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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

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By Your Doorstep (Part 3)

Summary: Dean talks with Sam about his growing feelings for the reader before inviting her and Tessa over for the evening. Later on in the week, Dean and the reader head out on a date but it doesn’t exactly end smoothly...

Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,500ish

Warnings: language, brief mention of sex toys, minor frightening situation

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

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Dean’s POV

“Hey,” said Dean, answering his phone as he walked around the grocery store after dropping Y/N off at home. “You gonna come over for the game, Sammy?”

“I got a brief I need to write up for my boss unfortunately,” said Sam. “I can’t wait to quit.”

“Same. You tried these baked barbecue chips yet?” asked Dean, picking up a bag.

“Trying to force your guests to be healthy for once, doctor?” teased Sam.

“Well the girls are having a spa day thing I forgot about and Y/N and Tessa are coming over later for the game so I don’t want it to be a total dude fest of beer and more beer,” said Dean, putting the bag back and get some regular baked ones instead. “They should be over by second half but still.”

“Trying to impress this girl or something? With chips?” laughed Sam. Dean groaned and threw his head back. “Dean. You’re overthinking this. You know brownies are the real way to a woman’s heart.”

“See? I knew there was a reason I didn’t hang up on you yet,” said Dean, turning down the snack aisle.

“I take it the date went well if she’s coming over to hang out.”

“Yeah. She’s cool.”

“She’s cool? That’s all I’m gonna get?” asked Sam. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since you were twenty two and now that you have one it’s just cool?”

“Fine. I like her. She’s cute and she smells pretty and she’s…” trailed off Dean, tossing a tub of brownie bites in the cart.

“She’s what?” asked Sam.

“She gets me, gets what we went through.”

“Her parents fuck ups too?”

“No. But they died a few years ago. She’s got a sister about nine years younger. She’s just starting her senior year now. She’s had to raise her the past few years on her own.”

“...She really does get you then,” said Sam. “Where’d you meet her again?”

“I was taking a walk in the neighborhood. She was looking for their dog. They’re having a really hard time of it right now it sounds like but she just, keeps going with a smile.”

“She’s not a damsel though. Don’t try and sweep in and save the day too much you know. You’d hate that.”

“I know. I helped her get a job at our office since she just lost hers and they’re crunched on cash. Plus the sister is going to college next year,” said Dean.

“She should apply to that grant you got. Mr. Y/L/N helped you with it, right?” asked Sam.

“Yeah he...what’d you just say?” asked Dean, pausing in front of the dip section.

“The grant money. It paid for nearly all your undergraduate right?” asked Sam. “It’s the same one I did too.”

“Mr. Y/L/N,” said Dean, shutting his eyes as he realized why Y/N’s house looked so familiar. “Sammy.”

“What?”

“Y/N, the girl, her house...where was Mr. Y/L/N’s house?” asked Dean.

“Over on Pine I think,” said Sam. “I know it’s in your neighborhood somewhere.”

“Oh Sammy. Shit,” said Dean. “I think I know why he stopped talking to us a few years ago. His house, that’s Y/N’s house. Mr. Y/L/N was her dad, Sam.”

“No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way. Fuck,” said Dean adding some sour cream and onion and guacamole to the cart. “She’s gonna think I’m just trying to pay her back for what he did or something.”

“Yeah but you didn’t know that when you got her the job. You gotta tell her at some point but it doesn’t have to be a problem,” said Sam.

“Well what if he went and told his family about the guy he caught stealing? I’m sure she’d think I’m great then. Of course, the one woman that I’m like…”

“You’re like what?” asked Sam. Dean was quiet, heading over towards the beer cooler. “In love with?”

“Geez, Sam. I barely know her. I’m not in love with her,” said Dean. “I just...I could see myself being in love with her.”

“So...you pre-love her,” said Sam.

“Exactly.”

“Yeah there’s no such thing, dumbass. You’re fucking falling for this girl and fast.”

“I know,” said Dean, shutting his eyes by the milk. “She just...she feels like you. Like she’s got no ulterior motive. I just...something is telling me I can’t fuck this up. I’m not supposed to.”

“Then you won’t,” said Sam. “You sure it’s not like that thing with Lisa?”

“That was me ignoring all the crap because I thought somebody loved me. Sam the moment I met this girl like...I don’t know,” said Dean. “I don’t think she’ll fuck me over.”

“I hope she works out. She sounds special.”

“She is and that is terrifying.”

“Dean contrary to what we grew up with and how your love life has gone so far, there are people that have amazing relationships out there. You can be one of them if you want,” he said.

“I know. Take a break and call at halftime or something, okay? The losers miss seeing your face too.”

“I will. Talk to you soon Dean.”

Reader’s POV

“Hello, Y/N,” said Tessa as you walked past her room an hour later. “How was Dean’s?”

“Good. He invited us over later to watch football. Some guys your age will be there too if you’re interested.”

“Alright,” she said. “Hey so you know how we were talking about sex stuff yesterday?”

“Oh yeah. We were gonna talk more,” you said. You took a seat in her desk chair and she sat up on her bed. “The fake dick thing, that was throwing you off, right?”

“Yeah. Well, I kinda talked to Hailey about that stuff last night and she has one. She like showed me it so I kinda get that apparently it feels good if there’s something up there?” she asked.

“Yes, it does. What’s with the questions about sex toys?” you asked.

“I know my birthday is coming up and I’ll be eighteen and I kinda…I’m a hormonal teenager and-”

“I can get you a private gift,” you said with a smile. “Just shut your door if you’re gonna do it when I’m home, okay?”

“I do that now.”

“Good,” you said. “I’ll pick out something small and by the time you want something more, then you can pick that out on your own, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “Did mom ever...talk about this stuff with you?”

“No,” you said with a laugh. “I found out on my own. It’s perfectly normal and natural and guys aren’t the only ones allowed to get off on their own.”

“Not sure I’d ever ask her anyways,” she said.

“That’s what sisters are for,” you said. “You have fun at Hailey’s then?”

“Mhm. It’s okay if Toast goes to Dean’s later right?”

“Uh, let me check quick,” you said, pulling out your phone.

Hey. Toast can come over too right?

Duh, Y/L/N. He’s more than welcome.

Okay. We’ll see you later.

Later sweetheart.

“Yeah, Toast is cool,” you said. You stood and Tessa cocked her head, smiling at you. “What?”

“How was your date?” she asked.

“I like him. I like him a lot.”

“Good. Tell him if he fucks with you though I’ll kick his ass,” she said. “So will Toast.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it with this one.”

“Whoa, whoa, ladies,” said Dean as you and Tessa started to put on your shoes to head home after the game. “It’s only seven and you two need dinner.”

“What are you making?” asked Tessa.

“I was going to do enchiladas?” he said. Tessa looked at you and you nodded.

“Only if we help though,” you said.

“Alright. Tessa how about you make up some guac for us. You can hang out at the counter, get off that ankle of yours,” said Dean.

“He so likes you,” she said as you walked back with her to the kitchen.

“Yes, I do,” chuckled Dean. Toast followed close by and whined, pawing at your foot. “She okay?”

“My meds are home. Supposed to have them with dinner,” said Tessa with a sigh.

“I can run home and get them real quick,” you said. “Ten minutes.”

“Alright. We’ll get started without you.”

Ten minutes later you were back along with some of Toast’s dog food. You could hear laughter coming from the kitchen, Tessa snorting to herself.

“Here you go dork,” you said, popping the bottle down in front of her.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a few. You used a bowl and fed Toast some dinner while Dean worked on putting the tortillas together. “I like your doctor boyfriend.”

“Oh course you do,” you said, smacking her arm.

“Someone told me she’s turning eighteen in a few weeks. You got any big plans?” he asked as he tucked the last enchilada in a casserole dish.

“We might get a pizza,” said Tessa. “Nothing fancy.”

“Oh I think we can do better than that,” you said with a smile.

“I thought…” said Tessa and you shrugged. “We’re going out? Are we going to Monico’s like we used to?”

“Monico’s? That’s very fancy,” said Dean, giving you a quick look. “You got room for one more?”

“I…” you said, Dean cocking his head. “Sure. You wouldn’t mind, would you Tessa?”

“Yeah, Dean can come,” she said. “Oh shit, would they even let Toast in?”

“He’s a service dog so legally yes, they have to,” said Dean as he popped the casserole in the oven. “Y/N, why don’t you help me set the table. I never eat in the dining room anyways.”

You carried some plates in the room around the front of the house, staring at Dean as he set some spots down.

“Dean. That is a hundred dollar a plate restaurant.”

“It’s her eighteenth birthday and mine was real shitty. I can afford it. Let me. Please.”

“You can’t just buy stuff for her or me.”

“Why not? I like you. I care about you and she’s part of that so I think caring about her is going to be pretty important to you at some point so I might as well start now.”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Thank you,” you said.

“Oh. Well...okay then.” You left the plates on the table and walked around to where he was, Dean glancing away when you wrapped your arm around his waist.

“Let me go dutch at least.”

“Bake me a pie and we’re even,” he said.

“Alright. Pie is it, Dean.”

Thursday Afternoon

“Hello, Y/N,” said Dean. He grinned as he walked into the lab. “How’s the first week going?”

“She’s a fast learner,” said the lab manager. “What do you need, Winchester?”

“Just saying hi to our new colleague,” he said.

“I already know she’s your girlfriend, Dean.”

“You’re no fun, Wesley,” said Dean. “You like it?”

“I like the pay. Wesley says after a little while I can take some certification courses and work on more complex things. The research hospital tied with the university is really good for that stuff,” you said.

“Oh yeah, those guys do pretty well over there. I think our last tech went on to the radiology program over there. I know blood and urine samples aren’t the most fun thing to work on but-”

“Dean this is more than what I was making as a paralegal even,” you said quietly. “This job is great and Tessa’s on better insurance now. Honestly. I owe you one.”

“All you owe me is a pie,” he chuckled. “You got plans tonight? I know you’ve been busy.”

“I’m free if you had something in mind,” you said.

“Do you maybe want to go out for dinner? Maybe do a round of bowling?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Sounds fun. Pick me up at six thirty?”

“Sounds like a plan sweetheart.”

“Okay, were you conning me?” asked Dean as you walked back to his car that evening. You giggled and he pulled you into a noogie. “How the fuck do you go from a twenty eight your first game to one fifty? There is no way you weren’t pulling a fast one.”

“What can I say, maybe I just needed a warm up game,” you said. Dean ruffled your hair for a moment before fixing it, leaving his arm around your shoulder when your phone rang. “Hey Tess. What’s up?”

“I think somebody’s in the house,” she said quietly. “I’m in my closet with Toast.”

“Dean, call 911,” you said, his hand already moving into his pocket. “Someone’s in the house.”

“Y/N, I think they’re upstairs,” she whispered.

“Don’t say a word. I’m right here and Dean’s calling the cops right now. Toast’ll protect you until they get there okay?” you said.

“Y/N, they say they’re already responding to a call your neighbor put in. The cops are there?” said Dean.

“Hello, Elmdale police department. Anyone home?” said a voice through the phone.

“Tessa it’s okay. Those are the police,” you said. “We’ll be home in five minutes okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

“Thanks again,” you said, saying goodnight to the officers. You shut the door after yourself, Tessa sat on the couch with her arms crossed. “Tessa how many times have I told you. At night, you lock the front door. The storm door is broken and has been forever. The front door’s been wide open for hours.”

“I don’t need you to yell at me,” she said.

“Tessa somebody could have walked right on in and-”

“Oh my God, I know,” she said. She stormed upstairs and slammed her door shut, opening it quickly for Toast to come inside before it slammed again.

“I’ve told her so many times,” you said as you paced the family room. Dean walked over and rubbed your arms, kissing your forehead. “Sorry.”

“She made a mistake. Kids make them. So do adults.”

“I know she’s shaken up,” you said. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Yeah but maybe she won’t do it again,” he said. “She’s not the only one shaken up.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said.

“How about I crash on the couch tonight,” he said. “Give you girls some peace of mind.”

“You can sleep in my room,” you said.

“I thought you had a twin sized bed,” he chuckled. “The couch is fine. I want to. I wasn’t just talking about you two either.”

“You’re sweet,” you said.

“Oh I’m very aware,” he said. “Go talk to your sister.”

“There’s blankets in the cupboard under the TV,” you said.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said. He kissed you and you headed upstairs, knocking on Tessa’s door.

“Tess. Can we talk?” you asked. The door opened slowly and she had her arms crossed at you. “I’m sorry for freaking out. I got scared too.”

“I’m sorry I forgot about the door again,” she said quietly.

“Tessa, we...we gotta protect ourselves. We gotta make sure we do things like lock doors and windows at night. Two young women alone in a house...I know your mind already went there once tonight. Please, please remember to lock the door from now, okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

“Dean’s gonna stay the night on the couch downstairs,” you said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. Nothing’s gonna get past him,” you said.

“He seems like a really good guy. You deserve one of those,” she said.

“I think so too,” you said. “Night.”

“Night, Y/N.”

Dean’s POV

“Sammy boy, isn’t it past your bedtime?” chuckled Dean as he answered his phone, watching some late night TV quietly from Y/N’s couch.

“Shut up. How big is the guest room at your house? I was thinking of getting a new bed and just having it delivered there.”

“Oh, you finally gonna get off that tiny ass mattress?” teased Dean.

“De…”

“You can have the spare bedroom at the end. It’s bigger, got it’s own attached bath. Plus it’s empty so win win.”

“Would a king fit?” he asked.

“Probably. I’m not home right now but I can measure tomorrow for you,” said Dean.

“On a hot date?” laughed Sam.

“I was. Y/N’s little sister had a bit of a scare.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Kid just accidentally left the front door open and neighbor called the cops, cops came, Tessa heard it and freaked a bit. I’m crashing on the couch for the night. They’re a little shook up still.”

“Well someone’s gonna get some brownie points for that one.”

“Nah, Y/N knows I’m only here cause I want to be, dude.”

“Not at all what I said but whatever. Oh by the way, I got another call from mom today. I let it go to voicemail.”

“What’d she say?” sighed Dean, running his hand through his hair.

“She just like...wanted to say she’s thinking about us, like both of us or some shit.”

“Oh that’s nice. Better late than never, ain’t that right Sammy?” said Dean, rolling his eyes and laying down on the couch.

“Dean. I’m not saying...can I ask why you hate her so much?” Sam asked after a beat. Dean moved the phone away and shut his eyes. He put his head down and let out a deep breathe, moving the phone back. “De.”

“She’s not a good person. You know that. Leave it at that.”

“Did she smack you around too?” asked Sam quietly.

“Dad at least you knew was an asshole. She pretended she wasn’t though and she’s just a bitch that blames her shitty life on us when we turned out awesome. She can get fucked along with him.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Yeah. Block her number Sam. It’s the best thing you can do.”

“You think there’s no chance of anything with her then.”

“Mom’s shouldn’t tell their kids the shit she said to me. Ever. I’m just glad you never got it as much.”

“I punched her in the leg once,” chuckled Sam. “Got my ass spanked but it was worth it.”

“What’d she do?”

“I just remember she made you cry real bad and I got as pissed off as a seven year old could.”

“We got each other’s backs,” said Dean. “All that matters.”

“Tell me about Y/N,” said Sam, Dean shaking his head. “Come on. No more depressing shit. She sounded cute when I talked to her at the game Sunday. I bet she’s cute.”

“She is,” said Dean. “I’m super into her, like super into her, don’t get me wrong but like...I just like her too. Like she’s gorgeous but it’s not like, why I’m attracted? I’m probably not saying this right.”

“I get what you’re saying,” said Sam. “You should totally take her to Mel’s for dinner tomorrow.”

“I really ought to take her to a sit down restaurant before she runs off on me.”

“Mel’s is sit down.”

“Mel’s is greasy burgers and pulled pork at picnic tables.”

“If she doesn’t like Mel’s I can’t like this girl Dean. I’m sorry but those are just facts,” said Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and smiled, staring up at the ceiling.

“We could get the sweetheart special. My cholesterol won’t like it but my soul will,” chuckled Dean. “Really? Mel’s?”

“If that girl doesn’t love the ice box pie at the end, she is certifiable,” said Sam.

“I have faith in this one,” said Dean. He shut his eyes and hummed. “You really want to listen to me talk about her?”

“I got about two hundred pages to sign and stamp. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Alright. You asked for it.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #doctor!dean #au!dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn

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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years

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Puzzles and Limes and Family Times

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes

Summary: Parenting kids is tough. Growing up and parenting your parents is even harder. Luckily T.K. and Carlos have each other to help figure things out. A post-ep for 2x11 "Slow Burn." Thanks to @bluenet13 for the help with the spicy food stuff and for inspiring what will likely be a prequel. And for just generally always being a supportive friend!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“How about a book?” Carlos asked.

T.K. shook his head. “He has books. I want something different. Something that will really distract him.”

“I still think a couple DVD’s might do the trick,” Carlos told him.

“He has every streaming service known to man. If he can’t find it on one of those, it’s probably not worth watching.”

“T.K. as nice as it is that you want to get your dad a gift for his surgery, maybe we should think about it a little more since you don’t seem to know what you want.”

They’d circled the aisles of Target more than once, T.K. turning down every one of Carlos’ suggestions. “I just want something that’s going to keep him busy,” T.K. said. “He’s terrible at sitting still. I’m afraid if we don’t do something he’ll try and run a half marathon three days after surgery and kill himself.”

“Babe I don’t think there’s anything in the world that’s going to keep your dad recovering the way you want,” Carlos said. “He’s kind of a strong willed guy.”

T.K. sighed and turned the cart into the next aisle. “I know. I know, I just have to at least try.” He paused and grabbed a box off the nearest shelf. “What about this?”

Carlos raised his eyebrows. “A puzzle? Your dad doesn’t strike me as someone with the patience for puzzles.”

“Exactly. Maybe this will help him learn some. And,” T.K. tapped the box for emphasis, “this one has dogs playing poker on it. He loves dogs and poker.”

“That is true,” Carlos said, keeping his tone even and his expression neutral.

T.K. shot him a look of fond exasperation. “I know you’re humoring me but I’m going to pretend that was genuine.”

“And now you can humor me by picking out new towels,” Carlos said with a grin.

T.K. groaned. “I thought we already picked new towels.”

“We picked new master bath towels. We need some to match the guest bath.” Carlos grabbed his hand, towing him along toward the home goods aisles.

“I didn’t realize you were going to use my moving in as an excuse to redecorate the entire condo,” T.K. said.

“I want it to feel like our place.” Carlos stopped and picked up a washcloth. “How do we feel about cream?”

“I feel like towels are towels. Especially in the guest bath.”

Carlos rolled his eyes and moved further down the row. “We have guests coming next week. Everything needs to be perfect.”

“Speaking of which, are you sure you want to invite my dad to dinner with your parents?” T.K. asked as Carlos silently debated the merits of blue versus off-white towels.

Carlos looked at him in surprise. “He’s your dad. Of course I want him there.”

“It’s just��he can be…a lot sometimes,” T.K. said.

Carlos raised his eyebrows and T.K. held up a finger in warning. “If you say I’m also a lot sometimes I’m taking the keys and leaving you here to Uber home.”

His boyfriend smiled and turned back to the towels. “My parents want to meet him. And your dad is very charming.” He looked at T.K., eyes sparkling with mirth. “Just like you.”

Now it was T.K.’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Besides,” Carlos said, dropping the blue towels into the cart, “having your dad there will take some of the attention off of me so my mom doesn’t tell every, single embarrassing story about my childhood. Instead your dad and my dad can try to one-up each other talking about crazy calls they’ve been on.”

T.K. wasn’t convinced yet. “He’s just really not been himself lately. And I have no idea what his mood is going to be like post-surgery. I don’t want him to leave a bad impression with your parents.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, it would be good for your dad to get out of the house. Be around family.”

T.K. sighed. “I guess at least if he’s with us I’ll know he’s safe. And it will give him something to do to keep his mind off how bored he is.”

“I thought that was what the puzzle was for,” Carlos said with a teasing grin as they walked toward the checkout.

T.K. sent him a withering look. “Just let me pretend it’s going to work and not sit on a shelf in the closet until the next time he has a garage sale. It makes me feel better.”

Carlos nudged him good-naturedly. “I will let you keep your delusion.” He stopped pushing the cart and leaned against the handle. “But it’s going to cost you.”

T.K. took a step closer and bit his lip. “Oh is it?” he asked, wondering exactly how randy Carlos was going to get in the kitchen appliance aisle.

“Yep.” Carlos grinned. “We’re having camarones a la diabla for dinner tonight.”

T.K.’s face fell. “What? No! Come on I already looked at towels with you!”

Carlos just smiled and sauntered away with the cart, leaving T.K. alone in the middle of the aisle to hurry after him. “Okay but only a little spicy all right? Not ‘accidentally almost kill T.K. spicy’ like last time?”

“That was your own fault and you know it,” Carlos called back.

T.K. huffed. “That’s exactly why we don’t need a repeat!”

Carlos stopped and let him catch up. “If we’re going to live together we have to build up your tolerance to heat. Don’t worry,” he said, patting T.K.’s cheek, “I’ll be gentle.”

T.K. eyed him warily. “Nice try Reyes. I know behind that smile is a conniving, spice loving, diabolical monster.”

“What if I promise you homemade ice cream for dessert?”

“What because I’m a five-year-old and can be bribed to eat my dinner?” T.K. asked.

Carlos cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.

“Fine,” T.K. said grudgingly. “But I want chocolate.”

“Then chocolate it is.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

T.K. had never seen his boyfriend panicked before. Upset yes, excited for sure, but the most emotionally intense his mild mannered boyfriend typically got was moderately annoyed. Tonight however, he seemed like he might actually be about to lose his shit. And as intrigued as T.K. was to see where that might lead, a little voice in his head reminded him that Carlos losing his shit five minutes before his parents were due to arrive was probably not going to leave a favorable impression.

“Where are the tortilla chips?” Carlos asked, his voice sharp and pitched a note or two higher than usual. “I thought you picked them up on your way home today.”

“Right here,” T.K. said smoothly, opening the cupboard and pulling out the bag of homemade chips he’d purchased from a favorite restaurant down the street.

“And you told them to make the guacamole fresh right?”

“Yes, I stood there for fifteen minutes while the guy went out and hand picked the avocados,” T.K. said, trying not to let too much amusement color his tone.

Over the last few days the tension in their home seemed to have changed direction. As T.K. had grown more comfortable with the idea of his dad coming for dinner, (despite the one minor, running into a burning building incident that T.K. was trying not to think about) Carlos had gotten increasingly tense.

The condo, always in a state of near perfect cleanliness now sparkled like something out of a magazine. And the list of instructions Carlos had left for T.K. to complete after his shift had been so detailed and exact that T.K. wondered if he’d stayed up all night writing it. Personally he thought that doing a deep clean of the refrigerator and painting over scuffs on the baseboards was a little bit of overkill, but he’d done as asked. Now, as he watched his boyfriend dart from one side of the kitchen to the other in a slightly manic state, he was wondering if he might need to intervene.

Carlos pushed past him to take the perfectly made guacamole out and put it in a bowl. “Did you put a clean hand towel in the bathroom? The blue one?”

“Blue? I thought you said black.”

Carlos froze and glowered at him. “I’m kidding,” T.K. said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Blue towel is freshly laundered and in the bathroom. I’m not sure exactly how the color of a hand towel could ruin the evening but I certainly didn’t want to risk finding out.”

Carlos’ face dropped a bit, emotional exhaustion pulling at him. “I know I’m being crazy.”

“Oh I think we surpassed crazy about two hours ago when you were picking individual pieces of lint off the throw pillows,” T.K. said with an amused smile. “Relax. Tonight is going to be great. You’re making a damn soufflé. How could anyone not be impressed by that?”

“Maybe I should have gone with something more traditional,” Carlos said, running an agitated hand through his curls for the hundredth time that evening. “My parents are traditional people. But your dad is coming so I wanted to pull out all the stops.” He peered through the oven door at the soufflé. “Maybe I should have done the beef. I’m going to take it out just in case.”

“Carlos, Carlos whoa, hey,” T.K. stopped him by putting his hands on his shoulders. “The soufflé is going to be great. Everyone is going to love it. Do not take that beef out of the refrigerator.”

Carlos’ eyes widened. “Oh my god I forgot to put the ice trays in the freezer!”

“Whoa, hey, nope,” T.K. held on a little tighter and didn’t let him go. “You asked me to do that this morning. Let’s just go sit for a minute—“

“I need to—“

“What you need to do is take a few deep breaths and get yourself together,” T.K. told him, pushing him gently onto a bar stool.

“I just want it to be perfect.”

“Babe I know. But it’s not going to be. Nothing ever is, so you need to let got of that expectation. It will be a great dinner because everyone who’s coming loves you and wants you to be happy.”

Carlos slumped a bit, mussing his curls a little more with his hands. “I’m nervous.”

“I know. But I’m going to be right beside you the whole night. And nothing your parents say is going to make me upset. Or want to leave.” T.K. leaned a little closer as Carlos deliberately avoided making eye contact. “That’s what you’re really worried about right? Not that they’ll say something to make you upset, but that they might hurt me?”

Carlos chewed at the inside of his lip and covered T.K.’s hands with his own, twining their fingers together nervously. “They just might not be as careful with their words as I want them to be. Sometimes they speak without thinking. They have old biases, things from church and the family…”

T.K. brought one of Carlos’ hands up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. “I know the difference between willful hate and accidental ignorance. I’m not worried.” He ran a hand through Carlos’ hair, fixing some of the damage he’d done to himself. “And nothing, not even rude parents or a fallen soufflé, would ever make me want to leave you.”

T.K. watched as some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “I love you,” Carlos said quietly.

“I love you too,” T.K. said, squeezing his hand.

There was a knock on the door and Carlos sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

T.K. leaned forward so their lips met in a sweet kiss. “Absolutely.”

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #Carlos Reyes #T.K. Strand #Tarlos Fanfic #Post-ep #Slow Burn #2x11 #Fluff #Anxious boys #They love each other #And are also a little over the top

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tessxblxckthorn · 3 years

Text

you’re more to me

@juulies and again: happy holidays love!! (2/2)

a short juke soulmate au cause meg wrote that she likes the trope so i thought why not... english isn’t my first language and I haven’t written in quite some time so please have mercy and enjoy!

It took her an entire day to realise. Julie could see colors. Actual, vibrant colors. Not the dull, grey-ish colors she had seen her entire life but the bright red of the painted dahlias on her bedroom walls, the vivid blue of the Los Angeles sky, the deep violet of the string that was still braided into her hair from yesterday's performance in the Orpheum.

It had all been so chaotic that Julie hadn't had a minute to breath and, well, realise that she had met her soulmate.

Her soulmate.

Of course she knew about soulmates and that, after finding yours and having direct skin contact with them, you could see every beautiful color that exists. But she also knew that many people never, ever found theirs. Sure, her parents had been soulmates, but they were lucky. Flynn's parents weren't soulmates, Carries definitely hadn't been.

While there were a lot of soulmate-couples, people just didn't want to get their hopes up just to never find theirs. So that's why, at the young age of 10, Flynn and Julie had stopped believing that they would eventually find their perfect match, simply because this wasn’t a perfect world.

And now, at age 16, Julie was laying in her bedroom on her bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how on earth she could’ve missed meeting her soulmate. Because that was what had happened, right? She must have bumped into them at the show or while running out on the street when she thought the guys had died...or stopped existing or whatever...or when she went home with her dad and Carlos or-

There was a loud bang coming from her closed door followed by a groan and a curse.

“Come in!”, Julie called out, sitting up and pushing her messy hair out of her face.

“Damn it”, Alex groaned and closed the door behind him. “Still haven't adjusted completely to being alive again, thought I could just materialize through the door.”

Julie laughed softly. “Yeah, I heard that.”

“Pretty sure your dad thinks we’re absolute weirdos now, Reggie just said good-bye in the kitchen and then jumped up before realising he couldn't poof out.”

Jup, that sounded like Reggie.

“Anyway, the boys and I wanted to drive back to the Orpheum, you wanna come?”

“Weren't you at the Orpheum this morning?”, Julie asked confused, while starting to fold her costume from yesterday's performance.

“True, but...Lukethinkshemethissoulmatethere”, Alex muttered under his breath, looking at the, suddenly so interesting, blanket that was thrown over Julie's bed.

Said girl froze up. Had she heard correctly? “Uhm Luke- he- what?”

Alex sighed and pushed his blond hair back, a habit he did a lot when he was anxious. “Ok, so- I mean- Luke- He- he can see colors now, like the kind of colors you can only see after you met your soulmate? And he can see the colors since this morning so he thinks he met them while we were back at the Orpheum to meet with Willie.”

“Oh…”, Julie said, dropping her hands that were still folding into her lap. No, it was stupid. Of course she hadn't thought or hoped her soulmate would be Luke. He was dead. Well, now he was alive again, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Luke Patterson couldn't be her soulmate. Eventhough, for some dumb, idiotic reason, her heart apparently had wished he was.

“Yeah…”, Alex agreed, awkwardly fingering at the blanket. He wasn’t dumb, in fact, he was probably the most observant of the three boys and it wasn’t difficult to identify the way Luke looked at Julie. Not only at the performances but all the time.

“Uhm- I- Flynn’s coming over so…”, Julie trailed off. “We’re having a girls night.” More like a “freaking-out-about-who-could-be-Julie’s-soulmate”-night or a “crying-over-the-fact-that-Luke’s-not-her-soulmate”- night. She hadn’t decided yet, but judging by the lump in her throat it seemed that the latter was more possible.

“Oh ok. Yeah, sure.”

Julie nodded slowly.

“Okayyyyy”, Alex scratched his neck. “Then I'm going to go now. With the boys. To the Orpheum.” She nodded again.

By the time he had closed her bedroom door again, after softly smiling at her with his annoyingly nice “I-know-what’s-going-on-and-you-can-always-talk-to-me-but-I-don’t-want-to-push-you”-look, Julie was fighting the tears.

The last two hours, after she realized that she could see colors, she had spent thinking about every person that could or couldn't be her soulmate. It couldn't be anyone she actually knew, because she had had direct skin contact with all of them at some point before yesterday. All of them except Luke, Reggie and Alex. Not Alex, because he’s gay and terribly in love with this Willie she had yet to meet. Not Reggie, because he was like a brother to her and he still couldn't see colors.

And not Luke, because he had met his soulmate this morning. And not last night like she apparently had, simply because she hadn’t left the house since then.

So it had to be some stranger, right? And still, everytime she thought about her soulmate, she thought about Luke’s piercing hazel eyes, his perfect smile and his soft brown hair and-

“Oh my god”, Flynn shouted, slamming the door shut behind her. “You can’t just text me that you met your soulmate without any details!”

Julie flinched and instantly shushed her. “Flynn! No one else knows! Shut up!”

“Oh Julie, I’m not stupid. Ray and Carlos went grocery shopping and the boys just passed me, saying they want to go to the Orpheum or something? Whatever, I need the details!”, Julie's best friend threw her bag beside Julie’s desk and jumped onto her bed.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Flynn laughed loudly and then looked back to Julie. She went quiet. “No”, she said. “No, no, cause I thought I just heard that you said you didn’t know who your soulmate is but I must have misunderstood.”

Julie sighed and layed back down next to Flynn. “You don't know? How can you not know? You met your soulmate, are able to see colors now and tell me you don't know who it was? How can you not know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Julie…”

“Seriously, Flynn. I don't know, okay? And it's horrible! I didn’t even realize I’m able to see colors now till this morning. I don’t remember suddenly being able to see colors after touching someone, okay? It was all so chaotic yesterday. The performance. The boys missing. Then I thought the boys were gone. Then they weren’t. Then they nearly died of those jolts in the garage. Then they were suddenly alive again. Then I had to explain to my dad why the hologram band from Sweden is in the garage. It was all messy and chaotic and I must have missed it.”

“Breathe, Julie.”

“I am breathing!”, Julie cried out, hiding her face in one of her pillows.

She felt Flynn soothingly patting her shoulder.

“So it isn't Luke?”, the girl said softly after a while. Julie choked and pushed down her tears. She shook her head, still buried in the pillow.

“But you thought he would be.” Julie went still and then shook her head again. “I guess I hoped it would be him.”

“Oh…”, Flynn mumbled and went back to rubbing her best friend's shoulder. While she had been against bonding with Luke and more one Team Nick, she knew that Julie had fallen for the ghost-boy. And, well, she’d mostly been against Luke because he was a ghost...which he wasn’t anymore.

“So did you tell the boys?”, Flynn asked hesitantly when Julie showed her face again and sat back against the headboard.

“Nope”, she croaked and cleared her throat. “I wanted to think and then tell the boys. But then they were busy trying to find Luke’s soulmate.”

Flynn opened her mouth and closed it again. “Wait so Luke met his soulmate too? When?”

“This morning at the Orpheum apparently”, Julie answered bitterly.

“This morning? Is he sure?”, Julie shrugged. “I don’t know, that’s what Alex said.”

“Ok, so you haven’t talked to him or, you know, touched him? I mean, what if he only realized this morning he could see colors? Touching him-”

“would either dull or brighten the colors.”, Julie finished, looking at Flynn wearily. “I forgot about that part to be honest.” Flynn was beaming. “But, Flynn, I really don’t want to get my hopes up just to be disappointed again, okay? And who knows, maybe Luke found his soulmate already.”

“Nuh-uh, you gotta be optimistic, okay? Everyone can see the way you two look at each other!” Julie frowned slightly. God, how she wanted to believe Luke could be her soulmate...she just didn't want her heart to be crushed when reality set in.

“Anyway, we gotta change that topic because we can’t do anything about it right now. But before we start the Netflix marathon we gotta go to the kitchen or I’ll starve.”

Julie laughed and rolled her eyes but followed her friend.

The two girls were in the middle of topping off their tortilla chips platter with cheese when the front door was opened.

“So, let me sup it up”, they heard Alex's confused voice. “You don't actually know you met your soulmate this morning, you just didn't realize before then that you could see colors? So you meeting and touching them also could’ve been yesterday. Which actually seems more plausible, if you think about-”, the blond boy stopped abruptly, Luke next to him, when he saw the girls sitting at the counter frozen up and...listening.

“But the only person you touched yesterday, other than us, is Julie so- ohhhh”, Reggie bumped into Luke and shut up when he saw their faces.

There was silence for about five seconds in which everyone in the room realized what Reggies statement meant before Flynn hopped from her chair. “Reggie, Alex, you have to help me pick out a movie upstairs. Now.”

And Julie and Luke, still frozen up, were alone.

“So-”

“I-”, they started at the same time. Julie blushed. “You go first.”

Luke nodded awkwardly and walked towards her, sitting down on the chair opposite to her.

“I didn't realize it till today. I don’t know why i thought it might’ve been someone at the meeting with Willie today but I thought you couldn’t see colors and I didn’t want to get my hopes up, and-”, he was cute when he rambled, Julie thought, but stopped him from any more talking by reaching out and taking his hand that was on the counter in front of her. Every color in the room seemed to get even brighter momentarily and Julie gaped. Luke did too.

“So, that was fool-proof.” Luke laughed lightly and slowly took her hand in his. Julie couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

“I didn’t realize it till this morning either. And i wanted to think first but then Alex told me you had met your soulmate this morning but i had to have met my soulmate yesterday so I thought- wait, did you just say you didn’t want to get your hopes up?”

Luke grinned but blushed. “I kinda thought it was obvious, you know, that you mean a lot to me.”

Julie’s heart seemed to beat faster and she squeezed his hand. “Well, apparently everyone but me realized it but...it’s mutual, Luke.”

The boy smiled widely and pressed a shy kiss to their joined hands. “Good to know.”

Julie swore she never smiled that hard ever before.

#netflix #jatp #jatpdaily #secret santa #julie and the phantoms #Julie and Luke #jatp julie #juke imagine #luke patterson #luke jatp #julie molina

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

Text

Maybe I Am? - Chpt.2

Characters: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Steve takes a risk and the guys go out on a “date”. Master list HERE

Content Warning: first “date” cuteness, making out

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Today is one of those days where I am eternally grateful for having a “draft” option. Because honestly, ya girl is exhausted. So yay for drafts! Enjoy chapter two. I’m honestly too tired to give ya’ll a better note right now. :-\ XOXO - Ash

Chapter Two

Steeeeve [9:32:08PM]: Hey, it’s Steve.

Bucky Barnes [9:32:47PM]: hi steve

Steeeeve [9:33:15PM]: I had a lot of fun meeting up today.

Bucky Barnes [9:33:39PM]: me 2

Steve huffed staring at Bucky’s second generic response. He was usually so much more lively. Steve took a long sigh and started texting what he needed to get off his chest.

Steeeeve [9:35:21PM]: I’m sorry if I came off as confused or misleading.

Steeeeve [9:35:26PM]: I didn’t mean to do that. But I am kind of confused right now.

Steeeeve [9:35:35PM]: I spent so much time liking the idea of you, and you in real life was even more amazing than I could have expected. But I’ve never dated a guy before and I never expected to want to. And now I think I do.

Steeeeve [9:35:49PM]: I’m sorry. This probably isn’t any less confusing. I’m apparently really bad at this lol. I guess what I’m trying to say is, will you go out on a maybe-date with me? I want to try and see how I feel. I don’t want to string you on, but I want to try.

Bucky stared at the flurry of texts coming into his phone. Damn, serial texter much? He read and re-read Steve texts a few times, chewing nervously his bottom lip, trying to find a response. He wasn’t willing to let his heart get trample on again, not after Brock. But he really liked Steve and if there was a chance Steve might like him too, it was too good to pass up. He had a distinct feeling he was going to regret it, but he tapped out the only honest response he could think of.

Bucky Barnes [9:44:13PM]: i like u 2 steve. i get that ur confused. lets try ur maybe-date and see how it goes? if it goes well cool, if not no hard feelings. k?

Steeeeve [9:45:20PM]: Thank you. Really, thank you for being so great about this. Can we get dinner one night this week?

Bucky Barnes [9:45:55PM]: im free any nite but tues

Steeeeve [9:46:10PM]: I can do Friday night around 7. There’s a really great Mexican place a few blocks over from the gym if you’re willing to schelp all the way over to Park Slope.

Bucky Barnes [9:46:31PM]: sounds good. see u then

Bucky sighed, putting his phone away into the pocket of his favorite old hoodie. He had a date. A maybe-date, but for some reason that felt good enough for him at the moment.

xxXxx

Steve discovered the best part of being able to text Bucky wasn’t just that their chatting was no longer limited to when they were both near a computer, but that they now had a full range of emojis, memes, and GIFs at their disposal. He could now send Bucky random funny things he found during the day and he felt a little proud when Bucky would send back a string of laughing emojis, knowing he had brightened the other man’s day a little. He had worried with their maybe-date looming things might be a little awkward but if anything they were going even better. By the time Friday came Steve was genuinely looking forward to their maybe-date. He had even gone out on Wednesday before his shift at the gym to pick up a set of clothes that were distinctly not gym wear. He couldn’t remember the last time he bought a button up shirt but he had to admit the blue and white checked shirt looked nice on him. He was trying not to stress over the maybe-date but he felt this gnawing need to know, definitively, if he was truly interested in Bucky, or just the fantasy of WinterBae.

Steve raced home Friday to shower and change, hoping he’d left himself enough time to do all that and still make it over to Los Aztecas in time. Taking the time to slick back his hair and do a quick shave, Steve was hustling out the door only to realize he’d forgotten the bottle of wine once he got outside. After a fast double back for the wine he was on his way, making it to the tiny authentic Mexican restaurant with three minutes to spare. He had barely stopped walking when he saw Bucky hopping out of an uber. Steve felt a little flutter at the sight of Bucky and he took it as a good sign.

Bucky looked amazing in his dark skinny jeans and a silky looking black shirt. A minimalist necklace was around his throat, the simple bar resting just below the wings of his collarbones. Steve noticed Bucky had swapped out the cheery beaded bracelets he’d worn on Sunday for a set of sleek silver and leather ones. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine and Steve felt ridiculous in what Sam had teased was his bible salesman outfit.

“Heya.” Bucky greeted warmly, extending an arm for a half hug.

“Hey,” Steve echoed, hugging back with his free hand. “Ready for the best Mexican food of your life?”

“Definitely, let’s go.”

Steve led Bucky inside the little restaurant, its cozy decor making the place feel intimate instead of cramped. Steve had called ahead for reservations so they were whisked off to a table as soon as he gave the concierge his name. Bucky was looking around fascinated, taking in all the colorful decorations.

“It’s really something, huh?” Steve prompted with a smile.

Bucky nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it’s beautiful. So much art packed into so little space. Thanks for bringing me here, Steve.”

“It’s one of my favorite places in the area, mostly for the tacos but also for the art. I got my degree in fine art before I switched gears and went back to get certified in exercise science.”

“That’s quite a switch.” Bucky laughed.

“Art will always be my first love, but it’s not exactly profitable. And once I got healthier I knew I wanted to help other people do the same. I was really sick as a kid and didn’t hit any major growth spurts until I was almost 21. After that, I worked out a lot getting used to my new body and fell in love with the gym.”

“Wow. I’m glad you were able to get healthier, and it’s sweet you’re trying to give back to others with that.”

“Do you go to a gym? I won’t be offended that it’s a competitor, I swear.”

Bucky barked out a laugh, “No. God, no. I am perfectly happy with not having abs or a totally flat stomach as long as waffles exist.”

Steve couldn’t help his eyes dropping to Bucky’s stomach which honestly couldn’t have had more than the smallest layer of padding across it. “That’s okay too. Waffles are pretty great.”

The waitress stopped by to uncork their wine and drop off a basket of fresh tortilla chips and salsa verde.

“What did you bring?” Bucky asked as he took the glass of white wine Steve had poured him.

“Albariño. A waitress here recommended it a few years ago and now it’s my go to. It’s light and crisp, and kinda citrusy? I’m not a wine snob but it’s damn good and goes really well with tacos. I hope you like white wine, I forgot to ask.”

“I’ve yet to meet a white wine I didn’t like, so you’re safe.” Bucky sipped the wine and his eyes lit up, “Oh yeah, this is good. I’ll be hunting this down next time I go shopping.”

“You can get it over at the little wine boutique near the farmers market in Sunset Park. They always have this kind.”

“Nice, I’ll have to check it out. My sister will love this the next time she visits.”

The conversation flowed as the basket of tortilla chips disappeared, only ebbing when their platters arrived and they tucked into their food. Steve had ordered his usual taco platter while Bucky opted for the taquitos platter, an assortment of slow roasted meats wrapped in thin crispy shells. He let out a groan at his first bite that had Steve’s heart stuttering in his chest. The maybe-date had mostly felt like a friend-date up until that point, though Steve had to admit there was a tiny flutter of like there too. But the noise Bucky made and the expression on his face had Steve thinking anything but friends only thoughts.

Bucky caught Steve staring at him as he licked a dribble of sauce off his bottom lip. He hadn’t gotten a distinct date-date vibe from Steve but the look on the blonde’s face was priceless. Bucky thought he probably had made a similar one the first time he saw Devon Sawa in Wild America when he was 12. He had never stood a chance of being straight after that. Testing the waters a little bit, Bucky smirked at Steve, making it abundantly clear he’d been caught staring. Steve flushed and Bucky’s smile widened. There might be hope after all.

Steve wasn’t sure if it was the wine or too many tacos but by the time dinner was over he felt glued to his seat. He hated knowing the evening was coming to an end and wanted to do something, anything, to prolong it. The waitress dropped off the sales receipt with a pen and Steve tried to steady his hand as he signed his name. He knew he needed to muster up his courage or he would be saying goodbye to Bucky in mere minutes.

“Thanks again for paying.” Bucky said after draining the last of his wine, “This was really nice.”

“It was.” Steve agreed, seeing his chance, “You know, I have another bottle of this wine back at my place if you wanna come over for a bit. Maybe you could help me find that movie app you were telling me about for the Fire Stick?”

“Sure, I’m happy to help. I won’t say no to more of that wine either.” Bucky stamped down the hopeful cheering in his chest that Steve was inviting him over. The poor guy probably didn’t mean that anything would happen other than wine and tech help but Bucky could always dream. He would be respectful though, he resolved to himself. He’d never dated a guy who was questioning his sexuality before and Bucky didn’t want to push too far too soon. Bucky figured it was best to let Steve set the pace and just hope his heart didn’t get run over in the process.

Steve’s apartment was only four blocks from the restaurant, a second floor walk up in an old converted brownstone. It was nicer than Bucky’s little hole in the wall apartment and even had a small second bedroom that Steve had set up as a home office. After giving Bucky a quick tour, he led them to the kitchen to pull another bottle of Albariño out of his cabinet. Passing a stemless glass to Bucky, he poured them both a generous amount of wine which they carried out to the living room so Bucky could show Steve the app he’d mentioned during dinner. A few clicks and a quick download later, Steve had access to a ridiculous amount of free movies.

“This is so great.” Steve praised, clicking through the different options. “Oh I love this one!”

“Hm?” Bucky looked up from his glass to see Steve hovering over 10 Things I Hate About You. “Oh that one is great. I remember wanting to be Patrick Verona when I grew up after seeing that.”

Steve gave an amused side eyed look at Bucky. “I think you did a decent job.” he teased, throwing on the movie out of sheer impulse.

Bucky laughed, “You’re sweet. But god knows I’ll never be that smooth.”

“You’re better off than me. I’ve been told I’m hopeless on more than one occasion.”

“You hold your own, Rogers.” Bucky assured him, reaching over to take Steve’s hand in his, stroking the pad of his thumb over the ridges of Steve’s knuckles.

Steve blinked slowly, looking from their joined hands up to Bucky’s face. It felt good, that fluttery feeling stirring in his gut at the contact. He gave Bucky a smile and squeezed his hand gently, making sure his consent was clear.

The movie rolled and they sipped their wine as Patrick did his best to woo Kat. Bucky slowly nudged closer to Steve until he was pressed against his side, his head leaning against Steve’s shoulder. He was warm and comfortable and completely unwilling to move by the time Letters to Cleo played into the credits.

“I can’t believe it’s after eleven already.” Steve yawned.

Bucky yawned next, set off by Steve’s. “Same. I had a really good night, Steve.” He looked up curiously, wondering if Steve had found any new revelations on their maybe-date.

“Me too. This was… really nice. Hey, um, I know this was a maybe-date, but maybe um…”

Bucky shifted so he could sit up taller and face Steve while he fumbled for words.

“I, um, I’d really like to kiss you right now.” Steve blurted out, looking equal parts excited and terrified.

Bucky’s smile was like the sun. “Okay, yeah.” Bucky reached out to cup Steve’s cheek, going agonizingly slow to give Steve a chance to bolt if he needed it. He leaned up a little and Steve craned his neck down, tentatively meeting Bucky’s lips with his own.

A soft press, a pause, another soft press, and then the kiss deepened, Bucky’s lips parting to slot Steve’s with his. Steve let out a choked off moan, unable to believe what he was doing and how good it felt. He let a hand rake through Bucky’s hair and it only made him want to feel more of the silky locks. The scent of cedar and teak from his cologne filled Steve’s nose and though it was very distinctly male, Steve couldn’t get enough of it. It was so much more than he could have expected but also not nearly enough. He was breathing raggedly when he finally pulled back, repressing a shudder at the well kissed expression on Bucky’s face. His full bottom lip was shining and red, his eyes heavy lidded and his chest heaving just as much as Steve’s.

“Whoa.” Steve finally breathed out in amazement.

“Yeah, whoa.” Bucky agreed. “So does this help in sorting out if this was a date-date?”

“I think it was definitely a date-date.”

“I’m glad. And do you think you’d want to try another date sometime?”

“When are you free next?” Steve chuckled, only half kidding.

“Easy there, pal.” Bucky warned lightly, patting Steve’s ridiculously broad chest. “We’ll find a day again soon.”

Steve nodded, knowing Bucky was right for wanting to take things slow. He led Bucky over to the door, giving him one last quick kiss goodbye before the brunette headed out into the early summer night. Steve was still floored by his own reactions to Bucky but it felt so right that he couldn’t agonize over it for long.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #idiots in love #confused steve rogers #gay bucky barnes #modern day au #no powers

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hoardofhyperfixations · 6 years

Text

Powerful Chapter 4: Storm

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Warnings: None...stealing???

Pairings: Logicality, Prinxiety, platonic Patceit/Roceit, platonic DLAMP

Genre: Fluff mostly

Summary: Virgil wanted a bag of chips.

Virgil had just wanted a damn bag of chips.

He and that Prince guy had hung out a bit, but they fought.

A lot.

So, Virgil had left as soon as he'd turned his head, quickly fading into the shadows. He stepped out in an alley next to a convenience store, looking around to make sure no one had seen him. Virgil blew his black bangs out of his eyes and stepped out of the alley, entering the convenience store.

"Doritos...there they are." Virgil mumbled to himself, walking over and picking up the bag of chips. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone in a black and yellow hoodie looking at items curiously before stuffing them into the pockets of their hoodie. After a while, Virgil silently watching the whole time, they started towards the door.

Without paying.

"Yeah, I know!" The cashier was saying into their phone, not paying attention. Virgil frowned and caught up to the hooded person, grabbing their wrist.

"Hey-!" As soon as he'd touched them, they'd recoiled and Virgil had flown into the wall, along with several shelves being knocked over. He groaned and rubbed his head, looking over at the door to see the figure had disappeared.

"Oh my God." The cashier whispered. They swallowed thickly. "What...what happened?"

"...I don't know." Virgil mumbled, eyeing the place where the person had stood, noticing marks reaching out from that spot on the ground, as if something had exploded.

•

"I'm telling you, Logan, it was like an explosion went off!" Virgil insisted at lunch on Monday, waving his hands. Logan fixed his glasses.

"That seems highly illogical, Virgil."

"Then what do you think, Nerd?" Roman asked, raising an eyebrow. Logan scowled.

"I...I don't know." He admitted grudgingly. Roman smirked. He and Logan seemed to butt heads a lot. Patton had yet to be seen and Roman seemed fidgety because of it. Virgil forced thoughts of "what if" to the back of his mind.

"Ha!"

"Hush." Logan snapped.

"-and this is the cafeteria!" Patton's voice made Virgil perk up from his slouched position.

"There's a new kid." Roman muttered. Virgil didn't miss the way Logan's face lit up when he saw Patton but said nothing about it. He was focused on something else.

Or rather, someone.

A boy in an oversized yellow hoodie with a black snake on it peeked up at Patton through a mess of caramel curls. Most peculiar, though, was not his mismatched eyes, instead it being the entire left half of his face being burnt.

Virgil squinted. He seemed familiar.

"Hi guys!" Patton greeted. Virgil looked away from the new kid.

"Hey Pat."

"This is- uh- I just realized I forgot your name, kiddo!" Patton laughed awkwardly. "Sorry!"

"You can call me Dee." The curly haired student said quietly, his green and brown eyes looking at the group. Roman blinked, but grinned.

"Greetings, Dee! I am Roman Prince!"

"Hi." Dee nodded.

"I'm Virgil. You can call me Virge, 'cause I'm on the verge of a break down." Virgil shot finger guns.

"Virgil, I'll physically fight you." Patton threatened. Dee snickered and waved.

"Salutations. I am Logan Trams. Nice tp meet you, Dee." Logan greeted in his usual directly to the point manner.

"Nice to meet you, too." Dee sat down next to Patton's spot and Virgil suddenly realized how short the new student was. He'd been the shortest in the group before, but Dee was even shorter than he was. Patton smiled and sat next to him.

Tiny boi.

Virgil snickered and poked at his lunch. After a few minutes of listening to Roman bickering with Logan and Patton obviously pining over Logan, he glanced up. Dee didn't have a lunch.

"Yo, Dee, ya gonna eat anythin', buddy?" Patton stopped what he was doing at Virgil's words and looked at Dee. He frowned.

"Oh, I'm fi-"

"Here, have mine." Roman offered. "I ate a big breakfast this morning." He smiled. Dee shrugged and hesitantly took Roman's bag, pulling out clearly store bought tortilla chips and salsa and a chicken sandwich.

"Thanks, Roman." Dee mumbled. Roman flashed a charming grin. Virgil's face flushed and he looked away.

God dammit.

If he kept this up and Roman kept...well, being Roman, this was going to be a long year.

Taglist: @sea-blue-child @ab-artist @freepaperie081 @soft-transboy @zamoradraw @beach-fan @nerdy-as-heck

Chapter 5

#ignore the trash #the trash writes #powers au #powerful #sympathetic deceit #logicality #prinxiety #platonic patceit #platonic dlamp #platonic roceit

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camilliar · 6 years

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fic? post???

@stultiloquentia said I liked fics about the decline of man so here’s some crazy shit I’ve been writing for @tomato-greens where they’re all teenage runaways, maybe I’ll “finish” this “story” one day? pg13, eventual zimbits but not in this part, ~3k, I’d say “enjoy” but

Eric hadn’t begun to fathom just how large Jack was—how tall, how broad—until Jack reared up and bellowed in his face, “This isn’t a game!”

“I wasn’t playing.” Eric tried to straighten up, but he was only five feet.

“Either get with the program or go home!”

And, well, that sure hurt—Jack must have known Eric couldn’t go home, right? Wasn’t that the whole point? What else did Jack think they were doing out here? There wasn’t any home, not really, except this one, here and now.

Also, until Jack yelled, Eric wasn’t sure he knew English. Eric had only ever heard him speak in French before. So that was a revelation.

“What’d you do?” Shitty asked, as they were waiting to steal into the gas station bathroom on Moreland—the Shell, not the Chevron. Less foot traffic at this one. Fewer passersby.

“Nothing,” Eric swore, starting to waggle. He really had to go now. “I gave him a plant, is all.”

“A plant?”

“Yeah, you know, a little plant. A Christmas cactus.”

“A what?”

“Christmas cactus,” said Eric. “They’re pretty when they bloom. My mama used to have one—used to, she probably still does, oh boy, I can’t wait to get into the bathroom—what do you think is taking him so long in there?”

“I bet we don’t want to know,” said Shitty.

“Well, you’re probably right, I suppose—I was thinking I could water the cactus here, or Jack would—you know, if he took it from me—”

“She.”

“—if he took it from me, we could walk over here with it and just get it a little water, nice clean water like from the tap—don’t make that face at me, mister! I’ve been holding it all night.”

“You coulda got me up, you know.”

“Nah,” said Eric. “Nah, and destroy your beauty rest?”

“Nothing pretty about me,” said Shitty, and he grinned to show off his pointy canines. It made him look feral. Eric agreed he didn’t look pretty, though he was sure better-kempt than the rest of them. To that point, when the door flung open and Eric rushed inside, Shitty filed in after and, kindly, took a moment to lock the door. He had his dopp kid until his arm; it was his most prized thing. It looked about a thousand years old, like something from a fairy tale. Shitty put it on the edge of the sink and began removing little cannister, old film containers and pill bottles. Being brazen, sometimes Shitty would sneak into the bathroom of a nice restaurant and fill them with lotion, or soap. Sometimes he’d do it in a Target, just pumping shaving gel into an old film cannister. Why not steal the whole bottle? Eric had asked him once. It was something about that not being right, some code. He had a razor blade and he was shaving with it, carefully skirting his mustache. He was impeccably well-groomed for a bum, Eric thought.

One day maybe I’ll be able to grow a beard and then I’ll be impeccably well-groomed, Eric thought. He was only 14; maybe he’d be tall one day.

Or maybe he’d never find out. Was this temporary? He’d only been in Atlanta for two weeks. Had it only been two weeks? Don’t think about it, he reminded himself. Do your business. Don’t look.

He was still doing his business, his semi-hard cock in hand, when Shitty stuck an old Mortin bottle under his nose. Eric had never gone to high school, but he knew that smell; some of his daddy’s team used to smoke after practice, when they thought Coach had taken Eric home for supper.

“No thank you,” he said, shocked, clumsily stuffing his prick back into his pants, still wet at the tip. He would fret about that all day.

II.

Eric was confident that if he has access to his kitchen, he could make Jack feel better. The one time he’d seen Jack smile—really smile—was when Shitty’d brought him a Happy Meal with chicken nuggets and an apple pie for dessert.

“You know,” Eric had said, trying to be all casual-like, “McDonald’s pies aren’t very good.”

Jack had looked up; having shoved most of the thing into his mouth, his cheeks were bulging.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Eric had continued, “I can make an apple pie that’s a lot better.”

Having a mouth full of food hadn’t stopped Jack from trying to say, “Well, what good does that do us? Where do you think you’re gonna bake one?” Of course, with all that pie in his mouth, not to mention the weird accent, Eric hadn’t managed to make out what Jack had said exactly. But, that was the gist of it, Eric was certain.

“You don’t have to try to make her like you,” Shitty explained. They were walking down Moreland; Larissa had reported that, on the way into town with her mother, she had noticed that someone had left a big box of stuff on the curb up on Briarcliff. Eric had never been to the other side of Ponce, and he was nervous-excited. “Just rich people over there,” Shitty had explained, “real bougie fucks.” Eric didn’t know what bougies were, but they were going to check it out.

“You think there’s any kitchen stuff in that box?” Eric asked. Waiting to cross Freedom Parkway took an eternity.

“Oh, yeah.” Shitty rubbed his hands together, like he’d realized this was a great idea. “That’d be good, if it’s vintage we could try to sell it at Highland Antiques, get some cash. Or is that one of those antiques malls where you have to rent a booth?” He began to stroke his chin. “I wonder.”

The light changed, and Eric scurried across in Shitty’s wake. “Nah, I mean like, we could hold onto it, use it to cook something.”

“Like over a fire,” Shitty agreed, “real old-timey hobo-like shit. Make some beans.”

“I was just thinking since Jack liked that that awful pie from McDonald’s, maybe he’d like my award-winning apple pie, which is much better.”

Again, at North, they had to stop and wait for traffic.

“You can cook a pie over a fire?”

Eric had begun to notice that Shitty was more difficult to deal with right after he’d smoked some pot, which was just about always.

“You cook a pie in the oven.”

“I doubt there’s gonna be an oven at the end of someone’s driveway,” Shitty said. “When rich people get a new oven, the Best Buy or whatever hauls the old one away.”

“Well,” Eric said, consoling himself. “Maybe there’s a pie plate. I shoulda brought mine. That was pretty darn stupid of me, huh?”

Shitty put a hand to Eric’s back, as if to usher him across North Avenue. “Listen, kiddo. It’s nice of you to want to do something sweet for Jack and all, but you gotta let her live with her choices. Junkies get a little junk-sick sometimes, you know?” As they got to the other side of the street, he paused. After a moment, he added, “Let’s go to the Borders sometime and steal you a copy of Naked Lunch.”

“Naked what?” Eric asked. He was only able to half-focus on Shitty’s explanation, too busy hoping beyond hope he’d find something pretty in that box on Moreland to bring home—such as it was home—for Jack.

When they got there, to Eric’s disappointment, the box had already been picked up by the garbagemen.

“Fuckin’ DeKalb County,” Shitty mused. “Fuckin’ yuppie assholes.”

Eric had no clue what he was talking about, none whatsoever.

III.

Borders didn’t have a copy of Naked Lunch, or anything else by the author. “Fuckin’ capitalism,” Shitty complained. “This whole place is full of garbage, not books. Who needs any of this?” He picked up something on a display of mostly stationery, a plastic deer figurine in pink glitter. Eric thought, well, the store is full of mostly books? He did like that sparkly deer. He wished Shitty would steal it for him, but Shitty had a twisted code about stealing things Eric might actually like. “Come on, we’d better go to Whole Foods, see if there’s free tortilla chip samples.”

But at the door of the Whole Foods, a staff member stacking handbaskets looked at them funny and said, “Excuse me.”

Shitty paid him little heed, just said, “Hey, bro,” entered anyway.

Eric had never been in a Whole Foods before. It was dark, not bright like a Publix. And not for lack of light—there were overhead lights. It was just yellow, washed-out, dingy. It didn’t feel clean like a Publix; it felt less clean than Kroger.

“Oh, good,” Shitty said, dragging Eric by the arm. “Guacamole.”

It wasn’t guacamole, though, it was pineapple salsa.

“Bullshit,” sad Shitty, “total bullshit. But, here, eat this anyway.” He had somehow managed to pile it only about four chips at once. “Beat off the scurvy.”

“You think there’s anything here Jack would like?”

Through a mouth of tortilla chips, Shitty said, “There’s nothing anywhere Jack would like, because Jack only likes two things: narcotics, and feeling sorry for herself.”

Eric wasn’t sure he liked what these chips tasted like; they shimmered under the yellow lights with a glean of oil, like they’d come out of a deep-fryer. Sometimes at UGA games Eric’s father would take him to his buddies’ various tailgates, and some of those guys had deep fryers, and, well, Eric knew what flour tortillas in corn oil tasted like. He preferred Tostitos, with their dry, clean starch—but he realized, now that he was eating, that he’d been hungry all morning, truly hungry. He’d been hungry for so long that he forgot he was hungry until he had some food.

“See, the thing with Jack is,” Shitty started to explain, but the same employee who’d been stacking baskets approached them.

“How’re you boys doing?” he asked.

Shitty had tortilla chip crumbs in his mustache. “Thanks for asking, bro, we’re fine. When does the guac come out?”

Eric wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

Shitty’s question wasn’t answered.

IV.

It was easy to lose track of time, Eric figured, when day after day was the same and you had nowhere to go and nothing to do. It felt wrong when he thought of it: he had things to do, didn’t he? Wasn’t he supposed to be looking for a place to stay? But Eric was no closer to affording an apartment than he had been upon arrival in Atlanta, and some kind of gravity, or lack of inertia, kept him spinning in circles. The highlight of his week became Larissa’s trip into the city on Saturday mornings; she would take a walk in the park with Shitty while her mother did errands. Sometimes, out of pity, Mrs. Larissa’s Mother gave Eric a few dollars.

“Don’t blow it all in one place,” Shitty chided. He was about to head off with Larissa toward Inman Park. What would they do there, and where would they go when the weather got too cold to spend it outside? Eric thought for a few minutes about other places Shitty and Larissa could walk to, but then Eric realized Shitty’s walks in the park were the least of his worries.

When Jack woke up that afternoon he wasn’t in such a bad mood, so Eric felt like it was safe to ask him: “What do we do when it gets cold out?”

Jack blinked his eyes open, slowly at first and then all at once, like the question caught him off-guard. “I don’t know what you’ll do,” he said, “but I’m staying here.”

“In Atlanta?”

“Right here.”

The thought was so disturbing that Eric wandered down the street until he remembered he had three dollars in his pocket. He was a block down from the Zesto, and found himself walking toward it until he was pressed up against the window, looking in, reading the menu over the counter. A sundae was a bit over three dollars. Feeling determined, Eric began to inspect the sidewalk and then the parking lot, hoping to find anything: a nickel, a dime, a quarter. Anything would help.

A pair of ladies holding hands were walking down McLendon toward the corner, on the other side of the street. Feeling bold, and determined, he jogged toward them.

“Hi, ma’am,” he said. “Ma’ams.” Suddenly, Eric was grateful for how long it took the light to change before a person could get to the other side of Moreland. “How’s your day?”

One of them was wearing aviator sunglasses and a poofy skirt that sat high up on her waist. She was big-chested and had on a patterned V-neck T-shirt. She let go of the other woman’s hand and said, “Okay.”

“I was just wondering—” now Eric felt solidly deranged “—if you would be so kind, do you have a couple cents on you? A sundae at the Zesto is three-twenty-nine, and my friend Larissa only gave me three bucks, so I was hoping—”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence before he got a dollar along with the question, “Aren’t you too young to be panhandling?” But, mercifully, they didn’t wait for Eric to answer.

On one hand, if Eric sauntered back leisurely, the sundae would begin to melt; on the other, if he ran, truly hustled, he might spill it. He tried to split the difference, and spent the walk daydreaming of all the things he’d buy for Jack one day, if he would only afford it: a beautiful old razor like his grandfather had owned; a Kindle, so Jack could read all the books he wanted without having to fret about going to the store; new yellow sneakers, fresh as they were vivid as they were hideous.

“What’s that?” Jack asked warily, when he saw Eric approach with something in hand.

“Just a sundae, from Zesto.” Eric paused. “I thought we could split it?”

“I don’t want to share a spoon.”

“I got two spoons.” Eric squatted, careful not to rest his weight on Jack’s blankets. “You like hot fudge, right?”

Jack only grunted.

“These nice ladies gave me a dollar,” Eric explained, removing the lid from the sundae. “You know, I had to really screw up my courage to ask them, but it wasn’t too hard once I put my mind to it. They seemed real friendly, but they asked what I was doing panhandling, said I was too young to be doing that. I don’t think I’m too young, do you? I think I’m just about the right age for things, I mean, we all gotta learn to put ourselves out there at some point, I guess.” He sighed, digging his spoon into the melting soft serve. “I’m still worried about what to do when it gets real cold out.”

Jack, who had already been eating the ice cream, had white on his lips. He licked them, slowly. “I used to worry about it too,” he said, before helping himself to another spoonful.

“What made you stop?”

Jack swallowed his ice cream. “Heroin.”

Eric had nothing to say to that, so he kept eating, perhaps a little too quickly, given how thoroughly he wanted to savor things. Then again, the sundae was melting, so.

Suddenly, Eric was deeply, depressingly aware of how rare this moment was: Jack was being honest, and he didn’t seem sick, and he didn’t seem angry. Eric was midway through helping himself to another bite of ice cream when he got a bizarre urge not to feed himself but to offer his spoon to Jack instead.

And Jack accepted, which was weirder.

It made something in Eric start to burn, start to fill his chest with—god, some emotion, some strong tug from his throat to the pit of his stomach.

Eric cleared his throat, to get Jack’s attention. “Listen, Jack, can I ask you something?”

Jack looked up. “I guess,” he said. “For the ice cream.”

“Why—” It was hard for Eric to get it out. “Why does Shitty call you ‘she’?”

Their nice moment was over.

“He shouldn’t,” Jack said, drawing his arm up, to shield his face. “Does he? He shouldn’t.”

“Well, I was just wondering—”

“Stop wondering.”

“But—”

Now Eric felt awful stupid.

“Never call me that. She doesn’t exist. You’ll never get to meet her, so don’t ask.” Jack put his face in his hands.

“But who’s ‘she’?”

“She’s nobody, so shutup.”

Eric was good at that—shutting up. He merely put a hand at Jack’s back, felt him trembling. “You want some more ice cream?”

Jack looked up, pushed himself to his feet. The plastic spoon from Zesto clattered to the pavement. “I gotta—” He found something, dug it out of his blankets. “I need the bathroom, don’t follow me.”

It had been months now, so Eric knew Jack needed the bathroom the way his mother needed her alone time: to do something she really ought not to have been doing, that was, behind closed doors. Eric had seen Jack crush pills in his fist and rub them into his gums, that night he’d probably thought Eric was sleeping and couldn’t see it.

In the plastic bowl their sundae was a puddle of white streaked with brown. Eric might have gotten a C+ in eighth-grade English, but he knew symbolism when he saw it.

#fic post

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annalouisewrites-blog · 4 years

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1.) things we carry

The summer sun stuck to her in sticky streaks of sweat. Glistening in the midday heat, her skin was sinking through the plastic lawn chair like silly putty. That’s what she was, Camille thought: silly putty left out in the scorching summer day. It was like a fever dream - body like a washcloth being wrung dry, while smoking her fiery, ash filled Marlboro’s, unable to keep the filter from her lips for more than thirty seconds. It was better to be outside. Inside her double wide it was dark from tattered drawn curtains, the buzzing of her rusting desk fan drowning out the buzzing of flies on the counter tops, sheets twisted off the bed revealing the yellowing mattress, the air at a standstill like the life inside. All she needed were those Marlboro’s, her lawn chair, and the cheapest whisky G&G’s convenience store could offer. She didn’t care what day it was or what time it was. She had broken the clock last month, throwing it against the door in a sudden flash of tear-filled, whisky-fueled, white hot rage. She didn’t know where it came from, it just bubbled up like the foam sizzling on the stove top when the pasta boiled over. She sat like that for a while. The trailer park was silent, except for the occasional stray shout or random thud somewhere. Doors closing. Dogs barking. Cars starting. “Camilla! Como estas chica?” “Fuck off, Randy.” she lit another cigarette. “Aye. Just trying to be neighborly.” “You can do that by fucking off.” “For someone so pretty, you’d think you’d be nicer.” “For someone so ugly, you think you’d be smarter.” “Okay, okay.” Randy hit his boots on the steps of his trailer, disappearing through the door and leaving Camille to herself. He did it every day. “Camilla! Como estas?” “Ay Camilla, hola chica!” “Hola Camilla!” Even the summer sun wasn’t enough to melt the ice in her responses. She just wanted to be alone. One day, she snapped. “Why do you keep talking to me? I don’t wanna fucking talk to you, okay?” “Ah,” he said, walking a few steps towards her. “cuz one of these days, you’re gonna be so damn bored that you wanna talk to me. And I got my good luck charm!” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a large coin and flipping it like a magician. “Yeah? Well I got mine, too.” Camille made a show of grabbing the plastic whisky bottle and taking a sip, locking eyes with Randy like a challenge. “And how’s that working out for ya?” He shot back. She was sure she saw a little smirk across his rude, ugly, little face. “I’m drownin’ in luck over here.” Randy turned to leave. “See you tomorrow, chica.” He said with his back turned to her. It went on like this for a few weeks. Until one day, he walked right past her. Silent. “What,” she said. “you ain’t gonna annoy me today?” He walked right past her and through his door. No response, nothing. Camille felt a tightness in her chest, a fire starting somewhere in her belly. Five minutes went by. Ten minutes went by. All these weeks, (months!), and now he ignores her? She started getting angry. Who does he think he is? That worthless, ugly-faced, rude, slick-talking - “Camilla. Do you like chilaquiles?” “What the fuck did you just say about me?” “You ain’t never had chilaquiles?! Oh man.” Randy disappeared again. Camille sat up and moved to the edge of her seat, ready to jump up and punch that man straight in the jaw if he kept talking like that. He came back out with two plates. “They’re usually for breakfast, but fuck it.” He held out one of the plates to Camille. She froze, looking at the dish. “Oh come on,” he said. “I didn’t poison it! Look,” he switched plates and offered the other one. “take this one, then.” Very slowly, Camille put her cigarette down and reached out to grab the plate. She looked at the chilaquiles, then back at Randy, then back down again. Her eyes squinted. She picked up the plastic fork. She pushed the tortillas around. She scooped one onto the fork. She paused. Then, slowly and deliberately, she tried them. Randy waited, watching. The tiniest smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “So?” he raised his eyebrows. “Yeah....they’re okay.” “Score!” he pumped his fist into the air, and excitedly grabbed a lawn chair from his place a few feet away. He quickly pulled it up near Camille and started talking a mile a minute. “Okay so my mom used to make these ALL the time and they were bomb. I mean, man I could not imagine anything better than waking up and -”

And it went on like this for a few weeks. Randy cooking all sorts of things and sharing them with Camille. Slowly, day by day, with every tortilla, tostada, taco and tamale, something else was coming together, ingredient by ingredient, night by night: a friendship. Camille started looking forward to when Randy would come home. There was something new bubbling up inside her: excitement. A few weeks after their first dinner together, Camille woke up inside her messy trailer suffocated by the heavy, summer air, and for the first time in a long time, she wanted to clean. She opened the curtains. She straightened the curtain rod. She put the sheets back on the bed. She folded the laundry. She washed the dishes. A week or so after that, she found herself in the grocery store. Standing in the frozen section, she saw a frozen burrito. “Why am I gonna pay $5 for that when it’s just a tortilla and cheese?” She asked the refrigerator, secretly proud that she was outsmarting it. “I can make that.” Rolling her cart down the aisles, she stopped when she saw salsa. She looked up. Here it was! Salsa, taco spices, beans and tortillas. A can of refried beans went in her cart. A package of tortillas. Salsa. Taco mix. Cheese. Camille smiled at the checkout line, placing each item carefully on the belt. “Taco night?” the cashier asked. “Yes ma’am.” Camille beamed. She rushed back home. She knew she still had about an hour until Randy would get back. Just enough time. In her kitchen, she washed all her dishes again, just to be sure. It wasn’t hard, all she owned was one frying pan, two plates, three forks and two water glasses. But she wanted to make sure she did this right. She didn’t know what she was doing, so she guessed. That’s how she had gotten through most of her life, and she wasn’t about to stop now. Dumping the refried beans into the frying pan, she turned the heat up and added the taco spices. Once that was good and mixed, in went the shredded cheese. Opening up her pantry, she managed to find a can of corn all the way in the back. That went into the bean mix, too. Everything seemed to be good and hot, so she laid out two big, soft tortillas. Randy had made them burritos a few times, and the way he wrapped them didn’t look too complicated. Camille scooped up her bean mix and plopped it in the middle of one of the tortillas. She stood looking at it for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek, figuring a good way to fold it like Randy did. She poked and prodded and tugged and pulled until it looked like the contents were securely wrapped up. Taking the two water glasses, she poured two glasses of whisky. It looked beautiful, she thought, like a real dinner. Randy’s car pulled up a few minutes later, and Camille’s heart started racing. She grabbed the two plates and went outside. Immediately she saw Randy, and smiling held up the plates. “Hungry?” “No way. You made dinner?!” Randy smiled so hard you would have thought it broke the boy’s face. Half-jogging over in his excitement, he took one of the plates. “What did you make? Burritos?” “I tried.” He put down his things and grabbed his lawn chair. They sat. Camille watched him take his first bite. “Oh wow...” “Oh no....” “It’s good! Camilla where did you learn to cook like this?” They sat in silence eating for a few minutes. Camille knew he was being polite. The burritos were strange and mushy but she was so proud of herself that she didn’t care. And he looked so happy. “Oh wait!” She said. “I forgot.” Running back inside, she returned with the two glasses of whisky. “Figured I’d share my good luck charm tonight.” “Ay, chica. You are sweet, but I actually don’t drink.” “What?” “Yeah.” Randy reached into his back pocket and took out the coin he had showed her a few months back. He handed it to Camille. “3 years sober.” She turned it over in her hand. She recognized what it was - one of those coins they give you in AA. “I lost everything.” he continued. “My friends, my family, my husband, my house, my job.” Camille was speechless. There was something swelling inside her chest, it rose up to her throat, up to her eyes, where tears started to sting. There was something stirring inside her. A feeling that had been lost for years. What was it? She tried to pinpoint it. Looking at Randy, seeing for the first time all the things that had gone unspoken, she realized. After months of chipping away at her heart, she felt it. A familiar feeling returning - the same one that was there for her brothers she hadn’t seen in years, her cousins who stopped coming over when she was 10, her best friends that she had lied to and left. A feeling she had pushed down after so much disappointment and anger. It was love. “So, yeah.” Randy sighed. “I carry this with me as a reminder. It’s my good luck charm.” Camille paused a moment, unsure of what to do. After a few seconds, slowly, she reached out and took Randy’s hand. She smiled. They sat in silence like that for a while. “Okay chica, real talk.” Randy said suddenly. “Your first cooking lesson is tomorrow.” They laughed. Randy put the coin back in his pocket. Camille, silently, put her whisky glass on the ground, out of reach.

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unconditionallyss · 7 years

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Abroad Health & Fit Journal Entry 3: November 14, 2017

Breakfast: Another round of plain yogurt (sin lactose) with banana, pears, apple, and a mix of seeds. Delicious and filling!!

Lunch: PB & J with a side of organic kettle plain chips. Not the best lunch but my host mom forgot to make me lunch and so I was stuck with whatever I could find in the house.

Dinner: A spinach tortilla! (WHAT?) Yeah, tortilla in Spain is so different from tortillas… everywhere else. There’s is like a potato omelet and Lucy adds spinach to hers because she’s “healthy.” Also a beautiful salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil for the side. Ate my tortilla with some mustard. Delicious, but could be healthier.

Exercise: None :( not because I did not want to (I am currently typing this in exercise wear) but because I left my deodorant in Majorca! I went all the way to the organic store and replenished my stock with a whopping 5.99 euro deodorant. Oh well. It is without aluminum chlorides so at least my sweat glands will not fill with chemicals.

P.S: Yesterday I had a crying session. I felt really alone after class. But then I went home to my loving roommates and a delicious meal and I realized all the blessings I have. So my challenge for all of us is to just write down at least three things we’re grateful for. My morning was beautiful because of it! ALSO ALSO!! Any recommendations of good workouts for the morning? Can’t run because I’d get lost (I live literally in the center of Madrid), but anything else! Send help!!!

#studying abroad while healthy #fitblur #fitblog #fitblr #fitspiration #fitspo #fitfam #studying abroad #healthy eating #eating healthy #getting healthy #getting fit

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wanderbitesbybobbie · 4 years

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REAL TALK: How I Lost 8 pounds in 3 Weeks

Once upon a time, I was a swooping 114 lbs. on the scale. I was close to 100 lbs., the ideal weight for my height. It took me 3 months of gym workouts and strict diet to get to 114. But then on June 2019, I had to fly back to Sydney for school works and in no time I was back on my MAD diet (meat all day). I mean… who can resist Australian Beef Steak with Peppercorn Sauce? I had zero self-control. I was snacking on ice cream in winter. I created a strong relationship with burgers and big fat potato chips. I was stocking on rare TimTam flavors which I could only find in Aussie. Coles, Woolies, and Aldi were my favorite hang-out places. If I felt a little broke, I would turn to $5 Domino’s Pizza and devour the entire thing. Also, my love for noodles didn’t help. Sydney Chinatown was my noodle-go-to place. Dry noodles, ramen, stir-fried, Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai… name it! I knew where to get them. Surprise, surprise! I was 121 lbs. when I left Sydney.

I was back in the gym, trying hard to lose the weight I gained. I ran 15 mins. full speed on the treadmill and continuously did circuit training. I did Pound exercises and Muay Thai. It wasn’t hard to lose the excess weight. I went back to counting my calorie intake and avoided rice. I firmly believed that white rice makes my tummy bloat.

2 months of hardcore training and I was back in the game. I was losing weight again. My core training was working. I can see the lines on my abs getting firmer. I had to be stricter this time. Unfortunately, my psychiatrist became a bit worried. I was being obsessed with weight-watching to the point that I sometimes starve myself by eating just a fruit to avoid consuming my calories. It was the biggest mistake I have ever made. My depression went back, and it was bouncing like crazy. I had to stop the “diet”. I was still taking my plant-based protein shakes to replace some of my meals. It worked for a while, but then I flew to Jakarta.

Jakarta is a food-haven. I love Indonesian Cuisine. I love every bit of it, may it be something spicy, or sweet, or out of the ordinary. It was truly a gastronomic adventure that I totally forgot about calorie counting and diet. In Indonesia, rice is life. Plus, Indonesia is the home of “Three Buns” which happens to be the number one burger in Asia. I was lucky enough to be able to taste it while I was there. Each day was a totally different food experience. Which got me thinking… maybe traveling makes me gain weight? Maybe I should ditch food blogging?

TRAVELING MAKES ME GAIN WEIGHT… NOPE. IT WAS THE LACK OF SELF-CONTROL THAT MAKES ME GAIN WEIGHT.

The reality is… when you start eating unhealthy, you become somewhat addicted to it. You go after your cravings. For a few months, I drove to the biggest food night market in Manila on Fridays. It’s a street food heaven! I had pork barbecue smothered in fatty oil and dessert shakes colored in flavorful sugar. I would eat anything I wanted. I would snack on a cheese platter with a cold glass of Moscato while watching Netflix. I was at my laziest. I stopped going to the gym and stayed in front of the TV just like a sloth.

Until I felt it. My spine was hurting. It was probably my scoliosis, reminding me that I was becoming too heavy. I started having heart burns and I had trouble breathing. I wanted to go back to 114 lbs. I was only 14 lbs. away from my goal weight. I had to step on the scale and face it. I WAS A WHOPPING 139 LBS., bloated as hell, insecure, and having nothing to wear from my closet. What did I do to myself???

This is it! I have to re-evaluate all my choices. I started de-cluttering and cleansing. Not only on my diet, but also with my surroundings. I started cleaning my room. I chucked all the things that didn’t matter anymore. Old papers, old cards, old mugs, old clothes… and then I started with my cleanse.

EXERCISE IS ONLY 20% OF THE PROCESS.

I started stretching again and visiting the gym. I was slowly getting back into the rhythm. But, I knew I had to stick to something that would not make me go back to my unhealthy lifestyle. I was then introduced to a Netflix Documentary titled “The Game Changers”. It’s a documentary that explains all the science behind a plant-based diet. At first, I was hesitant to try focusing on a plant-based diet. I mean… c’mon. It was clearly not a balanced diet for me. I need my meat, I need my fish. But… as I slowly took in the facts, it gave me the extra push that I needed. It completely changed the way I see (and eat) food.

I started changing my meal plans. I started choosing greens from being the carnivore that I was. My plate became more colorful, not from fancy sugars, but from the vegetables that I hand-picked from the farmer’s market.

I was doing it. I was giving it a go. Completely changing my diet to plant-based was hard at first. I always craved for roast pork and grilled chicken. But then, realizing that plant-based foods can be as whole as what we would normally eat, I started cooking healthy. My protein source became completely plant-based. My sauces were all plant-based. Some people would always tell me… “No. You need to eat beef or fish or chicken breast or eggs to get your protein fix.” What people don’t understand is that these meats are only carriers of protein. THEY ARE NOT THE SOURCE. At the end of the day, what do these animals feed on? Cows that produce dairy and beef meat eat grass. Chickens eat corn. Pigs that produce your favorite pork chops eat whatever, God-knows-what. THEY ALL EAT PLANTS. These animals are bred and confined in an area where they can get sick and contaminate their own species. They are injected with antibiotics of high dozes to avoid deadly illnesses that can sometimes be transmitted to humans. It’s the same with seafood. Commercial breeders breed the fishes in pens and we can only imagine the amount of mercury they have taken from swimming in highly polluted waters.. Plus, let’s not forget the fact that not all parts of these animals are lean. There will always be excess fats which can tick off your cholesterol levels in dangerous amounts. Hello Bagnet, Lechon Kawali, Crispy Pata… fat deep-fried in fat. THEY TASTE SOOOO GOOD… I won’t argue. But we all know, it’s bad for you.

Anyway, as I started shifting to a plant-based diet, counting my calories was easier. I started avoiding dairy and animal bi-products. Since vegetables and fruits theoretically have lower calories than meats, I indulge, but NEVER go beyond my allotted calorie count. In a matter of few days, I started losing 2 lbs. I was eating healthy and exercising. I started cooking Thai, Korean, Mexican, making tacos out of vegetables and soft shell whole wheat tortillas. I’m a dessert person, so when I craved for sweets, I had almond milk shakes packed with strawberries and bananas. Almond Milk contains 45 kcal per 180 ml serving, compared to 200 plus the excess sugars you get from full cream milk. I made everything homemade… Pesto in Wheat Pasta, Thai Eggplants with Tofu and Basil, Kimchi Stew, Vegetable Curry. Everything was from whole foods, none of the bi-products. I snacked on fruits instead of my cheese platters. I started reading the labels and looking at what I was actually eating. In 2 weeks, I lost almost 6 lbs. I was truly amazed.

SUGAR-FREE? I WOULD RATHER INTAKE REAL SUGAR OUT OF CANE OR COCONUT THAN EAT SOMETHING THAT SAYS SUGAR-FREE.

Anything that says sugar-free uses sugar substitutes that contain Aspartame or Erythritol. These substitutes are essentially cheaper than raw sugar in a mass production set-up, however, these chemicals do more bad than good. They contain carcinogens (main cause of cancer), just the same carcinogens you get from over-cooking processed foods like bacon, hotdogs, and what-nots. I am a Food Technologist myself and I have been working in a diet cafe in Australia which required me to make “healthy” recipes as the head R&D Pastry Chef. They wanted me to create things that say Sugar-Free, Gluten Free, Lactose Free… and whatever “Free” you could possibly think of. Guess what they ask me to use? NOTHING but chemicals. I choose not to drop the name of the cafe. I would rather zip it than get sued. LOL.

SHIFTING IS NOT EASY. IT REQUIRES A MASSIVE AMOUNT OF DEDICATION AND SELF-CONTROL.

I am not pushing anyone to be on a plant-based diet. I am simply relaying how I lost weight by eating healthy and exercising. My therapist would always tell me that 30 mins. cardio a day (dancing, pound, running, walking) is ultimately healthy for the brain. I try to do it even when I’m just at home. This is my fitness journey. I share my healthy recipes on this blog.

DIETS I’VE TRIED BUT I STILL BOUNCED BACK TO GAINING WEIGHT

Paleo Diet

Intermittent Fasting

GM Diet (for cleansing)

Military Diet

Low Carb Diet

What works for me doesn’t always mean it will work for you and vice-versa. It’s your dedication and will to change that makes it possible. Weight gain doesn’t always mean you’re getting fat. It can also mean you’re getting leaner, thus the muscle gain. Remember, skinny doesn’t always mean healthy and healthy doesn’t have to be skinny. 😊

REAL TALK: How I Lost 8 pounds in 3 Weeks was originally published on WanderBitesByBobbie

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