehammer from the ground that his enemy brought and swung it at him. But he dodged out of the way and backed out of yet another swing at him, avoiding every attempt at knocking him down. "Man. You guys really suck at this! Can't even land a punch!" He chuckled and grabbed a hold of the hammer, janking it out of his hands and aiming the hose in his face. "Time to visit dreamland."

He shot him right in the face. But he was not greeted by a soft, fluffy, sleep inviting cloud. He was instead splattered in the face by a load of pink. "H-HUH!?!" Dreamland exclaimed, bewildered as he looked into the nozzle and only saw pink. He then looked towards his back to see what went wrong, to discover that his usual tank had been replaced by a jug of pink paint. He then looked up at the other hero and saw him holding up the actual container, giving them both a thumbs up. Dreamland stared at him in shock, unable to believe he was outsmarted by two extremely exhausted dummies. This was unbelievable! He couldn't accept this! But as he was starting to have a breakdown of rage, bushroot looked over at Jacky and yelled "Rubber band!", Which he was tossed quickly and snapped it around the villain, finally capturing him. They both walked up to each other and jumped up and down in joy, cheering about their victory until the tiredness finally started to set in and they fell over onto the ground. "... Let's just get the other two." "Yeah. Let's go" they concluded while laying limply on the ground.

They had finally made it back to where they first had fought King Dreamland and helped the cops wake up before they handed him over to them. They then went inside and spotted their friends, peacefully floating around and sleeping soundly still. They looked so much better than they did earlier, well rested and happy, having these relaxed smiles spread out on their faces. "Ha… They must have had a nice nap" Quackerjack muttered with a fatigued smile as he stared at the sleeping Megavolt, then made the cloud disappear with this tool he took from Dreamland, causing the rat to fall down onto the floor with a thud. "Huh?! Whu?!" he suddenly woke up and looked all around him confused, not sure what had just happened. Quacks handed over the tool to Bushroot, who used it to get rid of the cloud from under Liquidator. But unlike the other duck, he gently caught the dog before he fell onto the floor. "Huh? Hey! How dare you?! I- Uh… Wait. Where did he go?!" he asked puzzled as he looked around, helped back onto his feet by the guy holding him. Megavolt got back up again and rubbed his neck a bit. "Hey… I'm feeling pretty refreshed! Huh!" he pointed out and stretched his arms, letting out a small groan. "Glad to hear it, sparks" Quackerjack grumbled and patted his shoulder. As the rat turned around to him to say something, he immediately stopped himself and looked shocked at his friend. He looked HORRIBLE! Baggy eyes, tired expression, slouchier posture than usual. He was looking absolutely EXHAUSTED! Liquidator thought the same as he got a good look at Bushroot. "Uh… hey… Reginald… Feeling ok?" he asked nervously and put a hand on his shoulder. "You two look like trash!" Megavolt just said, pointing at them both. "Well I was trying to be nice about it, Elmo" he grumbled at the straight forward remark.

"It's ok! We're fine! We captured King Dreamland and everything is good now!" Bushroot told them while trying to look like he wasn't currently dying. "Yeah! We are totally fine!" Quacks added on and grinned at their friends. "... Clearly you're not. You're zombies!" Megavolt sighed and walked over to them, starting to lead them outside towards the van. "Yeah. You two need to go to bed immediately!" Liquidator added in and opened the back of the van for his friend to hop in. Quackerjack opened the driver side door to get inside, but was pushed to the side by the rat, who sat down in the seat. "No. You are not driving like that. Get in the passenger side!" he demanded, pointing to the other side of the car. The duck grumbled angrily and walked around to the other side. He got in and sat down while glaring at his friend. Bushroot looked at Liquidator and muttered "It seems the sun is starting to rise… I'm worried I won't be able to go back to sleep." "Yeah! I don't even feel that tired! It's so early anyways now, so I probably won't be able to fall asleep anyways!" the jester noted to Megavolt, but was completely ignored by him so he could drive.

As they made it back home, Quackerjack was fast asleep in the passenger seat, snoring and drooling onto his shoulder. Liquidator looked over at Bushroot, who looked like he was about to faint as well. "Hey. We're home. Let me help you inside" he spoke softly as he gently put his arm around his shoulders, helping him out into the garage. Megavolt walked around to the passenger side and opened it up, picking the sleeping duck up and just carrying him inside without complaint or snarky comment. Gosalyn was just walking down the stairs, hearing someone coming home. She was in her pyjamas, holding onto Mr. Banana Brain and rubbing her eyes. "Another mission?" she mumbled sleepily, then noticed her two dads, one half asleep and one completely knocked out. The dog hushed her softly, nodding a little towards Quacks. He let out another gentle snore and leaned his head into Megavolt's chest. She nodded and smiled, walking over to him and laying the doll into his lap. "Night daddy" she whispered to him before she turned around to Bushroot and whispered "Night papa" to him. "Good night, my little apple seed" he murmured sleepily. Liquidator and Megavolt both grinned and started heading upstairs to put both the dorks to bed, finally.

#Megavolt #quackerjack #bushroot #liquidator #darkwing duck #negaverse #Gosalyn Mallard #nega megavolt #nega quackerjack #nega bushroot #nega liquidator #nega gosalyn #fanfiction #fanfic #friendly four #dwd fanfic

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pocketmouse18 · 3 years

Text

For @agentsofchallenges : A Study in Socks and Subterfuge

(warning, this was hastily written and even more hastily edited... also TW for swearing, mention of death/‘crossing off,’ Hydra)

***

If it hadn’t been for a particularly muddy patch of Malta beach, Skye probably would have never known. She didn’t make a habit of looking at people’s feet, for one. Sure, you could tell a few things about a person from their shoes. She’d picked that trick up ages ago while living on her own – undercover cops all wore the same boots, people with money gravitated towards certain brands while people with less money than they were pretending to have gravitated towards other, that one brand of sneaker that ended up in donation bins more than the others – but she had thought she wouldn’t need it much now that she had gone legit at SHIELD. All the field agents they’d met so far had worn standard-issue SHIELD gear, and she didn’t need to check Coulson or Fitzsimmons’ shoes to learn what she needed to know about them. So she never expected to learn something about her SO from his feet.

They were back on the Bus after the Malta mission. She had flubbed in a few places (chickening out straight into a pool wasn’t her proudest moment), but overall she was pleased with what they had accomplished, and she was celebrating at the bar. Everyone else had retreated to their pods, or the cockpit, in May’s case, so it surprised her when Ward stomped into the room, scowling at a boot in his hand. He didn’t even realize she was there until he had nearly bumped into her.

“Do you usually take your boot for a drink after missions?”

Ward looked up, blinked, registered she was sitting just a few feet from where he had been rummaging around behind the bar.

“That’s classified information, Agent Skye.”

“You seriously can’t be telling me that your boot – your dirty, more than a little smelly, combat boot – has a higher clearance than me.”

Something softened slightly in his face. That had been happening more and more, now that they were spending so much time together, training. Skye had to admit it certainly was an ego boost to know that her wisecracking was starting to wear her SO down, bit by bit.

“I can’t get the damn beach mud off the toe,” he admitted, holding it out for her to see. There was a miniscule patch of greying mud near the toe that she probably would never have noticed. “I was looking for some distilled water to help. I think the minerals in the stuff we keep in the tanks is strengthening the dirt molecules or something.”

“I’m gonna check with Fitzsimmons, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how water – or mud – works,” Skye smirked. “It’s just a little bit of dirt. It’ll flake off in a day or two.”

“It’s critical that a SHIELD agent’s gear is in top condition at all times,” he said sharply, snapping back into SO mode. “Consider that a bonus lesson for today.”

“I don’t even have gear,” Skye shot back playfully, undaunted by his cold shift in demeanor. She was getting used to his moods. She sighed, got up from her seat and came around to help him look.

Oddly, Ward backed away as she rounded the bar, and tried to hide his leg from view. He wasn’t quite fast enough.

“What’s—Are you hurt?” Skye jumped forward, ready to inspect for damages and delighted at the opportunity to get on his case a little. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a wound she found. It was—

“I swear to god, if you laugh,” Ward warned, “I’ll throw you out of this plane and call it parachute practice.”

“Where did you get those socks?” Skye asked, biting down hard on her lip to keep from cracking up. The foot that wasn’t encased in a boot was clad instead, unmistakably, in a thick, woolen sock adorned with brightly-colored polka dots.

“I’m serious, Skye, jump school is about to be in session.”

“They’re just so… not you,” she grinned. “All fun and colorful and warm. Oh my god, they’re like anti-Grant Ward socks.”

“They’re not anti-Grant Ward socks,” he protested. “They’re socks. My socks. My Gramzy made them for me, if you must know.”

“Your Gramzy?” Skye had managed to reign in the urge to laugh, but the smile was still there. “That’s really sweet, actually.”

“I know you think I’m a cold, boring guy,” Ward sighed, “but it’s my job as an agent, as your SO, to be like that. I’m not always on the clock, though. Sometimes…” he hesitated. “Sometimes I’m a guy who wants to wear something cozy that his Gramzy made for him. Sometimes I’m a guy who likes spotted socks.”

“That is… definitely good to know,” nodded Skye, still smiling in disbelief. “You’ve got layers. I see you, Grant Ward.”

“Don’t read too much into it,” he warned. Skye could see him fighting a smile of his own, though, and she knew she had cracked him, just a little bit. Her SO was a warm and fuzzy spotted sock kind of guy. Well, a secret one at least.

***

Grant Ward was having a good day. Hydra had successfully taken down SHIELD in dramatic fashion, he had reunited with Garrett for real, crossed off Victoria Hand, and managed to maintain his cover with Coulson’s team. A great day, really, when you thought about it. Until, that is, he went to pack his bag for the trip to whatever secret base Coulson’s team had managed to stumble into.

“Damn it,” he hissed, yanking the zipper of his duffle shut.

“What?” called Garret from the shadowy side of the room. “You’re not blown are you? Because I trained you better than to blow your cover from a distance.”

“No, I forgot the spotted socks.”

“The what?” Garrett wore an expression of amused incredulity.

“The spotted socks. It was a tactic to soften Skye to me. She was a loose canon, and an unpredicted factor on the team. I had to come up with some creative ways of getting her to trust me.”

“You won the heart of the doe-eyed hacker with a pair of socks?”

“I pretended like she accidentally caught me wearing this god-awful pair of socks. Horrible, spotted things. Acted all embarrassed, told her they were from my grandmother.”

“And she bought that?” Garrett asked.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Ward smirked. “I think it played into the idea she wanted to have of me. Tough guy with a secret heart of gold inside.”

“Well, that’s disgusting,” scoffed Garrett. Both men shared a laugh at that. At the naïveté and stupidity of the sheep Ward had so successfully shepherded straight into Garrett’s hands over these last few months.

“Do you need the socks to get back in?”

“No,” Ward decided. “I can play the loss for leverage. She likes it when I’m vulnerable about my family.”

“Good,” Garrett said. “Go. Use it. Report back when you have the drive.”

“Yessir.”

***

Skye wasn’t too proud to admit she was relieved to see him limp through the door of Providence. He looked terrible, bloodied and bruised and beyond exhausted, but at least he was alive. His news wasn’t great, either. Garrett, gone. Victoria Hand, dead. Hydra, heads still growing back at an alarming rate. But at least he was safe, at least he was here. She knew it was a bad idea, but Skye had grown… fond of Ward the last few weeks. Not that she was ready to marry the guy or anything ridiculous like that, but still, the kiss in the supply closet had been… nice. Nicer than she was expecting. She had no idea what it meant, or where it might lead, but at least Ward was still here, living and breathing, and they could figure it all out once things calmed down.

They finally got a minute alone hours later, once Ward had gone through the trippy lie-detector and gotten his official lanyard from Koenig. Skye was giving him the tour of the base, ending with the corridor where the bunks were waiting.

“We didn’t have time to bring much along,” she explained, showing him the empty room. “And we were traveling on foot through the snow, so we had to pack light.”

“It’s fine,” he said flatly. “I wasn’t expecting cushy accommodations. We have bigger things to worry about. Hydra’s out there. We should be spending our time working to stop them, opening up that hard drive. The hominess of my bunk is pretty much the lowest thing on my priority list.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Skye told him, teasing. She tugged open the drawer from the wall and proudly brought forth her prize.

“You brought my socks.” Ward looked shocked. Totally caught off-guard. Skye didn’t know what to make of it.

“Well, yeah,” she said, offering him a half-smile. “You barely have any personal items in your bunk on the Bus to begin with, but I knew… I knew these were important to you. Plus, I wanted to give you something to help you remember the other side of you. The fluffy one. The world’s falling apart, everything sucks, Hydra’s back, but… you can still be a polka-dot sock guy, if you want to.”

“Spotted,” Ward breathed, taking the socks lovingly. “They’re spotted socks.”

“Okay,” Skye conceded. “Spotted. Whatever. I just don’t want you to cut yourself off from the guy who wears his grandma’s socks. There��s a lot to process right now, and we’re all feeling like we failed—”

“Because we did, Skye.”

“But that doesn’t mean we have to lose the parts of ourselves that still make us human,” Skye insisted, cutting him off. She reached out and took his hand. “SHIELD is down, but it’s not out. And SHIELD needs real, human people, people who have families and feelings and wear goofy socks, to keep fighting. Not cold, slithering squid Nazis.”

***

Sometimes in life, people surprise you. Sometimes a person who seemed cold and prickly has something warm and nurturing hiding underneath. Sometimes that person turns out to be a mentor, a friend. Agent May had surprised her in that way. Other times people surprise you by turning out to be disgusting, murderous traitors, and the guy you thought might be your first real shot at a boyfriend since you dumped stupid Miles turned out to be one of those slithering squid Nazis you had recently dedicated your life to fighting.

Honestly, Skye wasn’t too upset about losing her opportunity with Ward. He would have been a pain in the ass to date, way too controlling and buttoned up. Plus the combined murderer-Hydra thing was a big draw back. Mostly she was upset with herself for falling for him. For falling for his absurd tricks. She was usually so good at reading people, at trusting her instincts about people. She had been duped by him so easily, and frankly, it was embarrassing.

That was why, after Centipede had been squished, Garrett evaporated, the Petersons reunited, she had found herself outside Providence, building up a roaring bonfire in the Canadian wilderness. It was why, once the flames had gotten hot enough, she and Simmons had set to work systematically erasing all traces of Grant Ward from their history and their base. It was why the first thing to go up in smoke was an ugly, garish pair of spotted woolen socks.

#agents of shield #aos gwssam challenge

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buckstaposition · 4 years

Text

I cling to your lips like gloss (1)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

now also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (if u wanna come say hello on main)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death

words: 5521

Author’s note: dude this chapter fought me every step of the way but it’s here now so suck it, muses or whatever

---

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries (thank you sweeties whom I will hold forever in my heart)

(message me if you want to be added to the list)

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

'Liliana' the file said. I was tucked away in the locked bottom drawer of his old desk, the one he hadn't even had time to clear out when they'd sent him away. To be fair, Javier had only known to look because Murphy had called him to tell him about this informant. It sounded too good to be true. An informant coming to them of their own accord, ready to spill valuable inside secrets of the Calí cartel, and they didn't even want payment? One would be forgiven, in their line of work, to smell a trap. But Murphy had vouched for this one, and he trusted Murphy, knew that his partner (former partner) did his homework with due diligence. That, and the first batch of intel Murphy had brought back from their first few meetings had already proven invaluable.

There was apparently only one hiccup, and it was that the informant refused to talk to any agents other than him or Murphy. It had even led to Steve having to postpone his return to the States for almost two months, until it was clear that Javier would return to Colombia. Fair enough, he'd need to make up his own mind about them anyway. He collected the file and tucked it into the box that held all the stuff he'd cleared out of the desk, since he would now officially be moving a an office of his own.

Upon arriving in said office, he kicked the door closed and sat, lighting a cigarette and reaching for the file. As thin as it was, it still took him almost an hour to work through it, though half of the time was spent deciphering Murphy's chicken scratch mess of annotations. The rest was spent on making his own. After checking the time, Javier fetched himself a cup of the same old tar brew that passed for coffee here, lit another cigarette, and dialled Steve's new office number in Miami.

"Murphy."

"Alright, I've read the file." Javier started without preamble. Perhaps that was a bit short. He grimaced, then added, "About the informant. Liliana."

"Yeah, I figured." Steve exhaled probably puffing away at his own nicotine habit. Javier meant to quit, but kept pushing it off. The intent was all there was to it, at this stage. "So what're you calling me for, big boss?"

Javier elected to ignore the taunt, knowing it was friendly.

"You've met her. Is she legit?"

"Why, you smelling a trap?"

Pathological mistrust was a feature one acquired while on this job. Those who didn't ended up dead. Those who did would still end up dead, just later and more jaded. Either way you'd get a lot of other people killed on the way. "Just making sure."

They spent the next half hour and a bit going over the file together, comparing notes, catching up, thinking aloud - all of which were much easier to do when they had each other to bounce off of. It felt good, almost like old times. Javier went through close to a third of his pack of cigarettes, the air growing heavy in the windowless room. Just as well that it was almost time to wrap this up. A look at his watch told him that it was getting late in the day, and that Steve would want to get home to his family. All Javier could hope for at this point was avoiding resident CIA-asshole Bill Stechner on his way out, at least on this day.

"You won't be able to pull your usual shit with this one." Steve remarked, accompanied by the sound of shuffling papers. Javier bristled, even though he knew the things people said about him, both behind his back and to his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Knowing didn't mean it didn't, occasionally, sting, but he'd given up on trying to influence other people's minds long ago. A reputation once acquired was not easily shed, not that he'd made much of an effort to.

"It means that you shouldn't. Pull your usual crap with this one. For one I hardly think it'll be necessary."

"That would be new." Javier snorted. He could hear Steve's eyeroll through the phone.

"Still the same asshole-" Steve snarked. "I'm just saying be nice for once, especially since that woman's intel is the only reason you still have a job. She's a nice lady, so with a bit of luck some of that might even rub off on you."

"And I'm the asshole..."

"So everyone keeps saying."

"Fuck you, Steve."

"Go fuck yourself, Javi." Steve's chuckle told him it was all in good humor. "And don't fuck this informant."

"Yeah, yeah," Javier waved it off. The woman was an accountant, for fuck's sake. Note exactly his usual type. Or the type he usually attracted.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

They were meeting at one of the small restaurants lining the edge of Parque Sabaneta in Medellín. Over the phone her voice had sounded... hesitant, above all else. Tinny, too, but he blamed the connection for that. And he'd brought her a satellite phone for future contacts; her driving out to remote phone cells and him waiting for calls after hours in his office just didn't cut it.

There hadn't been a picture in the file, but Steve's description had been quite accurate and Javier was able to pick her out at the table she'd chosen before making himself known. Dark hair and darker eyes behind large, slightly old-fashioned glasses. She was almost tall and hid her figure underneath loose-fitted clothing; today a flowy blouse and high-waisted dress pants, and a bulky cardigan against the spring chill that lingered even into the late morning. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun that reminded him of his fifth grade math teacher, Ms Jenkins. Javier approached the table.

"Diana Rivas?" She froze for a split-second before relaxing again, returning his greeting softly. In real life her voice was deeper than he would have anticipated, raspier too, but not unpleasant - the kind of voice one would expect first thing in the morning, just after waking up.

"I do hope your drive was not too tiring, Agent Peña." she said as he sat. He grimaced slightly. The drive had been long, above all else. Not his first choice of how to spend a Friday morning. Well, he'd endured worse for this job. But next time he'd definitely travel by plane.

"Do they serve decent coffee here?" Javier scrubbed a hand over his burning eyes and settled, resuming his assessment. She squirmed slightly under his unrelenting gaze, but squared her shoulders after a moment, meeting his gaze head-on and motioning a waiter over with a flick of her delicate wrist.

"Of course they do, this is Medellín!" She sounded mildly offended, then ignored him in favor of telling the waiter their order. Javier took the time to observe her further.

No make-up, no jewellery, save for a simple, functional watch and a small silver locket on a long, thin chain. No wedding band either, but the paleness and indentation around her ring finger still indicated that she'd worn one in the recent past. Her features were soft and feminine, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, all making her look younger than she purportedly was. His gaze caught on her defined cupid's bow just a second too long. Her complexion seemed far too sunkissed for someone who spent most of their time indoors, in air-conditioned office spaces. In conclusion, undeniably lovely to anyone with eyes who cared to look, but obviously taking great pains to discourage closer scrutiny, to look as mousy and plain as possible. It worked, to a degree.

It occurred to Javier that maybe he should actually talk to her, since that's what he'd come here for.

"Do you always begin your interrogations with the silent treatment? I can see how that might be effective." She beat him to it, just before the coffee cups were set on the table in front of them.

"This isn't an interrogation." he groused, taking a tentative sip of the coffee. The scent of it alone was enough to wake the dead; it was heavenly. He'd have to see if he could weasel some halfway decent coffee out of his budget at the office.

"Regardless, I only have until noon today. We can meet again tomorrow; I can make myself available all afternoon for you, Agent Peña."

Javier huffed out a breath before taking another sip. "Why can you suddenly do Medellín anyway? You had Murphy travel across half the country to meet you."

She made a face at that, something between annoyed and apologetic. "My aunt, she... she's sick and been getting worse. I make the time to come down here every other weekend now to help her."

"And your employers are alright with that?" He hadn't exactly pegged the Calí cartel for employers of the year. Or to pioneer part-time models so their employees could care for sick relatives.

"As long as the work gets done, yes. It means I work ten to eleven hour days Monday to Thursday, but I am the only one left in this family..." She sniffled a little and swept the tips of her fingers under the plastic rim of her glasses, wiping at her eyes. Javier looked away, pretending it was to give her privacy. He imagined this unusually forthright woman walking up to Pacho Herrera to ask for reduced work hours so she could care for her aunt- That could really have gone either way, but somehow he thought that was probably not how it happened, or whom she'd asked. He just couldn't picture it. Maybe one of the brothers; they liked to style themselves as charitable family men, to a degree.

"Anyway, Medellín's closer for you, and we're less likely to be found out here. They like to keep security pretty tight in Calí. My friend Angelika calls it the Calí Stasi, and she's from the former East Germany, so she'd know."

He hummed in acknowledgement, his coffee almost gone and him almost feeling like a living human being again. He flagged the waiter down for another.

"In any case, I am glad that we can keep this to Spanish now. My English is not very ...confident." She prattled on, sipping from her own cup. Murphy had told him that she'd brought a dictionary to their first meeting, and apparently, with his former partner's dismal language skills, they'd actually needed it.

"I'm sure your English is better than Murphy's Spanish." Steve had told him as much, but then again, Steve's Spanish was shit, so it really wasn't saying much. There was something else niggling at the back of his mind.

"Why me?"

Her glasses slid down her nose half an inch or so in surprise at his -admittedly abrupt- question. "I'm sorry?"

"Murphy said you wanted to speak to me specifically when you first called. Why?"

She hesitated a moment, squirmed a little and averted her eyes, then pushed her glasses back up her nose before answering, softer than before. "Gabriela said you could be trusted."

"...Gabriela?" He said sharply, neck flushing at the thought of the beautiful redhead.

She shrunk in on herself, hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. Perhaps his voice had come out a little bit harsher than intended. He hadn't even thought that she'd actually tell him her real name. He'd just been a client after all.

"Yes," Miss Rivas breathed out, her voice so soft now that he had to lean halfway across the table to even catch it. "She's my best friend. We've been inseparable since the firts day of school. We tell each other everything. She told me she knew a DEA agent; that's why I told my cousin to go to her when she ran into trouble with Pablo Escobar-"

"Your cousin???" He almost roared. It came out as more of a whisper-yell, but she still flinched, eyes going wide behind the lenses.

"Yes, my cousin," she said carefully, "Maritza Rincón."

"Maritza–" he patted his pocket for a smoke and swore under his breath when he remembered how he'd left them in the car with the intention of advancing his 'quit smoking'-idea beyond idle talk. "What is this, a fucking trap? Very elaborate setup just to yell at me, missy. Unless you've got some buddies of yours here to–"

"What- what are you *talking* about? I don't blame you for Maritza's death!" By now people were staring. Not a lot of them, since it wasn't really the time yet for the midday crowd and too late for the morning rush, but the few pensioners and whatnot were definitely sensing the tension at their table. Javier gave up on his cigarette search and took a deliberate breath, willing himself to calm down.

"Maritza is dead?" He hadn't known that. He wasn't sure how he would have learned of it, but it still shocked him regardless. He looked over to see her fidget with her locket, lips pressed tight and trembling. Shit. Another informant on his conscience, fucking great.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-" he started, his voice catching. He bought himself time with his now lukewarm coffee, "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know that. I-"

"It's alright." She whispered, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated it wasn't. She swept her glasses off with trembling fingers and pressed beneath her eyes, as if to restrain the tears that pooled in her lashes.

"I'm sorry." Javier said again, insistent, soft, sincere. "What happened?"

"We- I don't know. She called me to say she was in trouble with Escobar, and I helped her set up the meeting with Gabi."

"With me." He remembered that evening, that young girl sitting in Gabriela's apartment, ready to be sprung on him. Part of him had resented it; Gabriela had been someone he'd sought out to get away from the damn narcos and their dealings. Miss Rivas nodded.

"Yes. It was that idiot Jhon. He was one of the neighborhood kids. Growing up he'd always had a crush on her..." She talked a lot, he found. It should irritate him more, the way she'd throw in seemingly irrelevant asides without explaining further. Instead he only found himself worrying that someone so pathologically honest could not possibly keep the Gentlemen of Calí off her tracks, at least not if she kept spilling her life story so eagerly.

" ...and then she hid out on her uncle's farm again, where my auntie - her mom - grew up and went back to after my uncle - that's Maritza's dad - died of a heart attack. Auntie had been out for the day and when she came back- "

He can't bear to listen to it, but forces himself to anyway. In the sea of his regrets, what's one more? Besides, there's nothing else he can do for the girl now; the least he can do is witness how he failed her.

For all her unassuming bluntness, Diana Rivas is not one to hold back, even on unsavoury details. At least he doesn't get the sense that she does it to torment when she tells him how they found Maritza's lifeless body with her young daughter next to her.

By the end of that sorry tale, he has his head in his hands, Miss Rivas is still just this side of openly weeping, and all the other patrons have demonstratively averted their attention so as not to impose on what must, on the outside, look like an urgent case for a damned good couples' counselor.

"I'm sorry, I know this is a lot." And why in the hell is she apologizing?

"No shit." And yeah, he has to digest this before he can even think of making any attempt at non-destructive human interaction. "You couldn't tell Murphy any of this?"

She gave him a look.

"Yeah, alright. Sorry." More than just a language barrier, got it.

"I didn't come here today with the intention to relive this, you know?" She said archly. He supposed she had all the right to be upset. And he'd never had a meeting with an informant turn this harrowing, which was really saying something.

"I'm sorry." He said again, putting the weight of sincerity behind the words. Her hands were in the table now, fidgeting again as she sat slightly hunched over, staring into her coffee cup.

"Unless your government has a time machine to spare, I would prefer not talking about it again. At least not more than necessary." She replaced her glasses and checked her watch. "1 pm tomorrow?"

Javier nodded dumbly, already plucking a few bills out of his wallet to pay for the coffee. "Yeah, 1 pm is okay. Where?"

"Meet me at the church. Santa Ana. You know it?" He didn't particularly, as in he didn't know its name before now, but he could see the building's tall white facade from where they were sitting.

"Iglesia de Santa Ana, 1 pm tomorrow." Javier confirmed, rising as she did. The stared at each other for a moment, unsure of how to conclude this meeting, until she stuck her hand out for him to shake. He took her smaller, slender hand in his, squeezing it wordlessly.

"Until tomorrow, Agent Peña." She said, managing a sad little smile. "I hope you'll get some rest. You look like shit."

Javier bit down every one of the snarky replies that sprung to mind, not least because he knew it was true. His bags had bags and he itched for a smoke.

And to think, this was Murphy's 'nice lady'.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that at the church meant inside the church. Not until a very miffed face peered out between the heavy doors, giving him a look as he stood there smoking.

"It's barely been five minutes!" Javier defended himself, stubbing out the cigarette beneath his heel.

"It's 1:07pm." She informed him matter-of-factly, pushing the glasses back up her nose pointedly as she made to turn back inside. Javier caught the door, crowding perhaps a bit too close, but the damned thing was heavy.

"Sorry." He said simply, seeing no point in making a scene out of it. She had to crane her neck just the slightest bit to meet his gaze.

"Wait here, I'll be out in a minute." And with that she stalked off. Javi watched her sweep down the aisle, her hair and skirt fluttering behind her. She wore her hair loose today, the ends of it curling around her shoulders, and a simple off-white shirt dress that reached down to mid-calf. He let his eyes trail after her, leaning his weight more fully against the heavy wood of the door to lever it open. She walked around two thirds of the way down the pews before stopping by a... baby carriage?

She bent over it before carefully wheeling it around and starting back towards the door. Javier racked his tired brain. The file hadn't said anything about a kid. Married five years but no children. That didn't seem like the kind of thing one would easily miss, and he knew Murphy to be thorough in his inquiries.

"Who's this then?" He peered inside the carriage -more of a buggy really now that he got a closer look- and barely caught a glance of a dozing toddler with soft brown curls, while hoisting the door open wider to let her pass more easily. "Didn't know you had a kid."

"I don't." The buggy caught on the threshold and jolted, and a displeased cry came from inside it, making her curse under her breath. "This is Maritza's daughter, Salome. I've got it! Just- the door, just get the door!"

The last part of that came out high and sharp, much like the crack of a whip, and in direct response to Javier's attempt to swoop in and help heave the buggy over the worn-down threshold. He jolted back on instinct, grunting when the door swung squarely into his spine. Who the hell was responsible for all these old-ass church doors being solid enough to squash an actual living human between them?

After some fumbling they managed to make it out with most of their dignity still intact. Javier bent down and quickly shoved the bag he'd brought into the wire basket underneath the buggy's seat, next to her purse.

"Where to?" He asked, straightening up again. Miss Rivas still looked cross, her lips pressed together.

"Follow along. There are some secluded benches a little walk away." And off she was, leavin him to catch up.

"If your intention is to disguise this meeting as just another family enjoying the sun I suggest you slow down a little." Javier hissed under his breath. He'd actually had to jog a bit to keep up with her steamroller pace. She looked even more annoyed and declined to grace him with an answer, but slowed with a sigh that told him that this was indeed her intention. It was a smart enough plan, he wouldn't dispute that.

At least the kid seemed to have calmed from her little jostle-startle, seeing as she was now quietly babbling away as if narrating the sights. Javier tried to loosen his tense shoulders and to look like he was enjoying himself as they fell into step ambling along the walkways between the lush greenery.

"How old is she?" he asked, thinking that perhaps some small talk would ease the woman's sullen mood.

"Almost two and a half." Or not. Well, he tried. Javier wasn't exactly an expert with kids and none of his previous informants had ever shown up with theirs. Not that that would have been appropriate considering the circumstances. They walked for about a quarter of an hour, which Javier spent agonizing about how to smooth over the sudden mood change Miss Rivas was displaying compared to the day before. By the time they'd made it to their destination he was no closer to that goal.

She sat with a weary sigh, shaking out her flowy skirt before sitting and rolling her sleeves up to her elbows. It was much warmer today than when they'd met previously, only in part due to the later hour. Stiffly, Javier sat down next to her at a distance that instantly belied their 'family outing' cover. She turned to him after checking on the baby, peeling back the sunshade of the buggy to allow her to look around.

"You can smoke if you want to." Miss Rivas said offhandedly, her tone forcedly polite. Javier cleared his throat.

"I'm actually trying to quit."

Her lips quirked into a pleasant curve. "And how's that going?"

Javier sighed. "I'm thinking I might have chosen the wrong time."

"Or the wrong job."

The laugh that bursts forth from him is short, but not altogether hollow. "Yeah, or that."

"Very well, then you may not smoke even though you might want to."

Javier smiled. Couldn't help it, really. He had been worried that he'd somehow managed to offend her during their last meeting. He said as much, and she shook her head with a look of remorse.

"No, it's not your fault. It's just..." She pushed her glasses up and rubbed at her eyes, revealing the dark rings that had previously been hidden beneath the plastic rim. "Yesterday dredged up some things, and I didn't sleep well as a consequence. That always makes me snippy. And to top things of, this one," she leaned over to unbuckle the child and heave her into her lap, "was being fussy all morning, which didn't help. Sorry for being so short with you earlier."

"In this job, people usually shoot at me. It's alright, really. You're alright." Truth be told, he was glad she pulled herself out of this funk. Maybe she was as nice as Murphy claimed after all. The kid looked at him with large, round, strangely sage eyes. I got your mommy killed. I got your mommy killed and you had to watch. If he had gotten her that visa- The thought made him gulp, made him dizzy and nauseous and if there was anything to be glad for in this situation it was that he was already sitting down. Miss Rivas replaced her glasses and looked at him with furrowed brows. He felt like he was being read.

"I already told you that I don't blame you for Maritza." Javier tried his damnedest not to squirm underneath that discerning stare. Screw read, he felt like he was being flayed open. "Obviously you still blame yourself."

"Wouldn't you?" He shot back, defensive. She didn't answer for a moment, gently rocking the kid who had grabbed a hold of her locket and started to play with it.

"I have enough regrets of my own, Agent Peña." Part of him wants to scoff, even just to dispel the heavy moment, but the severity in her tone nips that impulse in the bud. Instead, he clears his throat and gestures to the buggy where he stored his bag earlier.

"I brought you something."

Her features soften into not quite a smile, but something close enough. "What a coincidence, so have I."

And then she hands him the toddler, who lets out a displeased cry at having her toy wrenched from her chubby hands in so unceremonious a manner, and Javier freezes as her squirmy weight is settled in his lap, only his hand shooting out to steady her on instinct. Up close her big brown eyes are even more enormous.

"Um, hi. Nice to meet you, Miss Salome. I'm Javier." He says awkwardly and is met with a pout. This is patently terrible and reminds him of the few times he'd been handed baby Olivia. She'd started crying instantly nine times out of ten. He hopes against hope that today will be a deviation from that norm. Salome considers him a long moment, blinking owlishly and making that certain kind of skeptical face that little kids so often do. He's had less tense moments in interrogations. He might be sweating in a way that has little to do with the midday heat.

And then Salome blows him a raspberry and dives for his wrist to investigate the shininess of his watch. And when he can breathe again he allows himself a smile. Of relief, mostly. In stark contrast to the smile Miss Rivas wears as she regeards them both, which is pure mischief with a dash of smugness.

"Well look at that. You passed muster, Agent Peña." Miss Rivas set both their bags down in the space between them, then leaned over to press a quick kiss to little Salome's soft curls. And Javier has been much closer to many women than this; his heart shouldn't lurch at the sudden proximity, the waft of her perfume or the light brush of her soft hair over his bare forearm.

"Ladies first." Javier gestured at the bags between them. She smiled and rummaged through hers, producing two thick stacks of folded papers, either parcel secured with a rubber band.

"Trade you?" she motioned at the girl, who was now intently examining the fingers of his right hand. Reluctantly, he let Miss Rivas pluck the small child from his lap and stand her next to the bench. Salome frowned adorably for a moment at having been interrupted in pulling his pinky finger off, then realized she was free to roam around and brightened instantly, hitting the bench a few times with chubby palms and babbling.

"Yes, of course I have your toy, sweetie." Miss Rivas said earnestly, presenting a brightly colored ball. Salome grabbed for it with a squeal, her momentum propelling her straight onto her backside. Miss Rivas turned back to Javier with that soft, fond expression still on her face and handed him one of the parcels.

"Do... did you want to go over this? While I'm here to explain things?"

"That complex, huh?"

"Well, it's a lot to do with creative book-keeping and tax law loopholes. It's more about how they structure their business to launder their incomes than anything else, but it'll still be helpful in building a case, no?"

It is, which is the whole reason he's been sent back here apparently. And while it's nothing the analysts back at the office can't handle (probably), he still likes being in the loop. And also maybe because he enjoys the sound of her voice. In any case he peels off the rubber band and unfolds the stack of papers, keeping a careful hand around it to ensure that nothing blows away in the spring breeze. Miss Rivas pulled out a pencil from her purse and shuffled closer. Close enough that he can smell her perfume again. - - - Over the following hour and a half Javier realized several important things:

One. Diana Rivas is likely one of the cleverest people he has ever met. By page eight his head is swimming with numbers, but her even explanations make even tiered corporate tax rebate systems sound fascinating. Even in his line of work, he'd never truly considered accounting to be the stuff of suspense, but she makes it sound like a thriller that even the brightest heads in Hollywood would have trouble coming up with.

Two. Having to do anything while keeping an eye in a rambunctious small child who is still learning to walk is a uniquely stressful experience. Little Salome is bouncing around the small patch of grass in front of the bench much like her ball, endowed with seemingly endless reservoirs of energy. She crashes into his knee a few times while chasing her ball or deciding that playing hide and seek underneath the bench is a better use of her time, and it puts him on edge that he feels responsible at all.

Three. The Rodríguez brothers make more than enough money from their few legitimate businesses to never have to worry themselves financially. Not that this had been in question, technically, but to see the numbers in black and white is still galling, even if he's not nearly as incensed about it as Miss Rivas seems to be. And while Javier is far from a religious man, he does consider greed that is levered with blood to be at least distateful.

Four. It's not her perfume he smelled earlier, but her shampoo, bright and fruity, with high notes of citrus.

Five. As long as this is all they have and all she can get, the DEA cannot make a move against the Calí cartel. His orders had been very clear on that. Nail them down beyond escape and make absolutely sure you get them into custody, in that order. It means that whatever Miss Rivas can reveal about the inner financial working of the cartel is valuable, but on its own won't be enough. As always in this job it's sorting through a haystack with a rake in search of needlepoints.

Which brings him to the next thing he needs to ask her. Needs to ask her to do for him, and the operation, to be specific, and he can already tell she'll say yes eagerly. Eager informants should be a blessing, but their eagerness seems to directly correlate with their likelihood of getting killed, or close enough.

"This is for you." He says instead, handing her the satellite phone. There's directions that go with it, but he takes the time to walk her through it nonetheless. Also his numbers, both office and home, just in case. He watched as she carefully tucked everything into her purse.

It's later in the afternoon now - past three - and Salome comes toddling over, handing Javier her ball and sitting down on the grassy ground with a world-weary sigh.

"Okay, time for your nap I think, young lady." Miss Rivas plucked the child from the ground and stood to deposit her back in the buggy, then holding out her hand to him expectantly. He hands the ball over after a split-second of dumbstruck hesitation.

"Well, goodbye then, Agent Peña."

He stood. Offered her his hand to shake, which she took. "I'll call you during the week. What time is good for you?"

"Any time between seven and ten. I'll probably be in Medellín again in a month. I'll let you know if I have more intel by then." He nodded, finally releasing her hand after realizing he still had her fingers clasped in his. She smiled and turned to leave, wheeling the buggy around from its resting position and onto the footpath. "Oh, and Agent Peña?" She turned halfway, throwing the words over her shoulder with a smirk. "Gabriela won't be available tonight, just so you know. We're meeting for dinner and general catching up."

His neck flushed hotly, both despite and because he'd had no intention of visiting her.

"Thanks," he said stiffly, "Give her my best."

"Will do!"

Shaking his head, Javier watched her retreat until she disappeared from view behind a bend in the path.

-------------------------------------------------------

Further author’s note bc apparently I have more to say:

I’m gonna play a bit fast and loose with the timeline, because the show makes it look like Javi was sent back pretty much immediately and it only took those ~6 months to take down the cartel bosses, but in reality Escobar died in December of 1993 and the Calí godfathers weren’t arrested until summer of ‘95, so I’m sending Javi back to Colombia in the first half of ‘94 (April to be specific), meaning the time frame for this story is about a year

also I thought Maritza’s daughter in the series was still a baby, but upon rewatch it is actually stated in s2 ep4 that she’s two, and now I had to rewrite those parts. As to why she doesn’t speak, that’s actually something that will come up later and has nothing to do with my bad memory of the series. though tbh I probably assumed that because Olivia was a baby for like three years. (also according to the timeline I determined Maritza’s daugher would actually be between three and four at this point, but I’m going to disregard that. I’ve already had to age her up once and for the purposes of this story I need her to be still this little)

Chapter 2

#narcos (tv)#javier pena x ofc #series #I cling to your lips like gloss (series)#multipart #javier peña #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña fanfic #my writing #part 1 #like gloss tag

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