Cupcakes and Popsicles[2P!England/Oliver Kirkland]

You pulled up to the FACE household to, once again, hear yelling from within its walls. You sighed, by the tones of the voices, it seemed to be Allen and Oliver arguing - again. You kind of wanted to bash your face on the steering wheel, and swore that if Al ended up in the hospital poisoned again, it was going to be you to punch Oliver in the face. One of these days he was going to learn that poisoning gets him nowhere. You groaned, climbing out of your car and heading up to the steps.

"So, you're not part of it this time?" you asked, noticing Francois swinging lazily on the hammock in the front yard. He took in a drag of his cigarette, held it for a moment, and then blew out the smoke.

"Non, Alain completely started this one. I was going to leave taffy hair alone today. He seemed in a good mood, and I didn’t want to go to the ER because he got angry with me," stated Francois, looking over at you. He glanced you up and down with a smirk, and then turned back to his cigarette.

You rolled your eyes and proceeded up the steps, easily predicting the canned good that came flying through the glass of the storm door as you dodged it. You had learned that anything in the house became fair ammo and that Oliver was a sucky shot, usually sending what he threw through the glass door.

"Bastard," you muttered, opening the shattered barrier. Carefully stepping inside, you found the two Idiot Brothers - who were covered in blood, icing and baking ingredients - fighting in the living room.

"... I don’t know how the hell I was raised by such prissy fuck like you!" growled Al, swinging his bat. Oliver ducked, a black aura coming from him.

"I don’t know why I didn't kill you when I found you like I planned!" the pinkette spat; you sighed as you noticed Matt propped in the door way watching.

You rolled your eyes - if you got prematurely grey, it'd be their fault. You slowly walked over to them, catching Matt off guard when he noticed your annoyed presence. Matt immediately bolted down the hallway, knowing you'd be after his hyde later for not stopping them. You stood off to the side, and angled yourself in the middle.

"Ladies, ladies," you said quite loudly, "you're both pretty. You can both go to the ball!"

You walked in between them, carefully watching each one in case you had to duck. Al gawked knowing he was in trouble, and his glasses fell sideways on his nose, revealing one of his crimson eyes.

"H-Hey, d-doll face," muttered Al; you noticed a pink blush had washed over Oliver's cheeks as he hid away his ammo behind his back.

"[Na]-[Name], p-poppet, I - we weren’t expecting you!" stuttered the Brit. You grunted and rolled your eyes.

"I know this is Al's fault," you said gently, turning your orbs to the American with a sneer. Then you turned it Oliver, who yelped. "However, if you poison his ass again and put him in the hospital. Actually - if anyone, myself included, ends up in there because of you, I will personally take it upon myself to proceed to beat the living hell out of you. You got it?" Both men quickly nodded their heads, and you gave a stiff nod. "Good. Now - what happened, Oliver first."

"Well, I was doing was I normally do-" started Oliver, setting down what he had in his hand.

"Meaning being gay and annoying," spat Al, glaring at the Brit.

You shot a glare at him, snapping, "Hey! What did I say?! Oliver first, asshole!"

Allen grumbled, crossing his arms and turning his glare to the wall. Your stare lightened as you turned back to Oliver, "Continue."

"Uh? - Oh! Yes, well, I was going baking some cupcakes, because it seemed like such a beautiful, perfect day to bake! But then he woke up and came stomping down the stairs! He hadn’t even seen me yet and was cursing at me - which you owe the Swear Jar for, Allen. - Then he proceeded to dump the batter that I'd spent all morning making, all over me and throwing things at me! I didn’t do anything this time! I was minding my own business!" whined Oliver, coming over and latching on to your shirt as he fell to his knees with tears in his eyes.

Oliver hugged your middle, hiding his face in your stomach, just under your breasts, and wrapping his arms around your waist. You blushed, but that was quickly replaced with anger; oh bloody hell no, nobody fucked with Oliver's cupcakes and got away with it. Especially if they made him cry. You gently hugged him back, running your hands through his silky hair.

"Oliver, sweetie, why don’t you go get cleaned up? Hmm? I'll talk to Allen," you said softly, to which Oliver gazed up at you, then promptly nodded and stood, wandering away. Your dark aura returned as you turned to Al, a little growl escaping your throat. “What the hell is your problem?! How stupid are you?! Why the hell can’t you leave him alone for once?!”

Now it was your turn to throw things, you lifted up the can Oliver had set on the coffee table. Examining it, you shot your (E/C) eyes to the American, who took a step back. Luckily you weren’t as bad of shot as Oliver (which was something you and he were going to work on). You settled into a baseball pitcher stance and wound back, the can in your hand. Al’s eyes widened as you propelled your arm and body forward, heaving the can straight at his face.  The brunette didn’t have time to duck, due to the speed of the can, and got clocked right in the face which unleashed a deafening crack. You discovered why when Al’s nose started bleeding – you had broken it, luckily it would right itself and heal fast but you managed to piss Allen off. However, your wrath was something to be reckoned with.

“What the hell, bitch?!” he yelled, “you fucking broke my nose!”

“I’m the bitch?! You’re the one who’s being a little bitch about his nose being broken!" you retorted, hands on your hips. "Besides, that’s what your punk ass gets for messing with Oliver!”

“I don’t fucking understand why you have a thing for that prissy fuck!” spat Al, to which you gasped, blushing profusely. You glowered at him, and Allen smirked. “You’d have much more fun with me.”

“I’d never be with  an asshat like you,” you spat, your fingers involuntarily curling themselves into a fist. “You’re such an inconsiderate, bull-headed, arrogant, violent imbecile! And when Oliver gets out of the shower, I want you to apologize to him.”

“Apologize? - To him? No fucking way, doll face,” stated Al matter-of-factly. Your arm shot out, pointing an accusatory finger towards the crimson eyed American.

“You’ll fucking apologize whether you like it or not!” you commanded. However, unexpectedly, Al grabbed your hand and yanked your body to his. Smirking down at you, his glazed half-lidded crimson eyes twinkled in amusement.

“You know, you’re hot when you’re angry,” he stated, then harshly smashed his lips to yours.

You gasped, allowing Al time enough for his tongue to slip through your parted lips and roughly tango with yours. You shoved against him, clawing and smacking his chest. One of Al’s hands found its way up your shirt, and began stroking your bare skin; you unsuccessfully suppressed a shiver. You had half a mind to chomp down on Al’s tongue to get him away, but you’d never get him to apologize to Oliver then – especially if his tongue was swollen. Al’s one-sided, groping make out lasted for a few minutes, only ending when a sharp gasp came from the entrance to the living room.

“[Na]-[Name]?” A pain went through your chest at the sound of Oliver’s voice.

Al smirked, pulling away while making sure Oliver saw him remove his tongue and purposely dragging yours out of your mouth with his, so he saw the two tangled. You glowered up at Al, then stared pleadingly at Oliver.

“Ollie, I swear it’s not what it looked like!” you insisted, trying to push away from the brunette. However, Al held on to you tightly and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Don’t deny us, doll face,” he muttered, just loud enough for Oliver to hear.

The Brit’s bottom lip quivered, his eyes glossing over with tears as he ran towards the back door. You reached an arm towards where he was, but went limp in defeat and devastation in Al’s arms as the loud slam of the back door echoed through the house. You glowered up at a smirking Al then swiped your hand towards his face, where it delivered a loud crack as your palm connected with his already bruised cheek.

“As I said,” you stated through your clenched teeth, tears welling up in your eyes. “You’re an inconsiderate prick, and you will apologize to Ollie whether you like it or not!”

In one hard shove, you removed yourself from the shocked American’s arms. You wandered towards the kitchen, rubbing your arms with your hands. He hates me now, he’ll never believe that I like him now.

“Hey,” said a voice, and you looked up to meet the eyes of Francois.

“Hey,” you repeated, weakly wiping at your tears.

“What Al did was 'arsh, even by my standards.”

You raised an eyebrow, and pulled your lips to the side, casting him a look of disbelief. “You have those?” you inquired sarcastically.

“Look, do you want help apologizing to Taffy Hair or not?” he spat bluntly. You meagrely nodded, then Francois turned to the freezer and pulled out a box. “Give him one of these when you apologize. He likes the cherry ones.” 

You studied the box in Francois’ hand – it was a box of popsicles and, since it was a hot June day, that seemed just the ticket. You grinned at him, reaching for the one Francois had pulled out of the box; however, he pulled it away from your grasp.

“I agree with you that Allen is a prick, but also agree with him that you are wasting your time with your feelings. Of course - I guess, I can’t really condone or say anything about Allen’s weird obsession with you, either...” Francois mused, then handed you the popsicle.

“Thanks, Francey,” you muttered, popping up to give him a peck on the cheek then going to the back door.

Francois stared after your retreating form, a lazy smirk creeping across his lips. “Tch.”

With that, he lit up another cigarette and wandered back towards the front of the property to lounge on his hammock. Meanwhile you crept through the back garden, which was Alice in Wonderland-ish, courtesy of the resident Brit. It had long, winding paths, massive flowers (God only knew Oliver acquired them from) of various bright colours and patterns as well as smaller ones, multiple trees and bushes covered in flowers and fruit.

One could get lost for hours just wandering around. However, there was one place Oliver always went when he wanted to be alone; it was the easiest spot to get to if one chose the correct path - the large blue and white gazebo that lay nestled in the middle of the garden. You had gone there so many times, sometimes with him - others to find him - that you knew the way by heart. It was only a matter of minutes when you reached Oliver, who was sobbing and mumbling to himself on the floor of the gazebo. You were surprised that he was barefooted, he usually yelled at you for doing so.

“I – I can’t believe I spent all morning trying to make her favourite cupcakes,” he sobbed, “a-and she doesn’t even like me!”

You stopped upon hearing this and hid behind the hedge, gazing at him.

He – He was making those...for me? you thought, astonished by the fact.

You were the one who never thought he could like you; you were sarcastic, cynical and could be quick tempered. After a moment you remembered the melting Popsicle in your hand and gathered the courage to go to him. Warily, you stepped out from behind the hedgerow and proceeded toward the gazebo. Oliver remained quite unaware of your presence as you approached even though the white stones, that surrounded the grey slate stepping stones that lead to the wooden bridge, shifted as you stepped from one to another. You walked across the white bridge that arched over the small fish pond that surrounded the gazebo before finally ascending the steps and lightly knocking on one of the pillars.

“Knock, knock Ollie,” you teased, causing Oliver to look up at you. He quickly wiped at his eyes, and then averted his gaze. An awkward silence quickly settled around the two of you; you cleared your throat and held out the Popsicle. “I – uh – I brought you something.”

Oliver looked between you and it, then turned his head away, nose in the air. “I don’t want it, and I don’t want to speak to you."

You pouted, Oliver had never been like this towards you and you weren’t a fan of it.

“Olliiiieeee –” you whined, but he remained, only scolding you for calling him ‘Ollie.’ "Look, I know you’re upset and –”

Oliver quickly turned to glare at you.

“Upset?! Upset!” he growled, his harshness catching you by surprise. “Upset doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling! I feel - betrayed, and frustrated, and angry! - I don’t get angry! We’ve been friends for so long, and you lead on to like me as more. But then I found you with Allen! Allen of all people! Do you know how much that hurt?! I could see Matt, and even Francois, but Al?! [Name], I can’t believe you! You lied to me! On multiple accounts! I – I can’t even look at you right now! And that hurts me, because I think you’re so beautiful, I could stare at you all day! But now –” Fresh tears were down his cheeks as he hid his face in his hands. Your being ached, by Gods you felt guilty and it wasn’t even your fault what happened!

“Oliver,” you said quietly, your own tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “Are you stupid?”

This caught Oliver by surprise, and he peeked at you through his fingers. “What?”

Your finger nails dug into the post beside you, and you glared at the Brit.

“I said ‘are you stupid?!’” you yelled, “how dumb do you have to be to figure that I didn’t voluntarily kiss Allen! There’s only one male in this crazy, fucked up household that I romantically like and that’s you, you pink haired punk! Allen’s a douche bag, I couldn’t like him if I tried!”

“[Na]-[Name],” Oliver stuttered out.

You pointed at him, “And if you think that I’m that kind of person, then it’s clear that we are not as good as friends as I thought!”

By now, tears were leaking out of your eyes. At this, Oliver became wide eyed.

“[Name],” he stated, standing and striding over to you. He put his hand on your cheek and wiped your tears away. “Please don’t cry, poppet.”

“Then don’t accuse me of feeling and doing things I didn’t!” you snapped, then held up the popsicle. “Now forgive me and take the Goddamn popsicle!”

“You owe the Swear Jar for that,” Oliver mumbled, “but I suppose I can forgive you – if you answer one thing.”

You met his eyes, “What?”

“D-Do you really like me?” he stuttered, his cheeks staining pink.

Your visage burned, and you meagrely nodded. Oliver smiled, and then grabbed the popsicle and began unwrapping it. You smiled after him, and followed him to where he sat on a built in bench.

“So, you’re not mad at me?” you asked, to which Oliver shook his head. You two sat in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the warm summer’s air. However, the bliss was short lived as Al came around the corner. Oliver narrowed his eyes at him.

“What do you want, Mr. Rudeface Jerkpants?!” snapped Oliver, still sucking on his popsicle. Allen glowered back at him, then his eyes flicked to you.

“I’m only here because she forced me to!” growled Allen, “so don’t think I’m doing this because I want to!”

“Get on with it,” spat Oliver flatly. Al huffed, then mumbled something. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry, you stupid Brit!” Al growled, then turned and stomped out of the garden; you glared at the entrance.

“You could have been nicer, you bloody American fuck!” you yelled, then sighed and shook your head. Pulling out your wallet, you started to pull out money for Oliver’s Swear Jar but he put a hand on your arm. You looked over at him, an eyebrow raised.

“You don’t have to pay the Swear Jar,” he stated, you stared at him wide eyed.

“I don’t? That’s a change,” you mumbled, Oliver smiled.

“Well you don’t have to give me money to pay it, at least,” Oliver whispered, his cheeks turning a darker pink as his eyes turned away from you.  “I think a kiss’ll do.”

Your cheeks turned red, but then you leaned over and softly, but firmly, planted your lips on to his.  When you pulled away, both of your cheeks were redder but a smile adorned both of your faces.

“Why don’t we go make those cupcakes?” you whispered, then pecked Oliver’s lips once before grabbing is hand and bouncing off towards the house.