#obviously you all can do whatever you want but Jesus why is he goddamn everywhere

[vonnegussy]

Not to start shit, not that there’s any shit left to start at this point, but I find kent parson so tiring

[hangovercurse]

Come and Go

Part iii of the Without You series: Colson struggles to explain himself, only pushing Y/N further away.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, angst, Colson being really bad at communicating

Word Count: 1500

| i | ii | iv | v | vi |

masterlist

“Colson?”

You were shocked at first, then upset, and then you were angry. “You can’t just fucking break into my house.” You yelled at him, placing your laptop on the coffee table.

He held his hands up in surrender, “I knew you wouldn’t let me in if I knocked and I have a key so technically it’s not really breaking in.”

“Get out!” You yelled, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you stand up.

“Okay, look. I know you’re upset-“

“Upset? Colson do you remember what you did? What you said to me? And now you show up at my goddamn house what, 2 weeks later? I’m not upset you fucking moron, I’m fucking pissed off right now.”

“I know I fucked up, okay? I’ve gotten enough of a lecture from the guys.” He said, looking more annoyed than apologetic.

You rolled your eyes, sitting back down. “Yeah you seem like you really feel bad Cols.” You said sarcastically.

“What do you mean? I am sorry, Y/N. Sorry I’m not down on one knee or some shit. What did you expect, really?”

You fought hard to keep tears from reaching your eyes. “I didn’t expect anything, honestly. But if you’re gonna come here and waste my time you could at least act sincere about it. You’re acting like this is a joke or some shit. I mean why are you really here?”

Colson walked backwards towards the door, “honestly I’m just here to get the boys off my back. Now I can tell them I tried to apologize and you turned me down and we don’t ever have to talk again, sound good?”

You thought that the next time you saw him you would be begging him to take you back, but now your blood was boiling. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Remember, you mean nothing to me. I don’t give a shit if you actually forgive me or not. In fact I’d rather you not, because then you’ll stay as far away from me as fuckin possible.” His voice was harsh, like he was cutting you with a poisoned blade.

You could only sit and let his words hit you, willing yourself not to break down until he left. You spoke quietly, because that was all you could bare to do. “Get out.”

And he did.

 Another week passed, and you seemed to have regressed back into the broken girl. You couldn’t seem to get his words out of your head.

And you felt stupid because you had other friends. You had great friends. But almost all of them were friends you made through Colson and you didn’t want to make them choose. So you chose for them.

Pete still texted you daily, but you’d resorted to giving him short answers or just not answering all together. You hadn’t told him about Colson coming over or what he said, he was already caught in the middle enough as it was.

The one person you told was Rook, only because he told you if you didn’t tell him about it then he would show up at your house and not leave until you told him. And you’d rather just type it all out than have to speak to another person. You just felt so emotionally drained, having an actual conversation with someone just seemed like too much effort.

But, despite telling you he would not come to your house because you told him, he ended up on your doorstep with a very angry Colson.

He rang the doorbell, scaring you slightly. Why was someone at your door at 11 pm?

Against your better judgement, you answered, finding the two boys on your porch.

You raised your eyebrow at Rook, waiting for him to explain himself. “Can we come in?” He asked and you rolled your eyes.

“You can come in. Not him.” You motioned to Colson without looking at him. You had yet to meet his eyes, but his were shooting holes through you.

“Y/N. We’re coming in. I’m tired of this shit. We’re not leaving until you two figure this out.” Rook was very obviously annoyed, and despite your body in the doorway, he moved into your house. Colson stayed at the door, still looking at you.

You turned away from him, letting him inside, “whatever.” You mumbled. Rook had made himself comfortable in your kitchen, grabbing a beer from your fridge and chips from your cupboard.

You walked into the living room, taking a seat on one of your couches awkwardly. Why the hell were you feeling awkward in your own house?

Colson sat on the other couch, his eyes still following you as you looked everywhere except him. Rook called from the other room, “I don’t hear you guys figuring your shit out!”

“Goddamn man what the fuck do you want us to say? This is fucking bullshit.” Colson called back, standing up from the couch and turning to the door.

Rook blocked his path, venom in his voice. “Sit down. You’re not fucking leaving.” His voice got quieter and you almost missed his next words. “Fucking fix this.”

Colson let out a sigh, “fine, but can you at least give us some space man?”

Rook studied Colson for a moment. “Fine. But if you hurt her again I’ll kill you, bro.” He opened the front door, giving you a small smile and a wink before closing it behind him.

Colson turned back towards you, studying you, trying to figure out where he stood with you. You were looking down at your hands, picking your nails to avoid looking at Colson’s blue eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything, Colson. I’ll just tell Rook you tried to apologize for real this time and I shut you down. I just want all this shit to be done with. I’m over it.”

You didn’t know it, but Colson’s heart sank further into his stomach. You sounded so defeated, so broken. It was exactly what he intended to do, and he knew it would hurt him too, but he wasn’t sure he could see you like this anymore.

He slowly made his way back towards you, taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch you sat on. “I think it’s time I was honest with you,” he paused, “and with myself.”

“No offense Colson but I think I’ve had enough honesty from you to last a lifetime.” You muttered, still looking at your lap.

“Can you just hear me out? Please?” You didn’t answer, so he took his cue to continue. “I’m scared, Y/N. I’m fucking terrified.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “If you’re that scared of living without Megan then just go beg for her back.”

He took a deep breath, “That’s not what I’m scared of.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, turning your head towards him but still avoiding his eyes.

“I’m scared of.” He paused, trying to find the words, “I’m scared of falling in love.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus Colson. That’s a shitty fucking-“

“Just let me finish, please.”

“Whatever.” You mumbled, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to actually fix anything.

Colson took another deep breath. “I’m scared of falling in love because every time I do, the person I love gets hurt. I’m not good for anyone. I- I fuck people up.”

You were still pretty confused but you put some dots together. “So, what, you were upset that you hurt Megan and you blamed it on me? Right. Cool. Great talk.” You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to get up and leave.

“Can you fucking listen to me, please?” He turned towards you. “I wasn’t in love with Megan, that was the whole problem.”

You finally found the courage to look at him. His blue eyes pierced yours as you studied his face. The sunken bags under his eyes, the unshaven stubble adorning his jaw, the unkempt hair.

“I’m in love with you. And I think I always have been.”

His words came out as a whisper. You felt tears surface and it took everything inside of you not to let them fall.

“You’re an asshole.” You stood up, walking towards the bedroom.

He followed you, “what do you mean?”

You turned back to face him, standing in your doorframe. “Yeah, Colson, this is all really funny to you, I’m sure. Is this your way of humiliating me even more? You make me feel like shit and then you try to convince me you love me? And then I fall for it and you-“

You were cut off as Colson’s lips met yours, his hands on either side of your face. At first you reacted, kissing him back before coming to your senses. You pushed him off of you and he stumbled back.

The tears in your eyes began to fall and you felt utterly ridiculous. “Fuck you. Get out of my house. Don’t ever fucking talk to me again.” You said, closing your bedroom door in his face.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Three (Bad Ideas) - Part 3 of 3

Jared x Jensen ( x Reader, but mostly J2) 

Word Count: ~6720

Warnings: The most explicit guy-on-guy scene I’ve written so far in this series, I think. Rom-com-style miscommunication shenanigans, excessive fluff, bossy!Jensen and his dirty dirty mouth, Jared’s exhibitionist tendencies, polyamory negotiations, anxiety and the way it can fuck with relationships, no seriously so much fluff, boys being idiots, boys in a non-figurative closet, boys in love, boys in bed, and more fucking fluff. 

A/N: I cannot believe I finally finished this, holy shit. Credit to @fangirlxwritesx67​! Most of this series wouldn’t exist without her neverending J2 gif spams. 

Catch up here: Part 1 / Part 2

This is the prequel to the original Everything story, which you can only read on Amazon these days; it actually overlaps a bit, and retells a few scenes from Jared’s POV, but this fic stands on its own. The original is thoroughly plotless, tbh. It’s like 18k of pure smut. Read it over here if you’re interested. More standalones/headcanons/ficlets in this ‘verse can be found here. 

“Come on,” Jared pants, “Hurry up already.” 

“Somebody’s fuckin demanding,” Jensen growls.

“Please, just — fuck, so close, come on.” He tries to buck forward but Jensen’s got him pinned, shoving him against the wall of the dark, cramped little closet while his hand moves in a maddeningly even rhythm, working him with long rough perfect strokes. 

“Door’s not locked. If you don’t keep your voice down somebody’s gonna walk right in.” 

He twists his wrist just right, and Jared groans, slumping back against the wall, trying not to let his knees buckle. 

“Please,” he says again. 

“Is that what you want? You want someone to walk in?” 

“Shit, come on, stop teasing.” 

“What would you do if she walked in?” Jensen says, practically purring, his voice deep and suggestive in the dark, close air. “God, I bet you’d love that.”

Jared wants to protest, but the image of it, the thought of her opening that door, thrills him like a thousand fucking volts. He whimpers, and Jensen just laughs. The guilt hits a split-second later. 

“I wouldn’t stop, either,” Jensen continues. “I’d let her hear you begging, let her watch while I make you come...” 

Jared’s so close he can barely breathe. He can feel it, building everywhere, from his toes and his fingers, up through his spine, coiling tight and hot and —

“So fuckin’ dirty, admit it, you want her to see you come all over yourself. Think she’d lick it off my fingers when you’re done?” 

“Asshole,” Jared gasps, and his cheeks are burning but he can’t help it, he’s imagining her face and then his hips are jerking forward as he comes, so bright and sharp in his gut that he’s doubling over, clutching at the back of Jensen’s shirt and trying to stifle a shout. 

*

Jared’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop, if he’s being honest with himself. Everything has gone so smoothly with them. It’s been over a year, and he’s still convinced he’s going to fuck this up; it can’t possibly be this easy. 

Jared’s pretty sure the shoe hit the ground today, when Jensen mentioned someone else and Jared just — well. That. 

Jensen has a territorial streak a mile wide. He’s quick to move in when he feels like someone’s too close to Jared, asserting himself with a hand on the back of Jared’s neck, fingers in his hair, something quietly possessive. Dirty talk is one thing; the way Jared reacted to it must have been more than enough to set off a red alert in that jealous corner of Jensen’s brain. 

He’s already steeling himself as Jensen slides into the bed, turns the light off, and spoons up behind him to kiss the curve of his neck. 

“We gonna talk about that?” Jensen murmurs. Jensen doesn’t sound mad, but he’s a good fucking actor. 

“I don’t know what you’re—” 

“Don’t.” His huff of a laugh tickles Jared’s neck. 

Jared’s not sure what the fuck is wrong with him, because he finally has what he’s wanted for so many years, finally, and he’s so ridiculously, breathtakingly, head-over-heels in love with Jensen that he can barely see straight sometimes. It’s hard to take his eyes off Jensen, and it definitely gets in the way of things like eating or sleeping or remembering his lines, and so it’s kind of amazing to him that his brain even has space to notice another person, but… he notices her. He can’t help it.

Jensen slides a palm over his hip, tracing the shape of bone and muscle with the tips of his fingers and then dipping down to cup his cock. 

Fuck. 

Jared tries to ignore the feeling that he’s walking into a trap, somehow. 

“It was hot,” he admits softly. 

“Fuckin’ right it was,” Jensen says, low and suggestive against his ear. “Ever thought about that? Somebody watching?” 

He’s getting hard embarrassingly fast and he knows Jensen can feel it. Jared squirms back against him. For a second it’s easy to forget what they were talking about, and by the time he remembers, he doesn’t particularly care any more. 

“Can you—” he breathes, and Jensen nips the round of his shoulder before rolling away for a second. When he comes back, there’s the click of a bottle opening and closing, and then Jensen’s teasing with one slick finger, grazing sensitive skin in little circles until Jared’s gritting his teeth against the urge to beg. 

“You never answered my question,” Jensen whispers. One finger sinks in slow, and Jared shudders. 

Right. That. 

“It’s not a thing or whatever. I was close, and your voice — you could recite a grocery list in that fucking voice and I’d get hard.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

Jared can hear the smirk. 

“It was just… in the moment,” he insists. “I’d never — hearing you talk about it was hot, but... I’ve never — not seriously.” He’s glad Jensen can’t see the way he blushes.

The second finger feels like a stretch, a burn that streaks up his spine and dissolves quickly into sparks, discomfort easing into a wash of pleasure. 

“But you like talking about it,” Jensen rasps, and for a second Jared has no fucking idea what they were just saying. Jensen curls his fingers just right and white fireworks dance behind Jared’s eyelids. 

“Maybe,” he gasps. He tries to brace himself against the mattress, pushing back, arching shamelessly. Jensen kisses the nape of his neck, dragging an open-mouthed kiss down the knobs of Jared’s spine. 

“So let’s talk about it,” Jensen says, lips still touching, smearing the words across his skin. He kisses the curve of his neck, bites it, a bright grounding point of sensation as he pulls his hand away. 

“More?” Jared whispers, just as Jensen’s fingers slide in again, three this time, slow, overwhelming. 

There’s a prickle of heat all over his skin. Jared focuses on breathing. Jensen matches him so that they’re inhaling and exhaling in sync, and it’s deafening in the dark, silent, still room. 

Jensen’s fingers fuck him open slowly, twisting, brushing up against the spot that makes Jared whimper, again and again and —

“Was it because you imagined somebody walking it? Or because you imagined her walking in?” Jensen asks. 

Jared goes cold all over for a second, cold and then fever-hot again as pure panic zings up his spine. He can’t answer, but it doesn’t matter; if Jensen’s asking that question, it’s because he already knows the answer. 

He bites back a whimper, torn between shame and arousal. He’s frozen. 

“Whoa, no,” Jensen says, obviously alarmed. “That’s not — Jesus, I’m sorry, I would never — I don’t care.” He pulls his fingers away and curls himself around Jared, kissing the hollow behind Jared’s ear, making soft shushing sounds, crooning reassurances until Jared starts to relax. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay? Why would you even think that?” 

Jared knows him, knows how he sounds when he’s angry, knows that this isn’t that, and he’s not really sure why he panicked, now; Jensen wouldn’t set him up like that. He just wouldn’t. 

It’s Jared’s own fault, anxiety and guilt and relentless fucking insecurities. He should know better.

“Sorry,” is all he can manage, in a rough strangled voice. He doesn’t know what to do with the leftover adrenaline fizzing in his veins. 

“Hey, listen to me,” Jensen whispers, with just enough steel in his tone that Jared can’t help but pay attention. “I just —I don’t care who you’re attracted to, because… you love me, right?”

“Of course. Why would you even—” 

“So it doesn’t matter who you’re thinking about, because you’re still mine. Right?” 

“Right,” Jared mumbles. He’s still not entirely sure why Jensen brought her up in the first place, if not out of jealousy, but Jensen’s fingers are sliding in again, thick knuckles opening him up. It’s distracting. 

“If I was there too — if it was something we could do together — ” Jensen says, hesitant. “I wouldn’t mind sharing you.”

“Oh,” Jared breathes. 

This is so not how he expected this conversation to go. 

“If I was telling you what to do…” Jared groans, ragged and drawn-out, and Jensen lets out a shaky exhale before he continues: “You’re so good for me. So good at doing what you’re told.” 

“Holy shit.” 

Before Jensen, Jared would’ve considered himself thoroughly fucking vanilla, but Jensen has this way of pushing buttons that Jared never knew existed. Inventing new buttons, maybe. They’re, like, Jensen-specific buttons, and fuck, Jared’s not making sense even to himself, and he’s about to lose his goddamn mind here. 

“On your stomach,” Jensen orders. He urges Jared forward and moves with him, sliding on top of him, hot soft skin and sinewy strength blanketing him and grounding him and holding him in place. 

“Come on, just—.”

The words turn into a sigh as Jensen sinks into him. He grabs Jared’s wrists, squeezing almost too tight, pinning him down. He rocks his hips, pushing in deeper, inch by inch, until Jared’s shaking and full and so tense he feels like he’s vibrating.  

“So good,” Jensen croons again. “I should show you off, let everybody see how well trained you are… is that what you want?” 

Jared twitches under him, hips jerking, fingers flexing, uncoordinated and involuntary. 

“Yeah. Yes. Fuck.” 

He’s never imagined anything like that in his life, but the image sears itself into his brain, and he knows he’ll be thinking about that for a long goddamn time. His cock is uncomfortably hard, trapped between his stomach and the mattress, and every thrust has him rubbing against the sheets, too rough and nowhere near enough. 

Jensen grinds in with this long undulating snaky movement that drags like a match being struck, and the friction ignites inside him, sparkling hot. He tries to muffle the raw ugly cry in the back of his throat by pressing his face down into the mattress. A few more of those rolling sinuous thrusts and Jared’s burning up, not really sure if those are words coming out of his mouth or just nonsense, but he thinks he’s begging, stuttering out curses and pleas. 

“I’ve imagined the two of you together,” Jensen says, gravelly and shredded. “What you’d look like… what I’d tell you to do to her.”   

“Fuck,” Jared slurs, and tries to bite down on the sheet. He’s so close, too close, just needs something — 

Then Jensen slides a hand from Jared’s wrist to his hair, and he grabs, twists, forces Jared’s head to one side so that the next wild sound rings out loud. 

“Mine,” he growls, close and hot and everywhere. He fucks in deep, pulls Jared’s hair hard, and that sting is exactly the catalyst Jared needed; he lets go, goes under, with Jensen repeating it like an echo: “Mine.” 

*

“We can protect you,” Sam declares.

“It’s not your job to take care of me,” she says defiantly. 

“I want to help. I can—”

“Because you don’t have enough to deal with?” she scoffs, but she’s blinking back tears. “What about you?” 

Sam shrugs. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I can’t. I’d rather have you safe than—” 

She practically throws herself at him, hugging him so hard it knocks the air out of his lungs, and Sam closes his eyes, holding her tight. 

“Cut!” Rich yells. 

For a moment, Jared’s frozen, caught in the scene, and he has to forcefully wrench himself back out. Her arms are still wrapped around him, her face buried in his chest, and he can feel the way she inhales, shaky, before pulling away. 

“You okay?” he asks. His voice cracks. She gives him a watery smile. 

“That was… wow,” Rich says, grinning from ear to ear. “Nailed it. That’s a wrap for today. Get some rest, you deserve it.”

Jared’s stuck in Sam’s skin, and it sucks. He’s never been good at keeping his own emotions neat and tidy; add Sam’s weight-of-the-world mess on top of that, and he’s a wreck. 

Jared looks around automatically for Jensen, but Jensen’s been in production meetings all day, doing important director things. He texts instead: 

Done soon? Duckin weird heavy day

Meant fuckin obv, no ducks involved

Ugh miss you

He heads back to his chair and starts gathering up his stuff, and she comes up next to him without a word, slipping an arm around his waist and giving him a sideways squeeze. He sighs and turns into it, bundling her up in his arms, softer and sweeter than the hug their characters just shared. She doesn’t let go, and after a moment he can feel the tension starting to drain away. He still doesn’t feel like him, not quite re-settled in his own skin, but… it’s getting better. 

He kisses the top of her head, getting a whiff of the unmistakable scent of her shampoo, or whatever that fruity shit is that Jared has come to know as her smell. 

“Walk over to wardrobe with me?” he asks. 

“I need a minute,” she says, the words muffled in flannel. He hates the tremor in her voice. “Before I have to walk through all the chaos. Y’know?” 

“Yeah. Want to just… sit with me, for a sec?” 

She scoots her chair over to face his, close enough that their knees are touching. For a second she just looks at him, like she’s about to ask if he’s okay and does he want to talk about it, but the answer is a resounding no and she must read that on his face. 

Jared’s always had that problem; everything he feels shows on his face. The only reason he managed to hide his feelings for Jensen for so long is that he never even acknowledged them to himself. He fidgets uncomfortably, self-conscious, and makes himself stop messing with his hair. He doesn’t really want to know what she’s seeing as she looks at him. 

She grabs his hands and holds them, palm to palm, and it takes Jared a minute to catch on; she’s playing that stupid game where she’s trying to slap the tops of his hands before he can pull them away.  

“I haven’t done this since middle school,” he says, flustered, trying to focus. “Dork.” 

“Gotcha!” 

He tries and fails an embarrassing number of times to get her back. 

“No fair. My hands are like five times the size of yours, they make a bigger target,” he protests. 

She giggles. “It’s true, you’ve got the bigass moose hands.” 

She takes one of his hands in both of hers, laying it palm-up and leaning in closely to inspect it. Jared smells that fruity sweet scent again, and he has to fight the urge to run his fingers through her hair. 

“Can you read palms?” he asks. 

“Mmmhmm.” She frowns down at his hand. 

“What?” 

“See this super faint line right here?” She traces one with the very tip of her finger; it tickles. 

Jared shivers. He’s paying attention to the feel of her soft hands more than her words, but he nods and says, “Yeah.” 

“That’s your grace line. The way it’s all fragmented and faint means you’re clumsy as fuck.” 

“Huh.” 

“This one around your middle finger is the ring of the bird. Means you’re really bad at staying angry. This one is the line of the doofus, means—” 

“Wait a second,” Jared says, laughing as the words sink in. “You’re so full of shit. I’ll give you a ring of the bird.” 

He shoves his middle finger right up in her face and uses it to poke her forehead, and she giggles, swatting his hand away. It devolves rapidly into a sort of childish slap fight. 

“Wow,” comes a low, teasing drawl, and Jared starts in his seat, turning to Jensen weirdly fast. He’s not sure why he feels like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. They weren’t doing anything wrong. 

“Hey,” Jared says, breathless, and pushes his chair back awkwardly so that he’s not quite so close to her. 

He expects jealousy, but Jensen’s not doing his usual steely jaw-clench-y thing. He looks uncertain, like he’s not even sure how he feels, but his smile is genuine and warm and crinkle-eyed. 

“Feeling better?” he asks. 

“Oh! Right. I’m… yeah, actually. I’m fine.” He’s stunned by how true it is. 

“Thanks for that,” Jensen tells her quietly. 

Jared frowns. “I don’t need someone to—”

“It was mutual,” she interrupts. 

The sweet little half-smile on her face makes Jared forget his ruffled feathers. He looks between the two of them. 

“Um… to wardrobe?” he asks Jensen. 

Jensen nods and asks her, “You coming?” 

She shrugs and gives Jensen another tentative smile, and they all fall into step. Jared can’t really accept how easy it feels, but he doesn’t want to question it, at least not now.

*

Jared’s used to the way Jensen shuts down sometimes, the way he curls into his shell when he’s anxious or stressed, but it feels different now that they’re together. They’ve been together for a fucking year. He feels like he should know how to deal with this. 

For someone who’s remarkably direct in almost every part of his life, Jensen is a champion at stonewalling people when he really wants to; the more Jared pokes and prods, the higher the walls get. Jensen’s been edgy all day, and it’s bad enough that everyone has noticed. Jared’s pretty sure this is about him, so he’s determined to fix it; Jensen said he wasn’t threatened, but… yeah. It’s the only explanation, and it’s making Jared second-guess everything he says and does and fucking thinks, and he’s just pissing Jensen off more. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” Jared asks. 

“You can stop bouncing your knee like that, for starters,” Jensen grumbles. “And then you can stop asking me that fucking question.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jensen insists stubbornly. “Okay? I just need some space.” 

Jared sighs and knuckles at his eyes. This is fucking exhausting. 

“Fine.” 

Just as he’s about to stand up, there’s a loud knock on the trailer door. 

“It’s open,” Jensen shouts reluctantly, already trying to control his own scowl. The door slams open. 

“Hey,” she says cheerfully, juggling a large paper bag and a tray of coffee cups as she tries to shut the door behind herself. 

“I got it,” Jared says, jumping up to help. She gives him a grateful smile and shoves the coffee tray at him. One of them has his name scrawled on the side. “Wait, really? For me?” 

“Your favorite.” 

“You’re my favorite,” he says, and immediately wants to smack himself in the forehead. “I mean—”

“S’okay, she’s my favorite right now too,” Jensen admits dryly. 

“You mentioned wanting to try that new place, right?” She plops the bag down on the table and makes herself at home next to Jensen on the couch. Jared’s still standing awkwardly, hovering, not sure what to do with himself. 

“The bakery?” Jensen asks. She caught him off-guard before he could fully put on his polite mask with the camera-ready smile. He doesn’t seem to know how to feel about that. 

“Yeah! I got a little of everything, figured we should taste test.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jensen protests. She just waves a macaron at him until he caves, biting it right out of her hand and making a deliriously happy noise. 

“Don’t get me wrong, this was not a purely altruistic gesture,” she laughs, taking a bite of her own. “Plenty to go around.” 

She offers one to Jared, but he shakes his head ruefully. “I was just about to go.” 

Jensen glances up again, and something softens in his expression. His smile looks like an apology. 

“Stay,” he says quietly. He holds up a mini lemon tart as a peace offering. Jared takes a bite, letting out an obscene moan that’s only kinda exaggerated, before taking a seat on Jensen’s other side. 

“Okay, let’s get down to business,” she says, straight-faced as she gestures to the spread. “We have our work cut out for us.” 

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Jensen deadpans. They dig in. 

Jared’s still not entirely sure what just happened, but he doesn’t care as long as Jensen’s smiling. 

By the time they’re down to the last few cookies, Jared’s sugar-high and over-caffeinated and happier than he’s been all week. He’s also starting to suspect that maybe he’s not the cause of Jensen’s mood after all.

Jared sucks a smudge of icing off his own thumb, and there’s a flicker of heat in Jensen’s eyes as he tracks the movement. Then he shakes his head like he’s laughing at himself. 

“Be right back,” he tells them, and heads for the bathroom. 

As soon as the door closes behind him, Jared turns to look at her, wide-eyed. Her smile falters. 

“Is this okay? I know he’s been… off.” 

“That’s a nice way of saying it,” Jared laughs.

“I wanted to see if I could cheer him up.” She looks self-conscious now, which was really not the point. 

“You did. This is awesome, but — I’m just surprised he let you,” Jared admits. “I’ve known him for a long fucking time and there are still days… I don’t know.” 

“Figured if I asked, he’d just say no, so… didn’t bother asking.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Sometimes it’s easier to get out of your head when you’re with someone you don’t know as well, right?” 

There are about a million things Jared wants to say, but he hears the toilet flush, so he just whispers, “Thanks,” and hopes she knows how much he means it. 

“Jesus, I’m stuffed,” Jensen says, flopping back down between them. He reaches for the last raspberry puff-thing anyway and eats it in one bite, making a goofy face that’s 100% Dean, and they both laugh. He swallows and wipes his mouth, somehow managing to leave a streak of confectioner’s sugar from the corner of his lips down to his jaw. 

“You’ve got a—” Jared says, but he just leans in and licks it off. 

Jensen angles his head for a real kiss. He’s smiling, and he tastes like raspberries, and Jared really doesn’t want to stop kissing him. 

When they break apart, she looks away quickly enough to make it obvious that she was staring. Her cheeks go pink as she bites her lip. 

“I’m gonna go,” she says, fumbling for her bag. 

“Don’t,” Jared says. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go all PDA on you, just—”

She’s already heading for the door. 

“Stay?” Jensen asks softly. He clearly means it, and that makes her pause. 

“It’s almost time for me to be back on set anyway,” she says, still blushing. “I should—”

“If you’re sure, but… thank you,” Jensen says sincerely. 

“Any time!” 

She grins over her shoulder and then she’s gone before either of them can get up to hug her goodbye. Jared watches the door close behind her, disappointed, and he’s almost embarrassed to be caught staring until he realizes Jensen’s doing the same thing. 

“She’s… yeah,” Jensen muses. “Of all the people you could be crushing on? I like her.” 

Jared’s kinda mystified, because if that’s not what Jensen was upset about, he has no idea what the issue was, but he also feels a thousand pounds lighter. 

“Love you,” he blurts out. 

“Love you too,” Jensen says, pulling him in for another sugary kiss. 

*

There are a few moments in the next couple days when Jared can see that black cloud hovering over Jensen’s head again, but they’re shooting his episode, so Jared writes it off as director-stress. Instead of worrying, Jared just tries to distract him, and he’s amazed by how well it works. 

Of course, as soon as he’s stopped fixating on it, Jensen brings it up. All these years and it never occurred to Jared that avoiding the issue entirely would be the best way to get Jensen to talk about something he doesn’t want to fucking talk about.

“I’m sorry for being a dick this week,” he says bluntly, sitting down on the couch next to Jared and passing him a beer. 

Jared laughs, still channel-surfing. “It’s fine. Honestly. At first I thought — I don’t know. Whatever. It’s fine.” 

Jensen grabs the remote out of his hand and mutes the TV, and Jared shifts, curling a little closer so he can take in the abruptly serious expression on Jensen’s face. 

“I got a call… there’s this developer who wants to buy my property,” Jensen says. “And they’re offering a lot of money, but —” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Jared asks. “You were gonna sell it eventually anyway, right?” 

The tips of Jensen’s ears are pink. 

“I wanted to look at my options, and… you know. Talk to you about it.” 

Jared shrugs. “Okay. Will all your shit even fit in my house? Maybe we should get a storage unit.” 

Jensen stares at him blankly for a second. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he asks, “Seriously? That’s it?” 

“You’re talking about moving in, right?” Jared asks. “You’re always at my house anyway, it’s not — wait. Is that what you were stressing about?” 

Jensen actually glares as Jared starts to laugh. Jared gestures vaguely around at the Vancouver apartment they’ve shared for fucking years, and eventually Jensen starts laughing too, burying his face in his palms. The back of his neck is flushed, and Jared can’t fucking believe him, or this, or… the whole situation, really. 

Of all the absurd shit. 

“It just felt like a big deal,” Jensen says sheepishly. “I thought… I didn’t want to assume, and I didn’t know how long I had to decide, and I wanted to go through all my options and have it all laid out for you, because I didn’t want you to think — I don’t fucking know. Jesus. Asking someone to move in with you is generally a big deal! I was just freaking out a little.” 

“You pulled a me, in other words?” Jared asks, laughing again. Jensen jokingly tries to push him away and Jared scoots closer. 

Jensen always seems so sure about things. Jared forgets, sometimes, that he worries too. 

“It was a busy week, and I didn’t want to just jump into it, because if you said no and it turned into a whole big thing I worried it would get in the way when I was directing, and — fucking hell. You hate it when I say ‘we need to have a conversation about something but not right now.’” 

“Well, yeah,” Jared huffs. “That’s the worst. But you could’ve at least told me it wasn’t my fault!” 

Jensen makes a dismissive sound. “Why the fuck would it be your fault?” 

“Seriously?” 

“I mean… yeah, nothing happened, why would you —” 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Jared half-shouts, torn between exasperation and laughter. “I thought you were jealous! I told you I was attracted to somebody else, and — for fuck’s sake.” 

“Did something happen with her, since we talked about that?” Jensen asks. Jared has a momentary urge to smack him. 

“No. Obviously not. I just thought…” 

They both just stare at each other, and then Jensen starts shaking his head slowly as realization dawns. Jared laughs, giddy and almost hysterical, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. 

“Did you think I was just going to sulk about it for a few days without telling you, and then… what, end it?” Jensen asks, as if it’s insane. 

Jared shrugs helplessly. “I mean… yeah, I guess.” 

Jensen sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he chooses his words. For a moment Jared thinks he’s angry, but when Jensen looks at him again, there’s nothing but this raw tenderness all over his face. 

“Look,” he says, slow and deliberate. “I know I go all caveman when other people try to flirt with you, but it’s not because I don’t trust you. Okay?” 

“That’s not —” 

“Hang on. Hear me out here. You can’t beat yourself up for looking at someone, Jared. Or for pheromones, or what-fucking-ever. You can’t. I don’t care who else you look at, as long as you still want me, at the end of the day. Relax, okay?” 

Jensen’s hands curl around his upper arms, holding him firmly, until Jared rests his forehead against Jensen’s and takes a deep breath. 

“You really don’t mind?” 

“I don’t. I’m fucking seriously in love with you, and I need you to know that you can tell me anything. It’s not going to change the way I feel about you. Just fucking tell me, and then we can deal with it together. As long as you’re honest.” 

Jared can’t help but ask, “Do I need to point out how hypocritical —” 

“Don’t even start,” Jensen laughs. “That’s different. Asking someone to make a huge fucking life change with you is different from… feeling guilty for thinking a girl is cute, or whatever. She’s fucking cute. You’re not blind.” 

“You don’t think I’m an asshole?” His voice cracks. 

“What? Why would I?”  

“I feel like… I feel like the luckiest person in the fucking world, Jay, you’ve gotta know that.” Jared’s tearing up, because of course he is, and the intensity in Jensen’s expression isn’t helping, but the words start to spill out faster: “I never thought I could have this. This — us — it’s better than anything I ever fucking imagined, and it’s not like you’re not enough for me. You’re… this is everything to me. So how the fuck do I still want more? I don’t deserve this, let alone —”

He bites his lip to cut himself off. He didn’t realize he was going to say that out loud. It’s a little too true. 

“Look at me,” Jensen growls, fierce and almost angry. 

“Sorry,” Jared half-laughs, wiping away tears. 

“First of all, you deserve the fucking universe,” Jensen says flatly, like it’s a very simple fact. “And even if you didn’t, I don’t give a shit, I’d still do anything to make you happy.” He brings his hands to Jared’s face, holding him so that he can’t look away. “But also? You feel more than anyone else I’ve ever met. If anybody’s got enough love for two people, it’d be you.” 

Jared snorts. “It’s not like it could actually happen, it’s just —” 

“Why not? As much as you like to think you’re a goddamn trailblazer, this isn’t revolutionary,” Jensen retorts, all snark. “Polyamory is a thing that people do. You can date her while you’re with me. Everybody can get what they want here.” 

“Even if it was that simple—” Jared knows it’s not that simple. “—she’s not interested in me, so—” 

Jensen cuts him off: “You’re an idiot. She’s fucking crazy about you.” 

He looks fond and exasperated and very sure of himself, and for a moment, Jared wonders if maybe he’s right. Then he shakes his head, trying to articulate how he feels. 

“I think… I’d feel weird if it wasn’t something I could share with you,” he says honestly. “I like sharing things with you. I want to share everything with you.” 

Jensen’s expression goes soft and painfully sweet. “Sap.” 

Jared shrugs. He can’t really deny that one. He leans in and kisses Jensen instead. 

Jensen grabs him and physically hauls him closer, until they’re all tangled together, and kisses him again, hard enough to bruise. 

“Is there anything else we need to get out in the open?” Jared asks wryly, when they finally break for air. “Now that we’ve established we’re both fucking morons who need to talk to each other?” 

“Fuck it, while we’re on the subject of sharing.” Jensen looks at him intently. His lips are all red and swollen. “The whole threesome thing? Just for the record, I was dead fuckin’ serious about being into that idea.” 

“Oh,” Jared says blankly. “But what if —” 

Jensen curls a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, smirking. “Stop thinking. Not right fucking now. Not when we’re filming with her for a week solid,” he says, because he can read Jared’s mind. “Someday.” 

“Someday,” Jared agrees. 

*

“You ate those cookies,” Jensen says. 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

Jared’s stomach swoops. He recognizes it now, the way she’s holding herself rigid, the panic that shows around her dark dilated pupils; he can feel it like it was yesterday, overwhelming and out of control and fucking humiliating. 

“Fuck,” he says, shaking his head. What the fuck else can he say? 

She stammers, squeezing her eyes shut like she’s refusing to think about it: “Drugs? Were the cookies drugged? Why do I feel…”

“Like if you don’t get some dick you’re gonna die?” he says bluntly. Her eyes go wide. “Been there.” 

“What did you — um.” 

It’s so fucking strange, thinking back to that night, just like it’s strange thinking about anything that happened before they were together. He remembers the electricity between them, the intensity of it, the way it felt to touch Jensen for the first time… he looks sideways at Jensen and knows he’s remembering it too. 

“I’ll go back to my room,” she says, her voice strained and scared. 

“Needs to be another person,” Jared says. His throat feels clogged, and the words come out thick and clumsy. “Believe me, I tried. But if you’re okay with it…”

His voice falters as he realizes what he’s actually offering. For a split-second, Jared feels guilty, like he brought this on somehow by sheer force of wishful thinking. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, though. Jared looks at Jensen helplessly, but Jensen’s watching her, brow furrowed with concern, and Jared is reminded (forcefully) that this isn’t about him. 

“We’ve got you,” Jensen finishes, warm and sure. 

She shakes her head. “I can’t ask —” 

“You’re not asking.”  

She looks so scared. Jared remembers that part, too: he didn’t want to look Jensen in the eyes, because he was so fucking certain he’d see disgust there, or pity, or something fucking awful like that. 

Jared empathizes so intensely that he feels sick for a second. He flounders, wondering what he can say to put her at ease, make her feel wanted, and then he chuckles to himself, realizing that the truth is probably his best option here.  

“It’s not like it’s a fucking hardship, y’know? Have you seen you?” 

It shocks a laugh out of her, at least. Jared counts it as a win. 

Then she squeezes her eyes closed again, face screwed-up and anguished, and all Jared can think about is getting rid of that pained expression. He settles on the bed next to her, takes the cool washcloth off her forehead and strokes her hair carefully, hating the way she’s frowning. She turns to look at him, and he feels like he’s about to burst with the urge to just bundle her up in a bear hug and protect her. 

“Yeah, okay,” she says abruptly, soft but sure. “Yes.” 

“C’mere then.” 

Jared slides closer, resting a hand ever-so-gently on the curve of her waist, and she rolls onto her side to face him, eyes huge and desperate. Jensen is settling at her back. She fits so neatly between the two of them. She’s trembling, but it’s okay; Jared’s pretty sure he is too. He glances over her shoulder at Jensen. 

Jensen just smiles, saying without words it’s okay and I’ve got you and together, and the last of Jared’s worries evaporate. 

“You’re gonna have to stop thinking so hard,” he tells her gently, because he knows that expression a little too well. Jensen lets out a quiet snort of laughter, which is fair, because Jared saying that to someone else is like the pot telling the kettle to stop being black. 

Then he’s cupping her cheek, tilting her chin, kissing her, and the noise in his head goes silent, for once; everything goes silent, just evaporates the fuck away, and all Jared can feel is the sweet soft shape of her lips as they part, the slick slide of her tongue, the way she sighs… he can feel her just melting into it, and there’s something about it that takes his breath away. She goes pliant in his arms, relaxing completely, like every muscle in her body is showing him: I trust you. The enormity of that trust is what has him spinning with need, rocketing from zero to sixty in five seconds flat. 

There’s a warmth blossoming in Jared’s chest that is so far beyond a crush it’s not even funny. He’s pretty sure he’s fucked, but he can’t think about that, not now, not with the way she’s responding, surging up to meet him and draw him in deeper. The only thing that matters right now is taking care of her. He just wants to make her feel good; the rest can wait. He’ll deal with his own cracked-open heart tomorrow. 

*

For a moment Jared’s convinced it was all a dream, but when he opens his eyes, she’s the first thing he sees. She’s curled up with her hands tucked under her chin, oddly childlike, and her face is totally serene. 

She’s beautiful in a way that still takes him by surprise every time he looks at her. 

Jesus pogo-jumping Christ. Jared is fucked. 

Before he can really spiral out about it, though, Jensen is stirring at his back. Jared rolls over, muscles complaining about last night’s exertion, and he sprawls out half on top of Jensen, trying to keep his breathing even. Jensen runs a hand through Jared’s tangled hair, finger-combing gently. 

“So that was… pretty amazing,” Jensen whispers, so quiet Jared barely catches the words. 

“Yeah.” 

There’s a question on the tip of his tongue and he’s burning to hear the answer, but he’s pretty sure it’s a bad idea to just spit it out like this. 

Because he’s apparently a mind reader now, Jensen answers the question anyway: “I would really love to do that again.” 

Jared exhales slowly. “Same.” 

“But… I think it’s going to be complicated. Emotionally.” 

Apparently they’re just diving the fuck into this. 

Jared closes his eyes, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. He shifts, sliding on top of Jensen, propped up on his elbows. He pauses like that for a moment, taking in the pillow creases on Jensen’s cheek and the concern in his eyes. 

Jensen hesitates, lips twitching down into a nervous frown before he continues: “I knew how you felt about her, but — well, I guess you’re not the only one.” 

Jared blinks down at him. “What are you saying?” 

Jensen reaches up and traces the line of Jared’s jaw, then his lower lip, and Jared brushes a clumsy kiss to the side of his knuckle. Jensen smiles, looking a little more sure of himself. 

“Watching the two of you — I think it could be more. The three of us could be… something. It felt right.” He frowns. “Tell me that wasn’t just me?” 

There’s this crazy swell of emotion happening in Jared’s chest, and he’s afraid he might choke on it for a moment. He kisses Jensen, smiling into it, and Jensen’s hands slide up his back, making his skin tingle in their wake. 

Jared hesitates. “What if she — I don’t think she feels —” 

“I think she’s been almost as deep in denial about this as you have,” Jensen says gently. “I don’t think she’s allowed herself to consider it, because of me, and if she knew…” 

“What if —” Jared sneaks a glance at her; she’s still sleeping peacefully. He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“If this is gonna work, we need to lay it all out for her,” Jensen says, so quiet that Jared feels the vibration of the words more than he hears them. “Even if it’s just sex for her, or… if this was a one-time deal. We gotta be honest with her.” 

“That sounds like a terrible fucking idea,” Jared says honestly. “How does that not scare the shit out of you?” 

Jensen just shrugs. “It does, a little bit. But… you’re the only thing that matters, when it comes down to it. As long as we’re in this together, the rest doesn’t seem too scary.” 

It sounds so fucking simple when he puts it like that. 

“Yeah, okay,” Jared whispers, leaning down to kiss him again. “Together.” 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message over here! 

[parismemes]

SENTENCE STARTERS FROM RED VS. BLUE SEASON 15

“you touch my baked beans, i put dog shit in your pillowcase.” “every other person in this miserable place is literal garbage.” “books on tape? what's the appeal of that? don't the pages get stuck together?” “when in doubt use a confusing acronym. military types love acronyms.” “FML. that stands for fu--” “i’ll bend down and kiss your boots, how’s that?” “i wanna know every step you take and how much shit gets stuck on your shoes and in-between your teeth.” “you know, i think i'll probably move to LA, but that's like what everyone does. i mean, what do you think?” “i’m gonna skin your cat for this.” “i’m actually thinking of adopting a stage name.” “i’m gonna smash cut your empty skull against that rock if you don’t shut the fuck up!” “i wanted to call it desert titties, but that shit was taken.” “ah, there goes the bechdel test.” “you should interview the illuminati!” “real talk here: i'll be your genie in a bottle, i'll do whatever you want, but after i grant you your three wishes, you gotta do something for me, whaddaya say?” “my ceaseless existence is an eternal torment!” “next time he calls you please, just, let it go to voicemail. don't transfer to me. okay?” “i can’t even hear myself think in this blizzard of idiocy!” “did you attempt to witness any other particular individuals in the general vicinity of the area in which the crime scene was alleged?” “i just wanna be included!” “funny, the vultures usually show up after the slaughter.” “you’re a little bit crazy, aren’t you? i like that.” “consequences... don't always take the shape we expect them to, do they? they're funny like that.” “...are we still married?” “people are quick to jump to conclusions. they see something, or hear something, and fit it into a preconceived emotional box.” “please don’t make me regret what i’m about to tell you.” “whoa, hold up--i just realized how much i don’t care.” “SUCK IT, NEWTON!” “we said we wouldn’t talk about that!” “help me be the best at being lazy.” “it was a simple mishap with my vanilla-satin scented candles!” “why is he naked?” “HOW DO YOU BURN DOWN A WATER PARK, ___?!” “we’re definitely not just saying that because she could kill us.” “for far too long our people have been oppressed, crushed, under the weight of ourselves! if we don't start standing up to our mortal foe gravity, by god, who will?” “we’ve never needed intelligence before!” “why doesn’t anybody die and stay dead?” “oh, cool! foreshadowing.” “who wants a poisoned pumpkin frappuccino?” “i quit. i’m not going. i’m staying here.” “you’ve always been selfish, but this is bullshit!” “you know, i liked them better when they were funny.” “it’s a bop-it.” “sleep. means. death!” “i know ___ said we should split up, but i was thinking maybe we split up together, you know, because it's scary!” “you talk about ___ a lot.” “this is a big city. so many places for snakes to hide. they could be everywhere all around us. watching us... licking their snake lips...” “jesus, doesn’t anybody speak esperanto?” “err is not a word.” “why do you look alone?” “why don't you tell us what's going on, and we can decide whether to kill you or not?” “looks like we've got quite the sticky mess on our hands!” “oh, i know all about sausage parties! uh, wait, that came out wrong.” “when I least expect it: whambo! you pry open my mind prison and suck out my brain beans!” “i realize now that i’ve just spilled all my brain beans.” “we're just a bunch of dumb rejects hurling ourselves against impossible odds.” “i’m only saying something because i’ve been used enough times in my life already.” “nice! super awesome of you guys! that was sarcastic.” “don’t care. just help me with my dramatic exit.” “that's a great idea! i was just about to suggest it.” “i always say a marine without a code is like a car without a road.” “i always say the best defense is a really tall fence.” “i always say a good soldier is like a rollin’ boulder.” “i always say a mantra a day keeps death at bay.” “i've grown soft around these uncultured philistines.” “goddamn, i can’t believe i have to hear this shit in stereo now.” “you two look cozy.” “i didn’t realize you two were close.” “you’re being too hard on yourself. you’ve changed over the years, i’ve seen it myself.” “i've grown from being a dishonorable killing machine to an honorable killing machine. that's quite the journey.” “i changed my mind. you are evil.” “you don’t have to destroy the past to have a future.” “strategizing can wait until breakfast, at least.” “i killed them. i MURDERED them. i set my vengeance free upon them and it felt so good!” “are we gonna do some snooping around?” “have you ever considered a life in showbusiness?” “try harder, fuckface!” “can we please just bury the hatchet and focus on what's important?” “your mother’s lasagna is mediocre!” “if you guys had to get shot somewhere in your body, where would you do it?” “i can't hear you because some idiot shot my ear off!” “this whole situation is garbage enough to begin with, but... at least we're in it together.” “no plan survives first contact with the enemy.” “the only thing that would make this better is some music.” “we were pawns in their game. but the thing that I love about chess is that sometimes pawns kill kings.” “no, actually, i was raised by wolves. in the forest.” “sometimes i feel like people barely acknowledge my presence.” “something weird might be going on around here.” “anyone who's acting that squeaky clean must have some deep dark secrets.” “ha! gotcha! that's exactly the kind of things bad guys say!” “they used us, they destroyed our lives, and they haven't been made to pay for what they've done.�� “you obviously love the sound of your own voice, so why don't you use it to tell its where the fuck our friends are?” “i’m going to kill you so hard, you’ll wish you were dead.” “we fought alongside each other for fucking years. how can you just turn your backs on us like this?” “you don't get to give orders if you're on the bad guys' side!” “now I have gonorrhea and a dead friend.” “stop. touching. my face.” “buckets! oodles! oodles of noodles and toaster strudels! tiempo de mucho. mucho de tiempo!" “yeah, well, i don't remember you being anything but a huge dick, but here you are being cool, so people change.” “yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers!” “but.. i never got to say goodbye. or thank you for being my friend.” “i'm gonna need a week at the chiropractor when we get out of here.” “is it possible to hallucinate with your ears?” “i’m not here to kill you.” “uh-oh spaghetti-o’s.” “fuck me! fuck all of this!” “you should totally kill me if it strikes your fancy! no pressure!” “the world's best swordsman doesn't fear the second best. He fears the worst, because he can't predict what the idiot will do.” “i can't imagine us doing anything but making this all worse.” “shit, dude! you’re the best we’ve got!” “i like pushing small children down wells.” “can we please settle on a consistent denomination? are we using cardinal directions or are we using clock positions?” “i'm so sneaky. they don't even know what's happening. you can't even see me right now, ___. you're so confused.” “shut up and help me punch this fucking tank!” “as far as days to die go, it's a little overcast. so let's check our corners and make these bastards pay!” “let's light the fires and kick the tires!” “let’s dance with these monkeys and give ‘em what for!” “let's put the pedal to the metal and the rubber to the road!” “let’s get jiggy with it!” “let’s shoot this monkey full of heroin and put it on youtube! actually, let's not do that, it sounds completely horrible.” “let’s teach these midgets how to tango!” “honor, schmonor.” “scout's honor! except I was never a scout because I'm afraid of badges.” “why are we here?” “we don't know why we're here. it's still one of life's great mysteries, isn't it?” “i’m sorry i tried to kill you, it wasn’t personal!” “you'll be stuck between a rock and the frying pan.” “if i said that i would weep for them, would it make you feel any better?” “best friends should be able to say goodbye.” “i think you are cool. like, super awesome, amazing, cool and... i, i always felt like really awesome too, when we were hanging out together.” “i know with my other friends--who, even if you add them all up together aren't really cool as you--i know we're all gonna be okay.” “if you kill me, you'll just perpetuate this never-ending cycle of revenge and retaliation!” “he asked us to deliver an important message to you all. but then he just sang the ducktales theme song and fell back to sleep.” “you know i’ll never forget this, right? i mean, PTSD is forever, isn’t it?” “it’s not the sum of your parts that makes you who you are.” “these people have shown me that real heroes are not born, they're forged. a friend told me once that there's no fate but what you make. and i think he's right.” “alright, well, i'm just gonna try to forget that ever happened and never bring it up again.”

[taylorinthetardis]

Thoughts after watching Hellraiser: Hellworld

- Hoooo Boy this movie is garbage. The premise is stupid as fuck. I mean it’s the seventh Hellraiser movie. Why did they need seven? Once you’ve seen Pinhead once you kinda get it, you don’t really need to deal with him six more times. Teenagers are stupid as fuck, we get it horror movies.

- Whatever the fuck they were doing on the computer, they were not playing an MMORPG. That was not WoW. That was not RuneScape. They literally just clicked some shit on a box. I mean obviously this was pretty low budget, but still.

- Baby boy Henry. Jesus Christ, this boy. Early twenties Henry is so goddamn adorable. If only he knew how Daddy he was gonna be in just 10 short years.

- Our boy was already good at doing an American accent this early in his career. I’m honestly so proud. It wasn’t phenomenal, but it genuinely wasn’t the worst I’ve heard, especially during that time in filmmaking. So proud of my talented baby boy.

- Mike is kind of a prick, honestly. He’s way too cocky. Definitely had jock vibes. Would not have hung around him in high school/college but would totally lusted after him from afar. Definitely the kind of guy you’d want to fuck but never have a conversation with. He actually reminds me a bit of the lacrosse player I had a crush on when I was in college. I never really wanted to talk to him, I just really wanted to see him naked.

- With all the nudity and actual outright fucking in this movie, I’m surprised we didn’t get a shirtless Henry during the make out scene, considering the woman was in her bra and then got her tits out. I wonder if he was still really self-conscious about his body. I mean it wouldn’t have been that long ago that he was told to drop 14 pounds for Count of Monte Cristo. But then why would he feel confident enough to let people see him get a mock blowie? I mean I guess you don’t actually see his dick, but the movement of her head does kind of allow you to imagine the length. I don’t know. I guess also his face in that scene you can tell he’s not really getting blown. Or she’s not doing a very good job. He looks more smug than anything else, maybe a little nervous, but there’s no O face. I think he sighs once.

- Oh my god what if little baby Henry was still a virgin when they made that movie and he didn’t know how to act while getting blown because he’d never been blown before👀

- But that make out scene though🥵 his hands were EVERYWHERE! Goddamnit I need him to be touching me like that. Fuck. There was no real nervousness in most of that. Our confident Henry was all over that. Maybe he’s just that good of an actor though. Fuck.

- The twist was pretty crazy, definitely didn’t see that coming at all.

I would love to sit him down and force him to watch this movie with me. I imagine if I ever did that it’d probably be the last time we ever spoke because I’d tear that shit apart, but maybe he’d find it funny🤷🏼‍♀️ I mean probably not, but you never know.

I think I’m gonna watch Night Hunter next. Amazon Prime has a really good amount of his films and you don’t even have to pay to rent most of them. Bless🙏🏻

[andiandyandee]

Runs In the Family

Look, the title is an Amanda Palmer song because my wife was listening to it and it worked, so whatever. 

Also I wrote this instead of writing the Next chapter of We Are Going to Be Friends, deal with it.

You’ll probably need to have read some of the AU to know what’s going on here tbh.

Words: 2206

Virgil is sick of looking like Logan. (That’s it that’s the summary.)

Here’s  the first part of We Are Going to Be Friends  and Here’s the whole series on Ao3

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking @holliberries

Okay here’s the Fic:

    After another conversation with another store clerk who asked if he was related to the Starrs, Virgil was officially sick of this town, and so he was currently working through his annoyance in the best way he knew, by punching things.

    “I. Am. So. Goddamn. Sick. Of. Looking. Like. Papa.” Virgil grunted as he swung at Patton. Or more specifically, at the boxing pads Patton had on his hands. The younger of the two laughed a little and his brother’s pout.

    “Why? Papa isn’t like, ugly or anything. And guys and girls alike would kill for the chance to ‘gaze into those icy blue eyes’” Patton mimicked one of the girls who had recently asked Virgil out. “What’s the problem with looking like him?”

    “Every teacher expects me to be Just.” Punch. “Like.” Punch. “Him.” The last swing missed the target pad, only narrowly missing Patton’s face. “Jesus, sorry Pat.”

    “It’s alright! Maybe let’s take a break from this though, you can use the punching bag, I’m gonna do some yoga I think.” Virgil perked up at that.

    “Oh, actually would you mind if I did your routine with you? I really need to work on my flexibility, and I could definitely use some relaxation” Patton nodded, pulling out a second mat and block from the cupboard. Having a home gym was certainly something they both appreciated. The only one who didn’t use it was Dad, who preferred running outside to working out in the basement, so they had a pretty decent array of workout equipment. “I just get frustrated when everyone sees me and their first thought is ‘Oh god Logan reproduced’. I love Papa, I just wish I didn’t have his face. I can’t believe they decided to stay in this stupid town anyway.” They both started in a sitting position, going through some basic stretches.

    “I mean, you two look similar, but I don’t really think you look as much alike as people think. You just look close enough that they’ve convinced themselves that’s what Papa looked like too.” They were kneeling in child’s pose now, and Virgil was already struggling.

    “God how do you do this every day, my back already hurts.” They moved back into a sitting position, in the pigeon pose. “This is so much worse. ” Patton giggled. “Listen, even if we didn’t have the same face, which we do, by the way, It’s still frustrating to have people say ‘you look just like your father’ every day. I wish people would say I looked like literally anyone else at this point.” Patton rolled his eyes and moved down into a head-to-knee bend, which had Virgil whining, only halfway down.

    “How are you so inflexible? I swear me and Papa do this with no issues. I’ve even had Dad in that position without much complaint.” Virgil Flipped Patton off, sitting back up and crossing his legs into a Lotus Pose. “I mean you’re going to college out of state, aren’t you? You’re going somewhere - No Virgil, you don’t cross your legs in Marichi’s Pose, just tuck it in, yeah there you go- you’re going somewhere they won’t even know Papa. You’ll have tons of people who won’t think you look like anyone!” Patton had twisted around into a revolved head-to-knee pose that made Virgil nauseous just to see. That’s not how spines worked .

    “I don’t think that’s any better, honestly. I hate being alone, I just don’t always want to be ‘Logan Starr’s Kid’, You know?” They were kneeling again, both in a hero pose, Patton half leaned back easily, Virgil shaking as he leaned back only half as far as his brother.

    “Yeah, I mean I get it, I guess. I mean I don’t really look like Papa or my Surrogate save for her eyes and this mop of hair, so I’ve never actually been recognized as their kids, so I don’t really understand, but people make assumptions on the last name, you know? Mostly because of Grandpa, but Dad too.” Patton giggled as Virgil switched to a camel pose, unable to hold himself up or lower himself completely down to the reclining hero. “You have so little core strength for someone who enjoys punching as much as you do.” Virgil again flipped him off, now sweating way more than was really necessary. “Just use your block, I don’t know why you’re so against sticking with the easier poses until you get it figured out, Virge.”

    “Easy poses are for cowards. Can we stand up and do some poses that don’t involve my feet bending like this?” Patton laughed, obliging his brother. They tabled the conversation, mostly because Virgil was too busy groaning to actually talk.

***

    The next morning, which was really more like early afternoon, Patton woke Virgil up with his regular cheerful knocking. “Virge! It’s Saturday! We run on Saturdays!” Virgil groaned, trying to ignore the way his muscles protested moving after the nightmare yoga session.

    “I know exercise is healthy, but I think I’d rather die than move, Pat.” Virgil groaned into his pillow. He heard his Dad laugh loudly at that.

    “Come on, Virge! It’s the one day a week we actually spend together! And I’ll buy you lunch at that diner across town that just opened up!” Virgil was not a fan of running, or being outside, but the teen was nothing if not food motivated.

    “Do you think a cheeseburger and milkshake counts as a balanced breakfast?” Virgil asked, already pulling on a tank top and a pair of running tights, trying his best to brush his hair with his fingers. He pulled the door open, faced with looks of amusement from both his Dad and brother.

    “No. Grab a protein bar, water, and maybe a hairbrush, and meet us outside in like, fifteen minutes for stretching, Panic! At the Everywhere.” Roman chuckled, leaving the hallway with Patton. Virgil did grab a hairbrush, and made his way to the kitchen, only to find his Papa sitting at the island with a cup of coffee and what appeared to be a lukewarm bowl of oatmeal next to him, immersed in a book.

    “Hi, Papa.” Virgil grabbed a kind bar from the basket on the counter, and a water bottle from the cabinet, filling it with tap water.

    “Hello, Virge. Are you all heading out for the afternoon?” Virgil nodded, stealing a drink of Logan’s coffee as he passed.

    “Yeah. You wanna come? We’re going to get lunch after.” Logan wrinkled his nose.

    “You will see the heat death of the universe before you see me jogging outside with your father. I wouldn’t be caught dead in public with that man when he’s on a runner’s high.” Virgil laughed, shrugging and leaving his Papa sitting in the kitchen alone.

***

    The run, as expected, was miserable, and Virgil was sweating and starving by the time they made it to the diner.

    “Jesus, how am I so out of shape compared to you two?” Both Roman and Patton were a bit sweaty, but not even out of breath.

    “Well we run that distance three times a week, and you run it twice a month, so..” Patton joked, walking towards the diner door. “You’re also way stronger than me and Dad though, so I guess you have that going for you.” Roman nodded, holding the door open for his sons. A voice greeted them as they walked through the door, peppy and quite loud.

    “Hi! Welcome to Dot’s Diner! I’m Dot! Y’all can sit anywhe-” The voice cut off, the woman staring at Virgil with a bit of horror and a bit of sadness in her eyes. “Oh, uh, you-you can sit anywhere, boys.” Virgil glanced at Patton and Roman, confused. They both shrugged, sitting down at a booth and shooting glances over at the woman who greeted them.

    “She looks kind of familiar, actually... Maybe she went to school with Me and Logan?” Roman whispered. “I don’t know.” Roman pulled out his phone, texting Logan to ask if he remembered a ‘Dot’ because she definitely recognized Virgil. Logan texted back thirty seconds later, instructing them to stay right where they were. Roman showed the boys the message and shrugged again. “He must know her.” A waitress, not Dot, took their drink orders, dropping off menus. They were all discussing what they wanted when the bell rang again, and Logan came in, looking around. His hair was still a mess, but he was in a pair of blue jeans and a Greenday shirt that had no business being tucked in instead of his pajamas. He spotted Roman, Patton, and Virgil, and waved, but was obviously looking for someone else. When Dot came through the kitchen door, and saw him, they both looked a little tearful.

    “Logan! Oh, it’s so good to see you, I haven’t heard from you in so long,” Dot came around the counter, pulling him into a hug.

    “I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch, Dot. I lost your number, and the only social media you had hasn’t been updated since-” He cut off, and Dot glanced to Virgil, who was staring at the pair with a look of confusion that was mirrored in Roman and Patton’s gazes.

    “He’s yours, then? It’s too uncanny to have been a coincidence.” Virgil rolled his eyes. Of course, she thought he looked just like Logan, they always did.

    “I know, it’s like looking in a photograph, sometimes. He even has the same color pallet. Black and purple everything.” Logan said conspiratorially. They weren’t that loud, but there were only two other patrons in the diner, so it was easy to hear them talking. Virgil raised an eyebrow at that. He had seen pictures of his papa when he was young and never had he had much of a black and purple pallet. The two walked over to the table, Dot still looking at Virgil with that same sad look.

    “Hi, I’m Dot. I’m a friend of Logan’s. I’m sorry how I reacted earlier, you just look so much like” Virgil went to sigh, but before he could, Dot said something that stopped him in his tracks. “Your Uncle Larry, I thought I was seeing a ghost.” Virgil was dumbfounded.

    “What?” Logan laughed at his son’s face.

    “I guess we’ve never really talked about it, but my older brother, L, shares an astonishing amount of features with you,” Logan explained, pulling out his phone. “Hold on, I bet I can find a photo…” Dot was smiling sadly at him.

    “I was newly engaged to your uncle before he passed.” She swallowed, “I’m sure you get it a lot, but I haven’t seen you boys since you were so young, I wasn’t expecting it.”

    Roman mumbled “Oh!” to himself before smiling at Dot. “It’s been so long, Polka Dot, I hardly recognized you!” She smiled at him.

    “If it makes you feel better, I couldn’t tell if you were you or Remus. The only way I used to be able to tell you apart was the scar, but you both have it now so..” Roman laughed.

    “Remus is quite a bit thinner than I am now, so we don’t actually get mistaken for each other much anymore. I had almost forgotten what it was like!”  

    “Ah Hah!” Logan held out his phone for Virgil to see. Staring back at him was... Well, him. This teenager, probably around 17, the same age as Virgil, was leaning on who was clearly Dot’s shoulder, a purple and black hoodie and shaggy hair looked eerily similar to Virgil. Logan swiped to another photo, of Logan and Larry standing next to each other in what he assumed were their prom outfits, Logan an easy 6 inches taller than Larry, much like how Logan towered over Virgil. Seeing them next to each other, Virgil realized that while the two looked similar, Virgil looked much more like Larry. They had the same nose, slightly shorter faces, less defined cheekbones.

    “Holy shit, I have his whole face.” Virgil croaked, glancing up at his Papa. “I thought I looked just like you, but like, that’s like, time travel. If he dyed his hair purple that could literally be me.” Patton and Roman were glancing between the photo and Virgil, looking more and more confused as they did.

    “How have you never mentioned our oldest son is literally your brother?” Roman asked, a little dumbfounded. Logan laughed softly.

    “You know how I feel about talking about him. And I didn’t realize until he was about fifteen, anyway. Remember when he got the tattoo? When we were fighting he did that thing, Dot, you remember, where he just kind of-” They both did the hand gesture, which from an outside perspective looked a lot like a combination of jazz hands and flicking water at someone, and started laughing, and Virgil blushed. He DID do that hand gesture a lot. “and I was like, Oh my god, He’s literally Larry.” They all dissolved into talking about old memories, and Virgil sat there content, leaning on his brother's shoulder. Sometimes, he hated how much he looked like his Papa, but he supposed looking like his uncle wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

[spockfallsinlove]

Spirk prompt: spock (for whatever reason you want) has his natural curly hair that day and Kirk fucking loses it Good luck with the writing 💖

(these are the aos boys, by the way)

Kirk is deep in sleep, like drool-on-his-pillow-and-dreaming-about-chocolate-cake-deep in sleep, when he hears the commotion in the hallway. He hears the soft pattering of feet sprinting through the hallway in front of his door: back and forth, back and forth.

With a groan, he pushes himself off the bed. “It’s 0600 hours,” he grumbles to no one particular. 

Still the noise continues: now with not-so-quiet whispers.

He pulls himself out of bed, giving about zero tosses about the fact that he’s in his bare chest and boxers, and pokes his head out the door.

Just as he does, Chapel scurries by the left, nearly taking his head off, saying a hurried “Oh hello Captain!” before she disappears around a corner.

Kirk is blinking in surprise trying to recover when Uhura suddenly sprints by him, hair wild and feet bare. She screeches to a halt in front of Spock’s room, knocking on the door very unsubtly. “Spock!” she hisses. “Spock!”

“Uhura!” Kirk whisper-yells to her. “What in the living hell?”

Spock’s door, which was beginning to open, quickly whooshes shut again. Uhura yelps and spins around. “Jesus, Jim! I mean—sir—”

“It’s 6 in the goddamn morning,” Kirk says, rubbing an eye of sleep. “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” she squeaks. Her hands are behind her, obviously hiding something.

Kirk’s eyes narrow. “Why are you at Spock’s room? Is he okay?”

“Yup, he’s fine. No reason that I’m here. None at all.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kirk keeps direct eye contact with her as he slowly backs into his quarters. It’s not his business; not like he’s Spock’s keeper or anything. 

But the whole thing is suspicious.

It being 6 o’clock in the goddamn morning, Kirk decides he might as well get ready for the day. Sarek is coming on board that afternoon, along with a large group of important diplomats. The Enterprise was tasked to bring them all to a summit meeting. It’s got a lot of the crew on edge, having to spiff everything up and have everyone look nice; including Kirk.

With a sigh, he flings his towel over his shoulder and heads to his and Spock’s shared bathroom. The damn thing is locked; of course. “Spooock, c’mon,” he groans, pushing his forehead against the door.

There’s clattering in the bathroom, followed by Uhura and Spock’s whispers.

“No, Spock, it goes this way—”

“Uhura, I cannot hope to understand the illogical makings of this contraption, nor do I want to try. Please figure it out.”

“It’s not illogical, it’s exactly like yours, just a little older—”

Okay, now Kirk’s really confused. He knocks hard on the door. “Guys, what’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” Uhura chimes with false pleasantries. Kirk can hear Spock muttering a Vulcan curse.

“Guys, I’m pulling the Captain card. Open this door.”

Kirk can hear Spock saying, “Nyota, do not, he’ll—”

“For God’s sake, Spock, it’s only hair,” Uhura snaps.

She pulls the door wide open for Kirk to see. Kirk, in turn, almost chokes on his own spit from what he sees.

Spock is standing there, pajama-clad, arms crossed and glaring, with his hair curly and sticking up all over the place.

Kirk’s jaw drops. “Oh. My God.”

“It’s not normally like this,” Spock says, grumpily.

“Well… obviously.”

Spock narrows his eyes at Kirk. If looks could kill, well, Kirk would be dead. “My straightener broke.”

Uhura, who has been trying to cover her mouth and hide her laughter this whole time, snorts and giggles, doubling over.

Spock glares at her.

“So you’ve been… “ Jim gestures to the scene in front of him: a straightener, an army of hair products on the sink, water everywhere, “Trying to….”

“I’ve been trying to get him to use Christine’s,” Uhura sighs, waving the offending object in the air. “But it’s kind of…”

“Old,” Spock says flatly.

“Spock, it’s fine.”

“It’s from the turn of the century,” he snaps back.

Holding up his hands, trying to avoid an all-out fist-fight, Kirk asks, “Want me to give it a shot?”

Spock looks horrified. Uhura looks relieved. “Be my guest,” she says, shoving the straightener into Jim’s hand. “It’s not like he’s exactly fun in the morning. And I gotta get ready.”

Kirk stands there, grinning at Spock as Uhura flits away. 

And just because Jim is the little shit that his mother raised him to be, he snaps the straightener at Spock like it’s a shark. “Well, Spock-o, you ready for this?”

“Do not call me that.”

“You’re the boss.” He gestures to his room. “It’d be easier if you were sitting down, though. Better access to those luscious locks.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Spock acquiesces and walks into Kirk’s room, plopping himself as primly as he can onto the chair at Jim’s desk. Jim sits on the desk while the straightener heats up.

“This is old,” he comments. “Needs a plug and everything.”

Spock nods, stiffly.

Kirk grins, and pokes a finger into Spock’s cheek. “Aw, c’mon Spock, you’re not embarrassed, are you? I was bound to figure out you had curly hair at some point.”

“I was so careful,” Spock sighs, almost regrettably. “Every morning I straightened it, hoping you would not notice.”  

“Every morning?” Kirk whistles. “That’s dedication. Especially for something that doesn’t look that bad on you.”

Spock looks peeved. “Vulcans do not have curly hair.”

The straightener seems hot enough. Jim grabs it and stands behind Spock, gently taking a strand and running it through the hot iron. It easily straightens with the high heat.

“So why do you have curly hair?” Kirk asks. “Does Sarek have a wayward curly-haired gene?”

Quietly, Spock replies, “My mother… her hair was naturally curly. Most people in her lineage were.”

Kirk’s mood becomes somber, as it usually does whenever Spock mentions his mother. He nods. “I hear ya. I… inherited my dad’s hair, apparently. Thick and unruly and blonde.”

“I like your hair,” Spock comments. It’s almost unnecessary to say, except it’s Spock. Kirk takes the compliments where he can get it.

“I like your hair too,” Jim says with a gentle pat on Spock’s head.

After a moment of silence, Spock says, “It’s…” He licks his lips, is uncharacteristically lost for words. “It’s comforting. To keep elements of them.”

Kirk smiles and runs an affectionate hand through Spock’s curls. “For what it’s worth, I think you should keep your hair curly. For when you see your dad today.”

Spock tilts his head backward to look up at Kirk; he has a smile in his eyes. “Do you think so?”

“I do,” Kirk says softly. He leans down and pecks a kiss on Spock’s nose. “I think he’ll like it, too.”

Spock’s hand reaches up and wraps around the back of Kirk’s neck. He pulls Jim’s face towards his; Jim goes willingly. 

“Please turn off the medieval straightener,” Spock whispers against Kirk’s lips, before he begins tenderly kissing his husband.

[timeisacephalopod]

Flour Baby Experiment

So I was looking up fics earlier and came across a few with parenting classes handing out flour babies (fuck I WISH my school did that- we got machine babies and I almost threw mine out a window). Anyways, have some WinterQuill (Bucky/ Peter Quill- that’s its name now) with a flour baby.

Bucky knows five things about Peter Quill and all five of them indicate that he shouldn’t be a parent but watching him throw the bag of flour on his grimy counter without care only proves Bucky’s worst fears. “You just threw that baby on a counter that’s so gross I need shots just looking at it,” he says, horrified. Is this how Quill lives? He’s seen barns cleaner. Shit, back when he lived in Brooklyn he’s seen dive bars that are cleaner. He would not trust this house in sock feet. He barely trusts it with shoes on.

“Its a sack of flour, Barnes, relax about it,” Peter tells him, rolling his eyes. If he wasn’t currently going to cause Bucky flunking an unflunkable course Bucky would think he’s hot but no, here he is totally not taking this seriously.

“Its supposed to be a baby and you can’t just throw it around at things!” Honestly, this should be common sense. He wouldn’t throw an actual child on that nasty counter. He thinks.

Peter sighs and picks up the sack of flour, “okay you know what Barnes, this is not an actual child, and its a lot more durable than a toddler. See, look,” he says and than he drops the fucking flour and if that wasn’t bad enough he goddamn drop kicks it and it explodes everywhere. “Okay,” Peter says, waving his arms around his face. “I one hundred percent miscalculated that and for that I apologize,” he says as Bucky watches his entire life fall to the ground in the form of white dust.

“I fucking hate you,” he says with more venom in his voice than he’s ever heard. Peter looks shocked and frankly Bucky is too- usually only Sam gets the brunt of his anger but that’s because Sam is the human equivalent of peas and mayo on pizza. He’s the worst human on this planet, or he was until Peter decided to drop kick their child. 

“Dude, its just flour. We can buy a new bag,” he points out.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “oh, and I’m sure that’ll work in this pisshole small town- the whole fucking population will tell the teacher before we even make it to the damn register. What the fuck Quill!”

“Jesus, you are wound tight. Its just a stupid assignment, relax,” Peter tells him.

Bucky almost rolls his eyes again but resists, barely. “Just because you don’t give a fuck and have no future doesn’t mean the rest of us are happy with utter mediocrity,” Bucky snaps. Some people don’t fuck around.

Peter wilts at that, looking down at the mess with a hurt expression on his face that makes Bucky feel guilty for a moment until the door bursts open and someone walks through. Bucky wrinkles his nose because this guy looks like the physical embodiment of every hillbilly stereotype he’s ever heard. He looks down at the ground, now covered in flower, and lets out an annoyed noise. “What the hell is that, boy?” he asks, Southern accent matching his outward appearance. Bucky looks over to Peter, who sighs. “Clean that up and get the hell out, don’t come back until morning,” the guy says, ignoring Bucky completely before walking off.

“He cares about that, but not that?” Bucky asks, pointing at the counter.

Peter just glares at him and grabs a broom, which shocks Bucky because these people keep cleaning supplies? Maybe someone should teach them how to use them. “I’ll deal with the stupid flour bag,” Peter tells him, “don’t worry about it.”

Yeah, ok. “No offense, but I wouldn’t trust you with a pet rock without fear you’d kill it so no, we’re dealing with this together, thanks.”

*

Bucky rules a store out fast because everyone would know their damn child was dead now and Peter spends way too damn much time whining about it. “Then what the hell are we supposed to do?” he asks and Bucky shrugs.

“I don’t know but you murdered our child. You figure it out.” This shouldn’t even be his problem but thanks to the teacher forcing them to work together he had no damn choice but to care.

Peter rolls his eyes, “the hell are we supposed to do, steal someone else’s flour baby?” he snaps, obviously annoyed.

“Yeah, sure, lets go dabble in some B&E so we don’t fail our project and risk fucking prison instead,” he says, shaking his head.

“Well, if you insist,” Peter says sarcastically. “Lets go steal Cassidy’s baby. Everyone knows it’ll be a crack baby anyways, we’ll be liberating it.”

He stomps off and Bucky hurries after him because no, this cannot be fucking happening. “Absolutely not, we aren’t stealing Cassidy’s crack baby oh my god. That’s illegal,” he points out.

“Who gives a fuck about the law? Lets go, I’m tired of listening to you whine,” Peter tells him.

Bucky hurries to catch up, “I care about the law! you can’t just break into places, Peter!”

Peter stops and whirls around, “well we can’t go to the store, we can’t break into people’s houses, where do you expect to find a bag of flour? You gunna just shit one out?”

“I feel like there’s an option between going to a store and breaking the law, Peter, you’re being melodramatic. Someone probably has spare flour around,” he says.

“Yeah, you gunna go ask for donations?” he asks.

Okay good point. “Nope, lets go break into Cassidy’s house and steal her flour baby.”

*

Having Barnes on look out is a bad plan, he’ll probably bleat like a goat the moment a leaf falls from a tree but whatever. All he has to do is get in and get out with a sack of flour. Shouldn’t be too difficult, he’s definitely done worse. ‘Course he doesn’t count on people being home but whatever, he’s dealt with that too. Plus he quickly figures out that they’re in the basement and it smells like pot so there’s that.

He’s almost got the flour, someone left it in the middle of the living room table surrounded by booze and at least he isn’t the only highly irresponsible parent. Though even he has to admit that booze is probably less irresponsible than drop kicking your child and killing it. He grabs the flour and starts picking his way back through the house when he runs into Ronan, Cassidy’s stupid boyfriend and nearly swears but he’s done this a half a dozen times before. Instead of doing any of the first things that come to mind he punches Ronan in the mouth and takes off, nearly running over Bucky on his way out.

“Move your ass, Barnes, we’ve been made!” he yells. Bucky lets out a shriek and takes off after him, which probably shouldn’t make him laugh but it does.

*

Bucky sits next to stupid Peter and their stupid contraband flour because they’re going the fuck to jail for this stupid assignment. “Relax, hot toddy,” Peter tells him and Bucky squints. “What? You seem like a good bed time drink,” he says as an explanation.

He squints, “for whom, alcoholics?” he asks.

“Hey, don’t be rude. That shit’ll knock me right out,” Peter says. Yeah, Bucky worries about Peter’s home life to say the least.

“Whatever. Maybe we’ll be cellmates in prison,” he mumbles. Peter rolls his eyes at him as Ronan and Cassidy walk into the room and they both immediately glare at Bucky and Peter. He sinks in his seat a little, preparing for a lifetime behind bars when Ronan loudly accuses them of stealing his flour baby.

Peter laughs, “yeah, we totally did. You guys should have seen it, it was one for the ages. I totally broke in, stole the flour baby off a table full of booze- seriously, whiskey is a hard stink to get off a flour bag- then I got busted by Ronan, punched him in the face, and made a daring escape,” he says, grinning all pleased with himself.

Bucky just might kill Peter for fucking telling everyone all that because what the hell? Except the class laughs and the teacher shakes his head. “If you lost the flour the least you could do is own up to it so I don’t have to listen to another one of Quill’s tall tales,” he says and Bucky gives Peter a shocked look.

He leans in, “best way to lie is to tell the truth Barnes, especially when it sounds fucking nuts. No one would have ever believed that shit, sounds like someone wrote it for shits and gigs. Gets me out of trouble all the time,” he says, leaning back over to his side of the table.

Yeah, sure he’s heard about Peter’s ridiculous stories but he hadn’t ever considered they were true. Except now he’s in one and he knows that’s what actually happened.

Which is what Ronan points out. “Sure is, Barnes was the lookout,” Peter chimes in, laughing.

Everyone looks at him like he’s nuts probably on account of Bucky being well known for his anxiety post-arm losing and Steve being well known for not advocating B&E. Or any other crimes. Peter raises an eyebrow at Bucky and okay, so his stupid plan worked. Still.

*

Peter finds Bucky after class, not difficult considering people used to flock around his locker before he got in that car accident and his life went tits up. Poor bastard lost an arm and got anxiety, which is a real pain in Peter’s ass to deal with but hey. He’s still hot and maybe his personality leaves a little to be desired but that doesn’t put much of a damper on his looks.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the space beside Bucky’s locker. He looks over and frowns a little, confused as to why Peter is there. “Don’t look at me like that, we’re supposed to like... parent the flour together. We should get dinner,” he says.

Bucky snorts, “last time I let you near the fake kid you killed it and then we had to go kidnap another and then tell the truth about it except no one believed it. So I’ll pass on dinner, thanks.”

Yeah, he should have expected this to be not so easy but he’s not too concerned. He and Gamora got in a fist fight the first time they met and things worked out okay. Probably helped that she kind of handed his ass to him, but in his defense she was fucking good and he thinks he put up a good fight all things considered. Gamora didn’t think so but she didn’t like Footloose either so her opinion doesn’t matter and he wanted that orb more. Too bad there was only a fucking troll doll in it so their squabbling was totally useless. They did manage to pretend it was worth something and hocked it to that one guy and split the profits though, so they figured it out.

Damn, he misses Gamora. She was much more fun that Bucky Freaking Out Over Everything Barnes. Hotter too, but he’ll make do here. Bucky’s got a nice ass. “That was one time and I solved all our problems, relax about it. You could use a good lay, might relax you some,” he says.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “if the Xanax doesn’t work I doubt your dick is that special. Now I’m going to take this flour baby and you’re going to fuck off,” he says, giving Peter a tight smile.

“Bucky, don’t be rude,” a familiar voice says and Peter turns to find Steve standing there. 

“Yeah Bucky, don’t be rude,” Peter tells him.

“Oh you shut up, I know plenty about you. And stay away from Bucky,” he adds. Okay, rude.

“I am a perfectly respectable human being,” Peter says in his own defense.

Steve squints, “weren’t you a drug dealer last year?” he asks and okay, so he was, but they all have flaws.

“That’s like... a job, its not my fault I had customers,” he says. “Also I’m a drug dealer every year, give me credit,” he adds. Has been since he was what, ten? Eleven? Well, technically he started out running drugs for Yondu because people don’t suspect kids on bikes to have drugs, but now the cops know better.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “you’re the worst partner ever,” he tells him.

*

“You did what?” Steve asks and okay it was only one time.

“I had no choice,” Bucky says in his defense.

“No choice but to break into someone’s house?” Steve asks, Judging Face on. Sam’s too, but his face is always set on Asshole Mode if Bucky is around. Fuck Sam Wilson, he’s the worst.

“Yeah, we had to get some flour in a way no one would find out about. I mean Peter told everyone but no one believed him. Also technically only Peter broke in,” he points out.

Sam scoffs, “tell the cops that,” he says and Bucky frowns.

“Like you’d willingly spend time with cops,” he mumbles. They all know his mom and also Sam thinks most of them are jackasses and Bucky agrees but that’s because he works in the coffee shop they all frequent.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but you can’t just break into people’s homes, Bucky!” Steve says this like he doesn’t already know that.

He’s not a total dumbass, okay? “I should have went to dinner with Peter,” he mumbles even though he’s one hundred percent positive that would go badly.

*

This is going to go over terribly but Steve wouldn’t shut up and technically he is supposed to do this project with Peter so if it means he can escape Steve’s damn judgment for five goddamn seconds he’s going to do it. Peter looks pleased with this situation and he shouldn’t. “Did you somehow manage to steal that pizza?” Bucky asks and Peter shrugs.

“It wasn’t currently in use,” he says like that explains anything.

“I better get an A,” he mumbles.

“If you shut your mouth I’ll do you one better and get you the D,” he says and Bucky wrinkles his nose. He knew he was going to regret this.

“That’s the fucking worst pickup line in the world,” he tells Peter.

He shrugs, “did it work?” he asks and Bucky looks him up and down. Yeah, okay, Quill is hot in that bad boy kind of way and Bucky is sure he has experience plus its been a long time since he’s been with anyone and fuck it. They have a kid.

“Were you the one who stole the TVs from the school before anyone even knew we had TVs?” he asks and Peter grins.

“Yup. Got ‘em out through the greenhouse roof,” he says proudly.

He shrugs, “my parents won’t be home until late, I refuse to do this without a bed. I still have a shred of class left,” he mumbles.

Peter shakes his head, “I’ll make an adventurer out of you yet. Come on,” he says, prodding Bucky out of his seat.

He’s probably going to regret this more than coming here but whatever.

*

Steve has his judging face on and Bucky really shouldn’t have slept with Quill. “I think I’m in love,” he says. He’s in lust, he’s not an idiot, but shit Quill made his time worth it. Even if they almost got busted by his sister then his parents and Peter almost died going out his window. Still worth it.

“Bucky since you spent time with him you’ve managed to be looped into crime, several times, he killed your baby, and his pickup lines sound like they come from incel forums,” Steve tells him. Across the way a black woman is giving him a look and okay out of context there was an actual child murder so he forgives her for that.

“It was a flour baby, not a real baby. And we liberated another one so like, I don’t think that should be held against him,” he says to Steve specifically. Their companion across the way doesn’t look convinced whatsoever.

“You know what Barnes, when a black woman makes that face you need to stop doing what you’re doing because she knows you’re doing dumb shit and she’s right,” Sam tells him. “Its like when moms give you the ‘I’m disappointed in your face’ or when dads give you the silent treatment,” he adds. “Its law.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “you mom makes that face all the time and you don’t listen,” he points out.

“Yeah, she made that face when I brought Steve home and now I have to convince his one armed freak of a best friend that dating the local drug dealer is a bad idea. I should have listened.”

Steve looks hurt by that but Bucky rolls his eyes. “We aren’t dating, we’re casually sleeping together,” he says in his defense.

Steve frowns, “the last time you tried to do something casually you read a couple conspiracy theories and then a month later you were on about how vaccines steal souls and shit. You don’t do casual,” he says.

Well, he’s going to start.

*

Peter doesn’t really know where else to go so he climbs that tree outside of Bucky’s window and knocks on it, just about falling off the tree as he does so. Bucky looks over, eyes wide and he looks absurd with his blanket over his head, tucked in tight under his chin and covering the rest of his body but Peter doesn’t really care about that. He was cold hours ago and he figured Bucky would be the most likely to let him in.

He’s right, because Bucky plods over to the window and opens it, shivering as Peter climbs through. “Jesus, its freezing out there and you live across town. Bit much for a booty call, don’t you think?” he asks.

Yeah, not why he’s here but okay. He lets Bucky believe that because that’s less worse than the truth. So he grins, “maybe you’re worth my time,” he says, ever the flatterer. Bucky’s cheeks turn a little pink though so it works and that’s all he needed it to do.

He shuts the window and opens his blankets, “well, get in here, you must be freezing,” he says. Peter sheds his coat, pilfered from Kraglin’s closet years ago except now it fits him better than it ever fit Kraglin given that he’s not as skinny, and goes into Bucky’s warm embrace. He pulls Bucky in close and slips a freezing hand under his shirt and Bucky squeals, trying to escape unsuccessfully. “Oh my gosh, hands to yourself until they’re normal temperatures!” he tells Peter, managing to remove his cold hand from his back.

Peter shakes his head when a familiar voice catches his attention and he frowns, looking over at Bucky’s laptop. “Are you watching Ancient Aliens?” he asks and Bucky turns bright red, he can see it despite the flood of blue light in the room.

“No,” he lies.

*

Steve is giving him judge-y looks but Peter doesn’t give a shit- people have given him harsher judgements for less. “Steve, stop it,” Bucky tells him.

“You went from hating the guy to hosting him in your room six days a week all because you rode his dick one time,” Steve snaps. “His dick can’t be that good.”

“Well you ignore that Sam hates my guts and his dick can’t be that good either,” Bucky counters. On account of him and Sam being the two stuck in the middle of this they exchange a glance.

“How about we make a deal- Quill gets us free weed, we stop judging,” he says. Peter snorts and starts laughing at the hilariously offended look on Steve’s face. Mr. Rule Follower is sure to love that.

“Its really good weed actually,” Bucky adds, just to sweeten the deal.

“You’ve been doing drugs?” Steve asks and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Pots less shit than alcohol and that’s legal everywhere. Plus pot’s legal in a bunch of places, including Canada,” he points out. And if the dumb, goody two shoes Canadians decided the legalize it everyone should.

“Its helps with anxiety,” Bucky adds.

“You don’t do drugs about your anxiety, Bucky!” Steve says and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s what my antidepressants are, Steve. Also I know you’ve smoked weed so stop acting like you actually care and say what you mean,” he tells him.

Steve lets out an annoyed huff,” fine- I think your dating someone who’s going nowhere fast and I don’t want to see him drag you down.”

Even Sam looks a little surprised by that and Sam is the pettiest and also meanest person any of them know. Peter frowns given that Bucky used to think the same thing though he must have changed his mind at some point. “Must be nice to judge from your relatively cushy life,” he snaps and Steve rolls his eyes.

“I grew up poor with a single mom and a bunch of health issues, I didn’t grow up comfortable,” he says.

“Yeah? Well I watched my mom die for three years before she finally kicked it when I was eight, and that was after my dad abandoned us. Then I got stuck in a bunch of foster homes that wanted cheques, not kids, until I ran off and happened to run into Yondu. He doesn’t give a fuck about me, but at least he mostly doesn’t kick my ass on a regular basis and he taught me how to survive in a world that doesn’t give a shit about me. You have people who care at least, I wasn’t even lucky enough to get that.” Even his teachers hate him and yeah sure, he doesn’t make himself easy to like but after a life time of bullshit he thinks he’s entitled to that much. Its easier to be suspicious than to open yourself up to the probable chance of being hurt later.

Steve, to his credit, looks guilty but Sam breaks the awkward silence fast. “Is the weed thing still on the table?” he asks and Peter snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Seriously?” he asks and Sam shrugs.

“What? Your shit is good, but its not cheap and I’m tired of having to bum it off people at parties. I don’t know where those people have been and I don’t want to find out by sharing a joint,” he says.

Peter nods, knowing exactly where everyone in the town has been. “Good call,” he tells him.

*

Bucky lies across his bed with his feet in the air, bent at the knee. “You must have something you want to do. Even if its something dumb,” Bucky says. “I kind of want to be the one who came up with some insane conspiracy theory that actually gets popular. I’ve been trying for years but nothing gets better than Amelia Earhart being eaten by crabs so,” he shrugs. And someone already took up aliens, and someone else already took up time slip, and someone else already took up flying into another dimension so he’s had to extend his reaches. 

So far he’s got a few nutty things out there, but nothing that’s grown in popularity. Its a dumb thing to want, but he thinks its kind of funny and he likes story telling. Also, the CIA is a fucked up organization so suggesting they’ve been experimenting on human alien hybrids really isn’t that far out of their usual wheelhouse given shit like MK Ultra is a thing they did once.

Peter shrugs, “I don’t get the benefit of having dreams. Besides, being the local drug dealer isn’t a bad gig. I might have to deal with tweakers but its not all bad. Some of them are funny once they get their fix.” Yeah, Bucky feels bad for anyone who finds themselves in that situation but still.

“What, and you have no aspirations outside of that? Come on- you know I stay up all night watching Ancient Aliens and reading weird astrology charts about alien chakras and how to remove them. You can share a little something about yourself. It seriously doesn’t get worse than my habits.”

Peter considers this or a long moment before he shrugs. “Kinda used to want to be a film director. Make the next Footloose, you know? But that’s not even a pipe dream. That’s like... a dream some stupid kid makes and then can’t follow through on because you need to know everyone in that industry to break into it,” he points out.

Yeah, he’s not wrong. “Why don’t you go steal a bunch of shit and then hock it so you can make a movie? Can’t be that hard,” he says and Peter frowns.

“Do you know how much movies cost?” he asks and Bucky admittedly does not. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But making a living robbing the tits off the rich sounds good. They don’t need all that stuff anyway.”

“Yeah, be like Robin Hood,” he says and Peter snorts.

“No, fuck giving it to the poor, I want it. The poor can go steal their own shit. What made you change your mind about me being a total loser anyway?” he asks and Bucky shrugs.

“You’re actually smart. And I kind of realized after I slept with you that for the first time in a long, long time I didn’t feel paralyzed by fear every time I went to make a decision. You kind of force me out of my box and that’s good for me, probably. You’re still kind of a loser, but that’s part of your charm,” he says and Peter rolls his eyes before throwing himself on the bed beside Bucky.

“You bitch best friend hates me though,” he points out.

“Well I hate his bitch boyfriend so he can know how it feels to have to put up with someone he loathes for once,” he says. Steve can totally eat him over this. 

[boopboopbichie]

Hi, first of all, I looooove your writing!!! Your last work, I don’t think I love you anymore, literally killed me, like I’m physically dead. I was wondering if you could do some reddie angst, where like they’re having an argument and Eddie maybe raises his voice or moves his hands around and Richie flinches or something because it reminds him of his abusive parents?

Jesus, that is so sweet. Messages like that does nothing good for my ego wow. I love you ahhh So here you go, a little bit of reddie angst for a lovely anon. It isn’t very long but I’m happy with how it turned out, so I hope you like it as well. 

Eddie sighsas he walks into the kitchen. Dirty plates are spread all over the counter andEddie cringes, thinking about the bacteria multiplying on there. He pinches thebridge of his nose, counting to ten in his head. It doesn’t work. He is trying really hard not to freak out, to control his temper, but Richie ismaking it hard for him. When counting doesn’t work he takes a deep breath and then marches into the bedroomwhere Richie is spread across the bed, playing PlayStation. It smells bad inthere and Eddie knows for a fact that Richie has been in there all day. When hesees Eddie his face lights up and despite Eddie’s anger he still feels thelight tingle in his stomach from knowing that even after five years, Richie’sface still lights up like that when he sees him. The tingle is overshadowed by the anger burning in his stomach though and hecrosses his arms in front of his chest and Richie’s face falls again. “Hey baby. What’s up?”, he asks and sits up in the bed. Eddie knows he is tryingto play it cool. To act like he doesn’t know that Eddie is about to start afight. “Have you seen the kitchen Richie?”, he asks, his voice already a growl. He’shad a shitty day at the café he works at, shitty costumer after shitty costumerand all he wanted to do was to come home from work to a clean apartment andcuddle with his boyfriend, but as always, Richie had done absolutely nothing onhis day off, leaving Eddie to do it himself. “I.. Yeah, that. I thought it could wait till tomorrow”, Richie answers andshrugs making Eddie even more mad. “Richie! Do you know how many deceases could be spreading out there right now?Jesus Christ”, he sighs and rubs his temples, trying to calm himself. Richiegets off of the bed and walks over to him with an annoyed look. “Eddie calm down, we won’t die from not doing the dishes one day”, he says witha scoff and Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “Calm down? I’ve been at work since you even got out of bed this morning, I’vehad the shittiest day ever and all I expect you to do is to make sure our homeisn’t disgusting so that I can come home, and we can eat dinner and watch amovie or something”. Eddie doesn’t even know why he is explaining this. Itshould be a matter of course that Richie would at least do the dishes on awhole day off. Obviously not. Richie just laughs in that you’re-being-ridiculous way and runs a hand throughhis hair defeated. “Why is it such a big deal? We can do it now? The day isn’t over Eddie”, he triesbut Eddie just shakes his head. “Why it’s such a big deal? Well I’ll tell you Richie. It’s a big deal becauseit’s 5:30 right? Doing the dishes would take at least 30 minutes, seeing as wedon’t own a dishwasher. Boom, it’s 6. Then dinner. Did you go grocery shopping?”,he asks, and Richie shakes his head, making Eddie nod. “Didn’t think so. So,either we’ll have to go buy something, which will take us about 20 minutes and I’mnot in the mood to go groceryshopping right now. Or we’ll make do with whatever we have, which will take usjust as long because half of the things in the fridge are expired and useless.When we finally do figure out what to make it’ll be around 6:30-6:45. Before weget to eat it’s 7:30. Then dishes afterwards. That means that not before 8:30will I be able to plant my ass in the couch to relax for the day. That does notwork for me Richie”. Eddie realizes that he sounds insane, but he knows that he’sright. Richie looks taken aback and he scratches his neck before speaking. “We could just order something?”, he suggests and Eddie sighs loudly. “With what money Richie? You do realize that we’re both paid minimum wage,right? That we’re literally almost drowning. We can’t afford to eat out”. Eddieis fuming. He doesn’t expect much from Richie, he really doesn’t, but hell doeshe expect him to take responsibility for this relationship and their home. Thisisn’t going to work if Eddie is the only one trying. Richie stares at him for a while and Eddie can’t control it anymore. He feelsthe tears prickle in the corners of his eyes and he wants to scream in frustration.He looks up at Richie and shakes his head disappointed. Then he walks out ofthe bedroom and into the kitchen to do the dishes. Even the thought of thebacteria makes him feel sick and he needs to do this. Richie knows this. Richieshould know this. Eddie has alwaysfelt this way, why can’t Richie just get over his disgusting habits and respectthat? 

Eddie sniffles, trying to hard to keep the tears from coming and when he hears Richieenter the kitchen he straightens his back. He is not about to look like he iscrying. He focuses on the plate in his hand and how the stains won’t come off,how the food is sogging up in the water and he gags slightly. Richie’s voicethen sounds from behind him. “Eds I…”. He doesn’t get to finish before Eddie snaps, turning around so quicklyhe actually feels dizzy for a second. “Fucking hell Richie, I expect so little from you! So little! All I want is ahome where I don’t feel like bacteria are crawling all over me! I just want thedamn kitchen to be clean Richie, is that too much to ask?! Jesus Fucking Christ,I’m going insane, why are you so goddamn useless all the time?!”, Eddie yellsand then drops the wet plate from his hand on the floor, the porcelain shatteringeverywhere. He groans loudly, almost a scream and swallows the sob stuck in histhroat. Then he sees Richie. Like really sees him. His stomach drops, and he wants to take back every single word he’s said sincehe came home. Richie has tears streaming down his face and he looks broken. Eddie knows why,he doesn’t even have to ask. He takes a step towards Richie and Richie flinches making every single fiber in Eddie’s body ache with so much pain. He hates Richie’s parents for doing this to Richie. He hates seeing Richie like this and he hates being the reason for it even more. “Rich, I’m…”. Richie interrupts him. “Leave me alone Eddie”. His voice breaks and he turns around and walks out ofthe kitchen. Eddie follows after him quickly, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Richie wait, I’m sorry!”, he yells and walks into the bedroom. Richie is throwingdifferent clothes into a bag. Eddie frowns and grabs Richie’s arm softly. “Babe…”, he tries but Richie just pulls his arm away from Eddie and zips thebag closed. Eddie knows that he has to stop him. If he leaves Eddie probablywon’t see him for days and he doesn’t think he’ll survive that. He grabs hisarm again, this time harder. “Richie! Look at me!”. This time Richie does, and Eddie somehow wishes he wouldn’tlook at him. Eddie has never seen this facial expression before and he prays togod that he won’t have to ever again. Richie’s eyes are filled with tears andhis lip is quivering, making him look so much younger, like a small boy. He imagines a small Richie looking like this at his father, making Eddie’s stomach turn with hate and hurt. He wants to kill those people. He wants to see them dead. For a second he is terrified of his own mind.Eddie’sbreath hitches in his throat and he feels his own eyes fill with tears as well.He slowly moves his hand to Richie’s cheek and wipes away some tears softly. “Babe. I’m so so sorry. I hope you know I didn’t mean that. I was… the dirt and…The shitty costumer who called me a fag and… That doesn’t excuse anything, whatI said wasn’t ok, I know that, please Richie I am so sorry”, he tries again, and this time Richie lets out a loudsob, making Eddie pull him into his arms. Richie buries his face in Eddie’sshoulder, sobbing loudly. Eddie feels his heart break, knowing that he is thecause of this. He made Richie cry this way. He feels a tear slide down hischeek and he quickly wipes it away. 

Richie then lifts his head and looks atEddie, eyes still blurred from the tears. “Please don’t ever yell at me like that again. Please”, he cries, and Eddiedoesn’t know what to say so he just nods, running his fingers through Richie’shair soothingly. Richie looks into his eyes and Eddie wants to take away all of the painbehind them. He wants to take away all the hurt Richie has ever gone through. “Promiseme”, Richie then continues and Eddie nods again. “I… I promise Richie, I am so sorry, I love you so much, I don’t know how I’d eversurvive without you in my life. Not seeing that smile of yours everyday wouldkill me, jesus”.

And hemeans it. Eddie means every word and he has a feeling that Richie knows.

[negativechicken]

Stop expecting anything. He doesn't owe you shit, and yet he still goes out of his way for you. In fact, the little things he asks for that you say you can't do or don't want to do? Why the fuck, ann? Just fucking suck it up, and go above and beyond because that's what he deserves from you. Like fuck, he could go to some random other girl, that's obviously more successful and more beautiful, and she could most likely give a better blow job than you in half the time you take to even get him hard! Hell, maybe she can actually keep him hard long enough to keep going, or finish in seconds because of how much better she feels. And she would be willing to do anal whenever he asks! Because you're a piece of shit that just constantly denies him what he wants and it's literally the most simple requests ever. She would probably even have less strict parents or hell, she might be already working and living on her own, ready for marriage and the next step of her life. Where she and he don't have to hide around and act like horny teenagers, but rather actual goddamn adults.

Austin, I don't know if you even still read these but if you see this, fuck. Honestly, do whatever you want. Download your porn videos and games. Have fun. I know I'm not enough to satisfy you sexually. Hell, I doubt I satisfy you in any facet of life. Have your way with me. Ask me more for bjs and anal. I'll force myself to swallow your cum and just take it because honestly, it's what you like and want, and who the hell am I to deprive you of all of those? They're all even relatively simple and normal for other girls and you just got unlucky getting the one that can't take the taste of cum, has a strong gag reflex, and rips easily down there. Hell, you got really unlucky with the girl with stupid medical conditions and an ugly pussy lol.

Ugly in general. Can't even fucking lose weight no matter what. Jesus Christ, Austin. I don't know why the fuck you chose me and just got soo unlucky. Being single is a straight upgrade compared to being with me. Because let's be honest, if you saw me at the mall or just casually instead of seeing me play Magic in workout clothes that actually makes me look slimmer? You would not have approached me at all. You even told me, you didn't even care for who I was the first couple of times you saw me. I am a literal nobody and you have to have something wrong with you to even find me physically attractive. We need to stop romanticizing how we met and the other times you saw me prior to actually meeting me like at cons and stuff because the fact is, I wasn't anything special to look at. I believe you're just saying all that because of how you feel now.

Saying you would've smashed if you met me earlier? Yeah no. I was the ugly girl at an all-girls school that is filled to the brim with very pretty, smart, and driven girls. I have never actually fitted in, and no one wanted me. My bestfriend turned first boyfriend since middle school literally turned around and ditched once we went to separate schools and realized that there were waaayyy better options. I was broken, depressed, stressed with expectations, and honestly would've jumped at any guy who showed any interest. I was so pitiful, and all I ever wanted was affection, and I was just sooo sick of guys always asking me about my friend or classmate instead. I was sooo tired of counseling my girl friends when they have boy problems or such. I was really craving for attention and love that honestly I was pretty creepy and unattractive to guys I tried being forward with. No one wanted me. Stop trying to be funny about it and saying you would have wanted me if you met me at that time. It's charming and makes me laugh and wish that I met you sooner, but I just know that you wouldn't even glance my way, much less wanted to actually have a relationship with me.

...idk where this rant went. It went everywhere. Lol. Case in point though, Austin. You deserve so much better from me in the least. If I could, I would make you, and everyone else, just straight up forget about me and just disappear because that would be so much better.

3-25-2020

[timeisacephalopod]

Dramatics

I got bored so I figured what the fuck, why not another of the Peter Q/Stephen/ Tony YouTube AU shorts.

When Peter reads the topic this week he laughs and Tony grins because yeah, he figured Peter would enjoy that. And this week they have special guest Wong to back up all their crazy ‘Stephen Did A Really Dramatic Thing’ stories. Stephen glares at him because he doesn’t have a facial expression in between pleased and pissed and that has led to a whole lot of audience questions that are mostly ‘how do you know when he’s actually mad’ and the answer is that Stephen is screaming. Usually not literally, but he’s got a penchant for complaining that Peter and Tony have discovered is a trait they both found secretly appealing. Tony because he can use Stephen’s inability to keep his opinions to himself as a way to drive off reporters and Peter because he thinks its funny to set Stephen on people like some kind of personal pit bull.

In his defense it actually is pretty hilarious to watch this happen.

“Well, what’s the topic?” he asks and Tony hands the slip of paper to Wong, who reads it and lets out a loud snort. They don’t say anything to Stephen because all three of them know that if they say anything Stephen will deny all dramatics, but if they keep him dangling he’ll do something dramatic. Then he can’t deny his tendency to put on one hell of a show one hundred percent of the time.

“This is going to be fun,” Wong says, grinning.

Stephen squints at him, “how the hell is anything supposed to be fun when I don’t know what we’re doing?” he asks and they all start laughing.

“Exhibit A in Stephen Is Dramatic,” Peter says. “Obviously none of us can have fun if you don’t know what we’re doing.”

Stephen sticks his nose in the air, “its not my fault its true. And I am not dramatic,” he says like he didn’t just decide that it’s impossible for Tony, Wong, and Peter to have fun without him.

“Yes you are Stephen, face it. You’re more dramatic than Tony and that’s difficult to do when the man has literally coordinated pyrotechnics to his entrances,” Wong points out.

“In my defense,” Tony says, “that was Stark Expo and it was an important event.” Also he’s always wanted to walk into pyrotechnics and that seemed like a good way to fulfill his childhood dreams. Wong doesn’t seem to think this serves as a useable defense if the look on his face is any indication. Well, its not Tony’s fault Wong is no fun.

Peter snorts, “its funny that I write movies because living with the two of you is basically like living one.”

Stephen takes much more offense to this than he does. “I am not like living in a movie, I am a doctor and to most people that’s boring,” he says.

“A doctor that does a lot of international conferences, has revolutionized the way people do surgery, and has made significant headway in research in various fields related to spinal surgery. That’s not really boring,” Tony points out. “Its me, but with people instead of technology.”

“Right down to the flashy personality, ridiculous cars, and arrogant attitude,” Wong agrees but Peter wrinkles his nose.

“Tony is fake arrogant, Stephen is arrogant arrogant,” he says.

Wong presses his hand to his heart, “that’s so beautiful and eloquent, I can see how you managed to get several writing jobs,” he says sarcastically. Peter flips him off but Wong remains unaffected.

“I am not arrogant arrogant,” Stephen says, “but I agree that Tony is mostly good at faking it. Give him a sad child and a kitten though and he’ll show his true colors.”

Honest to fucking god Wong pulls an actual ass cat out of the bag sitting at his feet and hands it to Tony, who takes the furry little bugger immediately. “Why aren’t we doing a video on Wong’s dramatics,” Stephen says, frowning at him.

“Because I never insisted anyone call my cape a cloak,” Wong says.

“Or decided to get my colleagues to quiz me on seventies music while doing surgery just to prove how smart and able to multitask I am,” Peter says.

“Or convinced a guy’s girlfriend to dump him just so he’ll stop driving up the price of the rare car you want and can’t even drive,” Tony adds, petting the cat’s head.

Stephen squints at him, “I know how to drive,” he says.

Tony snorts, “yeah, if you consider stomping on the gas petal and riding your breaks like you do my ass driving. Your cars are screaming at you Stephen, I know this because I’m the one servicing them. Please stop killing your break pads,” he says. And he has to go fast everywhere. Like sure, Tony loves speed, always has, but Stephen lives on it and has a bad habit of being a distracted driver.

“I’m not worse than Peter,” Stephen says and Tony lets out a laugh.

“Honey, that’s like me saying I’m not a bad surgeon because I’m more competent than a fucking gibbon. Peter drives like he fucks- absolutely crazy, entirely selfish, not really aware of what he’s doing, but somehow ends up at his destination in one piece with everyone else there with him even if you have no clue how you got there,” he says.

Wong bursts out laughing, doubling over. “That is probably the best description of sex I have ever heard,” he wheezes out while Stephen joins him in laughing. Peter looks offended though.

“Am I really that bad at sex?” he asks and Tony shrugs.

“As a sex style I don’t understand how its working for me but it does. As a driving style, I’d rather trust Jesus to take the wheel and I don’t even believe he exists.” That is, he’s sure, probably because of the bad luck he’s had with cars he isn’t driving but that’s not the point. A goddamn goat probably has more skill than Peter behind the wheel.

“He’s right,” Stephen wheezes, “that’s exactly how you drive and fuck. That’s so funny.”

“Okay you know what, this video should have been about dramatic Tony is,” Peter says.

“I don’t necessarily agree, but technically we’re supposed to be talking about Stephen’s dramatics,” Wong says, preforming wrangling duties like he belongs in these videos. Clearly he keeps up with them if he knows to play into the existing structure and running joke. Funny, because Stephen doesn’t think Wong watches them at all and he’s sure Wong lets him believe that for whatever reason. The man is a more subtle dramatic most of the time, but dramatic nonetheless.

“Right, yeah, lets talk not talk about my totally normal not bad sex habits,” Peter says. “Stephen once decided to learn magic and insisted everyone call him ‘Sorcerer Supreme’.”

Tony snorts and starts laughing because he forgot about that. Stephen’s magic phase was short lived, but he did manage to learn quite a lot so now its a useful party trick he uses to steal drunk people’s keys at parties. Tony thinks that’s for the best even if Stephen’s ability with sleight of hand is much better than simple key stealing tricks.

“I was good, I deserved credit,” Stephen says, nose in the air.

“You were good sure, but that good? Eh,” Tony says, shrugging.

Stephen gives him an annoyed look before he sits up and Tony swears to a god he doesn’t even believe in that Stephen pulls a fucking bowl of goldfish out of nowhere. “Those aren’t real fish,” he says, handing the cat off to Wong before reaching for the bowl. Stephen lets him take it until he sticks his hand in there and lets out a loud yelp as Stephen pulls the bowl back.

“You don’t grab fish, Tony!” he yells as Peter does the same thing Tony does and reacts the same way as Stephen pulls the bowl away from him too. “I just told Tony not to grab the fish!” Stephen tells him. “What is wrong with the pair of you?”

Wong hands the cat back to Tony and pulls the bowl from Stephen’s hands and looks into it. “Yeah, those are definitely real fish. Where were you hiding four fish, a bowl, and all the water? I know you didn’t have all that on you when you sat down,” he says.

Stephen sticks his nose in the air, “I am the Sorcerer Supreme,” he says in a haughty tone.

Peter stares at Stephen like he’s preformed a miracle but Tony knows there has to be some kind of explanation. But who the hell keeps a bunch of fish, a tank, the water, and the rocks at the bottom of the bowl on them at all times? And how did he assemble all that in less than seconds when Tony knows there was no fish bowl hiding under his clothing. He’s wearing normal clothes, there’s nowhere for him to hide the bowl. But he had to manage somehow.

“This is why we’re making an entire video about your dramatics,” Wong points out, preforming wrangling duties again.

“You know what,” Stephen says, “I resent that I’m the dramatic one when Peter has cost people literal millions of dollars all in an effort to fund his self insert characters that are really his way of trying to avoid actual therapy for his daddy issues. And then he cast his boyfriend as his fake father- I feel that this is more dramatic than the fish,” he says matter-of-factly. 

Tony and Peter let out twin noises of disgust because they’d only just gotten past that. “Can’t you shut the fuck up about that?” Tony asks, wrinkling his nose at Stephen.

“No, because its true. And mini Peter is fake child Peter that you mentored into manhood. How do you feel about mentoring your boyfriend’s self insert into manhood?” he asks, smiling because he damn well knows he’s just ensured that Peter and Tony won’t be able to look each other in the eye for the next month or better. Shooting the damn movie was bad enough even if Peter is actually a pretty good director though it helps that he knows Tony well.

“This is why the video is centered on your dramatics, Stephen. Its not like the other two weaponize your parental relationships they way you do just because you like being the center of attention,” Wong says, going back to wrangling. Dude is good, Tony might keep him.

Peter frowns, “okay but how does this get him more attention?” he asks and Wong looks at him like he’s stupid.

“With you two alienated from each other you both pay attention to him more. He’s terrible really, he could have just asked for more attention like a normal person but instead he went through this convoluted plan to trap you both in your own web of daddy issues. Dramatic,��� he points out.

Peter and Tony look at Stephen, who shrinks into his seat as his cheeks turn a little red. “Wong is lying,” he says with zero conviction.

*

Christine snorts, “he claimed he wasn’t dramatic? He should listen to the way he describes the other doctors at the hospital then. He once said that Glen was so old the Grim Reaper was reaching out and clutching his heart for safekeeping,” she says. “Then went on to point out he’s ‘lucky that he works in a hospital otherwise he would have surely turned to dust by now,’” she adds and they all know that last bit was Stephen’s phrasing. Christine isn’t that dramatic nor does she have a flair for flowery language like Stephen.

“That’s nothing- it turns out he’s been sabotaging mine and Tony’s relationship just to get more attention. He could have just asked,” Peter points out but no, Stephen can’t be a normal human.

“Oh yeah, he does that. Don’t let him get away with it, he’s like a kid. Give him an inch and he’ll take every mile he can squeeze out of you,” Christine says. “A good way to get him out of that habit is to do the opposite of what he wants. And he’s a fast learner.”

Tony and Peter exchange a look, knowing that they’re both keeping that in mind for later. Damn Stephen. “So,” Tony says, “did Wong give you a cat too? Because he’s given us three and Stephen hates them all as much as they love him.” Its like he’s catnip and he hates it. Tony doesn’t mind though, he’ll stand near Stephen and when he doesn’t pet them they go to him and he loves all the cats. Peter mostly doesn’t care about them until he trips on them in the kitchen.

Christine sighs, “yes, I have two. Where is he getting all these cats and why is he pawning them off on us? I had to go buy a cat tree yesterday so they’ll be entertained when I’m not home,” she says.

“Wong’s cat that he previously thought was a fat neutered male cat turned out to be a very pregnant female cat so he has some spare cats,” Stephen explains as he enters the room. The cats mill around his feet as he tries, and fails, to escape them. “Please rid me of these damn fang-y beasts,” he adds as he beelines to Tony.

Tony decides to put Christine’s words into practice and he calls the cats over but ignores Stephen. He watches as Stephen looks over to Peter, but he’s trying to get the attention of the third cat that’s just out of Tony’s reach. Then he looks at Christine, who decides to pick up one of the cats at Tony’s feet. “How come Wong gave you guys the cuter ones?” she asks. “One of mine looks like it has butt hole eyes and there’s nothing wrong with it, I took it to the vet to make sure,” she says.

Peter lets out a sharp laugh that scares off the kitten at his feet, “oh my god, come back kitty I didn’t mean to scare you!” Peter says, offering the cat a bad apology before he tries to call it back.

“I don’t know, maybe Wong decided you like the ugly ones. You had that pug in college,” he points out. And fuck was that thing ever a product of its entirely fucked up genetics. It looked in two different directions, the tongue hanging out of its mouth was nearly poking it in the eye, and Tony swears that one of its legs were shorter than the rest. That thing was a caution of science gone wrong but Stephen reports that Christine loved that ugly ass mutt.

“You leave Maribelle alone, she was a proper lady,” Christine tells him.

*

Peter and Tony are watching Rocket’s rough cut of Peter’s latest way of working out his daddy issues and Tony has to admit its good. A ton of shit still needs to be cut out, but its good. Mini Peter gives a great performance and Tony knows he’s acting, but it looks so natural that it doesn’t seem like he is. “You did an amazing job,” Peter says, wrapping an arm around his waist.

He smiles, “thank your directions, I don’t know how to act,” he says.

“That’s not true, you act all the time. Peter, cut that entire scene that’s basically just Tony laughing at Mini Peter’s jokes, its useless to the plot even if its cute. And that weird three minute scene where Tony is just standing there. Who’s bad style choice was that? I like the fishing scene but it should go too, its just Tony screaming at fish that I notice he does not try to grab,” Stephen says, giving him a look. Okay it was one time and forgive him for thinking it was nuts that Stephen had actual goddamn fish in a bowl he pulled out of literally nowhere. He’s gone through that video frame by frame and he still can’t figure out how he did it. The bowl wasn’t there and then it was. Like actual magic but Tony refuses to believe that.

They ignore Stephen still, deciding to steep him in his own stupid manipulation tactics for a little while longer while he stands there looking like a tit on a log. “Okay fine, I’m sorry I messed with your relationship please pay attention to me,” he says finally. Tony and Peter must be thinking along the same line because they both snort and start laughing before Tony extends his arm to Stephen, not looking away from the screen.

Stephen happily plods over, throwing himself on the couch beside them before laying down with his head in Tony’s lap. Peter shifts so his arm is on Stephen’s shoulder and Tony pets his hair. “That’s what you get for being an ass,” Tony tells him. “Also I think the way this turned out is not very much like Peter’s usual dad self inserts. I think Rocket heard us crying,” he says.

Peter shakes his head. “Nah, he just knows how to find the best takes and sticks them together to make a somewhat cohesive storyline,” Peter says. “So I guess the best scenes deviated from my original script. Also Stephen that’s all good advice, I was thinking the same thing but honestly at this point I’m too involved to know what’s good and what’s bad.”

That, and Tony knows Rocket probably realized that right away that the cutesy scenes didn’t work but kept them in for Peter to come to the same conclusion. They’d been relevant in the script, but not so much once it’d been shot. Turns out he and Mini Peter have enough on screen chemistry to believably build a relationship without all the bonding scenes they had in there before. Well, there were only like four but still.

They sit and watch the rough cut for another good twenty minutes before Stephen speaks again. “Are you even acting?” he asks Tony. “Because this doesn’t look like you’re acting at all.”

“I am, yeah. Peter gave me good directions,” he says but Peter snorts.

“Good directing gets you a lot, but it doesn’t replace talent. You were an actor in another life,” he says.

“Technically he’s an actor in this one too,” Stephen points out. “But he should have made a career out of it. You’re better than most current actors. Certainly better than Nicolas Cage,” he says.

Tony sighs, “remember what I said about the gibbon? This is another gibbon.”

Peter snorts and starts laughing. “I’m keeping that.”