#but if I leave my coffee mug on top of my car I am morally a bad person

[thylionheart]

“No, I don’t have any religious trauma”

Bruv… you still think that every mistake is a sin and it is both possible and a moral obligation to avoid making mistakes FUCK OFF

[thedarklightwithinus]

Coffee and Stitches. Pt 3

A/N; Final part of this little story. 

Summary; Back where it all began.

Pairing; Nurse!Reader x Cop!Steve

Words; 1.4k

Part | One | Two

A few days had been and passed since Steve and Y/N had spent breakfast together at Gloria’s café. A few texts here and there had been sent which may or may not have included a video of a cat trying to fight it’s own reflection. To put it simply, work had been on both their minds and was the cause for the pair not seeing each other.  

“Do you think Mr. Jones is gonna make it?” Peter muttered as Y/N stapled a bunch of paper together. “He’s not getting any better and Natasha said that he's been taking more meds for the pain recently.”

Y/N sighed. Death had been apart of the job since the very beginning. Whether that be from old age, complications during surgery or anything in between. Francis Jones had been a frequent patient to the hospital due to his old age. He was a friendly old man with stories that could make you forget about your rounds that needed doing. Peter had taken a liking to the man and had spent most of his breaks sitting and talking to him. 

Y/N could remember the hour she had spent with the old man just the day prior. Her shift had finished and she had gone to Mr. Jones little safe haven on ward four to see if there was anything he needed before she left. He had drawn her in with his war stories and his way of doing things that some would consider old news. Peter had come by to check on the old man when he found the two laughing about his tale of when he had tried to convince one of the nurses on the field to come back to his barrack with him. 

Moral of his story, his charming ways had convinced the nurse and in the words of ninety two year old Francis Jones, it was the best night of his war days. He spent a night with a beautiful 'dame' and went to work the very next day.

"Honestly? I think he might surprise us." Y/N smirked, nudging the young man with her shoulder. "He's got life in him yet... If it makes you feel any better, he isn't going down without a fight." Peter grinned, nodding finally as though he understood what she was getting at. "Think of all his war stories. He isn't going until he's good and ready... And not a second sooner." 

Deja vu seemed to hit Y/N full force at three am a few hours later. The ward was once again empty and she and Peter were the only people working when the light box against the wall began to flash red. "This is like a re-run." She mumbled, pushing her chair out and standing up. Peter chuckled, dunking another bourbon into his mug of tea he had made minutes before. 

Y/N made her way around the desk, pumping hand sanitizer on her hands as she moved past it. She rubbed her hands together, insuring the gel was properly wiped in before she came to a stop at the double doors and waited for whoever it was to come through. 

Much like deja vu, the doors opened to show the same two officers who had walked through a few nights ago. Y/N sighed, frowning as she raised a brow at the blonde who smiled brightly upon seeing her. Officer Steven Rogers and his partner, Officer James 'Bucky' Barnes all but waltzed onto the ward with polite smiles that she knew to be kinder than any she's seen before. 

The only difference was the lack of a felon being all but dragged between them. Y/N looked the pair over, trying to figure out why the emergency light had gone off when she noticed the dark red patch on Steve's forarm. She panicked for a split second, her eyes widening as she moved forwards. "What happened?" 

"It's really nothing to worry about." He was quick to comfort her, letting her take his arm and look it over. "We couldn't stop the bleeding... So, Bucky here thought it would be best that we come down here and get it checkout out by a professional." 

"Bucky here was right." She mumbled, gripping his elbow gently and leading him to the bed that was closest to where they stood. "Take a seat. I'm just gonna go grab some things and I'll get it sorted for you." 

Y/N allowed the man to sit on the bed as she moved away. She made her was to the locked room that housed all the medical equipment and swiped her card. Pushing the door open, she grabbed the top tray from the counter inside and beginning to place the things she'd need on it. Once she had grabbed everything she would need and more, she left the room and insured it was closed before making her way back to Steve. 

Bucky sat slouched in the chair to the side of the bed on his phone as Steve sat with his legs up on the bed. He had shed his vest and outer layers leaving him in a white police department shirt. She smiled as she moved forward, taking in the bandage he had placed over the wound. 

"Did you clean it out?" She asked, placing the tray on his lap and pulling on a pair of gloves. 

"I let some water run over it at the station." Steve told her, watching her as she started to unwind the bandage. "Cleaned the blood off that had already dried... That didn't do much considering it was still bleeding when I left the station."

"How'd it happen?" Y/N muttered, her brows furrowed as she got a good look at the cut that ran through his forearm. 

Steve watched her pull open a wipe and begin to clean the edges of the cut before he spoke up. "Brawl down at the bar. Glasses were broke and I may or may not have slipped on spilt alcohol and landed on said glass." He chuckled, feeling slightly stupid as he noticed the cut wasn't even that deep and that it had stopped bleeding sometime since leaving the station. "I clearly wasn't paying attention to my surroundings like I should have been doing." 

"There was a lot going on, Pal." Bucky spoke over the top of his phone, not taring his eyes away from said device. "Shouldn't go around blaming yourself."

"Bucky's right, Steve. You were doing your job to the best of your ability. That's all any of us can do." Y/N said, looking the wound over to insure that there was no tiny pieces of glass left within it. "Good news? You're going to live." She told him, laughing when Bucky fake cheered. "I just need to wrap this for you and then you'll be free to go... You know if you wanted to see me you could have just called." 

Steve looked as though he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His cheeks brightened in colour as he chuckled almost nervously. "It really wasn't stopping... The blood I mean. Not that I didn't want to see you!" He was quick to add. "Seeing you is a bonus!"

"I'm glad you think so." Y/N laughed, wrapping the bandage around the small piece of cotton she had pressed to his wound. "Keep this wrapped for a day or two and then take it off. The fresh air will help it heal better." Once she had taped it off, she smiled and began to clean up the mess she had made while Steve shrugged his clothes back on. "You're free to leave." 

It was just as she spun around, the tray in her hands that she felt herself move forward against her own will. She frowned, turning to find a red faced Steve glaring at Bucky who grinned from beside him. "I'm sorry!" Steve exclaimed. "I... slipped." 

"You're slipping a lot recently." Y/N chuckled, raising a brow as Bucky slid past the pair. "Try to be car-"

"Do you want to go out with me on Friday?" Steve all but spat out. He looked slightly panicked as though he can believe what he had said. 

Y/N stared at him for a moment, taking in his red cheeks with a smile as she nodded. "Sure... I'd love to go out with you." 

Steve looked as though he couldn't believe she had actually agreed with him. It was as though all his recent worries had been flushed down the drain. He smiled brightly, happy with her answer as he nodded. "Alright. That's great. Yeah... Friday it is."

"Friday it is."

.

[kumkaniudaku]

No Nut November

A/N: Shoutout to the anon that requested this. I hope you enjoy!

"Stop it!"

"No, you stop!"

"You were saying don't stop earlier today. Which one is it?"

"Shut up!"

Like high school sweethearts, CoCo and Chadwick sat together in their therapist's office, giggling and sharing small touches. Things had been almost perfect as they counted the days until their wedding. Aside from minor spats that were handled using the tools they learned in therapy, the friends turned lovers were enjoying the fruits of a healthy relationship.

Dr. Barea quietly walked into the office, unbeknownst to her favorite couple before stopping to observe their conversation.

"Ya know, when you two are on the same page, it's a beautiful thing to see." She smiled as Tasha timidly pulled away from Chadwick only for him to scoot closer and drape an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, don't stop on account of me. Continue the love fest!"

"We're just trying to make you proud. You've done a lot for us."

"Always a pleasure," Andrea laughed. "Well, since we're all smiles, it's only right that we have a free session. What's going on in the lives of my favorite, almost married couple?"

Tasha looked over at Chadwick and smiled, "We're thinking about moving in together early. It feels right. We're happy and spending every day together." Finally, looking away from her fiancé's loving gaze, she gave Andrea her full attention. "What do you think? Are we ready?"

"I think you're on the right track. How've you two been dealing with disagreement lately?"

"We're applying the listen, learn, level approach," Chadwick gushed while gripping Tasha's knee.

Andrea quickly jotted the small gesture in her notebook as she took in his statement. "Great. And how has that helped? Any discoveries?"

"I learned that Tasha just needs a moment to blow off steam before we talk."

"And I learned that Aaron prefers to solve problems in the moment, no matter how long it takes."

Dr. Barea watched Tasha's hand float to Chadwick's inner thigh and rest for a moment before her thumb began a gentle stroke. Noting the third instance of PDA, she sat forward in her chair.

"Tell me, how often are you two having sex?" Chadwick let off a surprised cough while Tasha's eyes bulged from her head. "What? We're cool here. I would guess maybe 3-4 times a week?"

"Higher," Tasha suggested.

"More than five?"

"Try twice a day."

It was Andrea's turn to be surprised as she forced herself into taking a sip from her coffee mug. "Wow. Okay. Um...woah. Where do you find the time?!"

"Before work, after work, getting dressed... Sunday's are usually empty."

"There was that one time during your lunch too."

"Oh yeah! I forgot about that."

Their therapist sat in stunned silence, mentally taking notes for both their file and her husband at home. She allowed them to run through several scenarios before lifting her hands in surrender.

"Okay! Shouldn't have asked," she laughed. "So, that's what's been keeping you two happy."

"I mean, we like each other too, now. Sex is just the cherry on top."

"Right. Of course. Out of curiosity, though, how often do you hang out? No sex at any point together."

"Last weekend," Tasha proclaimed. Her proud smile soon dissipated once the realization hit. "Wait, no. We had sex later that night."

"What about dinner with your friends last month?"

"No, we had sex in the car when we left."

Chadwick whispered, 'oh yeah' before sitting back to think. "Maybe when we had lunch on Monday. But then again…"

"Do you see my point," Andrea laughed. "Is sex the only way to enjoy each other? Trust me; I understand the bliss of engagement. Still, I'm afraid that your relationship's entire existence is wrapped in physical pleasure instead of the genuine enjoyment of your partner. Would you agree?"  

CoCo and Chad sat in silence, understanding Andrea's sentiment but not wanting to admit she was right. She could sense the smoldering stubbornness which fueled her next move.

"Let's cut this session short so that you guys can jump on what might be my favorite homework assignment to date." Dr. Barea stopped short to drink from her mug amid protests from her clients. "Today is November 1st, and I want you two to cease all sexual activity until the end of the month. That includes solo fun."

"What!"

Andrea laughed at Chadwick and Tasha's simultaneous response and decided to show some mercy. "Okay, until Thanksgiving. But you'll get extra moral points if you can hold out for the entire month. In that time of abstinence, you are not allowed to decrease the time spent together. Carry out your routines as normal. I suggest you test out your moving in theory. Spend some time together outside of the bedroom and see what happens. I guarantee you'll be rewarded."

After several minutes of bargaining that ended in disappointment from the couple, Tasha and Chadwick left the office angry and strangely aroused. The mere sight of each other doing otherwise mundane tasks heightened the sexual tension between the two as they settled into Tasha's condo to live together for the month. Silent prayers as they piled into bed and attempted to cuddle were sent to God to ask for strength to keep their hands to themselves.

It was going to be a long month.

WEEK ONE

Chadwick stood at the bottom of the stairs in CoCo's condo, holding her heels and keys to help her as she rushed out of the house. Sleeping in the same bed without touching was beginning to affect her sleep pattern, leading to several restless nights and late starts.

"Oh my God, babe, I am fucked." Both of them caught the unintended second meaning and shivered at their sad sex life. "Well, shit, at least if I were literally fucked, being late would feel better."

"Only two more days left in the week before we make it to week two."

"Which means only two more weeks until you can take me to pound town."

Shaking his head at her joke, Chadwick extended his hand to provide balance for CoCo to slip into her shoes.

"I can't wait. But for now, you need to go to work."

It wasn't abnormal for them to leave each other with a quick kiss in the mornings, but today felt...different. The hard lines spanning Chadwick's body seemed to create the perfect grooves for the soft curves of Tasha's body. Their lips lingered a bit longer than usual as they fought an inner battle for restraint.

CoCo let go of a small moan and a shaky breath before pulling away. "I...I have to go. I can't suck your dick right now. I can't! Stop asking!"

"Wha…?" Chadwick started as she dashed to the front door.

Looking back, she bit her lip and shook her head, "I said, stop asking!"

The door slamming shook the coat rack beside it and left Chadwick in total shock with a small smile on his face. "Wow, I'm in love with a crazy woman."

WEEK TWO

"Babe, can you bring the shrimp over here? The pan is ready."

Following instructions, Chadwick navigated the quaint kitchen to deliver the cutting board to its destination. In two weeks of living together with no sexual contact, Chadwick suggested an indoor date night in an attempt to reduce the tension in the house. He knew it was time for a change when watching CoCo clean the kitchen counter one night made him more excited than he should've been. Being in the same room and smelling her perfume would make him tingle with excitement until he realized that he wouldn't be able to get any closer.

Making his way across the kitchen, he stopped short when he reached the stove.

"Co, I can't bring this to you. I'm sorry."

"Boy, stop playing and bring me the damn food. This butter is gonna burn!"

Chadwick found himself in a pickle. He could refuse to bring the item a second time, but that would end in anger and an empty stomach. Or, he could slide past Tasha's backside as risk losing all sense of himself once their bodies came in contact. Taking a deep breath, he told himself to choose the latter option to prove that he could withstand the temptation.

He planned to move quickly without looking down. If he couldn't see the forbidden fruit, he wouldn't feel the urge to bite. He nearly succeeded until a sudden shift in CoCo's stance left him butt to crotch with filthy thoughts tormenting his brain.

"Shit," he whispered as the bowl roughly collided with the countertop, sending some of the shrimp tumbling onto the counter.

"Are you okay? Did you trip?"

As CoCo attempted to turn around, Chadwick anchored his hands on the counter and shook his head. "Don't move! Stay right there. Give me a moment." Another shift on her heels made his body stiffen at the sensation. "Baby, please! Stop moving!"

"What do you want me to do!"

"Moan my name," he breathed out.

"What?!" Craning her neck around, she found him with his eyes clamped shut and lips parted to draw in shallow breaths. "Are you aroused right now?"

"I'm aroused all day, Co! Now moan my name."

"You know what, you can finish cooking. I'm going back to the living room."

Tasha made it a point to press her body into his as she left the area, forcing him to deal with the pain of rejection and an unattended erection alone.

WEEK THREE

The sexual energy in the house was at an all-time high to match the building tension. Small infractions would create an argument in seconds that forced them to institute the listen, learn, and level method more than before. As the end of the challenge approached, they found that they were spending time together without thought of sex, forcing them to cut physical contact short.

With Twister spread across the living room floor, Chadwick and CoCo's Friendsgiving game night raged on with the lovers locked in a winner takes all battle of bending prowess.

"Okay, Tash," Devin hollered over the noise. "Right hand on green!"

Looking around the board, CoCo smiled and began to move her hand, "You gone have to come harder than that, this ain't nothin' but a little lunge."

Her move placed her in a comfortable position with her feet shoulder-width apart and her palms on the ground a few spots ahead of her body.

"Tasha has assumed the position. Chad, your turn. Left hand on yellow."

With both of his feet on separate red dots, Chadwick searched for a comfortable spot to place his hands. Those watching the game sat in silence while he made his decision. Finally, his hand landed on the dot behind Tasha's left elbow, forcing him to hover over his fianceé slightly. Instantly, they were transported into a moment that featured fewer people and even less clothing.

The downward dog variation made them shiver with the contact. Tasha could feel the weight of Chadwick's body on her back, the same weight that would trap her to the bed as he explored the depths of her body. His touch made her light-headed and sent her body collapsing to the ground. Her sudden fall caused him to tumble on top of her with a thud.

Sprawled across the floor, the lovers fought to catch their breath.

"So, does that mean both of them lost?"

"I think it means we need to let them have a moment."

Slowly, the crowd began to thin out, leaving them on the ground in separate dazes. Tasha was the first to snap out of her trance and turn her head to address Chadwick.

"In one week, I want you back on this floor without those pants."

Smiling, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "It's a date."

WEEK FOUR - THANKSGIVING

A long day of family friends and food kept Chadwick and CoCo away from home until the wee hours of the morning. Both of them wore a goofy smile as they used each other to stumble into the condo buzzing from the Rose served at their final stop.

"I'm gonna go put this pie in the kitchen," Tasha announced as she made her way across the room. "You want water?"

"Yes, please. My mouth feels like cotton."

Chadwick made short work of securing the door before joining CoCo at the kitchen counter. Her growling stomach overruled her plan to save the sweet potato treat for the next day. She was so into her food that it took her several moments to notice her partner staring at her.

"What," she asked with her mouth full of food.

"I'm excited for us to have Thanksgiving in one house one day soon. Our families under one roof with some kids that look like us running around."

CoCo chuckled before shoveling another bite of food into her mouth. "And you coming to the kitchen to steal food. I see your vision."

"Speaking of, let me taste some of that."

Tasha watched Chadwick lean across the barrier between them with her lip trapped beneath her teeth. He moved with the type of smooth confidence that made her heart flutter every time. When his face was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, CoCo lifted her fork to feed him a piece of her dessert.

Watching his tongue escape his mouth to accept the food before using it to lick his lips was a moment that became far more sexual than intended.

A glimpse of the clock across the room made the gears of Chadwick's mind turn. "What time is it?"

"2:00 am. Why?"

Taking a swipe of sweet potato from atop the crust, Chadwick held it between their lips and smiled. "We made it to the finish line. How should we celebrate?" His index finger slowly swiped pie filling across CoCo's bottom lip to watch her repeat his earlier display. The moment she finished, he pulled her face closer to taste for himself. Sparks flew behind their eyelids as they settled into the significance of the moment. Pulling away left them breathless and ready for more.

A split second sent them in a race to throw clothes and shoes around the room and meet each other and around the counter until they were tangled on the cold tile of the kitchen floor.

"Babe, wait," Tasha panted, breaking the kiss to make sure her words were heard.

"What's wrong?"

Smiling, Tasha pressed her lips against his and pointed up at the counter.

"Grab the pie."

---------

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[kileyrose-2003]

Rose the Hat x Fem! Reader

A/N: This imagine was requested by @lizttzie This is my first time writing anything smuttish material for Doctor Sleep so if that part of the imagine is kinda mediocre. I'm sorry ahead of time if it's a little different then you expected. But I hope you enjoy.

Rose the Hat was never a woman that intended to be tied down by any means. Relationships were never a big thing to her. Same with sex.

It wasn't that they were meaningless acts or feelings it's just that she found it for lack of better words, boring and menial. Rose like a little bit of adventure and fun.

Members of The True never seen anyone outside of the tribe, hence why they mingled between themselves more often than none but you were the acception.

Rose never intended to meet you, or even fall in love you but she did and she was never more happy about anything in her life.

You both found each other years ago on a vacation in Florida with a couple of friends. You weren't a child by any means but you also weren't living on your own yet.

It was the awkward phase of life after college for you. Trying to figure out what to do with your life, etc.

You needed a little escape and the sandy beaches and warm rays of sun beating down on your skin helped you find just that.

The liquor in the couple of the margaritas you downed was sweet and helped you indulge in your trip even more and in that indulgence you found Rose laying naked on the beach with only a towel wrapped her midrift.

Her pale skin was absorbing the rays of the sun without a single sign of burning and you were mesmerized.

She was a horrible thing from as far you could see through your shine. You were a reader of sorts but god, she was gorgeous.

"Well..hi there!" She stood up, completely removing the towel and you stared. "What's your name sweet cheeks?"

"Y-y/n." You stuttered and she grinned. "Y/n! What a pretty name and I guess you don't have to ask my name because you know who I am already don't you? Because you are a special thing aren't you?"

You blushed and Rose gave a grin before dragging you off to her camper.

It wasn't until the next morning you realized first hand just what horrible things she did and why she was in Florida that hot summer day. You could still remember the poor little girl Emma that laid beneath Rose's knife. The smell of iron was in the air and you feel her distress. Her screams. You could still feel the lingering disgust but it was too late for you. Rose already made her claim on you.

Rose thought you were adorable and she didn't want to let you go ever but she didn't want to turn you yet. You were her steamy light. Almost a morality pet of sorts and leverage of sorts when it came to the others and questioning her.

When she felt like shit, she had you or Crow. Mostly you though because it was harder to explain her feelings of disdain to someone who was just as comfortably numb as she was.

Rose was currently standing in her camper, rushing a brush through her tangled brown tresses after her and Andi's night of passion. "Purple floral dress or pink, Andi?" She hummed as she looked at herself in the mirror.

"Pink, it brings out your eyes nicely. Why? Y/n coming around to the campsite?" She had a smirk hinting on the corner of her mouth as she looked up from her book and Rose smacked her arm playfully.

"Yes, she is. She's actually staying over night for the first time." Rose smiled and began to undress. "Well if she's staying over she's getting turned soon, right?" The question was met with silence as Rose threw the dress over her head, her top hat somehow still stayed on. "I don't know if I want to turn her yet."

"Why not? We all like her including Grampa Flick, and you know how he is to please." Andi raised a eyebrow, looking up from the old and yellowed page she was on. "I don't know if she really wants it..you know how she is. She's very sensitive and I don't know if she'd do well in our environment."

"You think she sees what we do?" Rose let out a barking laugh. "Oh..I know she does and she's disgusted by it."

"Contrast you perfectly." Andi attempted to joke and Rose gave her a dirty look followed by a moody huff. "Sorry, anyways..I just think it would benefit everyone and stop softening you up slightly."

"Soften? I'm not soft Andi and never will be." She folded her arms and looked at the younger woman in way that showed she was intrigued. "You know.. she makes you a little more happy or at least calmer. We all know you can't resist her and if she was closer well..it'd be different."

Rose laughed and shook her head. "Keep dreaming sweetheart. I'll never change." At least she didn't think she would but at the same point she said she'd never give Crow the luxury of knowing her bed the whole True knew how that turned out.

Andi paused for a moment, blocking whatever thought she didn't want Rose to see. "What does Crow think of Y/n?"

"He likes her, though I question if he's slightly jealous of her. Not that it matters." Rose chuckled the last part softly. "When aren't men like that? Anyways, I'm heading out. Sarey and I have plans~ Have fun with Y/n."

"Bye love." Rose gave her a quick hug and let Andi excuse herself before shutting the drapes in her camper and walked over to her little sliding drawer.

She held one of the 12 full cannisters in her hand and took a small whiff out of it. The miniscule pieces of gray hair she had disappeared and she smirked as she looked at herself in the mirror. "Soft? Never in a million years. Eat well..live long."

She turned on both heels and held her head up as she strolled out of her camper and over to The Jeep, her brown hair flowing in the wind behind her like it was a protective sheath and nodding to a few members of The True along the way.

She put the keys in the ignition and the engine roared as she pulled away. The crunching of the leaves fading away the farther the vehicle moved.

(You on your way?)

Rose looked into her back seat to see your Shining form and smiled. "You know it...what are you wearing for me tonight?"

(Won't you see when you get here?)

She smirked when she seen you draped in a towel through her mirror. "Playing with fire already, my love? I like it. This is a new side of you I haven't seen. What are you playing at?"

(You'll see.)

You smirked and disappeared from her back seat but Rose smiled. "Oh..yes you run dear and be prepared for what I have in store for you."

Meanwhile you stood in the apartment of your bathroom, throwing on your last stitch of makeup before Rose came.

You looked down at your lipsticks and held it in her hands. Debating on what color to put on. The pink was soft like a flower but the red..it reminded you of crimson blood. You knew the color well enough from Rose.

"Red." The voice from behind you threw you off. "It looks nice with your clothes and your hair though I really don't think you need it." You turned to look at Rose and went to go wrap your arms around.

"Hi baby." You greeted and she laughed. "Eager, aren't you?" There was a teasing tone. "I mean..after your last little visit and the car ride..."

Rose laughed and kissed the top of your head. "So mischievous..A different side of you I like and never seen before."

You giggled and took her to your living room. "How's your family?" You inquired as you poured her a cup of tea from the pot. "Our family, dear." She corrected. "And they're fine, thank you. Andi is really excited to see you."

"Aww really? Andi's so sweet." You smiled and handed her the cup. Rose's hand clasped down on the handle tightly mostly out of jealousy and she gritted her teeth.

"That she is, if you are one of the rare individuals who don't piss her off and luckily my love, you are in that very tiny category." She leaned over to put the mug down on your coffee table and pulled you close to her.

She wrapped her arms around your back and trailed little kisses down your neck and spine. You closed your eyes out of bliss and she grinned. "My Y/n..you're so beautiful." She hummed and continued to kiss you over and over again.

"So are you Rosie..I adore you." She leaned forward and ran her hands up and down your sides, tracing little shapes on the most sensitive of places. "R-rose." You breathed and she giggled.

"So anxious..so eager. Tell me dear, has any rube ever make you give in like I do?" You let out a slight groan. "You know the answer to that question."

The True's leader looked amused. "Which is?" She sunk her teeth into your neck and you let out a gasp. "No."

Rose smirked "You know, I could do this with you for the rest of my life."

"You can, you know.. and I want to." The words came off desperate and Rose sighed. "Only if that's what you want my sweet, but not yet. You're still so innocent and too sweet..my sensitive girl."

You let out a little huff and pushed her back against the sofa. Tired of her considering you to be tiny and weak all the time. You met The True already and they all liked you. "Well I guess I'll just have to prove myself then."

"You're playing a dangerous game of Russian Roulette dear and whoever told you, you have the authority to do that?" The look in Rose's grey eyes was that of a joking nature but her body posture..my god. She was so dominant.

Your cheeks pooled red and you bit your bottom lip. "No one..sorry Rosie." She laughed and kissed your cheek. Maneuvering her position so she could pin you down against the sofa.

"Don't do it again." The words were soft but came out in such a husky tone you felt chills run up your spine.

She sat on your lap and clumsily began to smash kisses all over your face. "Y/n baby, shirt off now."

You let out a pathetic moan and nodded. "O-okay." Her hands overlapped yours as you removed your silk tank top.

"Oh damn." She ran her hands over your breast, gently caressing them. "Your skin feels so soft. Like a cloud."

You grunted and feverishly laced your fingers through her hair as you kissed her neck. "So does yours..when was the last time you took steam?"

"Just this morning..the sex feels even better when we take steam. Just you see one day." She pulled your pants off slowly, flusterering you even more.

"Rose! Please." You begged and she chuckled. "Yes..always so eager. We'll have to see if you are the same after I turn you."

Before you even knew it her head was between your thighs and you were screaming out in passion.

"F-fuck.." You groaned and Rose smirked. "Such a pretty little slut." You face pooled cherry red. "R-rosie..I think I'm gonna..cum!"

The pain in your lower area was extraordinary and Rose quickened her pace. "Then cum for me baby..cum! Show me how I make you wiggle beneath me."

You arched your back in pleasure as you let your orgasm run it's course and Rose grinned, wiping the fluids off her hand as she snuggled close to you.

"That..was amazing." You breathed, wiping the layers of sweat of your forehead. Rose smiled and kissed your cheeks. "I told you the steam makes it better."

You nodded and she kissed your cheeks. "Did I prove myself then?" Rose hummed softly and kissed your cheeks. "Yes love..way proved yourself."

"You sure about that lovely?" You sounded joking but you were serious. "I'm sure." Rose smashed her lips down against yours passionately. Relieved to know she'd never have to worry about ever share you with anyone.

'Damn her and her sweet eyes.' She thought back to what Andi said as she leaned over top of your body again. Oh yes..you would indeed soften her up.

[mintyvan]

31 - love will tear us apart

request Bondy asks the reader to visit him on tour. 

note I am sorry it took me forever to post this but I hope you enjoy it!

______________

“Can’t believe you paid for in-flight wifi to send me that meme.”

“I know,” you said, laughing, as you embraced him, hoping your plane hair and wrinkled clothes weren’t phasing him too much. You were itching to get to your hotel room. The leggings and t-shirt you’d worn on the plane were sticking to you, and you were desperate for a shower. He could tell you weren’t keen on being touched after being cramped in the cabin for a few dreary hours.

“Your haircut looks amazing.” You pulled back from the hug a little and surveyed how he’d changed. He was tired, but his eyes were still bright and warm. He hadn’t shaved in a while and his beard was starting to get unruly. You smiled as his cheeks went a slight shade of pink.

“Thanks,” he replied bashfully. He wasn’t used to outward praise.

“It’s been too long, John,” you told him, leaving his arms. He smiled back at you, eyes crinkling while replying, “It really has.”

The taxi ride to the hotel he’d arranged a room for you in was a blissful game of catch-up. How you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, how he’s been, what he’s been doing. It was nice to just talk in person. The calls and texts between you and your childhood best friend had been less frequent lately, and you had both regretted it.

“Pick anywhere in the world and we’ll make it work,” he had said to you over the phone one night. And so, a trip to Japan to see Bondy perform at the Fuji Rock Festival was born.

“Is this where I’m staying?” you asked, plopping your luggage down in the little foyer of the hotel room. It was modern, but with obvious Japanese influences, because, well, you were in Japan. The far wall was paned in glass leading out to a balcony with wicker chairs. Traditional paper room separators divided the room into habitual spaces for cooking, sleeping, and lounging. “I love it. So quaint. You can definitely tell we’re not in Newcastle anymore. There are two beds in here! Wait…. and….. your stuff too?” Your eyebrows raised at him.

“I couldn’t tell management you were coming, they said earlier that they wouldn’t pay for any rooms other than the regular band and crew’s. So I asked for a room with two beds because now, I’m a daft cunt who sleeps in one bed the first night and another the next.” He winked.

“Gotcha,” you laughed, putting your duffel on the bed. You sorted through your clothes and readied an outfit for the day. “Where we goin’?”

“Firstly, I was thinking lunch out in Tokyo. You’re probably starving from the plane ride. We can even hit the shops if you like.”

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “I’m also dying to get my hands on some Japanese makeup.” You took out your makeup bag and rifled through the cosmetics you brought. A bright red lipstick would go perfectly with the long black and white striped dress you’d brought. You stepped up to the mirror and let your lips fall into an O-shape to apply it.

“Well isn’t that a shade of ‘I’m getting fucked tonight’ red.”

“Bondy!” you slapped his arm hard. In a mock-country accent, you rebutted: “That’s no way to talk to a lady like me! All my suitors are going to hear you and take back their marriage proposals.”

“As if they’re all standing right outside the door,” he scoffed with a laugh, and fixed his hair under his hat in the mirror.

A knock sounded at the door shortly after.

“No fucking way!” you yelled, both of you looking into each other’s bewildered eyes. He pointed and laughed at you with your lipstick still only half on, and then giggled and practically ran to the door.

“Hello boys,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at them as they filed into the room. You quickly rubbed your lips together so you wouldn’t look like a Hex girl with one lip not matching the other.

“Ahh! Hi! Hello!” You greeted each member of the band, and Larry, with a big hug in succession.

“She’s gotten cuter since the last time we seen her,” Van joked.

Bondy rolled his eyes with a smile before continuing the conversation he’d started with you before they arrived. “I know a really good record store not far from here. The festival doesn’t start until tomorrow so we have a whole night to ourselves.”

“Alright, hope you guys have fun today. Let’s go boys,” Bob ushered everyone out of your room as quickly as they’d come.

“Sweet.” You walked around through the rest of the room, surveying everything one more time before leaving to make sure you had what you needed, and then walked into the bathroom. “No fuckin’ way! What’s this toilet do?” you called to Bondy, who was still in the great room. You noticed the white bowl had knobs on the sides and pressure sensors on the seats. You fiddled with one knob, and it sent a stream of water onto your dress as you squealed, half surprised, half in delight.

He laughed from in the other room, and muttered, “I fuckin’ love Japan.”

****

Lunch was hot, filling and delicious, so you were both ready to head out to the shops with full bellies and hearts from catching up. Bondy walked with a little spring in his step, and you were happy to see he’d found his bliss in this country. The first time he’d traveled to Japan when he was a member of Detroit Social Club, he’d called you from his hotel room the first night --- “I promise I’ll pay for this phone call on both our ends, I know it’s going to be expensive but I don’t fuckin’ care” --- and spoke to you for two hours afterward, racking up more than three hundred pounds in the time it took him to tell you how mesmerized he was by the country. The neon lights in a language he didn’t know how to read, the people bustling by with a million stories, the wine culture, the food…. He was utterly fascinated.

Still, today, he was enthralled.

“I want to take you to this music shop near Shinjuku Station, it’s incredible. They’ve got all those obscure records we used to have to kill for back home. They’re just sitting on shelves here out in the open. Lezzgo!” he grabbed your hand and held it steady as he pulled you along. You wanted to tell him that in Japanese culture holding hands in public was a really really big deal, but also, it didn’t matter because he wouldn’t care about that significance or do anything contrary to what he wanted to do anyways.

The sky was overcast and looked as if it were going to pour soon. You both hurriedly made your ways down side streets, Bondy navigating with a mental map. The buzz of excitement flowed through your veins.

You entered the dimly lit shop just behind him; he had to duck under the low doorway.

“Watch your head,” he called behind him. He never let his hand fall away from yours. You stepped up carefully.

The shop was full of records, from top to bottom. Vinyl covers and CD jewel cases were pasted to the ceiling, and were up and down the walls as well. A sign hung in the corner by the register, and in big black letters and characters it said “EVERYTHING FOR SALE.”

“Have a look at this,” Bondy said into a pile of records after nodding once to the man behind the counter. The man stepped aside to look through a bin, and set a vinyl to play on one of the shop’s players.

“Oasis,” you laughed in amusement as Wonderwall played over the speakers.

“They always do that,” Bondy smiled, showing all his teeth. “Told ya.”

You with your big bag of records in hand, all paid for and basically hand-picked by Johnny Bond himself --- “I’m not going to invite you on a trip across the world and expect you to pay for your own souvenirs,” he’d said with a blush on his face as he paid --- padded out to the darkening street. Bondy guided you back to the subway, but this time he walked more relaxed now that he didn’t have anywhere to be. His hat received funny looks from passersby.

Once again at the station, you both hopped on a train headed back to the hotel. The festival was tomorrow and you knew he needed a good night’s sleep to perform well, so you both silently opted for a night in.

“It’s almost dinner time, John,” you told him, laying your head on his shoulder. The air was stale in that compact space, and you were exhausted. “I’ve no idea how we can spend so much time in there together and not get tired of each other or the scenery.”

He chuckled, and it was a small chuckle meant only for you to hear. He’d always had a special laugh reserved just for you, and it made you feel a little special stuffed among the people in the train car alongside you. His scarf looked warm and soft, and you let your nose rub it a little before you realized people were staring at how close you were to him. Definitely a different culture here.

“Sleeeeeeepy,” you whispered in his ear, and let your eyes close, head resting on his lapel. The jet lag was taking a toll, finally. The imminent excitement of seeing your best friend after months of being apart had finally worn off, and you were content on the train. Sandwiched between someone you’d never met and someone you’d known since you could remember.

The walk back to the hotel was a bleary one; not only was it misting coldly, but you were half asleep. You weren’t happy about having to move off of him to exit the train, and he smiled at how groggy you were. You didn’t tell him, but the cat nap you’d taken on his shoulder was one of the best bouts of sleep you’d had in months.

“Can we get a coffee or somethin’?” you asked him in a small voice. His arm was around you, trying to keep you warm as he guided you back to the hotel. His navigation skills despite a lack of GPS were incredible.

“How about some tea?”

“Yes. Please. God. I need something warm.”

After stopping at a tea shop, and with a hot brew in hand, your morale had improved greatly. The sleepiness was gone, for now.

“Where do you want to go for dinner tonight?” he asked you, hands wrapped around his mug of tea. He looked like a little boy again, shivering every so often every time the door to the cafe opened.

“I figured you’d want to eat room service at the hotel since you’ve got an early riser tomorrow morning.”

“That would be ideal, but you’re here on holiday.”

“So? Doesn’t mean we have to be fancy or anythin’. It’s just you and me.”

“I guess.” He breathed in the steam from his tea, and took a long sip. “Want to go out after the festival?”

“Don’t you want to drink and party?” you questioned. He sat there with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Maybe we can go somewhere the day after. Can you stay an extra night?”

“Uh… yeah, I think I could work it out… well, except my plane ticket, but I guess I could get a new one?” You asked him, and he still looked at you with hopeful eyes. “Why’re you so keen on this, John?”

Just then, his phone rang. Van’s name popped up on the screen. Bondy took the opportunity to dodge your question.

“Hello?”

“Oi mate, we’re gonna do a big feast in the hotel with a roast, maybe. Or some pies. Or even some fancy ice cream. Wanna join? Where are you?” his voice crackled through the receiver to your ears. Van always spoke loudly on the phone. You could hear every word.

“I’m out with Y/N, close to the hotel now.”

“How’s ya sweetheart?” Bondy cleared his throat as Van asked the question. You smiled. Van was always a dear.

“She’s well. A little cold, but we’re working on it.”

“Good. Come on then! We’re orderin’ soon.” He hung up. You laughed.

“Well? The boy said come, so let’s go,” you exclaimed, standing up with renewed energy.

****

Mouths stuffed full of garlic bread, Larry and Bondy attempted to recite their ABCs backwards. Bread crumbs were falling all over the table as they tried not to laugh.

“That’s absolutely disgusting,” Bob declared, taking a big gulp of water.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything,” you quipped. “You’d be surprised at the stuff this one has been able to pull off over the years. When he was a wee lad ---”

“I know what story you’re gonna tell. You better not go there,” Bondy interrupted, mouth clear of bread now.

“And what would you do if I did?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

Benji’s eyebrows knitted in disbelief. “What could he possibly have done that warrants this much attention?”

“Well, ---” you began, but you only got as far as the L’s before Bondy pounced and leapt into your lap. He started tickling you, and you squealed as his hands were digging into your sides and arms and legs. You couldn’t control the laughter, and you cackled loudly as everyone watched, laughing too. Your arms and legs flailed in your chair, but his weight kept you from moving out from under him.

“Stop!” you breathily screamed between inhalations, “Stop! I… Oh my god I can’t breathe,” you laughed into his face. He finally stopped, and rested on your lap. His weight was heavy, and the backs of your legs pressed hard into the wood of the chair you were sitting in. His face was mere inches from yours.

“You done now?” you asked him, moving the hair out of your face that had fallen in the attack.

“Only if you swear not to say anything.”

“You got it, boss.”

He made his way back to his chair as if nothing had happened, and Bob snorted. The conversation resumed normally.

Benji pulled a bottle of Tito’s out of his luggage, and everyone guffawed with wide eyes at how he’d managed to smuggle an entire handle across the Japanese border. Bob rolled his eyes. “We’ve got a show tomorrow, Benj.”

Within an hour, everyone was smashed.

“Royal flush!” Larry cried. “First one in my life!!” He raised the playing cards above his head and let them fall across him in a shower as he collected the petty cash on the table. Bondy mumbled something about a wanker from his spot where he’d spaced out on Van’s bed, and Larry shot him drunk dagger eyes.

“I can’t believe I just lost to Larry with this hand,” Bob giggled. Benji looked over at his cards and sniggered.

“I’ve got a fuckin’ good hand as well,” you laughed.

“And Y/N!” Van yelled half-unintelligibly, flinging his hands in the air, letting all the cards fall to the ground while almost knocking over a shot glass.

“Y/N….” Bondy’s drunken slur rang out from the bed. “She’s an angel…... and I want her to drown in my cum.”

The boys all stared, stunned, looking back and forth from Bondy to you, no one saying a word. Eyes rimmed red were bright with surprise, Larry’s cheeks were puffing out red from holding in laughter.

“My god,” Bob whispered, breaking the silence. Van giggled.

“Oh, I’m desensitized to his drunken comments by now. Known the lad for forever it seems like,” you said, laughing off the uncomfortable feeling their glances were giving you.

Larry decided it was time for everyone to sober up after that raucous comment. After chugging a few glasses of water each and taking an aspirin, all of you felt you’d be sort of fine in the morning.

Slowly, after everyone finished their food and trickled out of the rooms, it was you and Bondy’s bedtime and you walked down the hall back to your own room, only slightly tipsy now. The hardwood floors creaked in the silence that descended upon the both of you.

When you reached the door, he stopped and turned to you before inserting the key.

“Today was good,” he pointed out. He seemed completely sobered up by now.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “I’m exhausted. I’m glad we did this though. The lads are still a right laugh.”

“Me too.”

He took a step forward and leaned in delicately, kissing your lips gently. It was soft, and only for a moment. He smiled, and opened the door, walking inside the room you shared. You stood there rooted to the spot, dumbfounded.

Then, Van came around the corner with an empty ice bucket.

“What you doin’ standin’ out here pale as a ghost?”

You pulled him aside and ducked your head to speak quietly to him. “Dude, what’s gotten into John? He just kissed me on the lips. Like a fuckin’ weirdo. All gentle and shit.”

Van turned to look at you squarely. “Whad’you mean?”

“He… kissed me. At the door. Before we walked in the room.”

“And you’re mad about that?”

“Uh....No…. just… confused?” Van’s eyes widened at your comment. He knew something you didn’t.

“Y/N… why’d you come out here?”

“To catch up! He’s my best friend and I missed him!” you whisper yelled in the hall. Frustration was seeping into your pores due to your confusion. Van noticed your distress and placed a hand on your shoulder. He sighed heavily.

“Y/N, I don’t know if I should be the one tellin’ you this, but… Bond’s dead in love with you.”

Your eyes filled with tears.

“He won’t ever stop talkin’ about you after you call. He thinks of buying things for you when we shop around. Always asks us, ‘will she like this,’ an’ that. Wants to get a house somewhere.”

“Stop.” Your voice broke.

“I thought you felt the same way, we all did. When you came all the way out here, we thought, it’s settled then. Let’s pick the baby names.”

“Van, shut the fuck up,” you cried, tears threatening to roll down your face. There was too much to process. It filled your lungs with horror. A whole lifetime of loving him as a friend and it wasn’t reciprocated in the way you thought it was. The double beds, the record store gifts, the hand holding, the late night phone calls --- all of it, so he could woo you. Not because he genuinely cared. Your friendship, ruined. You turned away from Van, walking back to your room you unfortunately shared with Bondy the whole time you were here.

“Where you going?!” he shouted after you.

“To bed,” you said dejectedly, leaving Van and his empty ice bucket to their own devices in the hall.

As if he’d already known your reaction, Bondy had set up the paper separators between your beds so you didn’t have to see him. You toed into the bathroom and started the shower.

Under the hot stream, you cried hard for everything you thought you’d known. How much of his friendship was real? Or just trying to get in your pants? How long had he felt this way? Why hadn’t he said anything? Were the brash comments really jokes, as you’d interpreted them?

The questions pelted your mind as frequently as the water drops landed on your back, easing your sore muscles but not your mind. You shut the water off, having accomplished next to nothing other than magnifying the pain you felt at having a facade for a friendship, and pulled your pajamas on. Disheartened, you padded over to the bed and fell into its soft sheets, willing yourself not to think about the sound of his soft breathing just a few feet away.

****

The room was empty when you stirred half past noon. You checked your phone. Only one text from Larry. “If you decide to come, we’ve got a train ticket and a festival bracelet for you. Xxx.” Van had relayed the news, then.

The heartache of last night steadily grew back into your heart as you brushed your hair. You were upset not only for yourself, but for him. You knew him inside and out, and he the same to you. You knew he’d be devastated. He’d probably never forgive you for standing outside the door, dumbstruck, and then going straight to bed instead of telling him how you felt straight away. But what were you supposed to do?

When you scrolled through Tumblr that night, after spending the whole day lamenting your loss by watching high school coming-of-age movies and ordering expensive ice cream pints, you pulled up the #catfishandthebottlemen tag.

A myriad of photos and messages regarding the festival show they’d played popped up. “Is he okay? He looks ill?” was one person’s response to a photo of Bondy looking sickly playing the guitar. Loads of people were concerned about him, and rightfully so; he looked awful. His hair wasn’t fixed, he had a five-o-clock shadow, his eyes were droopier than usual and he looked as if he were in pain. His facial expressions betrayed his usual debonair act. You found fan videos of a few of the songs. During Fallout, he looked as if he were crying.

You curled up on the bed, wrapped yourself in the soft duvet, and did the same.

****

By nightfall, you’d moved the paper separators to behind the bed, and cleared the room. You sat on his bed, waiting.

The jingle of keys in the lock made your heart seize up.

He opened the door slowly, and threw his keys into the bowl in the foyer. He removed his coat, and hung it on a hook.

“John,” you whispered. He turned to look at you. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and he looked worse than the photos you’d seen this evening. Bedraggled, he walked over to you and took your outstretched hand. He sat down next to you, and the bed dipped with his weight. He sat facing the dinner table and the wall, where he could only see you in periphery.

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t muster more than a whisper. “I didn’t know.”

“Y/N….” he began, shaking his head a little. “I’ve loved you since we were in school.” The blow hit hard, but it was expected. You’d spent all day remembering little things he’d done for you, like bringing you flowers he’d picked from the side of the country road up to his house or dancing with you in your kitchen. He was the only boy your parents ever let in the house.

“I just thought after all this time, if you wanted me, you’d come, and that would be it.”

“I thought it was just a friends’ trip…”

“I know. Van filled me in earlier.”

Silence. You could almost hear your heartbeat drumming in your chest.

“I thought I was clear,” he started again. He still stared straight ahead, studying the legs of the table.

“I didn’t realize….”

“Do you love me?” he interrupted, turning to face you now.

“I… John, I’ve always loved you, like as a ---”

“Do you love me like I love you?” he interrupted again.

“I…”

“I’m begging you, Y/N.”

“John, I just…”

“Please.”

You thought it over. You’d been friends since the nursery. You went through school together, always at each other’s sides. There was never a moment where you’d ever doubted his trust in you, his companionship, his friendship. When you crashed your bike, he was there picking gravel out of your knee. When you had your first boyfriend, Bondy threatened to beat his ass if you ever got hurt. When you got your first car, he was the one you drove to so you could pick him up and show it off. When you lost your dad, he let you cry on his shoulder, and he shared your grief. When you rented your first apartment, he called all his friends and worked them to death moving your furniture so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. The undying love was underfoot, drawing you two together, always.

“Y/N, do you love me like i love you?” he repeated, breaking the silence one last time.

“I can try.”

[rineechan]

Mafia AU (part 2)

@xxluluelix, I am a lying liar who lies and posts in three parts instead of two.

Inspired by @baneme-art‘s lovely art work. Part 1 can be found here.

Steve pulled the binder towards himself and just watching him open the thing made Tony so antsy that he pulled his feet off the desk and surged upwards. On restless legs he ambled through the room for a few steps, before remembering his earlier cravings and headed to the mini-bar. The silver carafe on the table was still steaming from the snout and no doubt full of fresh coffee. To his right were the shelves filled with expensive (and criminally underappreciated) spirits, their clear and golden colors insistingly catching his eye.  

It wasn't a very good idea. He needed his head clear and sharp, ready to argue numbers and morals and political exigencies. Didn't matter that he was already getting cold from lack of sleep and lack of proper meals. As a temporary remedy hot coffee would serve just as well as the burn of amber liquids. Resigning himself to the impending row and inevitable stomach acids, he picked up the carafe and reached out for one of the coffee mugs.

“No more coffee for you today.” a calm, but imperious voice intervened from behind him.

For a moment, he was actually stunned by the sheer insolence. Stunned, annoyed, rapidly working towards aggravated, and even slightly hurt. How exactly was he supposed to get through this without firing on all cylinders?

Taking another moment to compose himself and relax, he turned around to face Steve and make his opinions known. Charmingly of course, and politely, but showing rows of teeth. “Oh? And what brings you to that assumption?”

Steve wasn't even looking up from his perusal of the government documents. Reclined in his chair he was simply flipping over pages and looking for all the world like a normal person who had just gotten saddled with another time consuming task at work. And Tony's astonishment continued. Steve wasn't normally like this. Not when politics were involved. Other people telling him how to do things or how to run his operations usually got the same reaction a red rag got from a bull. Made exponentially worse, when it was people he deemed entitled or uncaring.

And Tony had read those reports. They were full of unfeeling bureaucratic jargon and outrageous demands and obligations. He had had to suppress more than one preemptive wince on the car ride over, imagining Steve's reaction to just the overview sheet. And now almost cheerful nonchalance was happening?? What kind of parallel universe had he woken up in between Fourteenth Street and First?

But before his over-exhausted lizard brain could work itself into full on panic mode, Steve did him the courtesy of sneering hatefully at something he had just read. So, no parallel universe. No one had taken the ground out from under him. He was just standing on shaky legs. And starting to feel confused.

He hated being confused. It was something that happened to other people.

“You said it yourself, you've been up nearly two days. The last thing you need right now is caffeine.”

Patronizing jackass. Though this at least he understood: overbearing mother hen Rogers.

“What I need is to get stuff done. And coffee has always and forever been my greatest ally in that. You aren't the only item on my agenda for today, Cap. So, I will caffeinate up, you can finish your reading, we will hash it out and I'll be on my way.” Calm, charming and just the lightest bit teasing. Everything to not get the Captain's hackles up. Though that was merely what he had aimed for; no clue how much annoyance and low level hysteria had shown through despite his best efforts.

And whatever it was, it hadn't been the right tone, cause now he got treated to the view of a clenched jaw and grinding teeth in profile. Turning back around he made a resolute grab for a coffee mug, intending to secure the only spoils of war this Pyrrhic endeavor would apparently allow him.

“No coffee, Tony.”

And there it was, the authoritative, no-nonsense voice of the boss. He had no idea what game they were playing today, but it was apparent that Steve was already several moves in. Leaving Tony to play some fast footed catch up. Because that was what he was here for, wasn't it? To play several games of chess simultaneously, with people and rules and a board that continuously changed on him. He had to ruthlessly stomp on the urge to hurl the mug against a wall to quell at least some of his upsurging rage.

Fine! Fine. No coffee then. New game, new rules. Might as well call upon the tingly properties of Bourbon to loosen up. Makes rolling with the punches that much easier. It takes a step, some very precise movements and no time at all, before he has a neat whiskey in his left hand. It takes even less time for it to burn down his throat. Topping up, he walks back over to the desk and sets it down exactly opposite of Steve. Guaranteed to have some of the bastard's attention, he begins to loosen his tie and undo the first few buttons of his shirt.  

“Bossy...”, he sighs, keeping himself poised and aloof, hoping some of his supposed allure comes through despite his utter lack of a battle plan. There are times he downright adores Rogers's ornery nature. In fact, if there was something other than government accords on that table he would already be advocating playing hooky for the rest of the morning and get some sweet use out of the soundproofing. But it wasn't. And this was going to turn into a fight, whether they wanted it to or not.

Time for another smooth burn. Keeping his movements controlled and flowing, he sat down again, shifting slightly to cross his legs. Seeking the Captain's gaze and finding a piercing pair of eyes trained on himself, he picked up his glass. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to upend the damn drink over the man's head. Tell him to go fuck with someone else, then saunter out of the damn building, out of the Borough, leave the whole the damn city behind and never look back.

But that wasn't who he was. And not what he ultimately wanted for himself. So he kept the violence tightly locked behind a small, sardonic smile. Instead, he toasted the Captain and took a few mouthfuls of liquid gold. Steve was playing hard to get. And since he was here to get concessions from the man, he would play along. What's a little flirting and seduction between friends? Or between 'Until Death May Us Part' business associates?

Judging from the glint in his eyes, his wiles were still working on the Brooklyn kid. Lifting the glass from his lips, he settled it on his knee; rested his left elbow on the desk and propped his head daintily. His right foot began to whip, keeping a beat for their little stare-off.

'You wanted me here, you have me. Your move now, Captain. You have my attention for the moment. What are you gonna do with it?'

His foot whipped up and down, up and down, up and down again. The whiskey in his glass sloshed soundlessly in time with his foot. And Steve continued to not say a word. Instead he kept staring. He looked at Tony with an intensity that agitated. He wanted to make light of it with a joke or some flippant remarks, but this had now become a battle of wills. He had come over, in more ways than one, and offered to walk them through this. If Steve Rogers wanted to wander off the beaten path, he could damn well lead the way himself.

He must have come to a similar conclusion, in that he blinked the next moment and leaned back in his chair. The way his face was flushing and the deep breaths he took were more than gratifying. Looking at him, you would think they had locked more than just gazes.

Feeling smug and rather better about himself again, he raised his glass and took another sip. Taking his eyes of the boy seemed to make him talk today.

“A nightcap will be good for you. No more after this though.”

“Bossy, bossy. Particular reason you're so commanding this morning?”

“You aren't taking care. You are so bad at watching out for yourself, it borders on negligence. Someone should step in.”

And it was good that he had a lifetime's worth of self-control, otherwise his jaw would have hit the desk by now. 'Negligence? Step in? What?' They were less than six buffer zones away from an all-out war with Hydra over control of the City. There was a government offer on the table between them, that would either make them or break them. Steve had about a million people to organize into foot soldiers, beat cops and logistics staff. Tony had six million to provide with food, water and electricity, all the while dodging bullets. And Steve wanted to talk about self-care?!

Time to stall. And time for another sip. “That someone being you?”

“I did take a vow.”

And this was always the point where things horribly derailed for Tony. Because the fucker hadn't. Tony was as fond of this ongoing marriage-charade as he was ever gonna be of anything in his life, but their business deal had been made over maps of the city, a model of the Arc Reactor and a few bottles of wine. (No matter what outlandish stories he told Clint. Or Pepper. Or occasionally Rhodey.) It hadn't happened in front of an altar, much less a priest.

But for some unfathomable reason Steven Grant Rogers – the Captain, the Head of the Howling Commandos, the Avenging Angel of Brooklyn – had decided that this was the Tony Stark Whim he would take at face value. And then proceeded to dig his heels in.

“Guess you are finally making an honest man out of me now.”

“What?!”

“Oh don't look so scandalized, Rogers. It's a simple 'Until Death Do Us Part' from here on out. That is all.”

“…”

“You want more wine? I might scrounge up a bottle of champagne from somewhere- uh, well, there is a moderate possibility some room in this dilapidated mansion holds unopened bottles of some quality.”

“Wine is fine. There is still some Chianti in that bottle.”

“Sorry to say, but there was some Chianti left in that bottle. Now it's all in this glass. … Is this yours or mine? Ah, who cares? Equitable distribution of the assets and all that. … Here you go. What do we toast?”

“…until death do us part.”

“Well then, until death do us part. Cheers!”

And here they were now. Nearly three years on, and apparently married enough to rub off on each other. Tony Stark Caprice was really the only thing he had on hand to explain why Steve Rogers would decide to put the fate of the City on the back burner while focusing on Tony's sleeping habits. (Being on the other end of it was both enervating and confounding. It's possible he understood his position at the top of several hit lists a bit better right this second.)

There were normal days, with productive meetings, efficient discussions – and if there was enough time, some wine and dine and a bit of the horizontal tango.

There were trying days, too, with uncertain outcomes, flying bullets, splattering blood and screaming until they made themselves hoarse.

Tony could handle those. There were days he could barely drag himself upright, but he could manage those too. Cruel as it was, he was good at suffering. As he had been told on one memorable occasion, he even did so “prettily��.

But these bizarre moments they sometimes had, of tortuous kindness and baffling consideration, threw Tony off. Off his game and off his equilibrium. And they were running out of time for Tony to hole up in his workshop and put himself back together. So enough with it already! Suck it up Rogers, your hobby of mother henning needs to be postponed.

“Mother hen,” he muttered with as much venom as he could muster.

All it got him was a raised eyebrow. The amused one at that.

“Your concern is appreciated, but I can sleep either when I'm dead or the goddamn Hydra is. And I know which one of those options I prefer. So could we please, please get down to it and talk about this goddamn government deal?” Ignoring the oncoming hysteria, he had uncrossed his legs, sat up and now leaned towards Rogers across the desk – the better to entreat him with. Also, probably best to set the glass down and out of reach. His gesticulation could get a little out of hand when he really got going. And he would infinitely prefer the Whiskey in the glass and eventually in his stomach than all over the floor.

Miracles of miracles, Steve even seemed to acquiesce. With a nod he pulled the binder he had put down earlier back into the middle of the desk.

“When we are done here, you will unwind and go to bed.”

At the rate they were going, by the time they were 'done here' it would be nightfall and he pretty much dead on his feet.

“Yes, damn it! Now, get going.”

The small smile hiding in the corner of Steve’s mouth as he flipped back to the overview sheet was unsettling to see. Because it meant he had walked right into a trap, one he could not see, and with no clue of what it would cost him in the end.

This thing is almost writing itself. It’s vaguely unnerving.

Also, ‘Oh, Tony.’

[arcaneloquence]

The Pink Joke

As requested by @impuretale​ because before I do this I absolutely want y’all to be 1000% certain of whose fault this is and that I definitely accept no responsibility for what happens to those who click through to actually read this Horrible Joke™. It’s probably already written down somewhere else on the internet, but I haven’t seen it in a long time and had hoped it might be lost to the ages with my death. But since I was asked specifically to share it (and I am a hollow vessel inhabited only by bitterness), I will resurrect for the new era what is probably the worst joke I Have Ever Heard In My Life.

Abandon hope, ye who enter here.

A man was driving through the countryside when his tire went flat, and he found himself sadly without a spare. Left with no other options, he decided to ask assistance from someone living nearby. Luckily, just across the road was a little pink house, so he went there.

As he approached the pink house, which was surrounded by a pink picket fence, he stopped to open the little pink gate. Stepping through it onto a pink path made of pink paving stones, he noticed the yard was filled with pink lawn flamingos; a pink bird bath where pink birds were fluttering their pink wings and drinking with pink beaks; and a pond where pink fish swam under pink water lilies. A pink duck paddled its pink feet, ruffling its pink feathers as the man passed.

To one side was a pink garage with its pink shutter raised to reveal a pink car parked on the pink concrete, its pink body that of an older model, supported by pink whitewall tires with pink hubcaps. The pink top was up, but he could still see the pink interior—pink upholstery, though he wasn’t sure whether it was pink suede or pink leather; a pink dash; a pink steering wheel; a pink cartridge in the pink tape deck; and pink dice dangling from the pink mirror.

Leaning against the pink wall beside the pink car was a pink bike, which also had pink tires, a pink seat, little pink license plate, pink handlebars, pink horn, pink lamp, pink pedals, and cheerful pink streamers. It was carefully chained up with a pink chain and pink lock to the pink rack nearby, beside which sat a pink toolbox holding a pink hammer, pink screwdriver, pink drill, pink measuring tape, pink saw, pink spirit level, pink goggles, and pink knee pads. Surely that meant someone in the pink house used the pink tools to repair things like the pink car and pink bike! The man had come to the right place.

Crossing the pink yard, he climbed three pink steps, leaning on the pink handrail, to the pink porch. It was really more of a pink patio, with its pink roof of pink shingles supported by pink columns, leaving plenty of room for the pink chairs, pink wicker bench, and pink swing, all with their pink cushions. A pink dog lay under the bench; it raised its pink head and perked up pink ears as the man approached, its pink tongue lolling out and its pink tail wagging across the pink planks. Its pink face was friendly and its pink fur very clean.

The man went up to the pink storm door, with its pink screen, and rang the pink doorbell beside it by pressing its pink button. While he waited for someone to answer, he noticed the pink shutters against the house’s pink siding, framing pink windows of pink glass with pink curtains just visible on the inside.

The pink front door opened inward, its pink lock sliding back and the pink handle turning. Standing on the other side of the pink screen was an elderly woman, dressed in a long pink skirt made of pink plaid, with a pink hem brushing the pink stockings on her calves, pink shoes with pink laces and pink soles, a pink belt around her waist with a pink buckle, a pink blouse with pink buttons, and a pink sweater knitted from pink yarn. The pink sweater had pink pockets and a pink collar, plus pink cuffs and pink fastenings. She had pink earrings of pink metal, set with pink stone, hanging from her ears by pink posts. Her curly pink hair matched her pink eyebrows, and pink spectacles rested on her nose, their pink frames attached to a fine pink chain that went around her neck, where she also wore a pink necklace full of pink stones. The pink lenses of her glasses made her eyes pink, and she smiled with pink lips.

Through the pink screen of the pink storm door, the man told the pink lady why he had come to her pink house, explaining his predicament from her pink porch. She nodded and invited him in through the pink entrance, asking him to wipe his shoes on the pink mat. She held the storm door so he could step in onto the pink tile in the pink foyer, and even let him hang his coat in the pink closet, behind a narrow pink door beside a little pink table that held some pink photographs in pink frames, and a pink rose in a pink vase. Shutting the pink door behind her, she pointed down the pink hallway with a pink-nailed finger and told him, “Feel free to use the phone! It’s in the kitchen.”

Thanking her, the man went past the pink stairs with their pink banister, on his right, which led to a pink second floor. His feet lightly crushed the pink carpet as he went by the pink doorway into a pink parlor, where he could see a pink sofa and pink easy chair pointed at a pink entertainment center, whose pink shelves held up a pink TV that was tuned to some pink channel he didn’t recognize. Beside the chair was a pink basket full of pink yarn, with pink needles stabbed in, indicating the pink lady must knit her own pink sweaters. There were pink cushions piled on the pink couch, and a pink blanket folded over the back, so the whole pink place looked soft and comfy. A pink cat had its pink paws folded under its pink body on the pink coffee table, with its pink tail curled up around it so that it looked like a pink loaf. It opened its pink eyes to look over the pink distance at the intruder, flicking one pink ear in disinterest. Beside it were some pink magazines advertising pink products, and a pink ashtray with pink ashes in the bottom; the pink butt of a pink cigarette was stubbed out there, pink smoke still trailing from it.

At the end of the pink hall was the pink kitchen, which was floored in pink linoleum, in alternating light pink and dark pink squares. A pink counter ran along one pink wall, interrupted by a pink oven with a pink range on top, made up of four pink burners. A pink hand towel was draped over the pink handle on the pink oven door; arranged on the pink counter, nearby, were pink jars for spices, pink hooks holding pink pots and pink kettles, a pink wire cooling rack, pink mixing machine with pink beaters, a pink toaster, a pink microwave, pink potholders, and all the other pink odds and pink ends you’d expect to find in a pink kitchen. Pink drawers with pink knobs presumably held pink silverware and other pink utensils, and pink cabinets with similar pink fixtures probably hid pink boxes and pink cans of pink food, like pink bread or pink beans or pink chips.

The man saw the pink phone on the pink wall across the pink kitchen: It had a pink receiver and an old-timey pink spiral cord, plus pink numbers printed on a pink keypad. He went towards it, heading around the pink table in the middle of the pink room. On the way, he noticed that the table was set with three pink bowls on three pink saucers, each with its own pink spoon and pink mug or pink glass for drinks. Two boxes sat out on the pink tablecloth, by the pink bowl full of pink flowers, where he could see pink chip clips holding cereal bags shut. One of the pink bowls was filled with cornflakes, and the other two with Cheerios; a pink milk jug sat beside them, ready and waiting for someone to grab its pink handle and tip its pink spout up to fill the pink bowls, so they could take up their pink spoons for breakfast.

And the moral of the story is:

Two out of three people prefer Cheerios to cornflakes.