#I need to eat a muffin or something my brain is so done

[hamsandwich4736251]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN

WAIT NO WHY IS THIS WHAT I ALWAYS THOUGHT???????? WTF???? HELLO?????

When I was younger and researching the autism diagnosis criteria and symptoms, I thought “oh I couldn’t POSSIBLY be autistic.” Because when I read “takes everything literally” I thought it literally meant EVERYTHING and I was like “I don’t take EVERYTHING literally, just most things!” And I just realized the other day that it didn’t actually mean EVERYTHING and that was an overstatement.

[jobean12-blog]

A Dash of Spice and Everything Nice

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 2,375

Summary: Every year you bake for the local charity event Bucky hosts- he might be the boss but he takes care of those in need-and this time you get some extra help.

Author's Note: This is for my ongoing Kinktober celebration and my absolute love for Mob!Bucky- he is one of my kinks forever. You all know how I love him soft and sweet but still in charge. Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: it's soft and sweet and fluffy and spicy, reader is sassafrass and Bucky loves it, baking is involved but he really wants to eat something else...o-r-al, p i-n- the-v.

Kinktober Masterlist 2023

Before the front door of the house even closes you hear Bucky’s voice.

“Wow doll face. Smells so good in here.”

He walks into the kitchen and you rush into his outstretched arms. He cradles your face in his large hands, letting his eyes wander over your features before slowly bringing your lips to his. The kiss starts out soft and sweet but in the next moment he has you pinned against the refrigerator, his hand tugging at the tie of your apron.

“Wait, wait,” you whisper along his lips. “I have muffins about to come out of the oven and bread that needs to go in.”

“And I’ve missed you all day,” he counters, giving you a boyish smirk.

“Mm, missed you too,” you purr, kissing the corner of his mouth.

You slip from his grasp and flit around the kitchen, checking timers and dough.

The timer goes off seconds later and you pull the muffins from the oven, checking their readiness before sliding in the pan of chocolate pumpkin bread.

“There,” you say with a contented sigh. “Now for the cookies.”

You’re reaching up for a measuring cup when you feel him at your back, his lips skimming the shell of your ear with his whispered words. “Do you plan on baking all night doll?”

An involuntary shiver runs across your skin and you lean back into his embrace.

“No,” you gasp, craning your neck to the side when his lips meet your shoulder and he trails kisses along your throat. “But these have to be ready for the bake sale tomorrow and a little help will make it go faster.”

He stops, his lips still pressed to your skin.

“Bucky?” you ask with a smile in your voice.

“Fine doll. I’ll help you bake but as soon as we’re done we do what I want.”

You turn in his arms and dance your fingers up his suit jacket. “Don’t we always?”

His lips brush yours before his kiss and he quickly has you in his arms, lifting you onto the countertop.

“Bucky,” you admonish, your voice hardly stern and instead breathy and desperate.

“I know, I know,” he groans.

He steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “What should I do?”

You giggle as you slide off the counter.

“First of all,” you say, sauntering toward him. “You have to take off some of these clothes. Wouldn’t want you getting any flour on your Dior.”

His eyebrows raise. “Think I’m going to like baking.”

You playfully roll your eyes even as you start to gently push his suit jacket from his shoulders. Once it’s off you carefully drape it over the back of the chair and start to work on his button down.

With deft fingers you undo the first few buttons, smoothing your fingertips along his skin.

“Do you want me to get you a tee shirt?” you ask as you continue, pushing the sides of his shirt open to run your nails over his abs.

“Do you want to get me a tee shirt?” he teases back.

“No.”

You slowly remove his shirt and hang it over his suit jacket.

When you reach for his belt buckle he stops you with a firm hand on your wrist.

“Doll,” he warns. “You expect me to help you bake after all this?”

“You have to. I can’t show up to the event without my baked goodies…what will I tell everyone?”

“That your husband spent the whole night fucking your brains out and you didn’t have any time to bake,” he states with finality.

You lift your eyes from his flexing abs. “And they’ll all be too scared to say a word about it but then I won’t raise any money for our charity.”

Your pouty lips are too hard to resist and he takes your chin between his fingers, dragging your mouth to his for a heated kiss.

When he stops your eyes remain closed, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you sway on your feet.

“We just have to make two batches of cookies,” you whisper, still savoring his lips.

Your eyes open and you continue working on his belt. Once it hangs loosely at his hips you unbutton his pants and then pull the zipper down, revealing his patterned boxer briefs.

You drop to your knees and start to tug each pant leg off.

“Fuck doll,” he croons. “You always look so good on your knees for me.”

You look up at him and nibble your bottom lip. “You’re not making this any easier, you know.”

“I’m not trying to,” he smirks. “And this was your idea.”

As you stand you glide your fingers along his thighs, reaching up to kiss him when you say, “leave your socks on. Your feet will get cold.”

He chuckles and adjusts himself in his boxers, the outline of his arousal prominent in the tight fabric.

“You’re worried about my feet?”

You give him a look before sashaying out of the kitchen and returning moments later with his slippers. When you drop them at his feet he slides them on with a wry smile.

“You’re sassy when you bake Mrs. Barnes. I like it.”

“Don’t get any more ideas and get over there and read me that recipe,” you say as you shake your whisk his way with a no nonsense look.

“Mm bossy too,” he hums.

“Yeah, yeah…” you mutter, playfully glaring now. “And you’re just letting me do it because you like it.”

“Obviously,” he replies, holding your stare even as the corners of his eyes crinkle in delight.

“Recipe Barnes,” you repeat.

He blows you a kiss and then peers down at the paper, squinting his eyes before bringing it closer to his face. His mouth opens as he turns to you but before he can even get the question out you have his glasses in your hand and you’re holding them out for him.

“Thanks doll face,” he beams with a knowing smile, then looks back at the recipe. “Ok so first we need…”

Once you have the batter ready Bucky stands behind you at the counter, his arms on either side of you while he mixes and you watch.

You wiggle your ass into him and giggle when he growls and pins you with his hips.

“You’re not behaving,” he states.

“Who said anything about behaving?” you ask and do it again.

He stops mixing and grabs your waist. “Doll,” he warns.

You hum quietly and take the spatula to continue, ignoring his groans.

“Is it time to taste test?” he asks as he slides his finger toward the bowl.

“NO!” you shout and slap his hand. “It’s raw!”

“Ow,” he whines, making you laugh.

“Ow my ass! Come on, let’s get these on the pan and in the oven.”

“Can I at least taste something else?” he asks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his hands pawing at your leggings.

“After,” you answer, trying to stop the tremble of anticipation that runs through you.

When the whole house smells of cinnamon, sugar and spice you sigh in relief and set the timer for the last time.

Bucky stalks toward you and takes you in his arms. “Finally,” he murmurs.

You flatten your palms on his chest. “Not yet. We have to clean up and wait for the cookies to come out. Otherwise, they might burn.”

His eyes darken and he holds you in place. “We’re using the dishwasher.”

“Of course,” you say in agreement, your smile saccharine.

He loads the dishwasher in record time while you wipe down the counters and wrap up the cooled muffins and bread.

The cookie timer goes off and before you can get to the oven he has it open and is pulling the tray out.

“Cookies are done!” he says.

“Let me check them. They might need another two minutes.”

You watch the muscles of his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth but he moves away so you can look them over.

You inspect each cookie carefully.

“Now you’re just trying to torture me doll.”

“They’re perfect,” you say after another perusal. “And I have to admit that it is just a little fun.”

“Is it?” he murmurs as he carefully moves the hot tray out of reach and cages you against the counter.

“Mm hm,” you answer and pull his glasses off.

Your fingertips brush along his cheek and he captures your wrist, softly pressing his lips to your pulse before he kisses your palm.

“Thank you for helping me.”

He nods as he continues to kiss along your skin. “For you, always…now turn around.”

Your breath hitches at his tone and you do as your told, slowly turning until his hard length is pressing into your ass.

He carefully unties your apron and lifts it over your head then drops it to the floor. Your shirt follows, his knuckles lightly skimming your back as he drags the fabric up.

You tremble, goosebumps erupting across your skin at his feather light touches. He kneels and hooks his fingers into your leggings, his every movement deliberate as he peels them off and reveals more of your skin.

His hand traces the curve of your ass before he gives it a hard squeeze and bites down on your soft skin.

You let out a squeal and squirm in his grasp.

A low rumble of approval runs through him as he tugs down your panties, leaving them wrapped around your ankles.

He gently slides two fingers along your calf and then higher until he reaches your inner thigh.

“Bend over and spread your legs,” he demands.

Again, you do as he says, the coolness of the counter a stark contrast to your heated skin.

Long, thick fingers tease your entrance and gather your arousal.

“So ready for me doll,” he praises.

You push back, needing more from him but he smacks your ass, hard, and holds you still with a firm grip.

“That doesn’t mean you get what you want yet,” he simpers, his fingers gliding lightly along your folds.

“Buckyyyyy,” you whine.

His lips brush along your skin, tracing the spot where you thigh meets your ass. He moves inward, sucking and licking and leaving marks in his wake.

When his nose runs along your slit you wiggle in his hold, your repeated pleas filling the air.

He continues to tease you with soft kisses and kitten licks, just barely flicking his tongue over your clit.

With both his hands he grabs hold of your ass cheeks and spreads them, burying his nose just above your pussy so he can slide his tongue through you.

You cry out his name and grip the edge of the counter, rocking back onto his face. He slides one hand between your legs and teases your clit, just enough to have you chasing your release with a cry of his name.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when soft hands lift you from the counter and he cradles you against his chest.

His hands wander reverently, the skim of his calloused fingertips making you clench around nothingness.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you whisper, straining against him.

He runs his nose along your neck, bringing his lips just below your ear. “Say it again,” he demands.

You lift a hand behind you and curl it into his hair, tugging him closer. “Fuck me, Bucky,” you repeat, reveling in his warm breath as it caresses your skin.

His hands slide over your curves and he grips your hips. “You have no idea what it does to me when you say those words.”

You lean into him and sigh when his cock glides through your wetness. He grabs your chin and turns your head, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and languid kiss that only fuels your impatience.

When you moan into it, whining his name, he shifts and fills you in one slow thrust.

“Oh my god,” you breathe against his lips. “Bucky…”

All you can feel is him inside of you, his heated skin pressed to yours, his hands, his lips. He’s everywhere and everything.

He deepens the kiss, sliding his hand down to the base of your neck and squeezing lightly. He groans out your name, breaking the kiss and pressing his face into your neck.

“Fuck fuck, fuck,” he chants every time he pounds into you.

“More Bucky. Harder,” you whine.

Suddenly everything is harder and deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with your pleas for more.

You can feel the moment he starts to completely lose control, his labored breathing hot against your neck and his grip tightening as his cock thickens inside you. You finish with his name on your lips, your orgasm rushing through you, the squeeze of your walls taking him right over the edge at the same time.

His hips tense and he growls out your name.

You rest your head back against his strong chest and silently thank him for keeping you standing upright because you feel as if you could melt to the floor.

His hold is gentle when he pulls out and turns you around, his expression one of complete satisfaction as he studies you, catching your lower lip with his thumb. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Your smile is soft as you trace the hard outline of his jaw. “I could say the same about you.”

He chuckles and pulls you closer. “Nothing compares to you, doll.”

His hand slides up your back and he cups the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he can trail kisses along your throat and collarbone.

 “I can’t believe I let you finish that baking,” he whispers into your skin.

“Me either,” you giggle.

“I want more,” he murmurs as his lips find yours.

“I made an extra loaf of the chocolate pumpkin bread.”

At your deadpan words he tucks your hips against his, the feel of his hard cock making you gasp.

“There’s that sass again,” he tsks. “Guess I didn’t fuck you hard enough this time.”

“Guess not,” you mouth back.

“Good thing we’ve got all night then,” he simpers.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989

[athena-xox]

All the known cards from the deck of instructions the Queen of Hearts gave Lizzie. 30/52

Worms speak, indeed they do,

but not to such as me and you.

All they ever say is “mud mud food,” so you need not listen good. Practice Not Listening to worms today. And by worms, I mean people.

Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever admit there’s something you don’t know. Because you know everything.

You may have just forgotten

a piece of the everything. Also, don’t tell anyone you forgot.

A queen stands and shouts in hollow rooms when feeling faint,

for she is her own echo.

She is the thing that stands between

the been and the seen,

and pushes either side wide.

A queen stands for herself,

and by herself, and on her legs.

For legs are what make her stand.

But not four legs. Or forelegs.

She also stands for land. Her land. Wonderland. Without land, one wonders where one would stand. Especially queens.

In summary: Push. Shout. Stand. Be a queen.

It is better to be gloved than bearded, and better to be fearded than loved.

When in doubt, shout!

If you want something done right, you must do it yourself.

So make sure you personally order servants all by yourself to do what you want done.

A ship is only as floaty as its leakiest timber, and friends are the leakiest timber of all. Sail not on the Friend Ship, Lizzie,

lest you drown in an ocean of tears!

Already Been Chewed food (hereafter referred to as ABC food) can appear appetizing, but not for such as you. Eat no ABC food today.

Frogs are mostly faces. Notice a frog today and make a face.

ON WITH ITS HEAD!

:) JK. Behead something today!

Rugs are the unnatural spawn of Rabbits and Hugs. Beware rugs. (Could also be Rubber and Bugs. In any case, BEWARE RUGS!)

Worms NEED things. But a princess such as you ORDERS things. Today, put your things in order by ordering things to be what they are. And then, for fun, order them to be what they are not

Whether up or down, inside or out, it is yours. Own the down. Own the up.

A queen worrying about others is like a baker worried he’s making too many muffins.

As if there could be such a thing as

Too Many Muffins. Ha! WORRY NOT! AND EAT MORE MUFFINS!

Above all else, avoid these things: vats of poison, Jabberwocks, paper cuts on fingertips,

and Concern For Others.

If ever you detect Concern For Others squirming into you,

shout at people till the feeling goes away.

Or the people do.

Things are never lost to you; you are lost to them. If ever in need of a Thing that has lost you, simply stop hiding from it.

Beware Empathy! Empathy forces you to Understand how others are feeling and to Care! Danger! Danger!

Friends are one R away from fiends. Avoid friends at all costs!

Also anyone to whom the R does not come naturally (pirates are okay).

(A Wonderlandiful World)

Rule my way.

I’ll be watching.

(Lizzie Shuffles the Deck)

Everything has a place and should be put in it. That will be your job, since people, things, and in-betweens tend to forget their place.

Secrets are secrets and cannot be told. If anyone tells you a secret, they are lying. If anyone tells you a lie, they might be secreting. In either case, step away. Lies and secretions are to be avoided.

To succeed in life as a queen and princess, you need four things in your brain and two in your pocket. The pocket things are solid, and the brain things are not. Be sure not to mix them up.

Puddles are the thing you think is the thing, but is really the top of the thing, and the bottom makes you drown.

Hair hides skin, but hide can also be skin, especially if you have four legs. Count your legs and comb your hair.

Depending on where you live, a boot can be a foot case, a trunk case, or a preposition. Be sure you know where you are before getting dressed. When in doubt, go barefoot.

Never believe a lie. Unless it’s the truth—then go right ahead.

Fish love to be confused. Tell a fish a riddle today that has no answer.

Clouds are well and fine up in the sky, but never let one into your mind. Not even if it says “Please.”

Tomatoes are sneaky. They love to trick you into believing they are strawberries or cherries or apples. Before taking a bite, point at the thing and declare, “You are a tomato!” That’ll show ’em!

Yelling “Off with your head!” is a lot more fun than actually following through. Invest time in more pleasant pursuits, like croquet and competitive eating.

(Once Upon a Time)

If you want similar content links to the books, eah slang dictionary and more is here.

[steddiebang]

The World Ends With You

Author: @lihhelsing l Artist: @keikei_firefly l Artist: @verdiris Posting on Thursday, November 30

After the world ended and the undead creatures were everywhere, Steve Harrington survived by isolating himself. Completely alone in a house, he barely knows what to do when someone breaks in. Injured and alone, Eddie Munson slowly wins Steve’s trust as they navigate surviving together in the middle of the Apocalypse and their relationship grows into something Steve can’t quite understand. But just as he has his share of secrets, Eddie has some of his own and this might be enough to get in the way of whatever they were building together.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

It took a bit of time for Eddie Munson to be on his feet. 

Or maybe foot was more accurate. Steve was honestly shocked Eddie had been able to stand like that, let alone walk for who knew how long. 

He would definitely need to take a closer look and he already knew he was completely out of his depth. He had seen broken bones and crushed limbs on his mother’s medical books but he never saw it in real life. That was still the best shot Eddie had so it would have to do. 

Steve also knew what he was about to say was a douche thing, but one could never be too careful. 

“I need you to strip down,” he said and there it was again, the weird sound Eddie made when he laughed. It ringed in Steve’s ears and tingled his brain. 

“Woah, Harrington. Guy’s usually pay at least for a coffee first, but I can’t say I’m opposed to the idea,” Eddie answered easily, a grin splayed across his face. Steve stared and stared and he was afraid he was blushing but the dark should still conceal his face. “Oh, you’re serious.” 

“Deadly,” Steve added and let the word hang between them. 

Death had taken a new meaning for Steve after everything. You didn’t just throw the word around like a joke anymore like ‘Oh I’m dying to eat chocolate muffins’. It felt especially disrespectful now that death walked the earth. 

Eddie bit his lower lip like he was thinking about it. 

“If you’re not going to strip I can show you the exit,” 

“Harsh, man. It’s been a while since I’ve made a show of undressing in front of a guy. Gimme a minute, will you?” 

x

When they were done Eddie did his bit cleaning everything up and they went into the living room. Eddie lay on the couch and pulled from under his pillow a hardcover book Steve had never seen before. He looked up at Steve and there was a glint in his eyes. 

“I was just going to start this one and I thought I could… Nevermind, that’s stupid.” Eddie shrugged his shoulders and held the book close to his chest. He was, once again, shirtless. Steve had stayed awake too many nights watching the way Eddie’s pale skin glowed with the moonlight. He was shameless. 

Steve leaned on the chair, his back already twisting in an unpleasant way. 

“You could what?” He asked and Eddie pressed his lips together. 

“I could read it for us. Out loud, I mean.”

Steve blinked, watching him as if Eddie had grown another head. He had never been one to read much, one of the many ways he disappointed his father. Steve found it was hard to concentrate on a book for too long but he always liked when his mother read to him. 

“Forget it,” Eddie said at the same time Steve said “Ok.”

“Yeah? You really want to? You’re not saying that just so you don’t hurt my feelings?”

Steve chuckled. “No. Maybe. A story seems nice, actually. What’s the book?”

Eddie turned it in Steve’s direction and he could barely see the name printed. The Picture of Dorian Gray. 

“It’s one of my favorites of all time. There are so many things he says in this book that stuck with me. There’s so much truth and hurt inside of it.”

“Sounds nice,” Steve said, because it really did. “Can I… Do you mind if I lie next to you? That way I can hear you and you don’t have to shout.”

“Be my guest, Stevie. It will be just like a slumber party,” Eddie wiggled his eyebrows and Steve rolled his eyes pretending to be annoyed. The truth was Steve’s hearing wasn’t the best, courtesy of years playing sports in high school and getting head injuries. He hadn’t admitted that to Eddie because he had never admitted it to anyone but Eddie seemed so excited about the book Steve didn’t really want to miss anything. 

He put his pillow and some blankets on the floor and he lied, close enough he could touch Eddie if he just reached out his hand. 

“Can I tell you one of my favorite quotes from this book?” Eddie asked and Steve just nodded. The moment felt charged as if Eddie was about to show his soul to Steve. “'Some things are more precious because they don’t last long'.” 

Steve blinked. He looked up at Eddie and he wasn’t sure if that was just a nice citation or maybe a foreshadowing of them. He felt like they were living in a bubble that could burst at any moment and Steve wasn’t really ready for it. It seemed Eddie wasn’t ready either. 

He had to fight the urge to argue about it. To say that some things lasted a long time and were precious and good. Instead, Steve put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He could feel Eddie was looking at him and he knew that was happening more and more, and every day they seemed to be less worried about not being caught. 

Steve opened his eyes and there it was, those two brown eyes watching him curiously, as if Steve was a puzzle Eddie wanted to decipher. They held each other’s gaze for a minute before Eddie adjusted himself back on the couch and opened the book on the first line. 

“The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfum of the pink-flowering thorn.”

Eddie’s voice was velvety and smooth as he dove into the book and soon Steve was deep down in the story, feeling how every word tickled his brain in a way reading a book had never managed to do to him. He fought sleep for as long as he could and when he finally lost the battle he dreamed of flower scented gardens, precious things and deep brown eyes. 

Read more on November 30!

[piggyprincesspheobe]

a little flashback for you guys.

I'd really let myself go since moving out to live with my girlfriend. I'd been 240 pounds just 4 years ago, I was then around 463lbs although I hadn't weighed myself in months. It was depressing to see the numbers going up and up and just made me want to eat more. My double chin had attracted the concern of my friends and family who were always bugging me to go back to the gym and eat healthily, which ironically only made me stuff my face. I'd changed my whole wardrobe 4 times now, and still had most of my old stuff in the hope that I'd fit into some of it again.

I knew I was getting far too fat but I was in an odd state of mind. I was stressed with work and decided that I was eating what I wanted. However rather than accepting when I was full I was just ordering what I wanted to eat and making myself finish. It seemed like I was having fast food every day and I hadn't cooked anything healthy since I realised it was too late and I was already obese. It was around this time that I also decided not to stop pigging out on junk food.

I was on my lunch break and 2 big mac meals was the first part of my lunch, I had intended to grab myself some chocolate and crisps too but I was pretty bloated and wasn't sure if I'd hold it down.

I looked down at my belly, stretching my shirt accross itself, making the buttons look ready to pop off. I needed a new shirt, I thought to myself. No! Damnit! I need to loose weight! I corrected as I left the cubicle and washed my hands.

I was running late and started to head back to work, when I smelt the wonderful smell of the bakery. I looked longingly in the window. That is, for about a tenth of a second before I headed in there.

'No!' my brain cried 'What are you doing you fat bastard?! You're going on a diet' - 'Stop, seriously, I'm too full' my stomach chimed in. But my mouth was doing the ordering and ordered a danish swirl, a blueberry muffin and a brownie.

I arrived late to start back at work, my stomach now in quite a lot of pain. I sat down at my desk and took a snickers bar from my draw. I was seriously out of control but I didn't care, behaving myself for 5 minutes before I gave up altogether and ate 5 days worth of food in one go seemed pointless.

I decided mid afternoon to join a gym, so phoned up and signed up with my credit card number. I was going in after work for a quick workout, although it'd been 4 years on getting fat since I'd last done any kind of excercise

''If I were you I'd start with something easier,'' said the personal trainer who'd watched me waddle myself close to death on the treadmill, ''like the bike?''

I was panting and sweating and so far I'd run a depressing 150 meters at a pathetic average of 8 miles per hour. My gym clothes, tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt, hugged my new fat like spandex, which only showed even more that I was sweating profusely.

''Thanks, sounds like a plan.'' I took a swig from my water bottle.

He wasn't my personal trainer, I wasn't ready for Ms Karufmann to drive me to the brink of falling apart, but she seemed to have nothing else to do but help me get the bike on an easy setting. She was a nice person but made me feel like I was twice the weight I was. It didn't really help that the size of my waist kept popping open the stud that held the jogging bottoms up.

After almost 30 long hard minutes of sampling everything the gym had to offer and deeming it beyond my capabilities, I headed to the cafeteria for a milkshake.

On my way out there was a scale. I hadn't stood on one in quite a while so headed over to it. Some teenage girls were playing around next to it, when I stood on the panel I heard it creak and they rushed to see the reading.

17 stone 4 pounds. 463lbs?! Ok, I was holding my gym bag and a milkshake but come on!

''Haha! Fat bitch!'' Said one girls

I sighed, couldn't think of anything I could say in return that wouldn't land me on some sort of register, and headed back to my car. On the way home I stopped for a burger king, forgetting my girlfriend had probably cooked something, and wondered whether I even had the willpower to lose weight.

I got home to find my girlfriend had made spaghetti. I sat straight down at the dinner table and ate 3 helpings before I had to give up and undo my belt and trouser button. As my soft round belly spilled into it's new breathing space I put a hand either side and groaned.

''I went to the gym today.''

''Yeah you said. Any good?''

''Umm, nice gym, but I'm kinda out of shape.''

''Aww you're not out of shape,'' She said as she placed a hand on mine, ''round is a shape.'' She laughed.

''Would you say I'm too fat?''

She patted my bulging tummy and gave it a rub. ''You're fine. Anyway finish this up because I shopped today and there's no room in the fridge.''

''I will in a minute.''

I got up and looked in the fridge, junk food wall to wall. I wondered for a moment if perhaps she was the reason I was getting fat. I'd put on over a two hundred pounds now since moving in with her 4 years ago. Then I thought, naah, and took a can of pepsi from the fridge and sat down to finish another couple of helpings of spaghetti.

I was laid on the sofa, she was stuffing endless slices of chocolate cake into my mouth. Every time I felt too full she'd just get some ice cream and make me eat that instead.

It was January 5th, I was supposed to be back at work but my doctor had given me a note to say I was unfit for work, and as I felt lazy and ill I didn't want to argue. My doctor's case was simply that I was suffering from stress related IBS caused by my job. It was really just food related IBS caused by all the food at Christmas. I'd gotten huge anyway, none of my work suits fitted me anymore. All that did fit me was some previously baggy t-shirts and a couple of pairs of underwear (although they weren't very comfortable so I was only wearing a t-shirt, which as you probably can guess was covered in chocolate). I didn't know how big exactly, I'd not weighed myself in 4 months.

As I'd expanded and filled more of the bed, crushed my girlfriend more during sex and generally become lazier and less energetic, I asked her why she continued to feed me so much. After all, at the rate we were going I'd soon be too big for sex altogether. She told me that she loved making me fatter, she loved every pound she added to my growing body, she loved my hanging belly and boobs, she loved my soft ass and thick thighs and she loved to keep my stomach packed full of the nicest things she could give me.

I'd come to eat more and more each day as the weeks and months past and for the past 2 weeks eating had become a non-stop thing throughout most of the day. However I was far too full to keep eating so I asked her to stop feeding me for a few minutes. As I was resting there was a knock on the door. She went to answer it and came back smiling with a package. She ripped off the packaging and I saw from the box that it was a set of scales. She'd ordered it online before Christmas and was a little dissapointed that she wouldn't know how much weight she'd made me gain over the holiday, but was at least pleased that she'd know what she'd put on me for the year coming.

She set them out on the floor and helped me up, my aching, huge, flabby belly, my butter thighs, and my ham arms making it hard for me to stand. "I-I'm going to fall! h-help!" As I got on I realised I couldn't see my feet, let alone the read out.

"36 stone!" She said gleefully and jumped into the air before walking behind my huge ass and smacked it.

"Look what else I ordered." She said as she came back with another package, this time taking it into the kitchen.

She opened it up and it turned out to be weight gain powder.

I had to ask myself as she mixed up a litre of milk with it, whether I liked where this was going. She'd made me massive, litterally massive. I was easily in the top 10% of obese people, my doctor had already had a go at me over my weight and she still wanted me fatter. Sex was becoming more difficult, walking was harder, even driving and I didn't think that was possible! My hand shaking, I took another bite of the muffin. This muffin wasn't the problem; the problem was the 15 muffins I'd already eaten after a day's feeding. I had become dependant on her over the last month or so. We had gotten married back in May while I was still able to walk around easily enough (well, not so easily but you know what I mean), and it was possible to find a tux that fit. I was about 37 stone at the time my family were there, some who hadn't seen me since I was half the size. I saw her side of the family, none of the men were slim, all of them either on their way to or over 30 stone. The women weren't slim either but it seemed to me, given my experience with my wife, that they had some natural urge to feed their loved ones. Even the kids were huge. Anyway, for the honeymoon we had to buy 3 seats, one for her, 2 for me, even though I only got one seat. But to hell with it, her grandmother had given her almost £2,200,000 as a wedding gift, which was set aside for all her grandkids for the day they married. Her great grandfather founded a car factory or something along those lines. The plane landed in California where we got a cruise liner which was going to Hawaii and back over 4 weeks. As soon as we were in our room she excitedly unpacked a heavy duty digital scale, the readout of which handily came attached on a cable just in case you couldn't see over your belly. "Get on!" She demanded, a big smile on her face. I dumped my bag and obliged. "539lbs! Yay!" She jumped for joy. My heart raced as I searched my fold for my phone to use the calculator . . . "38 stone. D-Damn!" "Honey, look . . . I don't want to get any fatter. Aren't I big enough for you now?" She frowned and hugged me, rubbing my fat stomach through my t-shirt. "Aww baby, please, just let me fatten you over this holiday and after that I'll let you eat how you want." I agreed. Though I'd married her for a reason after all, I loved her and it was an amazing time with her even if I had to spend almost all day eating to fulfil her desires. In all our photos my belly hangs low, my fat poking and spilling out of all the clothes I outgrew while we were away. My boobs were so large I contemplated wearing a bra but decided not to as I was hot enough as it was. We arrived back home after hours and hours of travelling in which I was made to eat countless bags of sweets and, just as excitedly as before she unpacked the scale. I wasn't too worried, this was it, I could stop gaining weight now, and how much could I possibly gain in 48 days? "Oh my god!" She shouted with glee. She jumped on the bed and began stripping. I bent down to pick up the readout which she'd dropped, and felt my jeans tear at the side. I straightened up and held still as the numbers settled. 580lbs. A 41 pound gain, over a pound a day, putting me at over 41 stone.

My 3 chins wobbled as I gasped. "Come here now!" She ordered and I got onto the bed, making it creak and groan. I broke the bed that night, so she got a steel one. That's what I'm laid on 4 months later in September. I'd stopped working long before our wedding and we were living on her fortune. I gave up arguing with her for 4 main reasons. 1, I was already hugely obese and would never be thin again. 2, my stomach was huge and I needed a lot of food to stay full. 3, the sex was fantastic and 4, it made her truly, truly happy. She had kept a diary of my measurements and weight since just before Christmas and it was a hell of a read. She also noted what she liked best about seeing my body swell. I was in a daze, I lived to eat. I watched TV and played videogames, sometimes surfed the net on our laptop. Whenever I needed to use my hands she would hand feed me. If I was too full she would massage my stomach for a while then give me plenty to drink (often weight gain shakes though that didn't help the bloated feeling), usually coke or something sugary. The game we were playing at the moment was her favorite. I was too full and fat to masturbate and she'd given me Viagra to keep me horny. When she was finally satisfied that I could get no more in I'd get my reward, but I certainly wouldn't get it if I didn't finish the batch of 16 muffins she'd made especially for me. It was very hard work, my stomach was in severe pain but even after the last muffin she brought a fudge cake and told me I had to eat it. It was huge . . . but I was so horny . . . My shaking hand spooned the last mouthful into my mouth and I swallowed. She held the plate to my face and made me lick it clean, then she gave me the best blowjob of my life. The next morning I was on the toilet for so long that she brought my breakfast in to me and gave me a milkshake to enjoy while I showered. When I was done she made me step on the scales. I got another big hug and she jotted into her diary. 614 pounds. 43 stone. It was too much weight on my bones. I could barely walk and breathe but I was beyond caring. I didn't leave the house, she just continued to shop and cook and clean and feed. I had nothing to worry about, I didn't even miss the outside world. She would occasionally take photos of me for a website which she frequented, where women like her (and a few men but I'm not homophobic) would say "wow he's so sexy" and "you've done such a good job of feeding him". I looked her up and down, she'd definitely gained a few pounds herself, which I enjoyed for some reason. I sat on the couch and awaited my second breakfast.

Later that day I was sat on the couch eating my 2nd 15 inch pizza. My wife was out shopping. We usually got food delivered but today she'd taken the car to get fast food and cakes, pastries, stuff like that. Last time she'd spent over £100 and made me eat the whole lot. It had been a struggle but she'd loved every minute of it and she ***ed my brains out that night.

I got a bit bored and, despite my orders, left half the pizza on the sofa, and hauled myself up and waddled to the pc. The chair was now very small for me and I was worried I'd break it so I tried to ease myself onto it. A large box of assorted donuts was on the desk next to the screen, she'd told me that if I wanted to use the computer I'd have to eat them, and since she'd know I'd been on it I decided to start eating them. I looked around her sites. One photo she'd uploaded was a comparison shot of me at 10 stone and again at 36 stone, it was very popular. There were other shots of me eating and I even found a video of her fingering my belly after I'd passed out from a huge force feeding.

I went into the forums and looked at things she'd posted on. I saw lots of stuff that I didn't understand, but plenty more that caught my attention. In one post she was telling how much I'd gained but that I still had a 'long way to go'. It had only been posted 3 days before so I delved deeper. I found a blog she'd been writing and this was the last entry.

"Oh my god, she's a dream come true. I never expected him to come around so easily to this but he's almost unable to walk and still agrees to eat and even lets me force feed him! Every day she gets closer to my goal. As soon as I make her immobile, which can only be a matter of weeks away, 3 or 4 months at worst, she'll be put onto the second phase of the regime. The part only my aunt and my friends, futon114 and casey5jane have managed to get their girlfriends to. I get so turned on watching her eat, and even more so (strangely) to shop for him, knowing that whatever I buy she will diligently and obediently consume. I love to see her stretch mark covered belly swelling and expanding, her four chins wobbling, her back fat jiggling, her nech being invisible, her meaty legs and arms expanding with my love and my home cooking which she loves more than anything. I love to see him get out of breath as she tries to walk, then give up and eat whatever I give to him.

It went on but I searched on the previous site for the names she had mentioned. They'd both uploaded photos of women twice my size, unable to get off the bed they were confined to. They had tubes leading into and out of orifices to help them breathe and defecate and a tired expression on their faces and piles of food around them. My heart raced. I needed to get out of there.

I looked in the wardrobe but no clothes fit, absolutely nothing would go over my fat belly. I got a white dressing gown on and headed for the car, but remembered she'd taken it out to shop. I couldn't call the police, what would they say?! At best I could hope to be a laughing stock. I wanted to go to a friend's place and hide out for a while, but there would be no time to get her to pick me up, so I sat back down and panted exhaustedly trying to get my breath back as I ate more pizza.

When she arrived home she brought in 4 bags, then made 2 more trips back to the car to get 9 more bags. What worried me was that it was all for today. I might be immobile by the end of the day. By midnight I'd been made to eat a family sized kfc bucket, 4 whoppers with fries, 2 weight gain milkshakes, 3 of the most fattening 800g cheesecakes you've ever seen, probably about 40-50 pastries and cream cakes of various kinds, fudgecakes and donuts and chocolate and pepsi and even more that I couldn't remember.

I laid on the bed unable to move a muscle as she ran her hand delicately over my swollen stomach, which was starting to spill over the side of the bed. I groaned, then asked her what my goal was.

"Your goal?" She asked, unaware that I'd been on her website.

"What is my goal? Why are you feeding me like this?"

"Well, if you want to know, you're going to weigh over 2000 pounds, which is about 140 stone." My heart raced and she soothed me, running her hand over mine. "Really I want to make you 2150 pounds because then I'll have added 2000 pounds to you all by myself."

"I don't want to be that big! I love going out places."

"When did we last go out?" She asked.

I thought hard, but couldn't think of anything since our honeymoon so remained silent.

"I won't do it. I won't let you keep feeding me if all you want is for me to be a fat blob on this bed."

"For starters, I wasn't expecting you to stay on this bed. I've set up a room especially for you in our new house. You have glass walls so you can see outside, a comfy bed, a crane to lift you out of it, I'll be there to wash and feed you, and I'll find a way to keep your winky entertained." She said, grabbing it under my folds of flesh. Her tone changed and she looked me in my panic stricken eyes. "And you will eat, and you will get fatter. There's something I never told you before we got married, I couldn't because I'd have scared you out of marrying me."

She got up, slapped my belly and pulled a pair of handcuffs from under the bed, attaching my ankle to the bedpost with them. "Myself and my 4 sisters were brought up and taught how to cook, feed and look after a huge man. Our 3 brothers were force fed daily, the reason they weren't at the wedding was that they are now simply too fat to walk. The reason for this is my mother; she tried to fatten her husband to over 2000 pounds because my whole family fortune goes to the first woman in our family to fatten up her husband to such a weight. My father died when I was young, of a heart attack at about 1400 pounds. She taught all of us to feed so that we'd be prepared for our partners. It has to be the first partner though, and I have a lot of competition from my cousins, but my sisters are behind me and I'm behind them, we have a pact to share the fortune. The fortune itself was left to our great grandmother because she fattened her husband to death, she was a feeder as well as a homicidal bitch. In her will she stipulated the rules and I want the money. But don't take this the wrong way, I love you and I love your body." She paused. "Come on, you've got to drink your weight gain shake before sleeping."

[renniferno]

i am not my body

being this weird. meeting of so many disabilities and being queer on top of it has done some really fucky things to my identity and concept of self.

My thoughts on what makes someone who they are as an identity is that it's all choice. You are who you CHOOSE to be. You decide if you like or dislike something, from things as simple to taste in music, all the way up to where you stand on global current events. (I'm not getting into any of that right now, that is not the point of this post.)

Like, who I am in as much as who I have decided to be is someone that tries really hard to make a positive impact on the lives around me. I try to compliment people if I see something worth complimenting, like an outfit or makeup or how they've done their hair. I try to smile when I accidentally meet eyes with a stranger. I try, very hard actually, to be a force of what I perceive as 'good' in the world.

Take that, and wrap it up in also all the choices that make up taking care of myself. I want to be able to have a positive impact on the lives around me, and to do that, I have to be a minimal type of functional. I need to eat or my body breaks down. I need a social life or my mind breaks down, etc etc.

But then you throw in these things that people see as me but are not choices: I did not choose to have adhd. I did not choose depression, or anxiety, or ptsd or the events that lead to it, I did not choose to have a body so full of errors in the code that it is literally falling apart.

So I have this disconnect from who I am and what my body is like. My body isn't me because my body wasn't my choice. There are things I can do to change parts of it, but I can't fix that I have a genetic disorder that said 'hey fuck your connective tissues.' or that my body will attack my intestines if I eat gluten.

I accept that my body is mine, in as much as it is the only way I have to interact with the universe, but it isn't me. I use it to move around, I use it to converse and create, but it's a tool. People see it and assume they see me, but I really don't feel like they do.

I look at my body and see something to hate, something that hurts and moves incorrectly sometimes and does things it shouldn't. I see an identity that people have assigned to me, but not myself.

I feel like other people look at my body and see things that they assume is me. They don't feel the way it malfunctions, they don't know that I can feel my knees grinding together with every step, they aren't in my head when the brain fog kicks in.

It's infuriating because they're using the same senses as me to determine the correct and polite ways to address me, but it really does feel like they're talking to the body, and not me. They see the body as part of who I am, and that's not their fault.

But I am not my body. I'm just the pilot. I don't understand what makes people feel like a gender, fuck, I don't even understand what gender is. I know it's an important part of identity and that people feel very strongly about it, but I have no real way to work the idea in my head. Gender feels like such a body thing.

It feels easier to think of it as a meat mech I have to keep functional as my only point of interacting with the universe at large, something that enables me to take in information.

I didn't really have anywhere I was going with this other than 'im agender because i identify as literally anything other than the meat of my physical form, because i am the choices i've made and the actions I commit myself to and not the broken down form that is my only way to interact with the world' in this weird overlap between disabilities and queer-ness.

and it can't even eat normal bread. like. c'mon. you're going to make me deal with all that AND take away sourdough english muffins? what the fuck.

[44-docx]

15/04/24

I had a rough past few days. Two days ago I had one of the worst panic attacks of my life. Thank god my partner was there to help me. They held me and when I saw the look on their face I wouldn’t let myself dissociate. It hurt almost , in the weirdest way, and was so hard but I was able to. And so I didn’t record my food that day or the day after, but I felt okay about the food I ate. Today I feel as though I ate more than I should have and am having shame I dislike the feeling of but I’m reconciling with having put it in my mouth to begin with so I’m sitting with this feeling lol.

Breakfast 8:00

I had all of this. I was kinda nauseous halfway through then it dissipated and I finished. I got hungry an hour after and had this snack. I was studying and needed a pick me up, hence the red bull. I usually try to avoid caffeine but I’ve been TIRED all day :).

Lunch: 12:00

For lunch I had chicken and egg on rice. I added hot sauce and honey. I had that soup and picked out two dumplings and thre the rest out. Then I picked up this little bit my cafeteria was serving. I didn’t like the potato it had because ew it was soggy asf, so I just ate the smoked salmon instead. Didn’t really want it tbh but I ate it and regretted it in my mouth but I can’t spit it out in public like I would alone. Not gonna lie, spitting things out if I don’t like them is a new development that kinda keeps me true to eating only what I like and want. I don’t chew and spit, not something I have ever done! But having the ability to respect myself enough not to swallow something I hate is part of me trying to regulate what I eat. I got cereal for desert, again. I saved this muffin and picked at it for like 2 hrs as I tend to do while I work , it’s a bad habit because I feel like sugar helps me focus…. More on that at 3:30 lol. (Also I did not eat that banana)

3:30 “snack”

So I had this snack which I feel like was rather large. I had a handful of cashews, maybe more, a few bites of yogurt and an orange with a coffee with oat milk. That caffeine kicked me into being able to work again because I was honestly dissociating and was able to get a hold of it again! I’m getting really good at that and am really proud of myself. I started work and got a reasonable amount done and then I noticed my blood sugar dipping again. I am noticing that when my blood sugar feels low I feel out of breath and get super bad brain fog and am not able to work! (Big surprise wow I know) but as somebody who would force myself through work after barely eating I’m noticing just how productive I am when I actually eat - especially when I have sugar. So I got a slushes and oh my did that kick me into high gear lol.

Dinner: 8:00

I had this chicken burger and peeled off the extra bun parts because why do I need that much bread for such wimpy patties??? Like buy smaller buns if you’re gonna be that cheap? Anyways enough beef with my cafeteria. I had half the fries and a load of ranch and hot sauce with honey. It started to freak me out actually having the sauce about halfway through eating it, and then I was like okay let’s just see if we finished it. And then I did . And I’m trying to be neutral about that. I almost wanted more food but then I realized I didn’t want it I just wanted it because it was available and I would freak out if I ate more because I was already full and I should stop. Having unlimited food is really hard as someone who has binges, uncontrollable eating spells where I feel out of control regardless of how much I eat it feels compulsive because I’ve restricted for so long. Trying to recover with a cafeteria is hard lol. But… I stopped myself. I had cereal, I also got a little carrot cake but I realized I didn’t want it so I just ate the cereal. Actually eating the cereal did make me feel like I was pushing myself and made me consider P, but I did not. I’m fine and I’m full and that’s okay. It just feels like sooooo much food. Not being able to put anything back is also kinda ficked up to me because like , I will take something and have to throw it out, which I obviously don’t wanna do but I’ve grown comfortable doing as a part of my healing . Anyhow I’m looking at the carrot cake I smuggled out of there because I didn’t want it but wouldn’t throw out because I may want it later. I have an exam at 9 am so I expect I will be up late studying.

Taking photos of my food has been super freeing. I’m really happy that I started doing this. Throughout the day I have these thought about trying to calculate my food that I’ve had for years. Now being able to SEE what I eat is putting me at ease in a way I can’t quite explain. I feel a sense of freedom from it and I’m not trying to use it in a toxic way either which is nice that I don’t have that compulsion. I’m trying to focus on the fact that this food will fuel my brain for my exam tomorrow morning and and I’m trying to be happy for myself because I did a good job at studying today and avoiding dissociation - and regardless of my marks I think I’ve done a good job here preparing and that puts my anxiety at ease.

I’m on SLYND now which is a birth control. I’ve been taking it for two days now. It may cause weight gain but most people say it doesn’t which is a blessing omg. Keeping this food diary will help me make sure I’m not being adversely affected by the medication to eat more. And that gives me comfort because my last birth control I gained FORTY POUNDS. Omg I can’t even think about it it was so bad . Like with such bad body image it SUCKED. Really made my eating disorder worse for sure. But here I am trying to recover and mitigate the risks in a healthy way by monitoring my appetite and intake💪

Anyways, back to studying.

[malt-o-meat]

carbs is fuel, fast carbs (juice, soda, gatorade) burn faster, so if you feel exhausted and you haven’t had food in a while, fast carbs will give you energy to do more stuff like make more food. slow carbs (oranges, chocolate, pasta) take more time and give you fuel for longer.

protein repairs you, it’s like. building supplies. helps you repair muscles and fibers when they tear from regular use. if you go work out, having protein after will help some with being sore.

fats is oil. it makes protein and carbs do what they do. absorbs vitamins too. it’s sort of the road that protein and carbs build off of. if that makes sense.

vitamins are regulators and your body doesn’t make em

A: tells blood cell building machines what to do

B: precursor to other enzymes. holds their hands and moves with them to do stuff.

C: antioxidant, prevents your body from oxidizing (bad things happen when you oxidize)

D: tells your bones and organs what they need to do with minerals.

E: antioxidant. again. prevent that. don’t want it.

step one to eating healthy: it is better to have food you will eat than food you will not eat. if ranch helps you eat the salad, get ranch. it doesn’t take away the value of the veggies.

step two to eating healthy: think about what you’re doing in a day. i need more carbs in the morning so i can get to work and do job, and more protein and carbs at lunch because i need to repair from the stuff i do for work.

step three to eating healthy: it’s better to start with a little bit of change, even just noticing where you’re at now is good. if you eat mostly carbs, or mostly fat, or mostly protein, you’re not gonna feel too good. your body needs all of those things to work.

step four to eating healthy: cooking at home. find things you like about it. if you can’t but someone else can, ask them for help. if that seems impossible, then what’s the next step for you? what’s the smallest thing here you feel you can do? if you go grocery shopping, it’s ok to buy frozen stuff. throw it in a pan when it’s done microwaving and practice that. if you can’t do grocery shopping and mostly eat at fast food restaurants, clean your kitchen a little bit. spend some time in there, think about a recipe you would like to try.

step five to eating healthy: add, don’t subtract. cram in veggies where you can stand them, or learn to love them, either way, you need them. there’s a list someone made on this website about foods for sensory stuff? if i find it i’ll link it here. make sure you eat a bite a day, better than nothing. doesn’t have to be perfect but it’s a good starting place. i like the crunchy ones, and they’re good after work treats so. i do a bit of that and hummus. that’s just what works for me.

don’t go buying like 30 cans of green beans and then be mad at yourself when you still have all 30 even though you said you’d eat one a day. that’s ridiculous. try for a small goal that’s achievable and if you can’t do that, try something even smaller, till the first success hits.

i am not advising you eat like i do, cause i don’t know you or your needs. i have some slow and fast carbs in the morning, and something with protein mostly cause i like it, so like. a muffin and some milk and some cheese or salami, and if im still hungry, i give it 10 and then eat if i need to. i brought peanut butter to work, and some protein bars so i will do that for lunch, pb like ice cream, protein bar like protein bar, and then some fruit snacks cause i like them! sets me up good for the rest of the work day.

im not a professional, all of the sources for this are my brain and wikipedia. the only thing that i can say for a fact is true is that it is better to try and fail and try and fail than to stay in the same spot. net gain of failure is higher than net gain of not trying.

the typos are intentional and i’m sexier for it

Searching for nutritious food tips online is a nightmare I don't care about losing weight I care about feeding my body what it needs to feel good!! RAHHH!!!!

[lady-ashfade]

Lunch worry

Steve harrington x reader

Plot: Steve realizes his girlfriend is five minutes late and his brain starts to fill with worry.

Notes: H/c= Hair color. Also if you want to think of this like before “Forever and always” you can. Because I kinda did. Makes this really sad.

Warnings: Steve driving himself crazy. Worried Steve, protective Steve.

It’s been a long day at the family video store for both Robin and Steve. People have been coming in non stop and needing help, it’s only been a few hours since opening.

Steve had to open so he’s been there the longest and he could feel his stomach growling as soon as he started the day despite eating breakfast.

You could imagine their relief when the last couple of people walked out the door and it was peace and quiet. They both sighed to themselves and leaned on what ever was near them.

“Whens lunch?” Steve asked desperately for their small break. Robin looked at the clock and back at him slightly happy.

“About five minutes” She smiled as Steve let out a small cheer but his head quickly started to turn.

“And she’s not here” Steve’s head started think about his girlfriend, his every sweet girlfriend. She usually dropped of homemade lunch for him always ten minutes early.

“What?” Robin questioned.

“She’s not here, like five minutes late.” Steve start to pace with panic. After everything that has happened in the passed he always worried about her.

“Do you think she’s hurt? Or have I done something to upset her” He put a hand through his hair. “I mean if she was running late she would call right?” He placed a hand on his hip and looked at Robin serious.

“She’s probably fine, Steve. She can take care of herself even if she was in trouble” That made Steve even more panicked then it should have.

“You think she’s in trouble?” Robin watched him go a little crazy on himself. “You remember the last time she was in trouble right? That monster thing had her and I-” Robin stopped listening to his rant and looked outside the window.

She saw a brown car pull up and park, she saw it every day so she knews who it was. “Steve” She tired to stop Steve’s rant but he didn’t give up.

“I can’t help worrying about her I mean I almost lost her before. She’s like the air i breath” No matter how hard Robin tried to turn his attention it didn’t work. But the sound of the bell and a voice from behind him did.

“Sorry I’m late, I took a nap and woke up late” Before the girl could question Steve’s state he hugged her tightly. She smiled and let him hug her, she couldn’t hug him back because her hands were full.

“Hello to you too” The H/c girl looked at Robin to question Steve’s actions but she only rolled her eyes. Y/n let out a giggle as steve stepped away.

“Thank god you’re okay, I thought the worst”

“I was like five minutes late” Y/n titled her head and Steve realized how panic he got but ever since he almost lost her at the starcourt mall, he’s never stopped.

“I can’t help worrying about you” Giving him a smile she kisses his cheek and walked to the counter sitting down two paper bags.

“Well I’m always going to be here so don’t worry. I can’t leave you without someone to make your lunch” She pushed one bag towards Robin.

“I brought you home made muffin” Robin grabbed it quickly and took out the muffin. Steve moved to his girlfriend and hugged her waist from behind and kissed her cheek.

“Call next time, I was really worried about my food” Y/n slapped his arm in a playful way and he only turned her around.

“I’m joking, you know I only think about you” He brings her closer one more time and presses his lips onto hers in a soft short kiss.

“And sandwiches”

Taglist for Steve: @a-night-2-remember

[parkers-gal]

why T.H.

wc: 6k (angst)

jerk!tom makes an appearance

You were angry, that was for sure. Tom knew why, it was his fault after all, but he'd never admit it. He would never 'man up' to you and just apologize like he should. At least, not when he should, but he would later, when the damage was already done and set in.

Truth be told, you were furious. How could he do that when he promised not to? You were more hurt than angry, if you were being honest. You didn't want to be the 'mother' but quite frankly, you were disappointed too.

It was your dream to own a bakery, but a bakery in London was something to get your hopes up. Dreaming big never ended well for you in the past, but after years of working your ass off, you had managed to achieve something you had wanted since you were young.

Your bakery, Flour Before Frosting, also happened to be where you met Tom, your boyfriend of almost 18 months. He had walked in one day, charming with a dashing smile, and asked for "your best made velvets, frosted with your number." You remember that day vividly, for it was one of the many times Tom would drop by before eventually taking you out and officially making you his girlfriend. Eight months and 17 days later, you moved out of your crappy flat and into his house (though it really just made things easier because you were already over every night).

You were in your shared bedroom, writing down new plans for how to decorate your bakery for the holidays.

"Hey, babe!" Tom called.

"In here, Tom," you yelled back.

"Oh- hey, luv. Got an old friend visiting next week, so I won't be by for our Wednesday lunch plans," he informed you.

"Oh, okay. Do you want some cupcakes and tea? Gonna have a new batch on Tuesday, fresh with new tea that Jackson just got. I think he made it- anyways, he gave me a sample a few weeks and I absolutely loved it. I think you'll like it too, it's just right for you." You rambled, and Tom laughed and shook his head at you.

"Yeah, darling. I'd love some cupcakes for my guest, gonna have to show off your amazing skills, aren't I?"

You blushed, waving your hand in the air as a hint for him to leave so he would stop flustering you. He ran over to kiss your cheek, leaving a Hershey kiss on your desk before yelling out that he'd be at the gym with Harrison for the next two hours.

Wednesday had come by, and you were on a lunch break, leaving Jackson in charge before heading to your favorite café for coffee and some light reading, and maybe even more planning. Heading in, you ordered and sat down in a booth. The door chime rung, making you look up from your papers and notebooks you had spread out to start your organizing. Tom, and what must've been his friend, walked in. You smiled as they went to the side of the restaurant with the small library of old, vintage books. They were facing away from you, sitting side by side in the angled lounge chairs. You were about to go over to and say 'hi' but your waitress came by with your coffee, so you stayed seated and went back to your work.

You saw Tom with the Tupperware box you gave him, enclosed with the small lunch note you always wrote him. He opened the box, giving a cupcake to the man talking to him (you were right in earshot), before reaching in for his, and the note. Before he got the chance to even look at it, his friend spoke up, frosting on his upper lip.

"You said these were made by a friend? This is fucking disgusting. Is it chocolate or..? Damn, ew, is this frosting healthy?" he laughed.

Tom nodded along, "I, uh, honestly couldn't uhm.." he trailed off, his friend looking at him with a confused expression, expectantly thinking for Tom to agree with him. "Yeah, man, I don't really fucking know."

His friend took another small nibble before playfully gagging, and looking at Tom while he bit into it for the first time. Tom reacted in the same way, 'gagging', to agree with his friend, before putting it on the table with his friend's cupcake.

"Who made that? Certainly wasn't Gordon Ramsey."

At this, Tom laughed. Whether he thought it was funny, or if he was just trying to ease the tension, you couldn't tell. You were too busy blinking tears away.

"You said you had tea?" he questioned Tom. Tom nodded. "Good, need something to wash away that disgusting thing people call a cupcake."

You cringed, turning your head to the side with squinted eyes because you truly couldn't sit there and listen to what someone thought was wrong with your life's work.

Tom didn't reply, just getting the tea in the thermoses in his bag, handing one to his friend while opening his. You were contemplating on if his lack of response was a good thing. On one hand, he wasn't completely encouraging the hate you were getting, but on the other hand, he didn't stick up for you either. Right now, that was all you could think about. But then, everything slipped your mind when both boys tried the tea you had specially made (early, for it wasn't to be sold in your shop for about another month) just for them.

Tom opened his thermos, smiling when he took a sniff at it, because you were right. It smelt like something he would love. His friend, however, would not agree. Taking one sip, he was just as rude about it as he was with the cupcake, going as far as spitting it back into the thermos.

He got up, taking both cupcakes with him, and dumped the thermos out in the trash can, the cupcakes following not long after. He sat down next to Tom, shaking his head with a coy grin before speaking.

"Next time, let's get Chinese or something," he laughed, Tom nodding along with him before slipping both thermoses back into his bag, dropping your note in the process. Before he got to pick it up, his friend crumpled it up and threw it towards the trash can, laughing probably a little too loudly about it. You were certain he knew it was a note from Tom's girlfriend. 

You were still for five minutes, stunned. Ultimately, you decided to cut your lunch break short, packing up your stuff as quickly as possible, leaving a tip and rushing out, your back to the boys.

You had yet to bring anything up, though you weren't noticeably acting different around Tom. But when he mentioned the next week that his 'old friend' wanted to "eat dinner and get drunk" you were hesitant. You hoped this 'friend' was temporary, because the effects were already starting to show, and you didn't like what they were.

Tom didn't tell you when he'd be out with, Andrew, he said his name was? but you didn't think it would be the immediate week after the cupcake incident.

You were sitting on the kitchen stool, jotting down ideas for your shop when he came in.

"Oh, Y/N! Andrew and I decided to go out this Friday, said something about clubbing or shit. Anyways, he said don't expect me home early, but I might sneak away if he's drunk enough," he said, rather quickly, for while he was talking, he was filling a water bottle and grabbing some fruit.

"Wait, this Friday? I thought we-"

"Thanks, Y/N! Gotta head out," he was practically yelling, running to kiss you on the cheek before racing out and slamming the door shut.

Did he mean this Friday? His only day off for the rest of the month, the one where you two planned a film night, with take away and late night talks and star walks in the park?

It was only eight o'clock on a Wednesday morning, your late opening day, but you decided to head in early. Walking in, Jackson had already opened for you, being the gentleman he is, just setting up for the day, knowing you didn't want to walk in to a store full of customers without being there. He was sitting at a window table with his boyfriend, Jeremy, giggling and eating a muffin. When the door chime rung, he looked up, his boyfriend turning around to smile and wave while Jackson was coming towards you.

"Hey, Y/N! We're a little short on shortbread today," he laughed at his pun, "so I put in a new batch about 20 minutes ago. The chalk board is set up and the cappuccino machine is on-" he was about to turn away before he stopped abruptly. "Oh! And Tom stopped by while I was in the back. Jeremy said that he wanted you to know something about not eating cupcakes for this new diet? I don't know, he mentioned something about Anthony telling him about some diet that would help fo-"

"Andrew!" Jeremy cut in from behind, correcting him.

"Right, Andrew told him it would help for his job. So he said to stop making his weekly order."

"Oh," you weren't quite sure what you could say. Thank you? What the fuck? It was all jumbled into your brain too fast. "Thank you, J. Well, guess we should open shop for the day." With that, you worked until seven-thirty, an hour later than you usually would.

Arriving home, you walked in and set your bag down, heading for the kitchen to get water. Mid-drink, Tom walked in.

"Why are you home so late?"

You swallowed, placing the cup down, "I was working," you deadpanned, maneuvering around him so your shoulder wouldn't hit his on your way out. He followed you into the living room.

"It's almost 8!"

"Yeah? I don't know what you want me to say, Tommy. I'm sorry? I'll tell you what you want to hear, but that doesn't mean I mean it. "

He was silent for a second, laughing slightly, seemingly letting it go. You weren't joking, but you didn't want to argue, yet. "Right," he laughed again, "Sorry. I did want to talk to you though."

"We are talking."

"Smartass," he joked. You giggled slightly. "I've got to go back to press next week. I leave on Tuesday." You stopped laughing. 

"For how long?"

"I'm always gonna be away for the same amount of time, Y/N, you know that. I'll be back mid October." 

October? It was only the beginning of April.

"Well, I'll be back in London for a few days in July so you'll have that. Press ends around September, but I need to finish up Chaos Walking. I'll be here for Halloween though," he smiled encouragingly.

You nodded. "Okay.. do great things, Tommy," you always told him.

Friday rolled around, and you you were going to close the shop early for your night with Tom, but he was going out, so your plans were out the window. Instead, [your best friend] would be coming over at around eight. Tom would be gone by that time, right?

It didn't matter, because he wasn't even home when you got back from work. It was barely seven, you two usually had dinner together. Well, not this past week because he had plans with Harrison, and his brothers, and Andrew, and Tuwaine...and practically everyone else. Seeing as you had about an hour, you decided to shower, changing into some casual clothes. Tom was going clubbing... he wouldn't be back before 4 A.M., right? You didn't care, [your best friend] would spend the night anyways. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

You were wearing a cute tank, your favorite sleepwear, and some loose sweat pants. You were drying your hair with a towel when the doorbell rang. It rang again, so with the towel in your hand you ran down the stairs, yelling, "just a second," but it rang again. You swung the door open, confused, because [your best friend] always came in unannounced because you two were completely comfortable with each other. Instead, you were met with the boy from the cafe, Andrew. You looked around, and saw Tom's car parked by the curb, Tom waiting in the driver's seat while talking to someone in the back.

"Hey, Tom texted you or- whatever. We're going clubbing, can you get his stuff?"

"Uhm.. stuff?"

"Yeah.. he said you'd put his stuff inna backpack so he could get ready at my place," he answered confidently, as if you knew about this.

"I'm- uh, sorry? I don't have anything," you answered.

"What?" his eyes were wide with annoyance and disbelief.

The car honked, and Andrew turned around, shrugging his shoulder and mouthing something to Tom, before Tom came out and up to you.

"Didn't you get my text, Y/N? About the stuff sitting on my dresser?" he asked, straight up without so much as a 'hello' or 'how're you?'.

"No, I- no. No I didn't get your text, Tom."

"Well-"

"Well?" you interrupted.

"Thanks for, nothing I guess," he responded, moving past you and into the house to retrieve his things. Once again, you were left with Andrew on your porch, only this time he was eyeing you up and down, winking at you before yelling to Tom and going back to the car, Tom following not long after. This time, he didn't even bother saying goodbye on his way out. Just as they drove off, [your best friend] walked up.

"What the hell was that?" she shrieked.

"What?"

"That whole, 'thanks for nothing' bullshit. What kind of boyfriend thinks he can say that to his girlfriend?!"

You started heading in, taking one of her bags with you as she followed you inside. Placing her things down, you turned around, giving her a bear hug which she gladly returned.

"It wasn't that bad. Besides, he's been worse this week," you explained.

She was silent for a moment, shaking her head before talking. "Okay, I see why you called for a girl's night on such short notice. C'mon, lets get changed into some pajamas and get the snacks ready. It's been far too long since we've had actual time with each other," she gave you a sentimental smile, soft and sweet. You nodded, already planning on what to get and where to make the fort of blankets you already knew she wanted.

About half an hour later, she was in comfortable clothes, and you were in the kitchen making hot chocolate, getting chips and dip and pretzels and candy and everything in between. You had both decided to use the guest bedroom, which was accompanied with it's own bathroom. The room was probably a little smaller than the master bedroom, which was normal, but the bathroom was more expensive than yours. Plus, this one was used when the boys came over, so the Xbox, all the video games, movies, and the music equipment was here. Even with all this expensive stuff, the room was still as big as ever, so putting a fort in front of the bed barely took up any space.

You had to make at least three trips for all the food and stuff you were bringing, and because this was a guest bedroom, it had a mini refrigerator. Both of you decided to keep it pg-13, no alcohol or rated-R movies. Tonight, it was a Disney marathon with hot cocoa. At around 11:30, you had just finished your third movie, Beauty and the Beast, when [your best friend] stopped the ending credits and turned to you.

"Before we watch anything else," she turned to you while you did the same, "let's talk. We can fall asleep watching Disney, but we can't fall asleep and keep talking," you interrupted her, laughing, before nodding away. "So.. what's going on? With Tom, I mean, because you mentioned that he was worse earlier this week than he was today, and tonight he was pretty nasty so I mean- yeah, what else has he done?"

You paused, looking down and sighing, giving in. "Well, it started with Andrew, some 'old friend' he wanted to catch up with. I gave Tom some cupcakes and tea from the shop to eat with him. I was on my lunch break when the boys came into the same cafe and started eating. They didn't like it and- well.. they sorta threw it out after gagging about it," you said. Her eyes went wide. "I don't know, [best friend's nickname], I mean at first I was stunned, hurt obviously because it seemed to be on purpose because Tom knows I always go to that cafe on my lunch break. Is it a coincidence that he came to the same cafe at the exact same time I have my lunch break?"

You went on to explain how Tom had cancelled two dinner dates and a movie night within the past two weeks, and that he was going clubbing without inviting you, cancelling his weekly cupcake order and calling you clingy after you texted him about making sure he ate dinner. Not to mention he only just mentioned him leaving next week on a press tour, and spending his only day off with Andrew even though you two had planned spending that day together for a month.

By the time you were done listing off all the reasons, you were sobbing into [your best friend's] chest, trying to catch your breath. It was too late though, because Tom wasn't here and the events leading up to an attack like this could have only been noticed by him, seeing as [your best friend] wasn't here to see them herself. You couldn't hear anything, your pounding heart being the only thing filling your ears. [Your best friend's] attempt to calm you down wasn't working, resorting to the breathing exercises which were slowly drowned out. You could't even get a breath in. The realization hit you: if you didn't take control, you would faint. You had never had an attack this intense in at least four months, so everything needed to help you would take too long to get.

You gripped her arm, unable to focus on anything except for the fact that you were going to faint.

"I'm here, Y/N, I'm right here. It's going to be okay, right? We're gonna work things out. Yeah? Everything's gonna be alright. We're gonna be alright. We'll be alright," she cooed.

You blacked out, only for about two minutes, but you did. When you woke, you sobbed again, finding a steady breath before completely crushing [your best friend] with a hug, gripping her tightly.

"Thank you," you whispered.

She got you settled, convincing you to snack lightly before brushing your teeth, making sure you drank water. The fort was ready, untouched since your movie marathon, so you both climbed in and fell asleep watching Disney.

Four hours later, it was four o'clock in the morning, and the front door slammed shut.

"Y/N!" Tom slurred, dragging out the last syllable of your name. "Y/N!" he repeated, the same way but louder. "Where the fu-! OH! OW!" he screamed.

You and [your best friend] were already starting to sit up, confusion spreading across your faces before she got up, following her directly after. She opened the bedroom the door, and you stepped out, making your way down the stairs and seeing Tom sitting on the ground, missing a shoe with a rip on his shirt sleeve.

"There you are! I wus at the club a-and Andrew and I were hanging out and he took home some girl- he said if he was getting laid that I should come home and get laid by my lame-ass girlfriend, so come here! Fuck me!" he slurred, talking too loudly for your liking.

"Did you just call her a lame-"

"Tom, you're drunk. Go to bed," you cut her off, knowing how protective she would get. Honestly, you wanted her to scream and shout and yell at him, and you wanted to join her. But if you were going to, you wanted him to be completely sober so the guilt would really sink in.

"No wonder you're a lame-ass," he muttered.

"What was that?" [your best friend] yelled.

"Nothing! I'm going up to bed, see?" He looked at both of you before running up the stairs like a kid.

You both stood there, a little hesitant, before going up the stairs, talking on your way.

"Y/N, I swear if you hit him, you better knock some sense into him because that boy is so ridiculously stupid and undeserving of your love."

You laughed, growing quiet because you were beginning to think she was right. 

The next morning, you and [your best friend] got up at nine to make pancakes and bacon, your usual sleepover breakfast. The speaker was playing One Direction, both of you singing and slightly dancing when Tom came downstairs, disheveled and hungover.

It was Saturday, his last Saturday with you, but it had taken him too long to get interested in hanging out with his girlfriend. "Hey, Y/N. Wanna do something today?" he asked.

[Your best friend] looked at you, but you had already made up your mind. "Sorry, Tom, [your best friend] and I are going shopping together. Next time, though,"  you said, before putting your dishes in the sink and slipping out of the room, [your best friend] following you out.

That night, you and your best friend departed ways, telling her you'd call and let her know when she could come over again. You got home, and decided to put your new things in the guest bedroom, because your clothes from last night were still there. The mess, luckily, was cleaned up thanks to [your best friend], who convinced you to help with the cleanup.

It was nearly ten-thirty by the time you got situated. You were in a new set of pajamas, sitting in front of the tele in the guest bedroom on the floor, looking at all the new things you bought. You found this super cute sweater, and a pair of jeans [your best friend] insisted on buying for you. You also found a pair of shoes to go with an outfit you had planned in your head; it was perfect. People say your looks shouldn't matter, but you felt good when you looked good, so you loved fashion. Overall, you and [your best friend] must have spent at least $800.

At around 11, you heard footsteps running around the house, before Tom came into the guest bedroom.

"What're you doing in here? Aren't you gonna sleep in our room?" he looked worried.

You lowered the shirt you were looking at, making eye contact. You hesitated, "I- yeah... Yeah I guess."

"You guess?"

You just shook your head, trying to be playful with it, but ending up avoiding his gaze all together and going back to looking at your new things.

"Y/N?"

You looked up, "Yeah?"

He looked --  surprised almost? There seemed to be a glint of hurt in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.

You nodded, getting up and setting the shirt back in its bag, "C'mon, lets just go to bed."

He mumbled an agreement, turning around and walking to your bedroom. You left the guest room, closing the door and going into your room. It was weird-- to even consider it your bedroom, because you hadn't slept in it for about three days. The last time you did, Tom wasn't with you. Was it normal? Did all couples go through things like this? You didn't have much time to dwell on the thought, because you were already under the covers, sleep consuming you before Tom got the chance to talk to you about anything.

It was almost noon when you woke up on Sunday. Rolling over, you felt Tom's side of the bed empty. The feeling of the cold sheets didn't come as a surprise to you, he was gone every time you woke up even though he didn't start filming until around 10 A.M. . It was different this time, because it was your last weekend together. He was always at home on the weekends he wasn't away filming. 

You pulled the covers off you, walking downstairs into the kitchen where you were met with Tom and Haz, quietly whispering things to each other. You didn't get to listen long, for both boys shot up and stood straighter, smiling to you. You just looked at them, slightly rolling your eyes before grabbing some juice and heading back into the guest bedroom.

When you came down ten minutes later for breakfast, both boys were talking normally again.

"Just talk to her, alright man?" Haz spoke.

"What am I supposed to say man? I can't just go up to my girlfriend and tell her I'm fucking pissed at how she's been ignoring me. Not gonna be rude like her-"

"Woah- woah woah, Tom. She's not that rude. Just have a civilized conversation with her. It's easy, you're just overthinking it."

"Okay.. okay, yeah- yeah," he stuttered, turning around on his heal but abruptly stopping when he saw you standing in the doorway. His jaw dropped, noticing your anger immediately.

"Maybe I should go-" Harrison started.

"No, no don't bother. I'll go, it's obvious you both want it."

You turned around, going up to Tom's bedroom and getting a change of clothes, immediately putting on your jeans and the rest of your outfit, before Tom came barging in.

"No- Y/N, I'm sorry. Please, let's talk," he begged.

You ignored him, getting some more clothes, enough to last you two days, before going into the bathroom for your makeup bag and some deodorant. Going back into the closet, you grabbed your work backpack, making sure all your notebooks and journals were in it, before shoving the things you had in to join them.

"Y/N, please. I-  listen to me, please. I'm sorry, let's just talk. Talk it through, yeah?" he asked.

You looked up, talking rather emotionless. "No. We can talk when we've both thought our shit through, although I thought it was only you who needed to get their shit together, but obviously I was wrong. I'll be back after work on Monday, if you're even here to notice." With that, you moved past him, grabbing your phone and texting [your best friend], picking up your keys from it's hook and heading for the door. Haz was standing in the living room, and when you passed him he gave you a sentimental look, but you payed no mind as you glared him down, opening the door and slamming it in Tom's face, for he was downstairs too late.

About 10 hours had passed since you left, and Tom had only thought about you for two of them. Andrew and 'the gang' had called him, insisting that him and Haz join them for some fun. Tom had reluctantly agreed, much to Harrison's dismay.

At around eleven o'clock, Tom had had enough 'fun'. The guilt in him was killing him, but his anger for you was killing him even more. Telling Haz he'd be heading out, he drove home, getting into bed and thinking about what you'd talk about when you got back.

Monday had passed, and you were doing better than you thought you would be. You opened shop about 30 minutes early that Monday morning, knowing it was better to keep yourself occupied. It was [your best friend's] week off, so she offered to come with you to work, and 'volunteer' almost. She had quite some experience in waitress-ing , so you gave her that job. Around noon, Tom came into the shop, and [your best friend] called out, "Incoming, [your nickname]."

You looked up from the cappuccino machine, turning around to face the door Tom had just entered. The minute you saw him coming towards you, you spoke. Luckily there weren't that many people around who didn't know you, so they didn't react when you yelled at Tom.

"Get out."

"I just wanted to-"

"Get OUT!" you yelled, louder when Tom didn't listen to you.

He moved forward, leaving a Hershey kiss near the cash register, looking to you for your reaction. You picked it up, and threw it to [your best friend], who unwrapped it and ate it herself. He left after she pointed towards the door.

When you closed shop, you decided to head home, seeing as he was leaving tomorrow and you had obviously thought a lot about what to do. The only option, really: talk it out.

Walking in, you placed your bag by the door and went to get some water in the kitchen. Tom was standing there, staring into space. He noticed you come in, and immediately stood up straighter, obviously becoming more aware of his surroundings.

"Are you- are we talking now?"

"I'm here, yeah. Let's talk," you answered setting your cup down.

"What's your problem?" he asked. You looked at him like he was crazy, so he went on. "I mean, these past few weeks, you've completely ignored me. And when you did acknowledge me, it was a rather rude encounter. "

"You think I'm rude?" he nodded, and you scoffed. "Well I'm sorry you think I'm rude. You wanna know what I think is rude?"

"Look, I'm sorry my being honest upset you. But nobody said the truth was nice," he interrupted.

"Tom, what the fuck?"

"I'm just saying! Out of the two of us, you're the one who has more problems!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that you are always the one who cries over shit, and gets upset at little things," he answered. You looked at him in disbelief. "What I'm saying is you're over-dramatic and too sensitive."

"Oh for fuck's sake," you started. "You just- you just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"You said to talk! I'm talking!"

"You're being completely unreasonable."

"Am I? Because all you've talked about is how you think I'm crazy. Do you even have anything to say?"

"Fine! You want me to talk? I'll talk. I've been rude to you because you are the one who let that man you call a fucking friend insult my life's work. You completely agreed with him, took in my hate and didn't even stand up for me!" You yelled. Tom didn't know you knew about that, and he was about to interject but you kept going, "And to make things worse, you kept seeing him! Every single fucking week, it was 'Andrew said this!' 'Andrew said that!'. You cancelled dates to see him! Call me over-dramatic, but when your boyfriend cancels a date on his only day off, I think most girls would be pretty fucking pissed," you walked out of the kitchen.

Tom was in the living room too, following you. "Yeah, well I'm sorry I cancelled our plans, but we live together. Don't you think we see enough of each other because of that?"

"Wha- what?"

"Think about it! We see each other all time because we live together," he reasoned.

"Yeah, I guess you're right,"

"See-"

"If you were ever around, I would see you a lot. But you're never around, so no, Tom, we don't see each other a lot. I work too, remember!"

"Not like I do," he mumbled.

"What?" you yelled.

"Nothing."

"No, Tommy. If you have something to say, you better fucking say it or so help me-"

"I said 'not like I do'!"

"What? Because I'm not some movie star with his head up his ass, I don't work hard?"

"My head's not in my ass, yours is! All I wanted to do was talk things out, not get fucking blamed for things that aren't my fault!"

"Yeah? Well all I wanted was someone better," you quipped back.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"What have I done wrong! Please, enlighten me! All you've done is complain about the stupidest things!"

"So my feelings are stupid, now?"

"Did I fucking say they were?" he yelled, voice raising as he stepped closer.

"Sounded like it to me!" you yelled, raising your voice to meet his.

"Just tell me! Do you have anything else to say?"

"You- you really are stupid, Tom."

"No, Y/N. I'm not. You are, not even telling me why you're so fucking angry at me."

"I'm angry because I had my first attack in months because of you. You! The person who told me he'd always be there to help me through one, not cause one. I'm angry because you go out without even bothering to ask if I'd like to join you. A-And then you just throw it at me that you're leaving for, what? Seven months?!  Not to mention you completely stopped eating things from my shop because of a so-called diet? And you're off with that Andrew guy, who eyed me like a pervert even though he knows I'm taken. You know how uncomfortable I am with that! And don't you dare say you didn't know, when you're the one coming home drunk telling me he's picked up another girl and telling you that you should go home and get laid too. God knows you'd listen to him if he asked you to cheat on me. Not to mention how you called me fucking clingy because I was checking up on you. You want me to stop making sure you're okay? You want me to stop caring?" you screamed. "Because you say the words and I will fucking back off for good. "

He was silent for a second, only missing a beat, contemplating on if he should apologize or keep fighting. Because he didn't want you to be angry, but he wanted to win. He needed to win. "Yeah, I wish you would back the fuck off. You're always on me!" he screamed. "And I get wanting to be affectionate, but you're just fucking sickening. Too much love."

That made you stop. "You think I'm loving you too much?" you asked quietly, and Tom looked at you, really looked at you, after hearing the change in your voice. You were quiet, practically whispering now. It wavered slightly, your eyes were glossy and red.

"I- I didn't-" he started, but it was no use. The damage was done.

He knew better than anyone about your past, which had caused a massive buildup in insecurities that were inevitably killing you. When you met Tom, he had promised to discard each and every one of your insecurities until you loved yourself as much as he did.

"No, you did. And you fucking know it." You were walking upstairs, getting yet another bag ready to last you until Tom left for his press tour.

"No, no Y/N, I'm sorry. Listen to me, baby. I didn't mean it," he begged.

"You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it," you said, choosing a few shirts to shove into your backpack. "Your intentions were pretty clear, Tommy. I'll stop caring for you, stop putting in effort for this toxic relationship. I'll stop loving you, because right now, it seems like loving you is the one thing wrong with me," you said, finding some pants and your makeup bag.

You were making your way downstairs now, "Y/N, Y/N please. Please I need you. I can't leave us like this- not when I leave tomorrow."

"What 'us,' Tom? There is no 'us' anymore."

"What're you saying?" he asked, tears finally falling from his face.

"I'm saying it's time I move on from you. Moving on means not having you. So, we're done," you opened the front door.

Tom stood in the doorway while you gripped the handle. "So- we- we're.."

"I'll be out before you come in July," you filled in. With that you slammed the door, driving to [your best friend's] house, while Tom sobbed on the floor in what used to be a home of two people who loved each other.

[lavender-long-stories]

@munchbell45. I wasn't thinking that someone would use it as an ask game of sorts. XD - I guess I should answer, too.

(I love the multi Hinata idea~)

Do you guys have any writing/life plans for the next year?

For writing: I am still planning, so this is subject to change.

I am currently trying to pick out approx. one multi-chapter story per pairing for the year (excluding SasuHina because that is always multiple a year). This initial selection is just so I have stories to focus on, but if a new, better idea, or I go feral on something in my concept list, I will switch out. (This is what I did last year to wonderful success.)

I think I will go for 1 Million words as my base, since I proved I could do it this year.

But I think *less* one-shots @_@ I think I did too many this year, and I should stick to what I am good at.

For Life:

For those who don't know, I make nearly all my food from scratch (preservative allergies), and there are a few foods that I would like to add to my rotation that I can't eat the store-bought versions of.

English Muffins, being one that I bought rings for and just haven't got around to it yet and mustard, which I am currently working on, but what I made is WAY too strong, and I think I did something wrong. XD.

I have a habit of knitting at parties and family outings, so this year, I made a TON of the one thing I know how to make pumpkins, but I made and gave away so many I think I will need to come up with another simple pattern for the next year so I am not settled with 30 more pumpkins and no one who wants them. (especially since I know my MIL is getting me a set of round needles this year)

What do you do with this energy? (I clearly make brain dumps)

So I will make this a little more clear.

What I like to do is write down ALL the thoughts while I have this energy and then organize them in a way that will suit me when the energy passes. I usually get 'do all the things' energy shortly after, and it's nice to have a massive list to check through. If I don't end up with that energy, I will have the list when I do.

How are you going to make your life better for the next year? (I love to find new quality-of-life improvements~)

I like to make an ongoing 'annoyances' checklist of little things like 'trash piling up at my desk' or 'forgot deodorant this morning' and find solutions to them like 'buy trash can for desk' and 'extra deodorant in the place I am at when I realize I forgot to put it on.' (The holiday deal season is a good time to get things to fix these or ask for them for Christmas.)

I have done this for enough time. I don't actually run into these little annoyances now, and I'm down to things that can only really be fixed by routine, so that is what I need to work on.

Like cleaning the damn coffee pot and lunch or dinner, so it's not left until I am grumpy and ready for bed.

What do you think I should add to my lists? 🫣🫣

Since this is my question, I will tell YOU what I think YOU should add to your list.

One more story. One that you would love to read.

Help! I am buried in a sea of growing to-do lists. >-<

I am apparently in the mood to write every thought about the next month and the coming year down, and I now have 6 pages across 4 notebooks of brain-dumped notes for various parts of my life (work/life/writing) and counting.

I have some exciting new ideas for next year (writing-wise - that is what you guys care about, right XD) and a lovely mountain of things I want to do before Christmas. I use my holiday party as an excuse to violently get every inch of my house in order, which adds a nice bonus of having it ready for the new year.

I love abusing this mood to get as much out of it while I have it, but it came out at an inconvenient time since it's my heavy writing day. Oh well.

This got me thinking:

Do you guys have any writing/life plans for the next year?

What do you do with this energy? (I clearly make brain dumps)

How are you going to make your life better for the next year? (I love to find new quality-of-life improvements~)

What do you think I should add to my lists? 🫣🫣

[earliebirb]

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 

“Hello?” 

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 

Come back home to me. 

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 

That is not, in fact, what happens. 

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Two / Mocha

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

Summary: Javier learns his fate. You take him out to that dinner you promised.

W/C: 2.8k

Warnings: language, mentions of food, tooth-rotting fluff. I mean it. 

A/N: HI FRIENDS if you can’t already tell from my blog, I LOVE red velvet cake and this chapter is highly self indulgent. This fic is so near and dear to me because I really relate to the reader and put more of myself in her than I do others. I hope you guys enjoy!!!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Mocha: espresso, steamed milk, and chocolate. Beloved for the sweet taste.

To his surprise, Javier didn’t get fired. In fact, they didn’t even mention Los Pepes. He walked in there, sweating bullets and filled with anxiety and caffeine, only to learn that they weren’t the review board. They were operations, and asked Javier what he knew about the Calí cartel. Afraid it was a trap, he didn’t answer, until the man across from him cracked a smile and told him about his new assignment.

“Your work with Escobar and the Medellín cartel was unconventional, but we needed it. If you’ll accept our offer, we’d like to assign you to Calí to head the investigation into their cartel.”

Javier’s brain froze in shock. He was wordless, staring blankly ahead and furrowing his brow. After a few moments, he mustered out all that he could. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, Agent Peña. With the assignment would additionally come a raise in pay and rank, as well as-”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it.”

“We haven’t finished the offer-”

“I’ll take it, sir. Thank you,” he said, nodding.

“Well… take this,” he said, making Javier stand from the chair across from the room and take the file from his hands. “This is the information you’ll need, including your new pay and details. We are asking that you take at least some of your banked vacation time. You have several months of it, Peña. Our code requires that-” 

Javier’s fully aware of this policy. Use it or lose it. Unfortunately, he’d never had much time or want for vacation while chasing Escobar. What would he do? “Yeah, give me a month off,” he said mindlessly as he opened the file and scanned over the front page, in utter disbelief. He registered his surroundings after a second and looked up. “You won’t regret it, sir. Thank you,” he says and shakes the man’s hand before leaving the room.

Now, Javier stands at a payphone outside of the embassy, dialing your number in his pocket. When you pick up and ask who’s there, he laughs happily. “They didn’t fire me!”

“Congratulations,” you laugh as you realize it must be Javier. “What all happened?”

“I actually got promoted,” he admits, the adrenaline and caffeine rushing through his bloodstream. “It was absolutely crazy. They didn’t even mention Los Pepes or anything, just-”

“Are you ready for me to pick you up now?” You ask, cutting him off. “You can tell me the rest over some food. You need it. You didn’t eat that muffin I brought you.”

“What are you, my mother?” He asks dryly, but he’s too excited to be too annoyed. “No, I’ll head back to the hotel. Pick me up in 30 minutes?”

“Sounds great. Congratulations, Javier,” you tell him, grinning into the receiver. 

“Call me Javi.”

“Okay… Javi,” you say, biting your lip to hold back from giggling. “I’ll see you then.”

There’s a click and the phone line goes dead. You start giggling happily, flopping back onto the couch. Javier makes his way to the hotel, smiling. He lights up a cigarette, sighing at the way the warmth of the lighter contrasts the cold and snowy air. 

-

Holy fuck. You’re going on what could possibly be considered a date with a really hot guy and you need to get dressed, quick. You hurry around your tiny apartment, throwing on something nice-looking and messing with your hair. You spritz on some perfume, straighten yourself in the mirror, and rush out to the street. 

Georgetown is beautiful in the snow, you smile to yourself, but you wince as you realize the snow might slow you down. Your car is a piece of shit, you have to admit, but you love it. Her name is Whitney, in honor of Whitney Houston, and you beg and plead with her to behave as you make your way to Javier’s hotel. 

The radio plays some music quietly, and a handsome dark-haired man stands outside of the hotel, smoking a cigarette when you arrive. You flash your high-beams at him and he smiles as he puts out the cigarette and tosses it in the trash. “Hi,” you almost sing as he gets in the car. “Are you a hugger?”

“Am I a what?” He frowns and asks, looking at you. 

“Do you like hugs?” You ask, as if it’s obvious.

“I… don’t really receive many. They’re nice, I guess,” he shrugs as he looks you up and down quickly. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he tells you.

Warmth collects in your chest at his words. “Well, thank you. And I ask because I wanted to give you a hug of congratulations. I’m a big hugger,” you shrug a little and tilt your head as you look at him. He looks nice, in a button-up and those tight jeans you saw him in earlier.

A car honks behind you and you jump, awkwardly waving behind you and taking off so the next car can drive up to the hotel. Javier chuckles a little. “Well… I do like hugs, I guess. No one has ever asked me that.”

You look at him briefly, with confusion in your eyes, before they find the road again. “What a sad, sad life,” you chuckle. “I suppose. Are you… like, recently single? Did you date when you were in Colombia?” You ask innocently.

Javier exhales in a light chuckle. “No, never really had a relationship. Lots of flings,” he admits, finding that to be the best word to describe his situation. “But no relationships.”

You nod along, eyes scanning the road as you drive to dinner. “I see.”

“How about you?” He asks, wanting to deflect the attention from himself. That seems to be a common theme with him, you’ve noticed. All the conversations center around you, no matter how hard you try to talk about him. 

“Well, no. I haven’t really gone out much or done anything, really. I’m a bit of a homebody, but once I’m out I enjoy it. Problem is you can’t find a date from the couch.”

You reach the restaurant not much later, parking outside. You get out after chatting a little more, and Javi is taken by surprise when you wrap your arms around him in a big hug. “Uh, hi?” He laughs. He instinctively returns it, enjoying the feeling of your body pressed to his. He hasn’t had anything so tender in a long time. 

“I told you, it’s a congratulatory hug!” You say with a grin as you squeeze him then break away. “I’m happy for you.”

He smiles down at you. “I… thank you. That was nice.”

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” you tell him and lead him inside, opening the door and heading into the restaurant. 

-

Javier is a fantastic conversationalist. He tells stories with his hands, vividly explaining stories from the chase for Escobar. He tells you of his partner, Steve, and his crazy methods; about Colonel Carillo, who he still thinks is one of the strongest men he’s ever met; of Stechner, who you already want to gut-punch if you ever meet. 

You watch him and admire the way his eyes dart about when he’s telling a story, the way he draws maps on the table with his fingers that you have no hope of understanding. 

The food is great but the company is better. Javier’s laugh is a beautiful sound, one rarely heard by others. He listens to you just as attentively, smiling as you talk about the coffee shop, about Georgetown, all of your life. 

By the end of the night, it’s easy to declare that you really, really like Javier. You like the way his lips quirk up in a smile, his intelligence and humor. You don’t want the night to end, truly. 

When the bill comes, he takes it before you can even try. “Hey, I told you I was paying as a congratulatory dinner,” you frown. 

“That can be another dinner,” he says mindlessly as he signs the receipt. “I always pay on the first date.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” You beam at him, tilting your head, eyes twinkling. 

He smiles as he looks up at you. “I was thinking it was. I have at least a month off work now, to be wherever I want and I have nothing to do. I’d like to properly take my time to get to know you,” he offers, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. 

“It seems like nothing about you is proper, Javi,” you tease and sip your drink, quirking an eyebrow. 

He mirrors you, sipping his drink too. “That’s fair. But we’re in the nation’s capital, I suppose we should be a little more…”

You look at him and try to fill in the blank, smiling. “Practical? Traditional?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what I meant to say there.”

You chuckle a little. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I like the sound of that.”

-

After dinner, you give Javier a little tour of Georgetown through the windows of your crappy car. The snow from earlier in the day has collected, dusting the tops of window sills and awnings over shop entries. Despite the snow, the car thermometer reads that it’s somewhat warm for the time of year.

There’s one warm little place with glowing lights. Despite the hour of night, it’s clearly open. Javier asks what it is. “Oh, that’s a little bakery,” you comment. “My favorite place, honestly. Their red velvet cupcake is fantastic.”

“That sounds good. I like chocolate more, to be honest,” he comments. 

You continue driving for a few seconds, rolling your eyes. “They have a good one there, but it’s so one-dimensional. It’s just chocolate with chocolate on top. Red velvet is the best because you have the cake and the tangy frosting, and-“

“Pull over?” Javier asks, and you look at him in confusion but pull into a parking spot obediently and quickly. 

Your eyes are wide in confusion. “What?” You ask him, concerned that something is wrong with the car. 

“I’m buying you dessert,” he chuckles and gets out. 

Your heart falls then and there for him. If you haven’t already decided, now you know that there’s no turning back. You want Javier Peña with a passion. “Jesus Christ, you could’ve told me that,” you laugh and turn off the car, getting off and bounding behind him. His long legs have already made strides ahead of you, leaving you to catch up. 

“You wouldn’t have stopped, would you?” He asks, the gentle snow leaving white flakes on his dark coat. He looks so pretty like this, the warm light from inside the bakery glowing against his dark hair. 

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling. “No, maybe not.” He opens the door for you and you thank him and follow him in. 

Javier walks to the counter and wastes no time. “Hi. I’ll take two red velvet cupcakes and two large coffees. How do you take yours?” He asks you as you join him at his side. 

“From my café,” you tease him, before turning to the woman behind the counter with a polite smile and asking for two sugars and two creams. Javier asks for his black. 

The two of you step back while she gets your order ready and you look at him, smiling a little. There are still soft white flakes in his wavy hair, which are slowly melting into water drops. 

You don’t know it, but he’s looking at you just the same. He admires you, smiling a little, just enough the quirk up one side of his mouth. “Thanks for buying,” you tell him and step a little closer. He’s warm, you can feel it radiating off of him, and the shop’s blasting cool air throughout. 

“Like I said,” he chuckles. “I always buy on the first date.” He reaches out to tuck a strand of your stray hair behind your ear. “Would you want to come up to my hotel room to eat the cupcakes?” He offers. 

You shake your head. “I work early tomorrow morning, I shouldn’t.”

Normally, Javier would be disappointed. Normally, he’d want to fuck you on the first date, leave you screaming his name until you can’t help but come back for more. But to his surprise, he doesn’t mind. He has a whole month to be with you, a whole month to fall for the woman he’s already half-lovesick over. “Not a problem,” he nods and walks to the counter as the woman calls that your order is ready. 

He hands you a large coffee, and you take a sip of the warm liquid, sighing. “There’s a little shelter out there,” you say, pointing to a bench with an awning above it to keep it clear from the snow. “Do you want to eat them out there?”

Javier half-smiles and nods. “That sounds good.”

It’s warm for the season, but there’s still a cool breeze. You hurry over and sit on the small bench, Javier sitting next to you. The sides of your thighs touch, and you’re both aware of it, the proximity this small bench forces you to squeeze into. Javier sets the box on his lap and opens it, revealing two red velvet cupcakes. “These look delicious.”

“They are,” you grin and pick one up, licking a bit of the frosting off the top and sighing in content with the taste. Javier watches you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the connotation. You look over at him with wide eyes, holding back a laugh. You both break down giggling at the action, your head falling against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to do that like... that, I swear,” you shake your head as you sit up straight again. 

“You looked good doing it,” he teases you and bumps your shoulder as you unwrap the paper. “I’m going to save mine for later.”

You frown at him. “Come on. I have to be here when you try the best dessert of all time.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m too full. I’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow or something.”

“Javi,” you whine. “There’s no point of you getting two if we don’t eat them together. You have to eat it, come on.”

Javier looks over at your cupcake, which has one bite taken. “Let me take a little bite of yours then.”

An idea strikes and you nod. “Sure,” you say casually, holding it up for him to eat it. When he goes in to bite it, you move it closer to his face, causing the cupcake to smash into his chin and onto his nose.

Javier thinks he’s the one that missed. “Fuck,” he laughs as he crosses his eyes as he looks down at his nose, seeing the cupcake and frosting smeared on his face. He sees you giggling and laughs. “Hey, you didn’t… what the fuck?” He laughs, bringing his face close to yours. “That was uncalled for.”

“You were being a grump. I had to,” you giggle, your face naturally coming closer to his.

“And we don’t even have napkins,” he shakes his head and looks at you. “How can I clean this up?”

Tilting your head, your eyes dart between his, smiling at the dark brown color and the way they soften under your gaze. “I have an idea,” you murmur, cupping the side of Javier’s face and setting the mashed cupcake back in the box. 

Just a moment later, your lips are on his. His eyes have fallen shut and he sighs as you kiss him, a hand finding your waist and pulling you closer to him. He sets the box on the bench behind him and scoots closer, a hand on the side of your neck. 

He tastes like coffee and cream cheese frosting, his lips unbearably soft for such a hardened man. You soften him with your touch, when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you. 

He’s in fucking Heaven, he thinks, murmuring your name against your lips. He knows you already, knows the kind of person you are. He’d figured you’d maybe give a chaste kiss on the first date if you liked the person enough. The voracity of your lips against his tells him you might just reciprocate the intensity of the deep ache in his ribs he feels for you. 

After a moment, you break away and smile softly. “I didn’t get all of it,” you frown as you see that there’s still some frosting on Javier’s nose. 

“At least now we match,” he teases and wipes your face of some red crumbs that transferred to your chin with the pad of his thumb. 

You giggle and press your forehead to his, the warmth of his body perfect against yours in the slight chill of the December night. “Will you come visit me at work again tomorrow?” You ask him. 

“Only if you make me a drink that tastes as good as you do.”

-

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[spooderboyandtincan]

You’re Gonna Miss Me

(When I’m Gone)

Read on Ao3

/ST*RKERS DNI/

~~~~~

Tony doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

That’s a lie. Utter bullshit. He’s lying to himself. Tony knows exactly why his heart is fluttering in his chest like he’d run a marathon, why his chest struggled to rise like there was twenty pound weight rested on it. 

Though to be fair, when he made an anonymous donation of a meager 50,000 dollars to Midtown Science and Technology, he hadn’t expected Peter’s decathlon team to put in a request to the school board to travel abroad, and he definitely hadn’t expected the school to immediately approve it. He thought they’d use it to replace the sudsy water in the bathrooms they called soap with the real stuff or some shit, not whisk his kid away to Vienna for a whole week where Tony couldn’t even hug him, couldn’t protect him. 

Peter is thrilled, though. Ecstatic. When he’d broken the news to Tony and May, he’d been over the moon with excitement, his round cheeks flushed pink and his eyes gleaming. Even two weeks ago, Tony had felt a deep sense of apprehension kindling in his chest, but with the date seemingly so far away, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. 

He wishes now that he’d done something. He should have told Peter he couldn’t bear to be without him like he was an actor in a cheesy soap opera (it was true, he couldn’t); tell Peter he needed him on a “mission” that would mysteriously be canceled. Though they’d probably end up taking a plane or a suit to Vienna anyways (despite what he liked to say to Rhodey, he was not at all immune to Peter’s puppy eyes); hell, he should have purposely tripped on the stairs and broken his leg so Peter, sweet, kind, empathetic Peter, would immediately decide to stay by his side where Tony could keep him safe.

He missed Peter when he was at his apartment in fucking Queens, thirty minutes from Stark Tower. He didn’t know how he’d handle having him 4,222 miles away. He didn’t know if he could.

“Damn,” he hisses, pushing himself from his bed with a grunt and making a beeline towards Peter’s room. He dashes in. The sight of his sleeping son (read: lump of blankets) is enough to take his breath away.

Tony had missed him. It had been four hours since he’d tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, and Tony had missed him. Peter was fifteen feet away. 

This trip is going to be the death of him. He’s going to drop dead of a goddamn heart attack before Peter even gets on the plane. 

Tony sinks carefully onto the mattress and rests his hand on the boy’s neck, some deep, parental instinct in him immediately soothed by the slow, steady beat of his pulse. Peter is curled under the thick blue blanket, only his chestnut curls visible which are tinged blue from the Iron Man nightlight on the wall, his breath puffing out in those little snuffling snores that Tony absolutely adores. 

He leans down to kiss his temple, inhales the familiar scent of his favorite strawberry shampoo and is overwhelmed by the wave of infinite love that washes over him. He loves this kid so much it sometimes hurts. 

Leaning back, he smooths his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone. He doesn’t want to leave the boy’s side. He doesn’t know if he physically can. Maybe asleep Peter has somehow sensed this, because there’s a small mewl from the bundle of blankets, and two bleary doe eyes flutter open. 

“T’ny?”

“Hey,” Tony whispers, running a hand through his curls. “Hey, jellybean. Sorry I woke you up.” Peter rolls over with heavy limbs and rubs his eyes with a fist in a childlike motion, yawning in a way that resembles all those yawning kitten videos he’s made Tony watch. 

God, he’s adorable, Tony thinks. His heart is melting. He’s so small, so young. Tony feels an instinctual, almost uncontrollable urge to protect this kid, to wrap him in his arms and keep him from harm for the rest of time. 

Peter is oblivious. “‘S… s’okay,” he mumbles. His hand sneaks out of the blankets and tugs on his arm lethargically, which the genius knows is sleepy Peter language for “cuddle with me.” Tony chuckles fondly and slides under the covers.

He props himself up on an elbow and gazes down at his beloved boy, stroking a finger down his cheek. Peter smiles sleepily up at him from his assortment of pillows. “Hi.”

His face splits into a wide grin. “Hi, Pete.” 

Peter frowns at him then, a sudden change from his drowsy, half-asleep state. “You… you ‘kay? Wha’ time’s it?” He tries to sit up, but Tony hushes him gently with a “Everything’s okay, bud, just a typical 2am visit from your friendly neighborhood Iron Man.”

He smiles, so Tony counts the joke as a win. It’s not one of his best, but hey, forgive him if he’s a little anxious about his kid going to another fucking continent. 

(He refuses to acknowledge that it’s not just being away from Peter that’s stressing him out, it’s the fact that anything could happen to him while they’re apart.)

Tony looks back to Peter, opening his mouth to talk, only to find that he’s completely conked out. He balls up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and wipes the line of drool tracing down the boy’s chin away, finding that a soft smile has formed on his face, the one that only makes its appearance around Peter.

Peter snuggles into him the second he lies down, resting his curly head just over his heart. Tony wraps a protective arm around his back and rubs small circles on his soft blanket hoodie. “G’night,” he whispers, bending to kiss the top of his head. “Sweet dreams, baby. I love you.”

He can feel Peter’s heartbeat thumping steadily against his chest- can hear his soft kitten snores. The warm weight of his body is so comforting that for a moment he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this trip isn’t going to be the end of him. That everything’s going to be okay.

~~~~~

Peter’s starting to regret eating all those waffles for breakfast. He feels shaky all over, like he could collapse or throw up any second. He’d told Tony he was going to pop in the bathroom, but he’s been in there for at least ten minutes, settled back on his heels on the cold, grimy floor of an airport bathroom, trying to breathe properly.

Speaking of Tony, he can hear the man just outside the door, typing on his phone and sipping from a cheap cup of coffee. Peter immediately experiences a hot flash of guilt, realizing that he must have grown worried while he was gone. 

Sure enough, the door swings open and there’s a soft knock. “Pete? Everything okay, bud?”

Peter stands up and unlocks the stall. “Tony,” he sniffles, taking an unsteady step forward. Tony rushes forward and gathers him in his arms

“Whoa, hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says gently, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “You’re okay, Pete. Breathe, just breathe, bud. It’s okay.”

“I don’t-” Peter whispers. “I don’t know, Tony, I-I wanna go, but I can’t, I don’t know w-what to do.” 

“Breathe, honey. It’s okay, I’m here, we’ll figure this out, okay? You just gotta take a breath, alright?” 

Peter tries- fails. Tries again, and manages to gasp a breath in. “Sorry,” he croaks, when he can properly breathe again. “Tony, I-I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” Tony murmurs, squeezing him tight. “Nothing to be sorry for, Pete.” After snatching a paper towel and soaking it in the sink, he runs the scratchy cloth over Peter’s face and kisses his forehead when he’s done. “Okay, bubba. You wanna go back out or stay in here?”

“Out,” he replies without hesitation. The flickering white lights above are starting to give him a headache, not to mention the leaky faucet and the freezing tile floors and the faulty air conditioning. Tony leads him out with an arm around his shoulder and guides him to a little nook, where they both plop down on a neon green beanbag. 

“My parents died in a plane crash,” Peter whispers. 

Tony squeezes his shoulder. “I know buddy. I’m sorry.” Unlike a lot of the “sorries” Peter has heard, this one is sincere. Sometimes he forgets that Tony is an orphan too. 

“I- I mean, logically, I know the plane won’t crash,” he continues, “But I guess it’s still hard for me to believe that. Like a- a gut feeling?”

The man nods in understanding. “I know how you feel, kiddo. I was terrified of cars after my parents died- I took the subway everywhere despite the paparazzi bloodhounds.” Tony doesn’t broach the subject of his parent’s deaths often, especially not in a crowded public airport, so Peter makes sure to pay attention. 

“Then, the fear just kinda… vanished.” He wiggles his fingers dramatically. “I started driving without even thinking, didn’t realize I was in a car ‘til I got on the highway. I had to pull over when I did, but since then, I’m perfectly fine with cruisin’ at 80 mph. But,” he says seriously, meeting Peter’s eyes. “I think you should listen to what your gut’s tellin’ you, buddy. It’s important to listen to yourself- what inner you is saying.” He pokes Peter’s belly a couple times for good measure, which makes his face scrunch up adorably. 

Peter nods, and really tries to listen to his gut. The pair both go silent in concentration, and then- his stomach grumbles. They both burst into laughter, born more from nerves than hilarity.

“Inner you wants to eat,” Tony snorts. “I think I saw a place with the biggest blueberry muffins of my life by the escalators, wanna stop there?”

Despite eating a huge stack of waffles just hours earlier, Peter wolfs down two of the gigantic blueberry poppyseed muffins, much to the amusement of Tony.

They made their way to the gate, where Peter’s teacher, Mr. Harrington was lounging, dressed in an ugly red sweater, his long legs stretched in front of him. 

“Peter!” he cried as he spotted them, scrambling to his feet. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I had the wrong date! We’re leaving today, right?”

“Oh, yeah Mr. Harrington, we’re going today!” Peter laughs. He’s used to dealing with his scatter-brained teacher. “I’m actually here early, the plane’s supposed to leave at 1:00.” He gestures vaguely to the big digital clock over his head reading 11:54 AM, EDT. 

Mr. Harrington frowns. “I thought it left at 8 am! You mean I’ve been here for hours in this awful chair when I could have been sipping a piña colada in my jacuzzi?!” He collapses back in his chair and pulls a sleeping mask over his eyes with a sigh.

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Peter chuckles, then pulls Tony to a row of uncomfortable seats in the corner of the waiting area. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, just watching the various travellers rush past. A little girl, around two or three, comes up and shyly asks for Tony’s autograph, but no one else recognizes the genius. (Thanks to his foolproof disguise of a baseball cap and scarf covering up his iconic beard, the genius claims.)

“So, what are we thinking?” Tony asks after about half an hour. “Do you wanna go?” He secretly hopes Peter will say no, hopes that they can go home and binge watch all of the Star Trek episodes and fill their bodies with junk. 

Peter nods hesitantly. “I think so. I-is that okay? I might change my mind, but- yes. Yeah, I think I want to go.”

 Tony squeezes his hand. “Of course it’s okay baby, that’s perfectly fine. If you change your mind, you know what? That’s great too. Whatever you want, that’s what’s important.” He kisses Peter’s forehead and lets his hand linger for a moment where it rests on the boy’s cheek. “If you change your mind at any point, I’ll come pick you up, okay?”

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter breathes, slumping heavily against his side.

“Of course, bud. Anything for my Peter.” 

They stop for lunch at a cozy little coffee shop, which is thankfully devoid of fans and paparazzi. Peter orders (or rather, makes Tony order) a small hot chocolate (with extra marshmallows and whipped cream) even though drinking a lot before a non-stop ten hour flight is probably not the best idea. (He can’t help it. He’s nervous.)

When the pair gets back to their gate, they find Ned and his family. The boy’s greet each other enthusiastically, performing their signature handshake, while Tony simply throws up a peace sign to Ned’s rather stunned parents. 

The friends pull out their phones -probably playing one of those ghastly animated games that Peter is always quoting. Tony pretends to look busy on his phone, but really, he’s just trying to distract himself from the terrifying fact that he’s not going to see Peter for a week.

Too soon, the speaker crackles, a crisp voice announcing, “Attention. We are now boarding flight 367 nonstop to Vienna, Austria. Now boarding flight 367 nonstop to Vienna, Austria.”

Tony’s heart stops. Peter freezes. 

No, they think at the same time. Not yet. 

Peter turns to Tony, panicked. “Hey,” the man says, pushing away every anxiety, every worry away so he can focus on his kid. He sees Ned approach them, but stop when his father places a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby, it’s okay.” 

“Tony.” Peter wraps his skinny arms around his waist. 

“I know, baby, I know.” Tony kisses the top of his head and hugs him close. “Follow my breathing. You’re okay. We’re good.”

Around them, the members of the decathlon team are rising, but Tony and Peter sit in those unforgettable chairs, clutching each other tightly, not yet ready to let go. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whimpers. 

“I know kiddo, me too. I’m gonna miss you so much, but I’m always gonna be here, okay? If you need me, just call, or text, use morse code, doesn’t matter. I’m always here for you.”

“I’m here for you too,” Peter says. “I- I’ll call you every day.” Peter’s bottom lip is trembling, just barely, but enough for Tony to hug him a little tighter and kiss his forehead. “I love you, Tony,” he sniffs.

“I love you too, Pete. I love you so much.” Tony’s not crying. He’s not. The restaurant a few stores down is just cooking onions, that’s why his eyes are watering. 

Peter pulls away and grabs his duffel bag, taking a step toward the loading dock. Tony tries not to burst into sobs. Stay, his mind whispers. Please stay. 

Then Peter turns around, eyes full of tears, and slams straight into Tony’s chest, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. Tony rocks them back and forth, cherishing everything about his sweet boy. When they finally break apart, Peter says, “I’ll be back before you know it,” echoing what Tony has said to him so many times before he leaves for a business trip. 

Then he smiles a watery smile and runs to catch up with his best friend. Just before he disappears into the loading dock, he turns around and waves wildly at Tony.

Tony waves back, grinning. “I love you,” he mouths.

“I love you too!” Peter mouths back, and steps into the dock.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, hastily wiping the dampness from his eyes. “I love you, Peter.”

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

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[kookicat]

The Macaron Job 

I'm a damned idiot, Eliot thinks and scowls at the sheeting rain outside the kitchen window. It's a horrible damp day, the sort that turns his hair into a curly mess that defies even the hottest flat iron, and he's making macarons. They're never going to dry, he thinks and pokes the closest one with a clean fingertip, scowl deepening as the mix sticks to his skin. 

It wasn't like there were a million other, more rainy day compatible things he could have made. Like brown butter and oatmeal cookies. Or madeleines. Or lemon and poppy seed muffins, with a lemon glaze, sweet and sharp. Or an apple pie, rich and golden and spiked with cinnamon. Or even sugar cookies. 

But Parker had asked for French macarons, and he's never been able to say no to the women, especially when Sophie gets in on the act. So he's stuck in the kitchen, babysitting a sheet pan of macarons that are stubbornly refusing to form any sort of skin. They're never going to work, he thinks and sighs, pulling out the ingredients to make a batch of sugar cookies, just in case, letting his hands fall into the familiar actions while his mind wanders, pondering what else he wants to add to his newly established kitchen garden. 

It's another part of himself that he's reclaimed, once he'd committed to the team, and it had taken him a while to get comfortable with his hands in the dirt again, but damn, it was nice to replace the old blood on his hands with warm, fragrant soil, capable of giving life rather than taking it. Parker had caught on first, bugging him with questions about what the plants did until he got his first harvest of peas and squash and carrots and tomatoes, turning them into something they could eat, remembering exactly how at peace he'd felt, sitting down at the table to eat a meal he'd produced in more ways than one. 

He glances at the tray of macarons again, feeling irritation niggle at him when they still aren't set. The sugar cookie dough forms a neat ball under his hands and he shapes it into a log, wrapping it in plastic and slipping it in the fridge to chill, trying to ignore the urge to glare at the macarons. Like that'll make them set faster, he thinks and has to laugh at himself, just a little. Truth be told, there's not many other places he'd rather be on a rainy day than his kitchen, even if he is stuck with the least rainy day friendly bake ever. 

Quiet footsteps head towards the kitchen and he keeps his back to the door, deliberately, ignoring the prickle between his shoulders that he still can't quite shake. He trusts them with his life and his soul and his sanity, but bone deep instincts aren't so easy to turn off. "They're not done yet," he says when the steps transfer from wood to the tile floor in the kitchen, knowing as good as he was, he wouldn't have heard her if she didn't want him to, because the woman was like a damn cat, all liquid grace and soft steps. 

"They didn't take this long last time," she complains, boosting herself onto the counter and reaching around him to steal a crumb of sugar cookie dough from the big copper mixing bowl. 

Eliot tucks a curly strand of hair behind his ear and glances at the window, where the rain has become even worse, pouring down in a way that makes him wonder idly if they need to start building an arc. Hardison would hate that, he thinks, all those animals to manage and manages not to grin too widely. "Last time it wasn't pouring with rain," he says, and lifts an eyebrow at her when she frowns. 

She sneaks another scrap of cookie dough, chewing thoughtfully. "That makes a difference?" 

"Sure." He crosses his arms, resisting the urge to poke the damned macarons again, and leans back against the cabinet. "It's baking, Parker. Everything makes a difference." There's a thread of wry, amused annoyance in his voice. Sometimes the strict measurements, the recipes that have to be followed to the letter, the exacting nature of baking are exactly what he needs, letting him lose himself in the details, pushing back the memories for just a little while longer. It's almost like meditation, steps he knows like the notes of an old, familiar song. And sometimes, he wants the opposite, wants to grab ingredients by instinct to create something entirely new, something fresh and exciting and his in a way that baking never quite captures. 

"How do you know when they're ready?" she leans over, bumping shoulders with him, close enough that her hair brushes his cheek, nibbling on the last scrap of dough. 

"You're going to get a stomach ache," he mutters absently, tapping the closest macaron round with his pointer finger. "They're ready for baking when they don't stick to your fingers." 

It doesn't, to his surprise, and he lifts the tray, sliding it into the pre-heated oven. There's dark chocolate ganache chilling in the fridge and he pulls the bowl out, setting it on the counter to warm, pretending not to see Parker steal a spoonful as he turns away to stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. He turns back and has to smother a grin, because she has chocolate on her cheek and an overly innocent expression on her face. 

"Is that nice?" he asks, biting the inside of his lip to keep a straight face. 

She blinks at him, idly swinging her legs, taking care not to thump her boots into the cupboard door. "I don't know what you mean!" she says and he laughs, tossing a dish towel at her. 

"You have ganache on your face," he says and she swipes it away. 

The timer beeps and he silences it, turning the sheet pan around in the oven so everything bakes evenly. He grabs a piping bag and gives the ganache a stir, handing the spoon to Parker while he fills the bag. The kitchen smells safe, like good vanilla and sugar and chocolate and combined with the pouring rain it's making him feel relaxed, tranquil, almost sleepy in a way that's rare for him. He leans against the counter again, letting the comfortable silence stretch its legs, half an eye on the window, watching the water run down the glass. 

"You could have said no, you know," Parker says suddenly, softly and he grunts as he ponders his answer. 

"I know," he starts, and shrugs. "I didn't want to say no." 

"Oh," she says, frowning like she's missed something and normally, he wouldn't have the words to explain it to her, but it's different somehow, in the warm kitchen and he shifts his weight a little, glancing at the timer before he starts talking. 

"I wanted to," he shrugs, "For a long time, all I did was destroy stuff. People, mostly." The words sting more than he expects coming out and he pauses, clearing his throat, taking the time to figure out what he wants to say next. "I was finding my way back from that when we did that first job, but I still had a ways to go. Creating rather than destroying helps." The words are sticking in his brain and he scratches his jaw, meeting her eyes, seeing understanding there, feeling the echo of another conversation like this. "You never expect me to give more than I can." He lifts a hand, gestures vaguely at the kitchen. "This, I can give. So, yes, I could have said no, but I didn't want to." The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile. "Even if you did ask for macarons on the worst possible day to make them." 

"You like them too," she protests, knowing that she's not the only one in the room with a sweet tooth. Eliot just hides his better, but she's never seen him turn down a donut yet. 

"I do," he agrees easily and shoves his hair back again. The humidity means it wants to fall in his face and his last two hair ties had mysteriously vanished. I'd order more, if I didn't think a quick sweep of the brew pub would turn up a dozen, he thinks. With three of them using them, the damn things seem to grow legs. 

"Here," Parker says and offers him a hair tie. 

He takes it, pretty sure it had started out life as one of his to begin with and puts his hair up, washing his hands just as the timer starts to beep. He turns off the tap and dries his hands as Parker silences the alarm, grabbing a dry dish towel before he pulls the sheet pan out of the oven. 

They're not his best batch ever - some are more oval than round, and he's enough of a perfectionist to find that annoying, but they smell great and he sets the sheet pan down on the cooling rack. 

"How soon can we eat them?" Parker asks and he swats her hand away as she reaches for one. 

"They're hot," he says absently, before he remembers that he's talking to Parker and she seems to spend a quarter of her life in places where anyone else would find the heat unbearable. "Let them cool, or they'll break when you move them," he adds. "It shouldn't take long." 

The kitchen is cool and he knows from experience that the macarons will be cold enough to handle pretty quickly. He just needs to distract Parker until that point. 

"There's sugar cookie dough in the fridge. We can shape those while these cool," he suggests and she brightens. 

"Can we make dinosaurs?" she asks, seeming to bounce on the spot without actually moving. 

"No," he says, because sugar cookies should be round and he's pretty sure the dinosaur cutters found a new home, far away from his kitchen. 

She frowns. "Animals then." 

He pulls the dough out of the fridge and sets it next to the ganache while he preps another sheet pan. "No," he says, because he's fairly sure the animal cutters went to live on the same farm as the dinosaurs. "Rounds are fine."

"You're no fun," she grumps and frowns at him, seeing the quirk in his lip that means he's secretly amused and not buying her act at all. 

"I made you two types of cookie," he protests, and reaches into the cupboard on the wall, pulling out a new blend of sprinkles. They're less lurid than her usual pick, but they're also dyed with natural extracts and not chemicals he can't pronounce and so he figures it's a decent trade off. 

"Ooh, sprinkles!" Parker says, grinning at him. "Sprinkles are fun." 

He cuts the log of cookie dough into neat, even slices and arranges them on the tray, reaching over to turn the oven up, wondering what to defrost for dinner. It's just him and Parker, for a change, because Nate and Sophie have a table booked at a fancy new restaurant and Hardison is at some game thing with his friends. Eliot doesn't rate the new restaurant - the menu is overly complicated, and he knows enough about Hardison's game nights to know he'll come home stuffed with enough cheap pizza, orange soda and gummy frogs to fuel a small army for a week. Parker would be quite happy with a bowl of whatever luridly coloured cereal she'd latched onto for the week, but Eliot is craving something rich and warming and comforting, because the weather shows no sign of improving. There's a ragu sauce in the freezer and he pulls it out, setting it aside to defrost, knowing there's fresh pasta in the fridge and homemade dinner rolls in the bread bin. 

Parker is rifling in the drawer next to her knees and pulls out a star shaped cutter. "Stars?" she says and waves it at him. 

"Fine," he says, and rolls his eyes. "Make half of them stars." 

She hops down and crosses to the sink to wash her hands, humming happily as she desecrates half of his perfectly round cookies. He sighs and presses the scraps together, wrapping them in plastic and dumping them in the fridge for later. The cookies will be a little tough, but that's nothing a glass of milk can't solve. 

The oven beeps to let him know it's reached temp, and he slides the cookie pan in, checking the macarons and finding them nicely cool. "You wanna fill these?" he asks as he gathers the stuff he needs for a simple glaze for the sugar cookies. "Just don't eat all of them," he warns as she takes the piping bag from his hands. 

It's the sort of kitchen task she's good at, hands that can crack a safe in seconds graceful as she works the piping bag. Piping makes his hands and wrists ache - he's broken too much stuff for there not to be consequences- so he's glad she took to it so readily. 

They work in comfortable silence as he sets the ragu sauce in a pan over a low flame to defrost and adds pasta to a second pan- fettuccine, not the one of the random bags of shaped pasta that keep appearing in his kitchen. He'd opened the cupboard and found pasta pandas a few weeks ago and wondered seriously if he'd taken one too many blows to the skull before Hardison claimed them. 

The glaze for the cookies comes together easily under his hands and he pours it into another piping bag to keep it from setting while they wait for the cookies to bake. There's lemon juice in it, to offset the sweetness of the cookies and for some reason, the combination reminds him of the team, all distinctive parts that come together to be better than they ever could be alone. 

He has nothing else to do for the moment and so turns to watch Parker as she finishes off the last few macarons, piping a neat dot of ganache on one before adding a second on top. There's a new smear of chocolate over her top lip and he reckons more than one has made its way into her stomach. 

There's an odd macaron left and she offers it to him. "They're really good," she says, around the bite in her mouth. "Is there a secret ingredient? What is it?" 

Love, he thinks and takes the macaron, knowing he's smiling again. "Now that would be telling," he says instead. 

[keijislove]

I missed you: Embry Call X Reader

A/N: Woo hoo first ever Twilight fic! Let me know what you think!

This wasn't supposed to be happening. You and Embry had been best friends since kindergarten. You were inseparable. People always called you his shadow or him yours, but you never really minded since you had each other.

You had contracted feelings a short while ago, while you were out with him on the beach. He'd held your hand, a common occurrence between the two of you, but this time, it felt different. Your stomach twisted into a mess and butterflies erupted the moment his skin made contact with yours. And then you realised it. You were in love with your best friend.

You weren't sure how he'd take it. Probably not in the best way, since you were best friends. There had been occasions in the past during elementary school where he'd told you about some girl he liked or whatever, but it just didn't seem possible. You couldn't see it working out in any way.

You were not sure how this had happened. It started out as an ordinary night out, you and Embry doing some stupid shit while eating the all time favourite - pizza. It was then that he had started acting strange. He seemed slightly sick, and when you touched his hand, it was burning at an abnormal temperature. So was the rest of him. Yep, he was definitely sick.

You'd asked him what was wrong, but he just snapped at you in anger, asking you to drop it. That was weird. He had never acted like this before. What was wrong?

With a brief goodbye, he disappeared.

And then he never came back.

You tried calling him, but it always went straight to the answering machine. You tried asking his parents what was wrong, but they just told you he needed to be alone.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. Embry was avoiding you, and no matter how hard you racked your brains, you couldn't seem to place what you had done to make him react this way.

Deciding that enough was enough, you marched up to his house.

To your surprise, you saw Sam Uley along with a bunch of other kids you'd seen around I think Forks standing in his backyard. Where was he?

Almost immediately, something clicked into place. Embry had always told you how Sam creeped him out and kept bugging him to hang out with the rest of them. He'd told you how something always seemed off about Sam and his group. And now they were here in his backyard, as if waiting for him.

"What are you doing here?" you walked up to Sam, ignoring the height difference.

"We could ask you the same thing." said one boy whom you thought was called Paul.

"Paul." Sam said warningly, "We're waiting for Embry. And we'd appreciate if you leave, Y/N."

"No!" you said, "You did something to him. What did you do?!"

"it might interest you to know that Embry has found things more worth his time than you." Paul said with a smirk.

Losing your cool, you punched him straight in the jaw. Paul snarled at you in fury: he looked livid.

He started twisting, as if transforming into something else.

"Y/N, get back." Sam ordered sharply.

You didn't need to be told twice. The livid, crazy look in Paul's eyes was enough for you to run. You looked back, screaming as you saw an enormous wolf standing exactly where Paul had been seconds ago.

The back door of the house opened and you saw your best friend run outside.

"EMBRY! RUN!!" you yelled. He kept running towards the wolf.

"RUN YOU IDIOT!" you screamed at the top of your lungs.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you saw Embry phase into an animal of the same kind.

"Quil, get Y/N out of here." Sam instructed.

Quil nodded understandingly, before grabbing your arm and leading you away from the scene you were gaping at.

~~~~

You were trying to wrap your head around what the heck had just happened while munching on an enormous muffin that the nice girl, Emily, had given you, when the door burst open and the remaining two boys came inside.

Embry looked furious. He approached you with so much anger, you could practically feel his aura burning you alive, before snapping, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Excuse me?" you asked, "I didn't know that it was a crime to visit your friend and see how he's doing if he suddenly fell sick and left without explaining!"

"Why did you come?!" he asked.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?!" you shot back.

"Leave, Y/N. You don't belong with us." he spat.

"If this is about the 'I want to keep you safe', then drop it, Embry! I don't care whatever you are, wolf or not." you said desperately.

"It's not about keeping you safe," Embry said quietly, "I don't want you around."

"What?" you could almost feel your heart shatter, "You... Don't want to be friends with me?"

"No."

You let out a shaky breath, "Okay. Fine. Bye"

You turned around abruptly so that he wouldn't see your tears, before walking away from your former best friend.

~~~~

"You have called me here, why exactly?" you demanded Jacob as he led you into the familiar La Push Beach a few weeks later.

"What, I can't hang out with one of my friends?" he asked you.

You clicked an eyebrow as he sighed, "We need to talk. About Embry."

"Jake, there's nothing to talk about. He doesn't want to be friends with me, then fine. I'm okay with that."

"Are you?" Jake asked quietly.

"Urgh, no!" you admitted.

"Look Y/N, he's depressed. All he thinks about is you."

"You know that's not true, Jake. You're just saying that to make me feel better. You don't have to." you shook your head.

"No, seriously." Jake insisted, "Wolf telepathy, remember?"

"Can we talk about something else?" you whined.

"No, seriously!" Jake said again, "What do you think about this whole situation?"

You groaned, "Fine. I want him back, even if as just a friend. Because I don't know about you, but 13 years of being with someone means something. Happy?"

"Am I hallucinating or did you just tell me you liked Embry?" Jacob asked you incredulously.

"Oh my god." you stumbled slightly, "Oh god, no! Now he's gonna find out anyway, with your whole 'wolf telepathy' thing."

"Wait, I'm confused." Jacob frowned. "Can you clarify that?"

You sighed, "I, Y/N L/N, am in love with my best friend, Embry Call. Great. I'm running away from Forks."

"Sorry, Y/N. Too late." Jacob grinned, "Em, come out."

You gasped out loud, "You. Absolute. IDIOT! YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE! YOU KNEW HE WAS LISTENING! I'M GONNA KILL YOU, JAKE!"

You grabbed wildly at him.

"Whoa, whoa Y/N." Jacob struggled to rip you off, "Maybe hear him out?"

"Oh, hear him out?" you whispered in anger, "Where is he anyway? Wait, I don't want to know. Embry, wherever the hell you are, I understand if you're angry. I guess you don't want to be friends with me after all. You're probably embarrassed to even know me."

"Or maybe I'm embarrassed because I like you too?" a voice shyly said from behind you.

You whipped around, and who should be standing there but Embry Call?

"Wh-What?" you asked in confusion.

"I, Embry Call, am in lovr with my best friend, Y Y/N L/N." he said seriously.

There was a deafening silence between you.

"Oh." you finally managed to squeak out. "Uhm.."

Embry nervously scratched the back of his neck, "Can... Can I kiss you?"

You shakily let out a breath you didn't k ke you were holding before nodding slowly.

Your lips collided and started moving in sync, as if this was meant to happen from the first day you met in kindergarten.

"Guys." you realised that Jacob was still there when he disgustedly spoke, "Care to do that later? I'm getting nauseated here."

You both pulled apart in embarrassment.

Resting your forehead against his, Embry whispered, "I missed you."

"I missed you too." you smiled.

Turning to the other boy, you scowled.

"By the way Jake." you began, "I'm still killing you."